Tablecloths and Superbowl

Ever since I added the two leaves in the kitchen table, the original tablecloth was taunting me because it was just too short for the new and improved bigger table. So I decided it was time to make another one. I got some lovely red gingham which just screams country and called up my Coats and Clark-Caliber Mom to figure out the best way to tackle this project. After spending half an hour on the phone with my mom going round and round over directions, I finally got the project on its way.

She had suggested I buy an extra half yard in case her memory of the table dimensions were off. This table was actually the first piece of furniture she ever bought. So I get to cutting and pinning and then I realize what's going to make this project so much easier. I'm going to have to dig out the ironing board and iron. I think I've only had to iron five times in my entire life, so needless to say I'm not very good at it. I have this horror of recreating an episode of The Honeymooners where Norton accidentally leaves the iron on Ralph's prized bowling shirt, leaving a dark iron-shaped mark. So when I do have to iron, I'm frantic because I don't want to ruin the fabric, but I also hate the chore and want to be done as soon as possible so I turn the heat up and press firmly. You can see how this inner battle can be exhausting.

I work through the ironing and start on the hand-sewing portion because I want to mitre the corners and machine-stitch the hem. At this point, it's Superbowl time and my Giraffe is parked on the couch watching intently. I keep my ears open and occasionally glance up to see what's going on in the game. I work all through the halftime show and finish the final side of the cloth.

I'm, of course, excited about having completed a project and have a cute, new tablecloth to display so I throw it on the table to admire my handiwork. Then I realize something. I forgot to cut off the extra half yard that Mom suggested I get because I got tied up in the football game. Part of me doesn't mind that it goes almost all the way to the floor (the football-watching part) but the other is nagging at me for having such a long cloth that people can get tangled up in (the housewife in training part). I guess all it really needs is a test run with my long-legged, danger-prone boyfriend to see if the tablecloth stays or goes.

Both parts of me tell me not to get too attached to the tablecloth.