As I got ready for church last Sunday, I went through the usual routine of taking all of my skirts and dresses out of the closet to try on. Tossing each skirt aside in frustration when I couldn’t pull it over my newly acquired hips. At almost 30 weeks of my infanticipation, this seems to be the period where I can no longer fit in some of my larger skirts. I finally found a skirt I could fit into, if not zip up, and discretely hid the wide open zipper behind two layers of shirt. Sitting at a table in the basement of the church, I self consciously pulled at my shirts, speculating silently weather people could tell that I was not entirely secure.
Following my skirt charade, I determined to put my stitching skills to use and produce a less precarious garment. After all, what is the point of being a seamstress if you don’t take advantage of it when you are in need?
The skirt I ultimately came up with is a bit reminiscent of the maternity tents of yesteryear, I just hope I am chic enough to pull it off in this modern day! The style makes it functional as maternity, or regular wear, depending on how high you have the waistband. It was my first attempt at pockets, they seem to have came out well, through a smidgen of frustration on my part. But now that I have this new experience under my belt, it shouldn’t be much of an issue in future endeavors.
Sometimes I would like to believe that I live in an idyllic pastoral scene, with white sheets on a clothesline, wafting on a gentle breeze. Where the weather is always warm and pleasant, and well behaved children frolic in the lush green grass. Within this enchanted reverie I can indulge my creativity, designing and creating exquisite gowns and fun projects.
Unfortunately, my reality is far from this tranquility: It usually involves three small, dirt-clad tornadoes in various states of undress, usually at odds with one another, turning my already less-than spotless house into a more comfortable, kid-friendly condition. And in actuality, my wind-blown sheets are more like baskets of laundry, clean or otherwise, sitting in the hallway waiting for their turn in the washer, or to be folded and put away. By perseverance and stubborn disregard, I can still invent and create in this chaos. Ignoring that niggling little thought in the back of my mind that wonders, "what would so-and-so think of my disorderly homemaking?" After hours of toiling over my sewing machine, taking brisk breaks to make sure the kids don't starve or maim each other, I can finally sigh over the finished project, modestly overlooking the faults and snagged stitches. I search for a clear place to have a little photoshoot of the finished product, and prudently settle on taking the photos outside...
So this is what I have come to after embarking on my quest of sewing 10 years ago. I have created this blog to showcase the mediocre products of my absurd expectations.
And thus begins my journey in documenting the talents I have accumulated in my cotton arcadia.
