My sewing machine has pretty much gone untouched for more than two years now. I was getting quite comfortable with the fact that my mother-in-law wasted hundreds of dollars on it, I am a colossal disappointment, and I will likely never use it again.
So naturally my daughter has decided that sewing is her life’s passion. This year she took a sewing class at school and over the past 6 months she has sewn more than I will probably achieve in my lifetime.
This is one of several tote bags she made.
This is a book cover / carrying case.
This one is the crème de la crème – a tablet case with a pocket for headphones.
I give the girl props on this one. The tablet does not belong to her – it’s a family device that she needs to ask permission to use. But sewing a case for it was a stealthy way to say ‘This Is Mine.’
Well done, child. Your craftiness both impresses and distresses me.
She has sewn hot pads, headbands, pajama pants – the list goes on. We have reached the point where my husband now asks my daughter to mend his clothing because he knows it will get done faster and better than if he does it himself or if, heaven forbid, he asks me to do it.
I would be offended if I weren’t so relieved.
So of course now here we sit almost two weeks into my child’s summer break, and what do you think she wants to do? Sew. And of course Mini Martha expects me to help. She is used to having a teacher. She needs a mentor. A leader. A guide to make sure she doesn’t lose a finger. And unfortunately she is looking to me to provide this support.
Meanwhile I am looking back at her like this:
I have been dodging the sewing bullet all week. I am running out of distractions and phony errands. I can only pretend to be on the phone with the cable guy for so long before she realizes we don’t have cable. She is hellbent on sewing curtains for her dollhouse tomorrow so clearly my only option is to wake up early and stage some sort of rat infestation by scattering mouse turds around the house and chewing small holes in the couch to convince her that our home is not only uninhabitable, but tragically unfit for sewing.
Clearly that is the only solution. Clearly.
She starts a camp on Monday and then I am off the hook for a bit. Here’s hoping I can make it until then without burning down the house. In the meantime I’ll be over on Craigslist buying up all of the mouse turds.
UPDATE: It looks like there aren’t any mouse turds on Craigslist, which I found oddly surprising and a bit disappointing. Not a very comprehensive list, Craig.
Now that I’m done wiping away my tears from laughing, I can write a comment.
First of all, who teaches 7 year olds to use a sewing machine, anyway? Somebody will put an eye out. On the other hand, she can start an Etsy shop and you can capitalize on this talent of hers. Do you have to HELP help, or are you just moral support?
I don’t have any mouse turds, but I can send you some cat turds. Thinking about the rat that left THOSE droppings will get her out of the house.
YOU NEED TO WRITE MORE OFTEN!
She usually needs legit help, not just moral support. But yes, I’m already counting on her Etsy shop to fund my retirement.
This distresses me too, if only because my girls are the same age as yours, and I cannot imagine them having the patience and diligence to sew a 2 inch line. Kudos to your girl! My mom used to make my clothes when I was a kid. I have no idea how to sew.
Well she had a lot of hands-on instruction in the class. You’d probably be surprised what your kids would manage to create. That is exactly why life afterward is full of disappointment – she now has unrealistic expectations for herself. And her mother.
I am laughing – not at you, but with you – because I can’t even thread a needle. My daughter sews on all of the buttons in this house and if something needs more extensive repair than that, it becomes a rag.
Glad it’s not just me.
WHY ARE THEY TEACHING SMALL CHILDREN TO SEW??
My GOD do they not know that Laura Ingalls is dead?
We aren’t pioneer women.
Kohl’s are EVERYWHERE now.
We don’t need to make our own curtains anymore.
It’s called Target.
Pass the mouse turds.
And the scotch, sistah.
‘We Aren’t Pioneer Women’ will be the name of my new blog about my domestic failures.
My mom bought me a sewing machine, I’m not sure how long ago. I found it when we moved.
When she bought this supposedly really expensive machine at a garage sale, she didn’t notice that the motor cover was missing.
So i am terrified to you it because not only will I sew my fingers to the fabric, I’m sure the motor will catch me up somehow and maim me.
IF I could figure out how to thread it. So I’m safe.
I hope you found the mouse poop.
I’m no expert, but it sounds like a death trap to me. (and an excellent excuse to avoid any sewing)