Simple Buttons Made Complicated

The sewing obsession is getting stronger.

I mended a few more things and added some cute buttons on a sweater. It's a black cashmere cardigan and it had lost a couple of the original black buttons. I tried putting some mismatched buttons in an attempt to be cute, but didn't like it that way. I was trying to go for a dainty pearl look, but the buttons I just found weren't as pearly as I would have liked. Fortunately or unfortunately, I couldn't put the button-hole around them. They were too big. Back to the search for the right buttons. The question is: How many buttons will I go through to find ones that fit? I'm sure there is some way of knowing, perhaps measuring them, but we'll see.

My kids are in camp next week and I'm going to clean my office and make a sewing area for my machine. I figure this is the only place that I can get away with having it sit out for me. My husband grew up with his mom's sewing and gets strangely uptight at the sight of a sewing machine. I've had one out a few times on the dining table and he gets anxious about when it will go away.

My office on the other hand is my own personal space. It used to be a storage area, but I spied the giant surface area and instantly saw a desk. I got an extra tall office chair and set up shop. There is plenty of room for my sewing machine and space to lay out material, too. The computer doesn't get much use anymore since I've gotten my laptop, so I can easily tuck that away, too. I'm excited.

Who'd have thought cleaning would excite me?

And while typing this, I can hear my dog nosing around upstairs in the kitchen. I wonder if I'll find the garbage over-turned or that I forgot to put my turkey bacon away from breakfast. Don't you just love surprises!

A tad earlier, while browsing the two fabric stores that I've linked here, I heard some banging and I yelled, "Hay!" to catch the dog at something. I ran upstairs and found him lying as innocently as if he'd not done anything wrong. He, in fact, had not. It was my neighbor below me on the hill. I wonder if he heard me.

He probably did. Like the other neighbor next door who had a worker building a fence and I thought the kids were pounding on the dining room table one morning. I yelled to knock it off, very loudly, and the banging stopped. Only, it wasn't my kids and the Worker Guys looked at me funny after that.