There are things that can be changed, and there are things that will always be the same. I probably won't have eggs and toast every morning. Running out of bread makes that a given. I won't be wearing the same shirt tomorrow. This is mostly due to the fact that today was apparently Slob Day, and I celebrated (?!) with a generous splat of Alfredo sauce down my front.
You get the idea, though. Some stuff changes.
There is, however, an astonishing amount of stuff that will never vary from one day to the next. The sun always comes up in the east. Probably doesn't want to stop and ask for directions. Junior will always be my baby, even when he's six-three and weighs one-eighty and is dragging home three Hefty bags full of last semester's laundry. It's a mom thing. The most notorious unchanging thing is a trait of mine that drives my neat-freak (but beloved) husband right straight up the wall.
I am The Procraftinator.
I don't do it on purpose; it's just the way I am. Yes, I'm supposed to be working on a pair of socks right now, but I had to put them aside to make a blanket for the neighbor's new baby-to-be. It would have been a cute blanket, too. Unfortunately, it had to wait for the commissioned shawl to be finished. Whoops! Shawl's gotta go "on hold". There's a fundraiser to knit for. I'll get right on that as soon as I get done with the knitting class project sample.
And so forth. At least I come by my affliction honestly. It's genetic and I have proof. See, my mom gave me a little package a while back. Inside was a small stack of folded fabric pieces.
"Shirt pieces. You can sew them together for Junior."
"Neat. Where'd you get the material?"
"They were supposed to be for your dad."
"You need a new pattern. These are toddler size."
"Not my fault. These were cut out by his grandmother. She got a little sidetracked."
That's right. A little sidetracked. It could happen to anyone. Just do me a favor and don't tell my husband. If he thinks he's gotta wait sixty years for me to finish even one sweater, he's gonna hide all of my yarn.