Zippers

An ugly coat. Big, puffy, and turquoise. Like deep sea glimmering turquoise. Its mass engulfing my sewing machine like a giant squid ready to squirt copious amounts of ink. I tackled it. I ripped its stitches. Took out the broken teeth that captures its prey. I hunkered down and pulled it taught willing the fabrics underneath to match the ones on the surface. Brilliant magicalness (not a real word) I beat the beast! I put in a new shiny zipper! I don’t even know the owner of this thing, a friend of a friend asked me to fix it. I don’t do zippers. But tonight I triumphed!

Or so I thought. I pull the zipper up and down for its test run before officially stepping back and calling it done. I am confused. Why won’t the two sides separate? It zips down but catches… on fabric? On stitches? Neither. Truth is revealed. I just spent 45 minutes inserting a cushion zipper into a jacket. Want a free tip? Those kinds of zippers don’t separate at the end, thus not allowing a person to put their jacket on without stepping into it like a pair of feety pajamas! The beast beat me. I don’t do zippers. Yet I know for a fact I will be going to the fabric store tomorrow in hopes of finding the right zipper and installing it.

I had a bride come pick up her dress last week. Four days before her wedding. Rush job to say the least for some last minute alterations…that didn’t include the zipper. She was beyond pleased. I released my breath that I am always holding in before a bride communicates her opinion of my seamstress abilities. We were both over the moon as I started to help her undo the zipper. It won’t release. It begins to separate in places. I can’t get it up or down. It is stuck shut at the waist of this glowing bride. I deliver the news peeking from behind her hips, “I am going to have to cut the zipper with a razor blade while it is on you. I will then have to go buy a zipper and replace it.” She exhales long and slowly. I pray she doesn’t faint. The next day she picks it up with a new zipper!

Ever have those events in life? You know, like the ones when you say out loud, “Gosh that person is annoying. I could never be friends with them.” Then months or even years later you find yourself unintentionally connecting with them until the good Lord slaps you across the face (metaphorically speaking) and you realize your judgement was dead wrong. Yes, the person is still annoying to some extent, but you find yourself liking them. Maybe even wanting to spend time with them!

Two-year-olds could fall in this category. The ones who’s ears have all of a sudden turned off and the only answer to ANYTHING is “But I…”.

Or four-year-olds who stubbornly get through their reading lesson:

“Sound it out. Ryder, what sound does a ‘t’ make?”
“R.”
“What? Not ‘rrrrr’ but just “R.”? Seriously?!”
He looks at me. Scratches his hindquarters.
I breath deeply, “Like ‘tttturtle’, what sound does a ‘t’ make?”
He replies, “I KNOW. It is ‘tttt’ and the sentence says ‘The turtle jumped.'”
I stare at him. I scratch my hindquarters.

Or even 15 month-olds, the fast ones. I have said out loud to all of those ages that live in my house, “Wow, you are annoying.” Only to later eat my words when I am shown the utter joy and brilliance of who they are.

Like when Cody last week was literally hanging from the chandelier in the dining room with a toy knife between his teeth. His round belly peeking between his tiny shirt and drooping drawers, beaming with a quadruple-tooth smile that is clasping the knife with gusto. A giggle follows the smile and although it was THE LAST STRAW with his outstanding climbing abilities, I couldn’t help but laugh. Good golly he is wearing me out! Swooshing between bookshelves and chandeliers. “Fixing” toilets and bath tubs. Eating dog food and compost.

Like a stubborn zipper, parenting does get easier. It just often requires a bit of ripping, adjusting, restitching, to see the beauty of it all. I “do” parenting…and zippers.