The saga of the Spiderman pants
I have a sewing machine. I BEGGED for one for Mother's Day a few years ago. I got it. I have sewn probably a dozen and a half things since that fine Mother's Day. One year, I even made the kids' Hween costumes. Dorothy was it, actually. The rest was either store-bought or fenagled to make the rest of the crew.
Said sewing machine has also given me a lot of heartache over the years. On more than once occasion, I have cussed it out, saving only the best of expletives to hurl at its plastic housing unit, cursing out the masterminds behind the Singer name.
When I was growing up, my Mother put my sister and I both in 4H. Good little program, actually. Being six years younger than my sister served itself well except in the 4H project department. My Mother, who took her time teaching my sister how to make things like skirts with zippers and blouses with ruffles and darts, did not take that time to teach me. I was given my 4H book, a hamster, and a glass aqarium. So while my sister was learning how to make lovely garments, I was changing the cedar chips out of my hamter's cage, watering and feeding him, and watching him roll down the stairs of my house in his plastic exercise ball.
So you can well imagine that my sewing skills rank right up there with Martha Stewart's dog. I could not understand why my thread was continuously breaking. I could not understand what that loud "thunk" was when I was sewing something. But the Findlay Sewing Center knew exactly what it was, said it wasn't really an operator error issue, but said to my husband "but tell her to stop playing with the tension so much." Well, THAT I can blame on my Mother for not properly instructing me about sewing machines.
Fast forward to yesterday when I decided to make Evan a pair of Spiderman pajama pants. I whipped them out in under an hour. I was pretty proud of myself. Evan was very proud of the pants. He wore them last night to dinner with Nana and PawPaw. Then to bed. Then to school. With his non-matching, very busy Spiderman camp shirt. He was the talk of the preschool, I am sure.
Said sewing machine has also given me a lot of heartache over the years. On more than once occasion, I have cussed it out, saving only the best of expletives to hurl at its plastic housing unit, cursing out the masterminds behind the Singer name.
When I was growing up, my Mother put my sister and I both in 4H. Good little program, actually. Being six years younger than my sister served itself well except in the 4H project department. My Mother, who took her time teaching my sister how to make things like skirts with zippers and blouses with ruffles and darts, did not take that time to teach me. I was given my 4H book, a hamster, and a glass aqarium. So while my sister was learning how to make lovely garments, I was changing the cedar chips out of my hamter's cage, watering and feeding him, and watching him roll down the stairs of my house in his plastic exercise ball.
So you can well imagine that my sewing skills rank right up there with Martha Stewart's dog. I could not understand why my thread was continuously breaking. I could not understand what that loud "thunk" was when I was sewing something. But the Findlay Sewing Center knew exactly what it was, said it wasn't really an operator error issue, but said to my husband "but tell her to stop playing with the tension so much." Well, THAT I can blame on my Mother for not properly instructing me about sewing machines.
Fast forward to yesterday when I decided to make Evan a pair of Spiderman pajama pants. I whipped them out in under an hour. I was pretty proud of myself. Evan was very proud of the pants. He wore them last night to dinner with Nana and PawPaw. Then to bed. Then to school. With his non-matching, very busy Spiderman camp shirt. He was the talk of the preschool, I am sure.
posted by mom2pittcrew at 11/14/2005 01:55:00 PM
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