Scraps from my Childhood

I got my creativity from my mother, don't tell her. She'd want it back.

As a kid, she was always doing something with needles. She would sit on the couch with the soaps on, or Oprah, and cross-stitch. I can't recall any specific projects, just aida and floss.

"Shhh, I'm counting," she would say.

She would sequester herself in her sewing room, little more than a glorified closet, and sew. She had an eye for color and would piece quilts on her machine. I would get dizzy from her speed, and the whirls of color. She would quilt them by hand, then embroider her name and date on them when they were complete. She would sew doll clothes with the scraps.

"For the craft sale," she said.

She did some alterations for her friends, taking in and letting out. She made a few cheerleader outfits, too.

She made clothes for me, too, but that was when I was little, so I don't remember. I have baby quilts for everyday of the week, because my mom is a gram'ma now, but that's it. I don't think I have a thing she has made that I could call my own.

I got my creativity from my mother, but, please, don't tell her. She'd want it back.