Monday, March 4, 2013

The Dress

.

If it happened during first grade, and I'm pretty sure it did, my mother was yet in her 20's, and it's strange to think of the rapid, woodpecker ratatattat of her Singer, her foot on the brown floor pedal, that other foot--the silver one--gleaming proud of its colored thread under the yellow spotlight in the belly of the machine.

Because I'm 38 and ain't never sewn a thing.

She loved to sew but did it in stolen moments, mostly, and I do recall bugging the snot out of her to please abandon her project and get me a drink, a snack; play me a game; pay attention (in general) to me, I'm dying of boredom.

But she had this way, and still very much does, of managing a person and her woes. Back then, she sent me on missions impossible (I'll bet you can't find such-n-such and bring it to me before I count to three thousand!) to get me out of her hair, and I reckon it was a sad day when, all atiptoe, I startled her into resuming the counting she'd done only when I'd been within earshot.

She'd been busted (her great game ended), but even after, she never yelled. She chased me around the house with a cake turner every now and again, but she always ended up laughing too hard to actually spank me.

She's sewn me a hundred dresses, but the Strawberry Shortcake one, in particular, comes to mind. I loved the character second only to Blueberry Muffin and picked out the fabric myself. I could hardly wait to wear the dress, and I really tried, for once, to leave my poor mother in peace, hunched with her creation over her machine.

The day at last came, and I stepped proud as punch onto that yellow school bus wearing my Strawberry Shortcake dress, white tights, scuffed Buster Brown shoes, and pink ribbons in my ponies.

And other kids made fun of my "babyish" dress all day long so that--by the time my mother swung wide the door, that afternoon--my eyes were red-rimmed, my nose dripping. I can recall as though it were yesterday her crouching and folding me in, asking: "What's wrong?"

I remember sobbing into her shoulder and blubbering about the other kids, and then? her saying: "My goodness. What were they thinking? Well, let's just take this dress off and hang it in the closet. You don't have to wear it. ever. again. Come on; let's change clothes and get a snack."

And there are so many things to do today, on this day, in this time and place. I haven't showered; the house is as if a bomb went off (yet again); the small group will be here at 6:30 (I really should bake cookies!); and I'm likely to be up until midnight helping Cade finish his science-fair display. But nothing feels more important to me, in this rare moment of quiet, than to say:

This is not a Dolly-Parton-coat-of-many-colors story. I never wore that dress, again. But I've saved it all these years in hopes that, someday, I'd have a daughter stronger than I was, then. Or that, someday, I'd be a fraction of the mother mine was while yet in her 20's.

**writing in community with Tanya and friends

14 comments:

  1. I loved almost all the clothes my mom and grandma made me. That's just too bad that the other children spoiled your joy in wearing the dress love stitched for you. We are unkind to one another, aren't we? I hope one of your daughters can enjoy it yet. It's adorable.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Oh, Brandee, children can be so rude! I think it was a beautiful dress, but the fashion scene at the moment does not really allow for these Victorian style dresses! I am so glad at the good memories you have of your mom sewing for you. Over via Tanya's.
    Have a blessed week and much love
    Mia

    ReplyDelete
  3. Oh, I really loved this post. I had a sewing mama, too.

    ReplyDelete
  4. All the expectation in the dress and then the crashing low when it went wrong, beautifully told. Glad you have good memories & I had a sewing mum too!
    Over from Tanya's

    ReplyDelete
  5. What a beautiful tribute to your mother. Moving!

    ReplyDelete
  6. So many of the things you write resonate w/ me because I feel myself nodding and saying, "Me, too!" My mom was/is a seamstress, and I have tried (barely) and just can't do it. She used to make all my holiday clothes and really a great deal of every day clothes for me, too. There was my favorite Easter dress with puffed sleeves that I loved - and I wore it to class picture day in 2nd grade and Katie A. yelled out "Holy Cow!" when I took off my coat. I was mortified. Crushed.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you for being kindred and saying so, Amanda.

      Delete
  7. your hopes were dashed, yet your momma's loving and gentle words...beyond amazing. the mercy and grace she gave you. WOW.
    i am using this as a challenge to show more mercy.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you for grasping where the meaning lies for me, in this story. That dress was her creation; she'd put so much time and effort into it just to hang it in the closet forever! The challenge, for me, is the same: to see my children as the most important of my creations...to be gentle w/ their spirits.

      Delete
  8. You have me in tears AGAIN this week. There's something so painful-beautiful about your mother's love for you. And that so many good things end up being sacrificed to ravenous jaws of the crowd.

    I love that dress - strawberry shortcake is exactly the right name. Thanks so much for linking up and for sharing this gem of a story.

    ReplyDelete
  9. I'm in love with this post and your mother sounds amazing! I love her reaction - to hang the dress back up, get changed, etc. Never mind her hard work, just maternal and protecting her baby girl :-) An inspiration - as are you! x

    ReplyDelete
  10. smiles...i love that your mother was so understanding...and that she sewed as well...my mom did and i remember well sitting beneath the singer when she did...

    ReplyDelete
  11. Golden (or should that be strawberry?) memories. How I felt for you in feeling like you were in the wrong clothes. That bit made me want to cry for you. What a lovely, understanding mother to fold you in her arms and hang the offending garment out of sight, without a word of reproach for all her efforts being wasted. It made me smile to think of how many mothers have wielded trusty Singer machines as a labour of love for their offspring. So pleased you kept the dress!

    ReplyDelete
  12. oh dear! that makes me feel sad for you and your mom.. and reminds me of the book The Christmas Sweater, our book club read.

    ReplyDelete