Now that I'm home again, I can show you the classes I took at Jeannine's.
And this is what I actually stitched in class.
I believe I have my work cut out for me . . .except, having taken today off as well for re-entry purposes (grocery store, laundry, all the stuff that usually gets done on the week-ends), I think I'll work on Ann Scutt for a bit while I have natural light.
And, on the "motherhood is a terminal condition; you recover when you die" theme:
We were taking a leisurely trip home yesterday, having decided that we'd stop on the way to have lunch and a visit with Baby Girl. She lives about halfway. We were back on the road from that visit when my phone rang.
It was my sister, otherwise known as The Saint. The Saint has taken Mother to the beach for a few days.
Mother had decided we should have arrived home. As we had not checked in to let her know we were safe and snug in our own little home, we were obviously dead in a ditch somewhere. Therefore, The Saint needed to call the highway patrol to have them locate us and save us from whatever dastardly event had befallen us.
The Saint had decided, instead, to see if she could reach us.
And, yes, I did call Mother the precise moment we pulled into our driveway.
I have warned the Big Kid and Baby Girl that this may be genetic.