My five-year-old granddaughter from California came to visit
this week. She’s a great organizer, I’m
her willing slave. We pick flowers to make bouquets, we make a dessert together,
we play with her father’s 38-year-old toys.
At three PM the day before she is going to get on the airplane she
announces, “Grandma Julie, let’s sew something.” I should have seen this coming, should have
been prepared with some easy put-together project that makes her feel creative
and successful, me with my mind intact afterwards. But since it is mid afternoon and my low
energy point, I let her choose. We get
out the flannel for a baby blanket.
Helping her choose appropriately takes all my tact; actually it scrapes
the tact barrel to the bottom. I don’t
care that we made a baby blanket with these same fabrics last time she was
here.
But whoa! She
switches horses in midstream and I’m getting wetter by the minute. “Let’s make a dress, Grandma.” Here’s where I become the fool. I don’t even raise my eyebrows.
Three hours later we have cut and recut and negotiated and
thrown out ideas and have made do with less material than we should have. We look at a pattern, but it gives her too many
ideas with too little time. We ditch it and I cut and pin and sew on the
machine with Madeline on my lap moving all the levers she can reach. But this doesn’t work very well any more
because she’s bigger now and doesn’t fit under the table on my lap. We make do with this too.
“I want ruffles at the bottom and on the sleeves and the
neck, and I want the dress long.” This
time I do raise my eyebrows but we are in for the long (pun intended)
haul. Somehow by 8 PM I am reading books
to her with only facings and the zipper left ( that last a skill I have not practiced since
1996).
I work on this fantastic creation after she has gone to
bed. I dream about it during the
night. I want to get up at 5 AM to work
on it the next morning but I can’t because the sewing machine will be too
noisy…she's sleeping right underneath it, downstairs.
By 10 AM it’s done.
I’m exhausted, but I pretend things are fine. I pretend this to my son as well, and he says
“She’ll remember this always.” I will,
for sure.
I email my sister-in-law and she tells me what I should have
done. "Just go to the fabric store and
buy a length of material that’s smocked on top. You sew one seam and it’s a
sundress. Add two straps and you’re home
free."
I don’t know when Madeline is coming next but I’m buying
that magic fabric tomorrow.
Old dogs can learn new tricks.
