Ah, Stella. Please oh please for the love of glob don’t let her turn into a princess. While it’s been building for a while, my daughter has definitely reached the point in her development where she feels she is more qualified than her parents to select her wardrobe including accessories. While I certainly will not claim to be the most fashion-forward mom in the world – I’m totally lacking the famed “accessory gene”- I usually do ok dressing my children. The clothing I have chosen and purchased for them is cute (affordable!) and shows individuality. Furthermore, I use these things called “logic” and “experience” when selecting appropriate clothing for the day. I do things such as, say, check the weather or think about the day’s itinerary. You’d feel rather overdressed if you wore a coat to a sprinkler party.
And as a mother, I’m aware of such things called “perverts.” Once upon a time, the story of Jon-Benet Ramsey was something on the pages of the supermarket tabloid. Now that I have a pretty little girl of my own? Horror show. Straight up. Of course, I’m smart enough not to tart up my kid and put her on a stage to be devoured like a can of spaghetti by the first murder victim in Se7en.
Moving on, I’m trying to learn to sew. I’ve mastered sewing squares and rectangles, although I request that no one take a ruler to my seams. They ain’t straight. I went to the fabric store a week ago and bought 3 different flavors of tulle. I figured if all my kid wants to wear is that wretched dress up costume I bought for a Xmas card shot over a year ago, I might try to recreate it so it’s not so obnoxious and short (and dirty, since it’s so cheap any attempt at laundering would transform it into a blog of nylon, cheap satin, and tulle shrapnel). She looks like a pole-dancer in training, the skirt is so short. Also, the bodice is so little that it’s more of a cummerbund, providing no boobie coverage at all. Yes, I know my little girl has no boobies, but she will one day so we might as well start fostering some kind of awareness – not about boobies (or lack thereof) but of that part of the body being habitually covered when out in front of other people.
So sewing. I have no patience. Rather, I do, but I exhaust it all on my children and husband. In my mind, I should be able to visualize what I want to make, just cut out some fabric, and stitch it together. Turns out, there’s more to it than that. You have to measure, think about finishing, IRON STUFF (think of every nasty word you can think of, think of all of those words translated to every language on the globe, and you will just begin to understand my hatred for ironing). But I know I can do it.
Since dresses are currently all the rage now and are the only acceptable garments to leave the house in since she can’t wear the stupid costume out, I’ve been trying to craft some dresses. I’ve made a couple by stitching skirts on existing tops. Those didn’t turn out half bad. I even put a couple of layers of tulle on one. They’re not perfect, but serviceable. My latest project didn’t turn out so hot.
Given Stella’s absolute love and adoration for Mo Willems’ pigeon books, I actually found pigeon fabric – like 4 different designs. I special ordered this stuff, determined that my girl would have the only pigeon pillowcase dress (es) in all of Louisiana. The fabric came, I studied some of her existing garments and began.
I F’ed up immediately. I cut the fabric upside down. So, it became a pillowcase shirt rather than a dress. No matter. I pressed on, figuring stuff out as I went. I found this amazing stuff called “bias tape” (seamstresses everywhere are laughing at me, or cursing in disgust) to finish arm holes and hems with. When I finally finished, it was, in fact, a garment. Just not a cute one. My finishing skills need some serious work. Still, I have 2 other pigeon fabrics to try (plus more of the first kind), so I will continue. I also need to conquer my fear of elastic.
Stella loved it, despite its faults. It looked rad with a red tutu.
The girlie thing isn’t all bad. Just last night I noticed that her fingernails and toenails were long enough that I would fear for my life during the night of a full moon. Back in the day, cutting would be awful, taking several days to actually manage to clip them all. Now? Bribery with “sparkly stuff.” She will sit and let me cut for an hour straight as long as she gets glitterized after.