I am My Mother's Daughter

If you were blessed to know my Mom, you know she could sew just about anything. She could look at a dress in a store and make it. She had true talent -- and an eye for detail. Seams were perfect or they were ripped out. White eyelet in some formed graced many of the things she made. And the thread always matched the fabric -- exactly.

That's not quite how I sew. I'm not a perfectionist. Sewing for me is a way to be creative and calm and not in a rush at all. Sewing for me is kind of like therapy.

But for the last few weeks, I've had to rush through projects. After making all those poodle skirts for Sock Hop, I had to come up with costumes for Biggsy and I to wear on Friday night. Being in poodle mode, I opted to go with the 50's theme. I stayed up way too late every night working on my skirt. And this wasn't exactly the week to do that. Our girls had soccer every night, I subbed 2 1/2 days up at school. Craziness.

But I did it. And even thought it was crazy and on a deadline and more than a little stressful, it was a blessing as well.

I hear my Mom when I sew.

Now, don't go calling Big Spring or anything. But I do feel her with me when I sew. Especially with projects like that one. Where I don't totally have a pattern for what I want to do and am having to wing it. Or when I'm attempting to turn an unbelievable amount of tulle into a ruffle. Or when I'm not sure what to do next -- and then all of a sudden, I know exactly what to do and how it will work.

All of these are gifts from my Mom, the woman who stood over me with a seam ripper through countless 4-H projects. The woman who borrowed a friend's serger, so I could make a formal for my 4-H my Freshman year. The woman who took two daughters to State Fashion Revue (not me!) and Make it Yourself with Wool.

What a gift and what a blessing to have something that I shared with her on such a level, and worked on with her so very much, that even with her gone I still feel her presence while I do it.

Of course, she'd be going nuts over the seams that aren't perfect or the fact that I don't always care if the thread matches the fabric perfectly.

But if she could have seen me on Friday, she would have smiled. Because, just like Mom, I ran out of time before I ran out of project. My poodle wasn't quite finished when I left for Dallas, and I had to run through Hobby Lobby to get more pom-poms.

I burst into the hotel room armed with a hot glue gun, bags of pom-poms and a poodle skirt with a rather hefty poodle on it (she hasn't missed a meal.) Biggsy asked what I was doing, I told him, and he just laughed. He married my Mother's daughter.