I spent a good portion of my day thinking I didn’t have anything interesting to report from the weekend. Then I remembered that I made a wooden bowl which isn’t an every day occurrence. You’d think that would have been something in the forefront of my mind since I’ve been eating Skittles out of it all day.


For many years now I’ve been trying to get Christopher into a hobby that isn’t reading or drumming. I was specifically steering him in the direction of woodworking. I have a list several miles long of things I’d like built and he needed a hobby. It’s a win win for everyone. He finally agreed to try it and he’s fallen for it hook, line and sinker. Or saw, hammer and screws as the case may be. He’s bought the tools, signed up for classes and made endless trips to Home Depot. He signed us for a wooden bowl making class at a wood shop in town. He never complains about waiting for me while I shop at the craft store so I was happy to do something he wanted. 


I’ve done some woodworking but not for years. Grandpa and I made Aaron a wooden fort with removable roof for his plastic cowboys and indians and two little wooden tanks. They remain the pinnacle of my (short) wood career.  I had never used a lathe, a drill press or the plethora of other tools Joe the instructor taught us. It was a very new experience. 


I’m just going to throw it out there that I’m really proud of myself for not crying during the entire three hours. The last time Christopher and I did a class together was when we got our concealed carry license at Fort Lee. I was too weak to pull the trigger so I held up the entire class. It was mortifying. I may have shed a few tears behind my safety glasses. I truly believed my bowl was going to be a disaster but Joe came by frequently with encouragement and fixed my many mistakes. Every time my tool hit the machine it made a terrible sound. I lost count of the times it made that sound. Eventually people stopped wondering who wasn’t using their tool properly because it was always me. 


Before. Obviously.