This evening I was in C’s room with my sewing box. She has a pile of clothes that have needed to be mended for awhile, and since I was off work today because of the snow we got last night, I figured today was the day that I would finally get to this task.
C sat next to me while I was patching holes and darning socks. She kept calling the thread “fabric softener,” a logical confusion, if you ask me. She also insisted that the pack of needles was a comb, and it was a difficult to convince her otherwise. It’s endlessly interesting for me to have some indication of how her mind works.
I pulled each spool of thread out of the box, measured a length and snipped it with the scissors, and…
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