I've been reading far too many sewing blogs. They have turned my head. They have made me believe that, despite having roughly 40 minutes between the time that the children finally stop complaining and the time that I want to be in bed myself, I can transform ALL OF THIS FABRIC into a stylish and bloggable working wardrobe:
Oh yes. Because I have tonnes of time.
I mean, it's not like I have a new, five-days-a-week job (I haven't
worked five days a week for thirteen years. Good grief. I keep waking up
every morning and thinking "What? AGAIN?")
Still. Working one seam at a time, one sleeve per night, I have managed to assemble a single blouse, which immediately fell into the category of Things Which Do Not Quite Suit Me.
a Simplicity pattern. Maybe a New Look. I can't remember. It's in the
other room, and I can't be bothered getting up to look.
wouldn't be finished at all if my mother hadn't taken the children away
for half term. It was an odd half term. Lovely indeed to be able to
just pop out for an delicious Thai dinner with Mr Coffee; strange to
think that my usual routine, of working extra term-time hours in order to be at home for most of the school holidays was over. It's true - the holidays have sometimes almost ended me,
but nostalgia is a cruel thing, selecting memories not of tantrums,
fights and desperation but of pancake breakfasts, craft activities and
days out in the sunshine.
It goes without saying that in
reality, the balance was usually tipped in favour of the former. Memory,
eh? It's like looking at the picture on a sewing pattern packet.
Unreliable; misleading; but still, incredibly pretty. So I'll go on;
amassing as many hours as I can to snatch over summer in order that my
children can shout at me; cutting out fabric and running the risk of making more
shirts which, if I had tried them on in a shop, I might well have put quietly back on the rack.
For where would we be, without hope?