I don't really know where this came from; my mother-in-law just made her
so it's not like Kate's wanting for dresses or that anything I can make can compare to what she can make.
Nevertheless. I found a pattern and fabric. Kate vetoed the first two fabrics I picked but OK'd the third.
I worked all day Saturday while Craig was at work and my children watched videos from the library. I followed the wrong directions for a few steps and had to recut all the pieces for the yoke. Saturday night I went to bed with it looking like this:
I hemmed it and finished some of the inside edges on Sunday. Kate did try it on but then tonight told me she won't wear it. When I first took out the fabric at home, she told me she was going to "fart, pee, and [series of nonsense syllables here]" on her dress. So you may not ever actually see her in it.
My neighbor mentioned that maybe that was Kate's way of telling me she didn't like the fabric (she has distance enough from the situations I tell her about and experience with a toddler girl [her daughter is Sam's age] that she usually comes up with great observations and insights for me).
So what does this have to do with BJU, you ask? My sophomore year (when I should have been taking American History), I took a sewing class. I think I thought it would be easy and I was going to design my own stuff and whip it up . . . it was not easy.
I had a really prissy teacher, a RA or whatever they're called. A graduate student teaching. GA - graduate assistant is what they're called there. I asked her why my machine was sewing such a crazy line - not straight, wandering all over the place . . . and she didn't really know. And then she figured out that I didn't have my presser foot down. And she giggled.
I hated her, naturally, because she super-Jonesy and she laughed instead of starting me from the beginning.
We had four projects: a shirt, a skirt, a dress and a t-shirt.
The shirt fabric I chose had a tiny green leaf pattern on a cream background. With brass-tone buttons. It was ugly. I think I tried to give it to my mom.
The skirt was cream wool gabardine, a fabric name I thought sounded cool. It didn't turn out so great. My sister actually wore it for years. I thought I would make a "kick pleat" (a pleat rather than a slit) but it was too tight around the bottom for a normal stride so she just let a slit rip into it.
The dress I made from black wool and did a decorative little tone-on-tone stitching around the arm holes. It was a shift shape, with long sleeves. It actually wasn't that bad of a pattern. I wore it myself for a long time. But I cut the fabric wrong (this is where I thought it would be easy to alter things and make things cool) and it was too short. For BJ purposes. But I wore it anyway and when someone mentioned it was too short (and someone always did) I would say, "I made it in sewing." Implying that it couldn't be too short if I made it in a BJ class, right?
Eventually, someone (Miss Oliveri, a dorm supervisor, probably) told me regardless of where I made it, it didn't check and I couldn't wear it. It just brushed the tops of my knees.
And the t-shirt. Plain gray. I wore it for awhile, I'm sure.
As I was cutting and basting and pressing and re-cutting, I thought about that class. I thought that I was going to learn the basics and then start designing my own stuff. Yeah. I added it up. I took that class at least 15 years ago.
I wonder where priss-face presser foot girl is.