I was up until 1:30 am last night, then back at it at 6:00 this morning, feverishly sewing a Roman centurion costume for a school performance I only found out about 2 days ago. It’s a familiar story for most parents of school-age children, right? The cupcakes for the bake sale you’re told about at 7 am the day they’re due, the week-late forms found crumpled in the bottom of the backpack, coated in sticky remnants of snacks gone by. But you know what? It was so much fun! For once, we managed to get everything done on time, no one was crabby or overly critical or demanding. We scrounged up the components from stuff we already had around the house—a never-used, never-will-be-because-it’s-way-too-ugly-ugh-what-was-she-thinking-when-she-bought-me-that? belt; the handle from an old broom for the sword, with cardboard sword tip painted silver; sword’s sheath sewn with leather scraps leftover from a deconstructed coat.
As much as I love the precision of sewing, constructing an item with care and time, as much satisfaction as I get from (the rare instance of) sewing a perfect quarter-inch seam, nothing—I mean, nothing—comes close to the satisfaction of using my skills to make a slap-dash, better-than-it-should-have-been costume in a few hectic hours, sending the kid off to school with a hug and a grin, knowing that his unreasonable confidence that “My Mom can make that!” is, at least this time, true.