The pajama pants from you-know-where

Last year I sewed some matching pajama pants for my husband and daughter.  I meant to sew some for me too but didn't buy enough fabric.  Andrea has LOVED these pants and whenever she sees her daddy wearing the "owl pants" (they have owls on them) she begs to wear hers as well.  Sadly, those pants had some flaws and fit issues (to short and a little snugly in the nether regions) because I didn't use a pattern.  Also, Andrea has all but outgrown hers.  So, this year I thought I would give the whole matching pajama thing a second try.  Using a pattern.  And buying SIX full yards of fabric.

Silly me.

So far, these pants have been nothing but blunder after blunder.  I partly blame it on drowsy sewing.

Public service announcement: Kids!  Do not try this at home!  Falling asleep while a sharp needle rapidly pierces in a downward motion in a close proximity to your phalanges is not smart!

(Climbing off soap box.)

The first of my serious of rather egregious errors was the same mistake I made last year.  I didn't buy enough fabric.  Six yards probably should have been eight.  But unlike last year, I did not want to go with out matching pants again, so Paul and I spent an evening strategically positioning patterns, planning proportions, and pinning the purple panels.  And after much patting of backs and praise, I began cutting.  Sadly, mistake number two was waiting in the wings for its grand entrance.  I cut out Andrea's back leg panel inside out.  When I discovered the blunder I cried out in horror because at this point I'm starting to have deja vu of the pants of yesteryear.  Paul shook his head in shame as I reasoned with myself.  "It's okay," I said.  "These pants were going to be really big on her anyway.  I may not have extra fabric but I can slim these puppies down and cut out a new smaller panel out of the inside out one.  Yes, that's what I'll do!  Precious."  I mumbled like Gollum.  Imagine creepy Gollum hunched over purple owls.  Now add some more hair.  Brown.  Long.  And put clothes on him.  There.  That's what I looked like, wide eyes and all.

When I (assumed) that problem was solved I began sewing and in the process learned that I had cut one half of my pants way too short.  Pajama pants in the front; capris in the back. I considered turning them into shorts right then and there, but I really, really wanted warm PANTS.  I dug through the tiny scraps and managed to get two strips of fabric to add to the bottom.  The owls were sideways but I thought a nice decorative ribbon would make the blunder look intentional. However, when I went to sew the pant legs I discovered that I had not properly lined things up and the decorative ribbon at the bottom didn't match up at the seams and spiraled around my ankles.  Too lazy to unpick and recut, I sewed in a strange side pleat and moved on with life.

My pants (albiet ugly) were nearing completion so I tried them on only to find them to be HUGELY too big and uncomfortable because I thought I was a size that I wasn't.  Apparently, I not only have sewing issues but body image issues as well.  Fantastic.

I needed a break from those horrid pants so I turned my attention to Sam's, which after sewing one seam it was apparent that they were far to small.  I tossed them to the side because I didn't have the energy to deal with that problem.  Besides, his pants were low on the priority totem pole.  I decided to revisit Andrea's.  After sewing the inseam I slipped them onto Andrea's legs, and much to my horror, the revised pattern I used to solve the inside out panel was far to skinny.  They were also too small for Sam.  I again gathered those few and precious scraps and pieced together panels to add to width to the waist and legs of the pants.  Once those were pinned and sewn in place I asked Andrea to try them on again so I could determine how much fabric was needed to turn under around her ankles.  "I don't want to wear those pants," she said flatly.

"Andrea!" I gasped.  "But these are your owl pants!  They're for Christmas.  Don't you want to try them on?"  She again refused which prompted some water works. . . from me.  Because if the three year old I was going to all of this trouble for and spending all this money on didn't even want her pants, THEN WHY WAS I WASTING PRECIOUS BRAIN CELLS AND MOMENTS I COULD HAVE USED FOR A MUCH-NEEDED NAP?!

I have temporarily abandoned the pajama pants from you-know-where.  They are tossed in a corner, collecting dust while I contemplate suicide finishing them.

Next year I'm just buying everyone matching pants.

A scary story

Last night Andrea asked for a scary story. "I want a really scary one," she said. "I can take it."  I gave her a long look. This is the girl who's afraid of The Little Mermaid, and not Ursula either.  She rarely makes it that far in the movie because she finds the storm and King Triton so frightening.  But she looked up at me with her daddy's eyes so how could I say no?   I told her a story about a monster (monsters are scary, right?) who she insisted we call Tiny Tim (too many Christmas movies for that girl).  Little monster Tiny Tim lost his button collection (because what is more frightening?).  His brother had hid them under the bed (I figure under the bed is also on the list of more terrifying things in this world).  Tiny Tim's mom made his brother sit in timeout for taking Tim's buttons (timeout is torture, and what is a scary story without a little torture, amiright?).  Basically, it was the most horrifying thing I'd ever told her and she listened in wide-eyed wonder.  I left the room with a smile on my face because these are the moments I just love what I do.

We've had a lot of sickness at our house lately, hence the lack of postage.  Andrea had a cold that has calmly drug on for weeks.  Then on Thanksgiving Day, I noticed she was particularly ornery and complaining of some unusual symptoms which included pain while using the bathroom.  By evening there was blood in her urine so I took her to the doctor the next morning.  The poor girl had a UTI which explains why she woke up six times that night to pee.  And Sam, my darling son, who still wakes up every two hours, slept for seven and a half.  It was a little miracle sent from a loving Father in heaven who knew I would have my hands full that night.

(He's back to waking up every two hours, thanks for asking.)

Now my little five month old has caught Andrea's sniffles and likes to utilized the healing powers of his mother's arms for relief.  Strangely, I haven't been feeling as smothered lately by the constant stimulation of my children's touch.  Another miracle.  I've actually been enjoying some extra time with Sam.  He's been hitting all sorts of milestones at once.  Sitting up, babbling actual sounds like ma, ba, na, da, la, etc., and pushing up to hands and knees (he's actually been doing this for about a month but whatevs).  I can't wait to see what he does next.

Ooh, I hear him waking up.  Gotta go.