A thought popped into my head this morning, at the none-existing hour of 5 am, over a pot of coffee I was making to bring my very dead self to life - I should stop feeling guilty whenever I steal a little bit of finances and time away from my family and splurge on one of my stitching hobbies. Often I catch myself thinking "ankle-biter needs new shoes, so forget about that yarn you wanted to buy just 'cause it looked pretty, you don't even have a project in mind for it" or "this x-stitching piece sure is pretty, but unless you want to hang it in the corridor to cover the ugly switch box, use your time somewhere else, where it's more needed - teach junior to put his underpants on correctly or go make something for dinner that doesn't come out of a box."
Growing up I was encouraged to have a hobby. "Idleness is the root of mischief" was my parents' motto and off I went learning to sew clothes for my dolls, crocheted tiny blankies and pillows for their beds. Mama taught me to embroider napkins and handkerchiefs, and gramma showed me how to x-stitch on pillow cases. A bit later, a teenager, I moved onto sewing and knitting some of my eclectic, to say the least, wardrobe. The message was clear - craft what you can utilize. Growing up I watched mama knit my sweaters and put together elaborate carnival costumes for me in the dead of the night. Family obligations like dinner, house cleaning and helping me with homework came first, crafts came second.
These memories keep feeding the chastising voice in my head: "Ain't you got something better to do with your time?" whenever I cast a fleeting look at the rolls of fabric in the window display of my favorite quilt store or a basket of WIP projects at the foot of our couch. But this morning with the cuppa coffee in my hand I vowed to silence the ever-present nagger. My crafts are my therapy! They keep me grounded and my family out of the harms way of my explosive personality. A few minutes of knitting after a particularly taxing day at work is all I require to not take my frustration out on my husband and son. A glance at a row of pretty thread bobbins in my x-stitching box instantly elevates my mood and keeps the cat alive, when everything else fails. Compared to the shrink's hourly rates in the city, my self-medicating with crafts is relatively cheap. And so, I will ignore the chatter in my head, and spoil myself once in a while with a sewing pattern and some stitching time in the name of world peace and happiness!
Until we meet again, happy stitching.