I am still somewhat in disbelief as I sit here thinking of how I should relay this story, so bear with me...
I feel like I have become fairly domesticated over the past year and a half. I learned to cook, I clean the house, I take care of the bills and the household organization, and all the other stuff I get to do now. But something has still eluded me.
I don't sew.
The kids have exploited that fact by pulling the stuffing out of our couch (which was ripped during our move almost 2 years ago) at any chance they get. Stuffing pulled out of the couch is a normal part of life, but yesterday they decided to nearly clean the stinking thing out while I was making dinner. (and surprisingly, I didn't take pictures... thought about it, but decided not to encourage the kids...)
So what do you do when something like that happens? You write a post on facebook telling all your friends about the silly thing your kids just did, but really how it's all your fault anyway because you haven't fixed said couch because you don't know how to sew and learning how would stuff your brain so full it might end up popping.
We wouldn't want that.
A very sweet friend saw that post on facebook and brought me some needle and thread this morning. Well, a specific curvy needle and thick thread needed to fix a couch that she knew I would need because her daughter had done something similar, only with her mattress, not her couch.
Never would have known I needed a curvy needle.
Now, to the good part ~ and this is what has me perplexed...
She brought over an unopened pack of needles just as we were getting ready to go on a walk, so I stuck them inside the house on top of the stove and we left. Sort of.
In the mean time Dan had just gotten home (a rare stop he was able to make on the way to a work function in the middle of the morning), so when we got back from our walk I started unloading the children into the house, put the stroller away, and helped Evan get his bike put away.
I come inside.
The unopened package of needles is now open, and two are missing.
I asked Dan (thinking to myself, why the heck would he open these, but I asked anyway) if he opened the pack of needles. (Ok, so I've never seen a curved needle before, and they are pretty cool, so maybe he was just checking them out?)
He said he never touched them.
I believe my husband.
So the next logical choice is my son. My dear, sweet, wonderful, I-better-think-of-more-nice-words-because-I'm-furious-the-needles-are-gone, son.
To be continued...