in a town far, far away. . .
My mother used to rule her roost completely. She liked things shiny and clean, and she liked things where they belonged, and she really, really liked Christmastime. As you can imagine, decorating for Christmas was a family affair, and a constant struggle to unpack the decorations, put them where they belonged, and keep the house shiny and clean all at the very same time. She was kind of a tyrant about it.
One night, Samantha and I stayed up late sewing pleats into 30+ yards of red fabric to skirt around her platform where my mom sets up a little village. We were miffed that we were the only ones up, because we were the only ones who could sew. And so, we tied extra pieces of fabric around our heads and made up slave names for ourselves, and continued to wear our head garb throughout the rest of the week, slowly recruiting the rest of the family into our little clique. Vinnie would come by, and tie his fabric on like tupac, while secretly rearranging the villagers on the platform, or making snowmen out of the fake snow.
Christmas came and went, as it always does, but from that time on, anytime the sewing machine came out, so did our little do-rags.
And you'll be pleased to know that i've carried on the tradition:
Word to yo' mutha.
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