Two hours. Two hours that I could’ve spent running, then having a massage. Two hours I could’ve been curled up with my favorite book. Two hours I could’ve gone shopping, or had lunch with some girlfirends and laughed.
Nope. Instead, it was two hours spent trudging through fabric stores. Two hours spent rubbing fabric after fabric on my cheek to test it’s softness and silkiness. Two hours spent cursing at the weather, and got hungrier in search of the elusive fabric. Two hours.
Those two hours I could’ve watched a movie, drank wine, and had my feet rubbed. No, instead I spent two hours going from store to store to find the perfect fabric to patch up that 23 year old piece of scrap blankie because some short blond girl looked at me with sad, puppy dog eyes and said, “Mommy, oh no! My blankie has a hole.”
What I wouldn’t do for her.