First of all, I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m no Hillary or Amy or Stephanie. But a mother sometimes has to stretch her sewing muscles, jump in there and make something–good, bad or ugly–because her children think she can do anything. And really, they think I can make anything. If we’re out shopping and I turn them down on something they want (which is usually the case), then it’s, "alright, you can just make it for me."
Last night after baths, of their own accord, they sat down in the rocking chair in front of the fire–one with my Children’s Rooms: Stockholm and the other with a DIY Japanese craft book full of three dimensional bears with moving parts. It was like Christmas shopping for them. "Now, I want you to make this. And this. And THIS!!"
So the request for ages has been a doll. I’ve been doing my best to tame the begging beast, but yesterday, I just couldn’t turn them down anymore. I rolled up my sleeves, made a little sketch, got out the brown grocery bag for pattern-making, and slid out the sewing machine. Let me just say, again, I have no idea what I’m doing.
But here they are–good, bad, probably ugly. They are simple and plain, my convenient favorite. They each chose a button barrette, and this morning over breakfast I was stitching up last a last minute request: aprons. And Emma’s wears a scarf to conceal an extremely long neck. They don’t have mouths, which Emma says means they can’t talk, but I was so stumped by faces. I didn’t want to ruin them anymore by trying to add a mouth. Maybe later. But, they are dolls nonetheless, made from the heart and already well-loved.
Emma has more than made up for her butter comments. This morning when we were snuggling in bed together she said, "I love this doll so much. I couldn’t even sleep last night. I had to keep opening my eyes to look at her."
Good. Bad. Or ugly. I don’t think they really care.
oh, and Emma noticed at lunch yesterday that my grilled cheese looked mysteriously like a doll’s head.