What do nametags represent to you? A mere mark of ownership?
When there are three boys in a house, sometimes you need to label things. Like pants, socks and shirts. And then when things are handed down, you need to keep track of who now wears it.
You also need to assist the person who assists you with the laundry. Enter the nametag game. For 15 years or so, I've been sewing in nametags. (The iron-on ones are never as good.) Occasionally, I shirk my duty. If pants say, "Age 13-14", then I reckon the average adult will know whose clothes basket the clean garments will get sorted into.
This is a Severe Neglect of Duty. So, most of the time, I just knuckle under and sew in the bloody nametags - it's easier that way.
A year or two ago, one of the boys decided that labels were W-A-A-Y beneath his dignity, and started snipping out the labels, using the scissors that his school had required me to buy for his S1 needlework classes. (A good reason for not teaching boys needlework, in retrospect! They'll keep the scissors and put them to other uses.)
This left me with a problem, because a non-labelled sock is the sign of a neglectful parent. (It is - please don't argue with me!)
Nonetheless, when we bought new socks today, I resignedly got my sewing box out. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?", demanded my dearest, darling spouse. Proudly, I showed him. "Sewing in labels." It was one of those unassailable statements that required no response. I was fire-proof!
I tidied up the workbox, and put it away. What did those nametags represent to me? All the hours and hours I've spent over the years aspiring to be a Good Mother. Good Mothers sew in nametags. But the echoes of arguments those nametags provoked somehow also resonate in the wooden box. No matter how hard she tries, a Good Mother never quite feels good enough. Which is why this blog is called Pseudo Supermum!