I was (still) in the midst of the Eternal Home Improvement Works, when Rebecca found a piece of jersey fabric in a pile of stuff, recognized it as one I'd promised to make her a new nightdress with, and proposed, "Shall we do some sewing?" In the grand scheme of things, a new nightdress seemed more important than prepping walls for painting, so that day I ignored the work to sew with my girl.
We traced and cut the fabric, I pinned the pieces together, we taped some washi tape on the sewing machine to guide her stitching, and Rebecca was all ready and set. She sewed one sleeve. Then she announced she was done with sewing for the day, and asked if I could please finish her nightdress for her. Ah, well ...
For a split second I considered returning to the unfinished walls. But then I resolved to finish the sewing, and suddenly my well-planned day seemed to unfold in an utterly unplanned way. As it often happens.
Again I'd chosen sewing versus painting, but I wasn't quite zen enough for precision work, and made silly mistakes that required a lot of unstitching and restitching. I did finally finish the nightdress, but when I triumphantly turned it the right way out, I noticed a defect stripe right on the front. I almost declared the new nightdress a rag to clean paint drips off the floor.
But Rebecca inspected it, and beamed: "It's perfect," she said. "Now I know which way around to put it on!" She slipped on her new nightdress the right way around, and twirled among the cans of paint, the dress puffing out like a poppy as it spun.