Tag Archives: sewing

Cowabunga Dude

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Growing up, I was the only girl on one side of my extended family for many years. Then, they just kept bringing home one little girl after another for a lot of years. When it was just me and the boys, I learned to love a lot of things that my brother and cousins did. Do not get me wrong. I was ALL GIRL, playing countless hours of dollies dreaming of the day I would have a huge family, but I loved baseball, football, muscle cars, building things, and superheroes as much as they did. I am so thankful those conventions of my childhood are starting to break down.

The first weekend I met my future in-laws we took all the grandkids (one niece and two nephews at that time) to a petting zoo. I don’t remember why there was a petting zoo, but I do recall pushing the old umbrella style stroller with my little tow-headed niece down the streets of Leeds, North Dakota.

From the first moment, I was smitten. If I wasn’t going to marry this wonderful guy, could I, at least, keep these kiddos and this family? When I later learned that the oldest nephew loved a certain clan of superheroes, this news only solidified my thoughts of love at first sight. My future nephew’s favorite was the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. For years, my sweetie and I would search high and low to find the perfect TMNT items for Derek’s gifts for Christmas and birthday. Whenever we would visit, we would watch the cartoons together. All these years later, Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo, Leonardo, and Master Splinter feel like old friends. I can never take a home-baked pizza out of the oven, and not think of one of the turtles wearing oven mitts doing the same thing.

Over the years, his interests changed as he grew and matured, and he is now a husband and daddy himself. But I never forgot about all the hours we would spend bonding over the latest way our favorite mutant reptiles would battle Shredder and his lackeys, Bebop and Rocksteady. Many times in my daydreams, I remember joy savored in the days long gone. So this last year I put my mind to preserving some of that joy by making a quilt for Derek and his little girl for his birthday and her Christmas present.

I thought this would be a great plan since our TMNT friends were making a comeback. Maybe if I lived in a larger area or maybe if I was a last minute gift planner, that plan would have come to fruition easier. It however did not. I could not physically find fabric anywhere. Rather than despairing, I called my sister (I dropped the in-law moniker years ago) and asked if by chance she had saved any of the bedding our boy had years ago. Not only did she, but she had just ran across it! As a busy mom of busy kids, knowing where something is located is a incredible feat in and of itself.

Words do not adequately express how thrilled I was when I got the flannel fitted sheet, but I will confess to being more than a little nervous. This worn flannel was a precious part of his childhood. I had a hard time cutting it into quilt squares. Once I finally mustered the courage, there was no turning back. I wanted the quilt to be cuddle sized for each recipient, and I wanted a simple design that exuded all things cartoon turtle. It didn’t take long to choose a fleece blanket backing with flannel squares in orange (for Mikey), red (for Raph), blue (for Leo), purple (for Donnie), and turtle green. The only difference between daddy’s and daughter’s quilts would be the addition of some denim squares in the larger quilt and a different sized quilt blocks due to the nature of the repeating pattern of the original sheet.

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She shops around for the best yarns and cottons,     and enjoys knitting and sewing. ~Proverbs 31:13 (MSG)

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 While I love quilting, cutting squares is not always my favorite thing to do. I chalk it up to having tiny hands; so I did have more than a few helpers on that part. The piecing and simple tie quilting were all my handiwork and I loved every minute of it. What an honor to accumulate those three original nieces and nephews and to have added four more on that side of the family and five more on the other side of the family! My dreams of a huge family came true, and with that dream came more blessings than I can even count, including these two cuddle bugs for sure.

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Thanking God today for all the little boys and girls in my life over the years, and all the great adventures they have added to my world! Cowabunga!

The Penny Dress

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Yesterday’s blog shared about a family tradition I share with my daughters – a special trip to Chicago. Before I went with my oldest daughter, we spent hours paging through the American Girl catalog to pick exactly the perfect doll (or in her case, dolls) to purchase. Once her selection was narrowed down, we asked my grandmother, Mama, who was once a professional seamstress in the famed sewing room featured in the movie, Norma Rae, to sew a matching set of dresses for my all-American girl and her baby doll. That spring, we gathered all the material, notions and patterns to mail to Alabama.

When we called Mama to ask if she could possibly make the dresses, she said “Yes”, but under one condition. It was going to cost Erin – one penny. A tradition started by my cousin’s daughter who once took a couple pennies out of her pocket to pay Mama when she made her a beautiful dress for a school function. The fabric of families is held together by the traditions we weave. My tiny girl agreed to those terms.

The seamstress and the customer a year before the girls' trip.

The seamstress and the customer a year before the girls’ trip.

Shortly before our trip, the new dresses arrived in the mail. They were absolutely stunning. The first layer was a blue gingham sundress, reminiscent of Little House on the Prairie. The second layer was a gauzy and sheer coverlet, depicting scenes from the classic tale Winnie the Pooh. The tiny Sister (as she has always been called around here) couldn’t wait to put it on. (Looking back now, I wonder what happened, because we would have to pay her to wear dresses now.) We snapped a picture, penned a thank you drawing in childlike scribble, and attached the requisite payment.

When trip time came, the set was carefully wrapped in our luggage. Sister saved the dress for the big day – the one where we got to eat at the restaurant with her new babies. Yesterday, I mentioned that we were exposed to some insane behavior while waiting entry to the café. As much fun as enjoying a great meal while using our imaginations was, I don’t, for one minute, believe my daughter’s life would be irreparably damaged if it didn’t happen. That was mild compared to some of the other things we heard as we were being escorted to our seats.

Just when I thought all was safe, I was in no way prepared for watching the exchange that followed shortly thereafter. We had snapped a few pictures with the girls while waiting for our orders to be taken. It was during this time that a mom came rushing over to the table to inquire about Sister’s dress.

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In about the most exasperated tone: Where did you get that dress? Dahling, I simply must have it! Wherever did you find it? I have looked this entire store over, and I KNOW that dress is not in this store.

Now in this lady’s defense, outside of our table most of the little girls and dolls were wearing matching outfits that had been previously purchased at the American Girl store.

My eyebrows almost reached my hairline on this one. Just as I was about to open my mouth to explain, the spitfire, known as Sister, popped up out of her chair, plopped her hands on her little hips, and stood eyeball to eyeball (okay probably more like eyeball to hip, but her confidence exuded eyeball), and said, “My Mama made it, and I paid a penny for it.”

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Mouth agape, the woman turned and looked at me. I thought she somewhat deserved the sassy retort. When I explained Sister had asked her great-grandmother to make the dresses, the inquisitor was saddened to learn she couldn’t purchase one for her little girl. As she turned to walk away, she said with all sincerity, “You are one lucky little girl.”

Lady, you don’t know the half of it.

The little girl who almost wasn’t, because she was born dead and brought back to life, was about the most adored little Southern girl, north of the Mason Dixon line. Not a day goes by that we don’t forget that she is a miracle just being here. She is a beloved child of God, who let us have her despite her rough start.

The homemade little dress is beautiful. My Mama’s stitching is incredible, but it pales in comparison to God’s handiwork of love, the creation of a family. Someday she will pass the dress (which is safely tucked away) to her little girl. And when she does, she will able to tell of all the love that her Mama sewed in every stitch of a penny dress!

 

The making of a Grammy

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My last few posts have been about grandparents and how the world is truly a better place because of them. Whether by blood, “adoption” or simply by taking an interest in the lives of children, grandparents fill a magical place in hearts.

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A dear friend of mine, who I’ve always thought of as the quintessentially hip grandmother, had this picture posted on her Facebook wall the other day. If you knew my friend, the sentiment suits her. As far as being a grandmother, I think I fall somewhere between all things magical with a little bit of adventure thrown in for good measure.

Before any of my friends fall out of their chairs, I did not become a grandmother by blood. Not just yet! (My high school son just looked at me in horror.)  Although I will confess, I do already have things stored away for when that day becomes a reality. I like to think of it as Grammy’s secret stash of goodies (remember the magical and adventuresome description).  I now understand the trance that Cracker Barrel holds on all grandmothers.

There is a really long background story here, and if you ask me in person, I will be happy to tell you. We’ll grab some iced teas and chat! The shortened version of how I became a Grammy (more on that name later) is one of L.O.V.E. lived out through friendship.

When Jesus called us to love others as the second greatest commandment, there are those who embody his teaching. A blessing to me is how I am a recipient of that love. I have written and spoken about how once upon a time, a former student stepped up to “fill in for” but never to “replace” Reed as the big brother of our family. When he met the girl of his dreams and was married, our “son’s” mom gave me the honor of being listed as “honorary mother”. It was one of my life’s proudest moments.

Well this year, my son and his wife had their first baby. Before sweet little L’s birth, I had been knitting and sewing all matter of items. She had a rough beginning; so, my whole family (aka Team Stevens) had a very brief visit to give momma and baby the rest they needed. We gave L her knitted blanket, said we would be praying, and asked them to keep us posted.

When they were finally able to come home, I was out in my flower beds prepping soil. A series of text messages left me with a puddle of tears and one befuddled husband.

The first message told me that they made it home, and they received many compliments on L’s new blanket. My response was complete momma bear mode asking if baby’s health was okay now, and if they think of it sometime, please send a picture of her with the blanket. Within seconds, I had a picture of happy, healthy and sleeping baby wrapped in the blanket stitched with love and prayers. Tears began to well in the corners of my eyes. I told her parents that whenever I make any gift, I pray for the recipient; therefore she was wrapped in many prayers.

A quick whirlwind of text messages cleared my anxiety about baby L’s health, assured me my prayers had been answered, and amazed me with an honor I didn’t see coming.

The closing message was: We love you Grandma and the rest of the family.

Even though our county had been experiencing a drought for some time, that little patch of ground was watered with salty drops, leaving my husband perplexed. I simply handed him the phone, and he whispered, “Wow!”

Not only had one mom loved in selfless ways by allowing me to be “the other mom” at her only son’s wedding, but now two grandmas (moms) were sharing in a way I could have never imagined. Sweet L is the first grandchild of both flesh and blood grandmothers. I know these ladies personally, and both, along with their husbands, raised amazing children who daily live what it means to love others first. There are many other compliments I could give to both J and B, but honestly, that last sentence is the highest praise from my momma heart to theirs.

Here is where the Grammy part came in. L is one lucky little girl. She is blessed with amazing grandmas, who simply adore her! I would never want, nor could I ever achieve, replacing or being in competition with that love. Even though her tiny heart could not physically fill a measuring cup, she has enough room to fit some great-grandmothers, Grandma B, Grandma J, and me – one incredibly humbled and thankful, Grammy!

So yes ma’am! I am a Grammy through God’s love poured out through his Son and lived out in faith by my incredible adopted family!

My baby holding my grandbaby wrapped in a prayed up blankie! B-L-E-S-S-E-D!

My baby holding my grandbaby wrapped in a prayed up blankie! B-L-E-S-S-E-D!

 

 

 

 

The Sisterhood

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As I have shared on this blog before, I have a way of collecting friends.  Recently, someone asked me about my love of moose, and before I answered the question, I blurted out, “Don’t buy me any, I don’t want to dust them”!  The great thing about collecting friends is I never have to dust them.  E.V.E.R. That’s a good thing because I am allergic to dust.  Of course, like most people, I have the inner sanctum of friends,  those girlfriends that know my heart and my struggles, and they love me anyway.  This is partly their story.

I have those friends that I see only once in a while, but I cherish each moment I share with them.  I also have friends whom I have never met.  Some are the modern day version of pen pals, and others are people that I have done business with over the years.

Today’s confession, I mean, story is about one of those friends.  For her sake, she shall be called X.  (For all you math lovers, X is getting some love today.) X is a wonderful woman who over the years I would have called acquaintance until a certain EVENT solidified her place in my Hall of Friends.  Hey! If the Super Friends can have a Hall, so can I!

X is a seamstress – well more precisely – Teddy Bear Maker Supreme.  I am awed and amazed by her work, but more so, humbly grateful.  A friend of a friend told me about her work.  She put her life’s grief into action by epitomizing the verse “He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.” 2 Corinthians 1:4 (NLT)

She makes teddy bears out of the clothes of loved ones who have passed away.  Magically, she transformed our first Christmas without Reed into one where we were able to “hug him” again.  Over the years, I have probably grown into one of her biggest customers and fans.

I loved her work, her gentle nature, and her excellent service, but this past year, I fell in love with her sense of humor.

Brace yourselves, dear readers, because it is confession time up in here.

Normally, I am the buyer of the bears, but last spring, I was simply the middle man.  A dear friend of ours asked me to order a set a bears made from his wife’s wedding dress.  You want me to do what? Does she know about this? Are you crazy?

He said his wife didn’t know as this was to be a surprise.  He relayed how the dress had been in a storage unit they were clearing out and how she said just get rid of it. Okay girls, that might be what she said, but is that really what she meant? 

He gave me his money and gift certificate (purchased at Reed’s Run), and went on his merry way.  How do I get myself into these things??? No way, am I cutting up someone else’s wedding dress without her permission.  What in the world am I going to do about this???

So I didn’t do anything for a long time.  The dress sat in a storage tote in my garage forever.  My friend finally harassed, I mean, asked enough that I broke down and sent it.  I explained to X that there were special circumstances as the family had recently gone through some horrific life events, but the order was for bride and groom bears.

Apparently, X, had the same thoughts as me, because immediately upon arrival I received an e-mail.

Are you sure that they want to cut into this wedding dress? Just checking to make sure, but I really hope they do because I have wanted to make bears out of a wedding gown for a long time. 

I assured her they did.

Later that night, I received perhaps the most embarrassing e-mail of my life.

Just checking in.  Also, within the wedding dress box was an animal print bra…was that to be used also as an accent or just got there by mistake?

As I sat at my computer that spring evening reading this e-mail, I am certain that I showed hues of assorted reds that would rival the hidden fabric stash of any of my quilting friends.  Oh dear Lord, please just take me now.  How do I explain what really happened here?  Accompanied with: So that is where that bra ended up!

One of my best friends always says, “I had on my 18 hour bra, and those 18 hours are up”, and that is my only defense.  I hate dirt – in my house – and as a girl who prides herself in digging in the dirt most every day in the summer; daily I am faced with the colossal decision of how to solve that problem.

My solution is one that I no longer think is ingenious.  Leave a towel hanging in the garage, strip down to what God gave me, and run like crazy to the shower.  That plan had worked real well  . . . until now.  Not to mention that the bra in question is a hand-me-down. There I said it! One in the inner sanctum lost a bunch of weight and passed on her secrets – literally as in Victoria’s – to me.  Only of course, there is a much bigger story there as well.  Maybe I will share that one someday, but right now, how does a sweet little Christian momma end up mailing a va-va-voom bra with a wedding dress to a pseudo stranger?

I finally summoned the courage to respond.  If X didn’t offer a commodity that I adored, I might have just “dropped” off the face of the planet.  I pulled from the last shred of dignity I had and went with humor.

Hey X!  Right about now, I am a hundred shades of embarrassed.  I have no idea on how the bra went travelling.  We’ve been doing a major house cleaning and paring down of clutter.  Is it cheetah print? If so, then it is mine, and the embarrassment meter went through the roof.  Either it slipped into the box or decided it was time to go on a road trip.

Her response a little later in the evening, let me know that she didn’t think I was a total nut.

Yes, it is a black and gray cheetah, thanks for ending my evening with laughter.  I will be sure and send it back with the bears.

This was a good thing because I can live with being thought of as a kook, but I did not want to have to find a new purveyor of custom made bears. Before I went to bed, I sent her back a little message.

X -I am so glad you have a good sense of humor.  Someday I will have to tell you the story of that bra.  When my friend hears this, she is going to crack up because she is a part of the story of my personal mortification on how I came to own the bra.

To tell the truth, I almost peed my pants at the thought of the bra being a part of the accessory packet.

Definitely smiling now

And so it went it.  X made the bears and sent them back to my house as part of the surprise.  I let our friend know they had arrived, but never opened the box.  I felt they were his to open.  The bears sat wrapped in the box waiting for their upcoming anniversary.

The day of the pick-up, I was not at home when our friend arrived.  My husband called and asked me about them.  I explained they were in the box in the living room.  Daniel opened the box, pulled out two bears, and discovered a most mysterious package at the bottom.

Thank the good Lord that he gave my husband a good head on his shoulder.  I could hear the perplexity in his voice when we called me back within minutes.

Hey Kan, we found the bears, but there is something here about a travelling bra? Am I supposed to give that to him too?

I am certain that they could have heard my response in South Dakota.  Oh dear heavens, will this never end? Imagine if he hadn’t called me, and I sent anniversary gift of lingerie to this poor woman – not in her size!

When I returned home later that evening, I found the unusual package in the bottom of the mailing box.

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X solidified her friendship with me by celebrating my ridiculous faux pas – complete with its own label and packaging.

With friends like these . . . life can definitely get interesting!