A stitch in time

Some of my earliest memories of my mother involve fabric, needle and thread. She was always sewing something...curtains, doll clothes, even a suit for my dad. We kids had access to anything she owned...except her sewing scissors. Get caught cutting paper with them and you were in BIG trouble! The smell of new, cotton fabric, the crispness of thin paper patterns, and the rhythmic thrum of the sewing machine are forever etched into my childhood. She made almost all my sister's and my clothes - often matching outfits - causing people to ask if we were twins.

By junior high, however, I had realized that none of the other girls wore homemade clothing. They shopped at the mall and wore polo shirts with name brands stitched on the front, jeans with Guess on the pocket and shoes with little blue Keds tags on the back. My lovingly stitched dresses and cotton shorts seemed suddenly shabby and poor. The embroidered tags that said, "Made especially for you by Sandy" just couldn't compete with Jordache. So I allowed her to sew for me only when it was absolutely necessary. Like when we couldn't afford a $200 prom dress so she bought a few yards of satin and sequins and made me one.

While I was eschewing her talent, others were begging for it. She always had a stack of things to sew for other people. People payed her to hem their slacks, sew dresses for weddings, make curtains, and even decorative pillows for their designer furniture.

As I neared high school graduation, planning a wedding with a new baby and a new attitude, I began to appreciate her gifts. Her talent provided me with a beautiful sequined and laced wedding gown, bridesmaids dresses, and even the cumberbunds for the candlelighters...all things I never could have afforded to buy.

That marriage has reached it's fifteen year anniversary, and that baby is dress shopping for junior prom. And in an ironic twist, she disdains the cookie-cutter dresses from the mall boutiques in favor of a custom design "Made especially for you by Sandy".

She thinks it's fabulous that her mimi can listen to her describe the bodice from this dress and the skirt from that one, sketch it out, and make it real. She proudly shows off the one-of-a-kind creations that make her friends jealous. What I thought was a sign I was less than the other girls...she thinks makes her special. And I love that. It's kind of like a gift from God...a way for me to make up for not appreciating the all-night sewing marathons on Saturday night, so I could have a new Easter dress on Sunday morning. Mom's stitches of love were strong and sure, and enough to keep our hearts from ripping apart - even through the wear and tear of adolescence.

And even though I don't have Mom's talent for sewing, I can only hope I do have her talent for weaving threads of love through my family that will never fray.