I can't sew. Sew what?

Throughout my childhood I was never far from a sewing machine. We had a sewing machine at home, one of those old-fashioned sewing machines: a sturdy, black iron thing, with a foot pedal to turn the wheel. Later on, my mom bought an electric pedal and attached it to the sewing machine so it whizzed rather than clickety-clacked, but I always preferred the slow, steady rhythm of the foot pedal. Until I was about nine or ten, most of my clothes (school uniforms, dresses, blouses) were sewn at home, either by my mother or a seamstress she hired.

None of that sewing rubbed off me. My sister takes after my mother; she could always make the smallest, neatest stitches. I, on the other hand, did messy, clumsy stitches. I don't know if I was less coordinated or had less patience, but I could never really work a sewing machine (or hand-sew, for that matter) like they did. My seams were never straight or even, and don't even get me started on the buttonholes! I managed to make a simple sleeveless blouse and skirt in my senior high school year, and when The Pea was born I sort-of-stitched together a crude quilt, but that is the extent of my sewing career. I do have a sewing machine buried somewhere in my garage; it belonged to my sister, who gave it to me when she moved back to the Philippines.

Now The Pea wants me to dig it out. She's learning how to use a sewing machine at camp, and her mind is exploding with ideas and sewing projects she wants to complete. Stuffed animals, scarves, dresses.... Uh-oh. Maybe I should dig out my old high-school blouse and skirt instead, to show her exactly how much I can help her with this. The dress she is making at camp already looks better than mine did.

This is definitely not a case of like mother, like daughter, and for that I am thankful. More power to you, kid.


Check out what The Pea has been stitching together at Galileo Summer Quest on Bonggamom Finds.