I bought the perfect shoes to wear to my niece’s wedding. They were black leather with an inch and a half kitten heel. Just above the heel was a gold plate that made me glisten when I walked. But I didn’t have a dress, so I made one. I haven’t done any real sewing, not with pins and a pattern since before the boys were born. How can anybody sew with twin babies rolling around on the floor? When they get older, they want to help.
I don’t have that much patience. I picked my own lessons, battles, and conversations as much as possible. I wasn’t always nominated for Mother of the Year. I taught all day. Lines had to be drawn somewhere.
But the dress I put together after all those years since the twins were born was great. It was a basic flowy black linen and rayon dress with a wide scoop neck and three quarter sleeves. A good linen rayon blend is something to behold. It fell and flowed like liquid silver, or at least I thought so. It was heavy, so it draped and swung. The fabric never clung, but moved with gracious mercy over my aging zaftig frame. The dress was understated chic, a little black dress perfect for most any middle class occasion. A middle school English teacher would think it was fancy. I did a good job making it too. Perfect French seams, no loose threads visible, Mom would have found something wrong with it, but that was to be expected. I loved it.
Would you believe, I left it hanging on the back of my bedroom door when I took off for the wedding in North Carolina? I didn’t give it another thought until I was a hundred miles into the three hundred miles of my destination. I packed and left to go to the Wedding of the Century in God’s Great and Glorious Universe without it. It was funny while I told the story to my aunt from the car, a hundred miles from home, and two hundred miles from the wedding venue. The story wasn’t funny at all when I told my sister, Sharon, what I’d done.
Sharon, with nothing on her mind but the blessed event, the ultimate mother’s dream and nightmare rolled into one, went to work to find me an elegant look for the wedding. Bless her she did. Within fifteen minutes of our car call, she’d fixed it. She dug out her 85 year mother-in-law’s blue evening gown, including jewels and a handbag, from ten birthday parties back. I tried to make the borrowed dress look grand, without spanx. I had to draw the line somewhere.
I would hate to have a sister like me. have that much patience. I picked my own lessons, battles, and conversations as much as possible. I was a bad mother sometimes; I taught all day. Lines had to be drawn somewhere.
But the dress I put together after all those years since the twins were born was great. It was a basic flowy black linen and rayon dress with a scoop neck and three quarter sleeves. A good linen rayon blend is something to behold. It fell and flowed like liquid silver, or at least I thought so. It was heavy, so it draped and swung. The fabric never clung, but moved with gracious mercy over my aging zaftig frame. The dress was understated chic, a little black dress perfect for most any middle class occasion. A middle school English teacher would think it was fancy. I did a good job making it too. Perfect French seams, no loose threads visible, Mom would have found something wrong with it, but that was to be expected. I loved it.
Of course, I left it hanging on the back of my bedroom door when I took off for the wedding in North Carolina. I didn’t give it another thought until I was a hundred miles into the three hundred miles of my destination. I packed and left to go to the Wedding of the Century in God’s Great and Glorious Universe without it. It was funny while I told the story to my aunt from the car, a hundred miles from home, and two hundred miles from the wedding venue. The story wasn’t funny at all when I told my sister, Sharon, what I’d done.
Sharon, with nothing on her mind but the blessed event, the event of the universe, the ultimate mother’s dream and nightmare rolled into one, went to work to find me an elegant look for the wedding. Bless her she did. Within fifteen minutes of our car call, she’d fixed it. She dug out her 85 year mother-in-law’s blue evening gown, including jewels and a handbag, from ten birthday parties back. I tried to make the borrowed dress look grand, without spanx. I had to draw the line somewhere.
I would hate to have a sister like me.


Leave a comment