When my children were little, I knitted them jumpers and cardigans a plenty. The cutest designs that just made me want to hug and cuddle them even more. Certainly I felt a sense of satisfaction, as I kept them warm in something knitted by my own hands.
Then, round about the time they started school, it began to change. It was no longer cool to wear hand knitted clothes. Over the next few years, there was still an underlining desire for me to knit for them, but not to make it obvious. Not in front of friends. Same goes for hand holding. No kissing either. Ruffling hair was acceptable, so long as they could pretend they were just putting up with it.
It’s OK. I knew it would happen.
I got away with knitting hats, mittens and gloves. Somehow, they were acceptable in a way I never quite fathomed. Best not to question. Just go for it.
Then last month, the stars aligned. Maybe a blueish coloured moon was bobbing around too. I don’t know, Continue reading
We sat on her bed, looking at the contents of her wardrobe. After flicking through the rail, I finally agreed with her. All her dresses were not suitable for a near-teen. It didn’t help that since last summer she has stretched. I mean really stretched. Dresses were now tunics and the rest were too young.
More dresses were definitely required. (Music to a mother’s ears, who likes to sew.)
It was a Saturday morning. The fabric shop would be open. Heading downstairs, I selecting a few possible patterns from my collection and let her choose.
Seeing as it’s the summer, I offered to make the Boy a shirt. It’s the one time of the year that I can sew something for him, that isn’t going to spend most of its time hidden under layers of warm clothes. I love sewing for him. He always choses such fun prints for his fabric and has just as much fun wearing them.
I’m a big believer that boy’s clothes don’t have to the boring. When his older sisters were little, I used to feel sorry for the boys’ clothes sections in shops. They always seemed to be full of muddy, green coloured clothes, as if they already anticipated the colour the garments would turn after a day outside on the back of an adventurous boy. What did they think washing machines were for? Also, why the girls weren’t supposed to join in, I really don’t know. Judging by the colours in their clothes sections, their world was brighter and cleaner.
Then the Boy arrived in our lives and I found myself searching out brighter colours. He wore a lot of red and brighter blues. He has his share of darker clothes, but he has a sense of fun, so why shouldn’t his clothes reflect it? Least when I sew, I can add that in. Continue reading