That Time I Sewed Something

(note: I wrote this post a couple of months ago. Cause I’m awesome.)

I’ve been getting crafty lately. Don’t get mad. I know I told you to keep me away from crafts, and I didn’t tell you I wanted to do it, so you didn’t get a chance to stop me. But it was an impulse. I spent hours researching. I went to Joann’s completely prepared. (Side note: the folks at Michaels are crazy stingy with coupons. The folks at Joann’s? Not so much. Just so ya know.)

As you know, I’m terrible with crafts. This has not always been the case. One time when I was little I fashioned a functional backpack out of paper. True story. I toted my cabbage patch doll around the neighborhood in my paper backpack for weeks. Or days. Maybe hours. I don’t really remember. At some point it finally broke. (Because, you know, it was made of paper. And I was like six.) I tried to make another one, but I was unable to recreate the magic. That’s the day my craftiness died. And when I say died, I mean crossed the river Styx and set up permanent dwelling in Hades (sorry—I’ve been reading The Lightening Thief).

In 4^th grade I insisted on making my mission out of sugar cubes. Disaster. I took Home Ec in 7^th grade. I tried to resurrect the crafty. I sewed a frog (which I stuffed inadequately and was therefore rather pathetic). I made a sequined shirt (which I stupidly put in the washing machine). I made a few tissue box holders. Those actually worked out okay. In fact, they still live on in my house.

I have attempted other crafts, some of which have been reasonable, some of which have not. But the sewing machine and I have never really had a good relationship. I’d say it’s been downright abusive. Both ways. Somehow I’ve managed to get error messages every few minutes and spend considerably more time ripping things apart and trying to unjam the thread in the machine than actually producing something productive. I’m pretty sure I’ve sworn at it, and I’m pretty sure it has sworn right back at me in its evil little machine head. In high school I made a dress for myself that was decidedly asymmetrical. Which was probably fine since I think it was about that time that I cut my own bangs (I think we can all guess how that went).

So the warning lights should have flashed when those four little words popped into my head when I was thinking about a floofy tutu for Emma’s 1^st birthday. “I could make it.”

But the warning lights did not flash. The only thing that was flashing was my deep, abiding desire to be crafty. And save money. Because when I went on Etsy to see about buying one, I realized that the only way on this planet Emma could ever have a tutu would be if I made it myself. So I did what any DIYer would do: I hit the internet. (Side note: how did we ever function without the internet?) I found a couple of tutorials on making a tutu, and I really started to think I could do it. It looked simple, even for me.

Of course that wouldn’t be enough for me. If I could make a tutu, doesn’t it naturally follow that I could make other things? I mean, a little skirt would be so easy. And a little dress. So simple. “I could make these.” Like an addict, I started looking for my next fix. I spent hours looking for tutorials and patterns online for making simple baby girl clothing.

So I took the plunge. I went to Joann’s, armed with a list of things I wanted to make and a list of supplies that I would need. I emerged with fabric and ribbon and elastic and tule and a book on how to make cloth diapers. (yeah—that happened. I’m telling you, I was drunk with confidence and inspiration.) I was a little late picking up the kids, but that wasn’t entirely my fault. It was a little my fault, because I really should not have entered a store I was unfamiliar with, and with only a vague idea of what I wanted to buy, knowing that I only had 20 minutes. But it was also the fault of the crafty people who work there and those that shop there who take their sweet time. Although in retrospect I already knew that about craft stores, so that was probably my fault too. Anyway, it was worth it, because I got a lot of stuff, and I saved a pile of money because the guy that was working the register gave me a wad of coupons.

So I went home, armed with determination and supplies. My mom and I recently bought a sewing machine (I needed to repair some of my diapers), so I was good to go. I started with the tutu. Piece of cake. Except that Ben kept trying to help, so I had to follow him around the house picking up the strips of tule. Other than that, it actually was quick and easy. And, even more to the point, wearable.

Matt took the kids to the mall, and I started on the first sewing machine project: a “ten-minute onesie dress.” Obviously it did not take me ten minutes. Ridiculous. I’m still me. But it only took maybe a half an hour. Quick and mostly easy. And totally wearable. Whoa. Look out, world. This is happening.

I started on project #3: a pillowcase dress. I ran into my first real problem. The thread jammed. The bobbin ran out of thread, and I had to re-thread it. The re-threading was not going well. The curse was creeping back. But I was determined! I would make this happen! And I did! I got the bobbin all set and whipped up that dress like it was nothing. I was the boss of that sewing machine.

So now Emma has a couple of cute little frocks and a tutu. I have a new skill. I’m also pretty sure I’m Superwoman.

The curse is lifted. Time to make my own cloth diapers.