She was busy, she and her friend, making mincemeat out of my fabric stash.

I wasn't going to complain. The decimation of sale-bought cotton fleece is the price one willingly pays to be able to clean the house in peace.

As I was emptying the dishwasher and sweeping floors, they were painstakingly cutting and matching fabrics, inventorying their characters (yes, there were two of every animal on the pattern) and selecting the thread that would tie the whole thing together.

They named their little creations "Boo Boo Babies," and begged me to help stuff and sew the round forms into pillows for them. The sewing machine, though sea-foam green and emblazoned with Hello Kitty logos, is still too powerful a force for tiny fingers.

I oblige. I'd rather sew than try to scrape the crusted-over waffle batter from the kitchen counter anyway. No matter how many times I mention it, somehow the waffle maker (the man not the machine) doesn't appreciate the economy of a damp sponge when the drips are fresh.

But these children know they need to strike when the iron is hot.

That's why they leave their one-woman sewing factory and move on the most important aspect of production -- marketing.

I was especially fond of this pitch:



However, the disclaimer was also quite nice, given the fact I was the one sewing and my results do vary: