I finally managed to snatch a few minutes to sew the other day (the sewing angels were singing as Sprout finally took a decent nap), and, after I had cut two little geraniums out of the lengths of bubblegum pink and lavender velvet that I found at a thrift store, I made good progress on the Olivia and Oliver pea coat in size 3 mos that I’ve had cut for a month or so.
I was, in fact, on such a roll, that I ignored my No-Sewing-When-Sprout-Is-Awake rule, and continued blithely on. She wanted to sit with me while I sewed, and so, after the requisite ‘no touching/owies’ conversation, we sat together comfortably and sewed … until she suddenly got squirmy and bored, and grabbed for the presser foot, a split second before I could yank my knee away from the pedal. To cut a teary, bloody story short, my poor baby had her first bandaid, and it was the very nicest injury an ancient sewing machine can give: two neat punctures well back from the nail. I wonder if they’ll mail my Mother of the Year Award to me so I don’t have to give a speech?
Having packed my machine away, motherly guilt firmly in place, I graciously acquiesced to her shrill
demand request to go outside, and we sat together on the stairs and enjoyed the sunshine after the rainy week we’ve had. I had decided that I would work on the pleating for the little geraniums (pleating? gathering? Can you gather velvet?), so I was guarding the teacup that holds my pins from Sprout (who, every single time, makes the sign for ‘owie’ before trying to grab a fistful), and when she seized the bodice that I’d slaved over (pink velvet, remember?) and took off around the side of the house wearing her new ‘bracelet’, I mentally shrugged: “meh, it’s not the pins, it’s not the shears, what’s the worst that can happen?”
Two minutes later, she rounds the corner, making the little whimpering sound that see makes when she’s sad about something, and presents me with this:
At that point, I admitted defeat, relinquished any grand hopes for progress in the sewing realm, and went to play with my daughter.
*I am pleased (and more than a little surprised) to report that, thanks to the miracle of OxiClean, the bodice seems to have come through the ordeal none(or at least very little) the worse for wear.