Please release me, let me go

Number One Son is nine years old. He lands on his right knee when he jumps off of whatever it is he jumps off of, playground equipment, trees, roofs, airplanes. Usually I take his trousers to my mother's house for her to repair, because not only is she talented and has lots of extra denim but also has a way bitchin' sewing machine that has the take-out bit on the bottom that permits you to sew on sleeves and pant legs. But we missed some pairs that last time, even though I asked him to go through all his clothes and bring me ALL the pants with holes in them, and when we all got back home from our various travels there he was walking around in a pair of pants with a big rip in, you guessed it, the right knee. So I had him change and bring them to me. So he put on another pair of pants with a big old rip in...yep, that same place. So now I have two pairs of pants. I happily cut up some denim and made patches of the appropriate sizes (LARGE as in WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO THE RIGHT LEG OF THESE JEANS???). Then I realized that I did not have a way bitchin' sewing machine that has the take-out bit on the bottom that permits you to sew on sleeves and pant legs. AND THAT I HAD TO SEW ON THE FLIPPING PATCHES BY HAND. Not easy to do when you have a toddler and a husband and all kinds of craziness breaking out all over the house. So now the item I want most in the world, ranking right up there with the chest freezer and the really big bathtub, is a way bitchin' sewing machine that has the take-out bit on the bottom that permits you to sew on sleeves and pant legs.