A shiny blue dress

Hello blog-it's been awhile. I can't really blame my lack of writing on being too busy, too many commitments or the myriad of excuses one tries to think up to explain a lack of activity. I guess my mind has been elsewhere and in honor of a dear friend that asked me to please start again, here I am.

My daughter needed a formal dress for her sorority recruitment attire. It's required, along with a number of caveats to ensure the dresses look appropriate for the event. I took her shopping and was aghast at the expense we would have to incur for the hated shiny blue dress. There just seems to be something wrong with spending what I consider a hefty sum for something they will wear once a year and most consider the bane of the day. So I decided, as I stood there looking at our bank account that wouldn't support the expense, that I would make the dress.

My mother is an accomplished seamstress. All through my grade school years, my sister and I wore many a frock that she created. She did tailoring for people although she says didn't really like it; she enjoyed the creative process of creating a garment, not correcting the bad mistakes or poor fit of constructed garments.  For all of my Type A personality traits, believe it or not, I also greatly enjoy the creative process, with one little blip on the radar. I'm a perfectionist.

I'd like to think I was in my zone when I began, measuring twice, cutting once, using the pattern to determine changes my daughter needed for a custom fit. I filled the bobbin with thread, threaded the needle and I was ready to start! It brought memories of sewing with my mother, and I could hear her gentle reminders as I sewed, stitched and started making mistakes. I should confess, it's been awhile since I so proudly sewed those Halloween costumes for my kiddos. I'm fairly certain that was the last time I actually constructed a garment.

I've forgotten some of the basic rules of sewing. As a result, I have ripped out every seam in that dress at least once and restitched them, correcting the mistakes that make me slap my forehead and shout 'doh!'. I've cried, yelled, thrown the dress across the room and now, finally, I have a completed dress that makes her happy. In the end, this saga was about being able to show her how much I love her, as every stitch is made with love. It was a way for me to create something for her, that she could be proud of, a symbol of my commitment to her. Maybe the seams that don't match are a life lesson about roads that don't always lead where we think they will. The belt I created to cover those imperfections are like a mothers love, like we used to kiss away the pains of a boo-boo. They are still there, just less noticeable.