Friends, I think I may have an addiction. It’s not anything that you inhale, smoke, drink, or even eat. In fact, don’t think that it is inherently addictive, since I had been dabbling in it for about a decade before it really took hold of me. You might have guessed it from yesterday’s Halloween post: it is sewing.
One of my grandmothers, Greenie, taught me how to sew during the summer between my freshman and sophomore years at Rice. I was living with her and my grandpa while working in Houston for the summer, and after my Dad made a stray comment admiring Snape’s billowing cape from the recently released Harry Potter movie, Greenie said, “I could show you how to make that.” Of course, there were no Snape cape patterns at the fabric store, so she modified one for a choir robe, and she taught me the basics of sewing by walking me through it. I did not do anything else while I was in college, but my first Christmas after getting married, she and Mema gave me a sewing machine.
Over the next few years, I used it mostly on household projects involving nothing but straight lines: window curtains, a shower curtain, and a bed skirt to fit over the ridiculously tall bed frame we built for more storage space. I once tried to make pajama pants for Matt, but they did not come out well at all. It is probably for the best that I do not have a picture of them. I also tried to make a bolero jacket for myself, but it failed before it was even finished. I felt like patterns were written in Greek. Perhaps my most successful project was costumes for our small church’s children’s Christmas pageant, but even then, I had to abandon the patterns and just ad-lib basic capes for the kings and smocks for the shepherds and angel.
But then, when we found out we were expecting a son, I had a challenge. I did not like any boys’ bedding that I had seen in various stores. It was all sports or cars or sailboats, none of which appealed to me. Lily’s bedding had been a combination of handmade goodness from my mother-in-law and two grandmothers. Lois made a quilt and half of the crib bumper; Greenie made the other half of the bumper, the crib skirt, and the curtains, and Grammie embroidered what Greenie had sewn. But we moved from the apartment that the curtains were made for when Lily was six months old, and her new room did not fit them. Then, being a bed-sharing baby, she was never in the crib with its beautiful skirt and bumper, so I felt that I had not done justice to my grandmothers’ artistry. All that to say, I did not want to ask them to make bedding again. I had made long straight lines before...why not try it again?
So I made Corin’s nursery bedding. I even branched off a bit and made a boppy cover- curved lines and all. Then Corin was born and had his reflux issues, so I made burp cloths. Then I felt bad that I had made so much for Corin and nothing for Lily, so I made her a skirt from an online tutorial...then some reusable snack bags...then a pillow-style dress from a pattern.
That dress was a funny story. Recall that all of my previous attempts at sewing clothes from patterns had failed. The little skirt didn’t count; it wasn’t from a pattern and was a glorified tube. But I really wanted to conquer patterns because it would open up so many opportunities; the little girl patterns in the fabric store book were so darn cute. So I found a pattern at a local quilting store; it wasn’t from one of the mass-produced brands like Simplicity; it had thick, hand-drawn looking lines, and instructions that involved proper grammar and normal vocabulary. I was so excited to try it; after all, Lily loves dresses, and this one was going to be hand-made with love by mommy. I spent a whole night cutting the fabric and sewing everything but the ruffle on the bottom, which I did not want to add until she had tried it on for length. So I waited until morning and showed it to her. Her response: “This dress is not beautiful. I want a different dress.” Ouch. I was crushed. I tried telling her that she hurt my feelings. She was unmoved. I tried a trick that usually worked, telling her that if she didn’t like it, I could send it to a friend who would appreciate it more. She said that would be a great idea. Double Ouch. It was all I could do to keep from pitching a mommy fit.
Still, it seemed like a shame not to finish it, so I sewed the ruffle on that night. She called out from upstairs: “Mama, what are you doing down there?”
“Working on Amelie’s dress.”
“The one that you made me that I don’t like?”
“Yes. That one.”
I showed it to her again the next morning, and after a little pause, she said: "When you put the ruffle on it, it looks beautiful.” So she consented to keep it, and she sometimes wears it, but it is not a favorite.
Then came the Gretl dress, and by succeeding with it, the addiction was solidified. Now, I am constantly seeing things and thinking, “I could make that.” The list of potential projects is like the widow’s flour and oil; it never runs out. For example, in the run up to our Disney Cruise this November, my mom reminded me that there would be a pirate night. Lily’s not big on pirates, but she is big on attention and dressing up, and I knew that she would be dejected to see others having a sort of costume party that she was not included in. And then, of course, you cannot leave out Corin, and so...
Like I said: it’s an addiction. It is not easy or cheap. I am not good enough to be fast yet, and at least with basic clothes or pajamas, it is cheaper to buy what big companies mass-produce than to purchase the pattern, fabric, and notions, not to mention the time I put in. But, like with any other addiction, there is reward involved. I feel satisfaction when I create something. It suits the project-oriented side of my personality. (Academic writing does too, which is part of why I enjoy my intended profession, but normal people compliment the sewing projects, whereas they probably don’t want to read the writing). But there is more than satisfaction in having made a thing; there is satisfaction in having made a specific thing for a specific person. I love making things for Lily and Corin; it feels so absurdly motherly. Everything I make for them is a little visual manifestation of love. They have no idea how much it means to me to literally clothe them out of my own ideas and labor, and sometimes, as with that first little dress, they may be not only ignorant but disdainful of my efforts. But there is still a joy in the whole arc of a sewing project that just keeps me coming back for more.
One of my grandmothers, Greenie, taught me how to sew during the summer between my freshman and sophomore years at Rice. I was living with her and my grandpa while working in Houston for the summer, and after my Dad made a stray comment admiring Snape’s billowing cape from the recently released Harry Potter movie, Greenie said, “I could show you how to make that.” Of course, there were no Snape cape patterns at the fabric store, so she modified one for a choir robe, and she taught me the basics of sewing by walking me through it. I did not do anything else while I was in college, but my first Christmas after getting married, she and Mema gave me a sewing machine.
Over the next few years, I used it mostly on household projects involving nothing but straight lines: window curtains, a shower curtain, and a bed skirt to fit over the ridiculously tall bed frame we built for more storage space. I once tried to make pajama pants for Matt, but they did not come out well at all. It is probably for the best that I do not have a picture of them. I also tried to make a bolero jacket for myself, but it failed before it was even finished. I felt like patterns were written in Greek. Perhaps my most successful project was costumes for our small church’s children’s Christmas pageant, but even then, I had to abandon the patterns and just ad-lib basic capes for the kings and smocks for the shepherds and angel.
But then, when we found out we were expecting a son, I had a challenge. I did not like any boys’ bedding that I had seen in various stores. It was all sports or cars or sailboats, none of which appealed to me. Lily’s bedding had been a combination of handmade goodness from my mother-in-law and two grandmothers. Lois made a quilt and half of the crib bumper; Greenie made the other half of the bumper, the crib skirt, and the curtains, and Grammie embroidered what Greenie had sewn. But we moved from the apartment that the curtains were made for when Lily was six months old, and her new room did not fit them. Then, being a bed-sharing baby, she was never in the crib with its beautiful skirt and bumper, so I felt that I had not done justice to my grandmothers’ artistry. All that to say, I did not want to ask them to make bedding again. I had made long straight lines before...why not try it again?
So I made Corin’s nursery bedding. I even branched off a bit and made a boppy cover- curved lines and all. Then Corin was born and had his reflux issues, so I made burp cloths. Then I felt bad that I had made so much for Corin and nothing for Lily, so I made her a skirt from an online tutorial...then some reusable snack bags...then a pillow-style dress from a pattern.
That dress was a funny story. Recall that all of my previous attempts at sewing clothes from patterns had failed. The little skirt didn’t count; it wasn’t from a pattern and was a glorified tube. But I really wanted to conquer patterns because it would open up so many opportunities; the little girl patterns in the fabric store book were so darn cute. So I found a pattern at a local quilting store; it wasn’t from one of the mass-produced brands like Simplicity; it had thick, hand-drawn looking lines, and instructions that involved proper grammar and normal vocabulary. I was so excited to try it; after all, Lily loves dresses, and this one was going to be hand-made with love by mommy. I spent a whole night cutting the fabric and sewing everything but the ruffle on the bottom, which I did not want to add until she had tried it on for length. So I waited until morning and showed it to her. Her response: “This dress is not beautiful. I want a different dress.” Ouch. I was crushed. I tried telling her that she hurt my feelings. She was unmoved. I tried a trick that usually worked, telling her that if she didn’t like it, I could send it to a friend who would appreciate it more. She said that would be a great idea. Double Ouch. It was all I could do to keep from pitching a mommy fit.
Still, it seemed like a shame not to finish it, so I sewed the ruffle on that night. She called out from upstairs: “Mama, what are you doing down there?”
“Working on Amelie’s dress.”
“The one that you made me that I don’t like?”
“Yes. That one.”
I showed it to her again the next morning, and after a little pause, she said: "When you put the ruffle on it, it looks beautiful.” So she consented to keep it, and she sometimes wears it, but it is not a favorite.
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| "This dress is not beautiful. I want a different dress." |
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| "When you put ruffles on it, it looks beautiful." |
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| Yes. We did buy the copyright to this photo. |
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