That’s it! I felt hot determination creep up my back. I remember Emily sharing on a blog post a few months ago how she makes pajamas for all five of her children. I’d probably learn Mandarin Chinese before I could learn to operate a sewing machine, but this dress was right up my alley.
I ran to the linen closet and found the perfect pillowcase. It was part of a bedroom set I’d purchased months ago for the guest room we’d surely have one day. The off-white satin pillowcase was decorated with little purple, pink and yellow flowers. It would make the perfect dress. I found a roll of ribbon in the garage in the Christmas supplies box.
I sat on the living room floor, hunched over the pillowcase, with the ribbon, scissors, and a needle and thread.
All I had to do was lay the pillowcase flat, cut out the head and armholes and hem them (my stiches were a little shaky but you could barely make them out and they were more rustic that way). Then I threaded the ribbon through the armhole hem. The ribbons served as the straps, ensuring a custom fit every time.
This dress will really grow with her, I thought, as I held it up, impressed with my work. It was a bit big...maybe I should have used a smaller pillowcase, but it was so pretty. Who knew, I might just be the new face of baby clothing design. Okay, maybe that’s a bit of a stretch, but I’d just successfully made a piece of clothing for Aubrey and I felt great about it.
I could barely wait until Aubrey woke up, and when she finally did, we did a small (big) photo shoot. I must have uploaded twelve photos of her in the dress from all angles to Facebook. Then we were off to the park. I had to show her dress off to the world!
5 P.M.
I hate crafts. I was walking on air over the amazing dress I’d handcrafted for Aubrey for about ten minutes. That’s when, with Aubrey sitting innocently on my lap—maybe I was showing her off a little—a mom in shorts and a pink tank top pushed her jogging stroller next to me and sat down. I thought she was going to ask me where I got Aubrey’s fabulous dress, and had already prepared the look of surprise and gesture I’d make (my hand to my neck) as I said, “Oh, this is just something I made this morning!” But the words out of her mouth were, “I want to bless you today.”
At first I was confused. Bless me?
“Bless me?”
She put a hand on my hand and leaned in. “Yes, honey. We all go through hard times. You know, my youngest daughter just turned two and I have a bag of clothes at home that I think will fit your little one just right until you get back on your feet.”
I was speechless. I literally could not speak. I tried, but all that escaped my mouth was a weird honking cough. She kept talking.
“No, no, it’s fine. You just give me a call and tell me where to drop it off and I’ll come to you. I’d love to bring you and your daughter dinner, as well.”
She then put a piece of folded paper with her number on it in my hand and walked away, to spare me some dignity, perhaps.
Apparently, my pillowcase dress is so terrible people think I’m struggling to clothe my child. I wonder if this happed to Maria in The Sound of Music when she made the children playclothes out of the curtains.
I could barely move for ten minutes I was so embarrassed. Aubrey did not look that bad. I mean, okay maybe the stitching was a little crooked, but that gave the dress character. I suppose I did make the armholes a little big. And the ribbon was slightly frayed.
And then I finally came to my senses. Who was I kidding? She looked like a cross between The Real Housewives of New Jersey and Oliver Twist.
Then I remembered. FACEBOOK. I had shared photos.
I pulled out my phone and saw that I had twenty-five notifications. Twenty. Five.
The comments.
Joy: Ashley, is this a Halloween costume? Baby calf? I don’t get it.
Mom: Very cute...this is an indoor outfit I’m assuming?
David: LOVE IT! (He types in all caps when he’s lying.)
Amelia Davis (high school frenemy): Wow.
I didn’t read the rest. I just deleted the photos and hoped that I’d somehow erased them from everyone’s minds at the same time.
I’ve learned my lesson. Level II crafts are not for me. I need to stay in the shallow end of this pool. I aimed too high. Wish I had more of those truffles.
Dear Pinterest,
When we first started dating, you lured me in with Skittles-flavored vodka and Oreo-filled chocolate chip cookies. You wooed me with cheesy casseroles adjacent to motivational fitness sayings. I loved your inventiveness: Who knew cookies needed a sugary butter dip?
You did. You knew, Pinterest. You inspired me, not to make stuff, but to think about one day possibly making stuff if I have time. You took the cake batter, rainbow and bacon trends to levels nobody thought were possible. You made me hungry. The nights I spent pinning and eating nachos were some of the best nights of my life.
Pinterest, we can’t see each other anymore. You see, it’s recently come to my attention that some people aren’t just pinning, they are making. This makes me want to make, too. Unfortunately, I’m not good at making, and deep down I like buying way more. Do you see where I’m going with this? I’m starting to feel bad, Pinterest. I don’t enjoy you the way I once did.
We need to take a break. I’m going to miss your crazy ideas (rolls made with 7Up? Shut your mouth). This isn’t going to be easy. You’ve been responsible for nearly every 2 a.m. grilled cheese binge I’ve had for the past couple of years, and for that I’ll be eternally grateful.
Stay cool, Pinterest.
PS. You hurt me.
PPS. I’m also poor now.
Xo
Me
10 P.M.
On the plus side, David made it back from work before dinner tonight. He came home with a bouquet of red roses for me. If I hadn’t been so exhausted I would have made it worth his while.
Watching him walk through the door with flowers was like watching a unicorn jump over a leprechaun—the stuff of fantasies.
I made the Frito Casserole and he devoured two-thirds of it himself. There weren’t even leftovers for him to take to work. I’m ashamed to admit that I felt jealous. He’d never eaten anything I’d made like that.
Then, of course, he tried to get frisky as soon as Aubrey fell asleep. I’m no prude, but it’s hard to jump into bed with someone you’ve barely spoken a paragraph to over the past few weeks. He’s just been so busy... I mean, okay, he bought some roses before he came home. But I need actual romance, I need ulterior motive–free seduction. I tried explaining to him that it was impossible for me to get in the mood after two seconds of kissing and while he said, “It’s fine,” before rolling over and going to sleep, I felt bad. Maybe I should have tried harder.
Note to self: Craft yourself a libido.