Diva, my sweet girl, is participating in a Medieval Fair this weekend. She’s been sewing her brains out, making cloaks.
Like a good Mommy, I’ve been supportive…and have discovered that my darling daughter has inherited my mad organizational skills.
Which is to say, none.
Girl has NO organizational, preplanning, ability.
Actual conversations that have happened here:
“So, you’ll have a table?”
“Well, I have a spot.”
“Uh, what about a table? You know, to put your cloaks on?”
“No, they don’t have any.”
“So, WHAT are you going to put your stuff on, the GROUND?” (I may have been clutching my metaphorical pearls and starting to hyperventilate this point)
“No, Dad got me a portable clothing rack. I figured I’d use that.”
“How do you plan to get it there? And your cloaks? Dad’s working all weekend.”
Now, just so folks understand…we live about a 45 minute walk from where this fair is happening. And, we’re further down the MOUNTAIN. So, she’s talking about lugging a metal clothing rack, plus about a dozen cloaks, UP A FREAKING MOUNTAIN.
“That’s not going to work, Girl.”
Wolf and I ended up buying her a folding table, and she arranged for storage space from one of the organizers, because, golly gee whiz, she’s supposed to be there Saturday AND Sunday, was she going to lug everything back and forth?!
Then, there was this:
“I need business cards.”
Turns out a friend of mine ended up volunteering to make them for her, which was incredibly awesome. And they look stunning.
All we had to do was hook up the new printer, get the paper, and print. Yay.
“I should get an Etsy shop.”
Oh, Dear God.
“Diva, do you have a float?”
“A float. Change. For when folks want to buy a cloak, but don’t have the right amount.”
Cue a blank look, then, “They can go and get change from one of the stores.”
I resisted the urge to set myself on fire. “Honey, you don’t EVER let someone who wants to give you MONEY walk away. Bad, bad, BAD business practice!”
Wolf got her the float, since he was in town anyways.
Today, though…that may be the topper.
Wolf and I were going to run some errands in town. Diva comes to me, asks me to pick up some more thread (handed me the spool, so that was easy) and, “Could you pick me up some more fabric?”
“Sure. What kind? Colour? Amount?”
“At least two metres, preferably three.”
“Colour? What kind of fabric?”
“I dunno, whatever.”
Oh. My. Freaking. WORD.
Folks, even before I became essentially one-handed, I didn’t sew.
I’m wandering around the fabric store, completely freaking clueless. Cause, God knows, when you need something for a BUSINESS, you send someone who hasn’t got the slightest, foggiest notion of what the hell is going on to get an essential component for the product, right? Sure.
I threw myself on the mercy of the folks that work there. They were nice enough to not snicker at me, just side-eye me a whole lot, and repeatedly ask, “She didn’t tell you ANYTHING about the fabric she wanted?” “Nope, just three metres.”
So, because I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, I came home with four different fabrics. I had zero clue what was right, what wasn’t, and figured that at least one of them would work, right?
Sure. To the tune of $100.
Never send the clueless on an important mission. It’s just not going to end well.