Ease into motherhood: Find Your Voice

 

  
Ease In to Motherhood is a sewists’ celebration of motherhood and the changes it brings to our lives. During the month of July, we invite you to share your experiences of the physical and mental changes of pregnancy, childbirth and/or any other way a child comes to your life. We invite you to share how you embrace yourself throughout motherhood, to appreciate all the physical and mental energy it takes, to accept and love the changes in your body, your mind and your life. We invite you to share how you still dedicate time to care for yourself. We invite you to share how sewing is a part of your life through the journey.

(A discussion opened and hosted by Erin, Jodi and Montserratt).

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OK so I know it's a nice little play on sewing words, but I must admit that my very first thought was: um, ease into motherhood? HAHAHAHAHAHA. CRASH, more like it!

Or was that just me?

Two pics of each - I most definitely do not have four children

The thing was, though, I loved having tiny babies. I know for some (most?) people, the early months of constant feeding, nappy-changing and interrupted sleep are a tortuous experience which improves dramatically as the child gets bigger. But I found the newborn phase relatively easy - breastfeeding went fine, the first child was a good sleeper, and while the second wasn't, I was enjoying myself so much that I breezed through his first six months fuelled on a mix of euphoria and strong coffee.  Perhaps that's why the crash, when it came, was all the harder.  I'd thought I was doing just fine. And no, I didn't much like the weaning and toddling, but this too was a phase they'd grow into and then out of. I didn't think I had anything much to worry about.

I stopped breastfeeding my son (the second of the two) quite suddenly when he was six months old. I had been enjoying pottering along on maternity leave and sort of forgot I was going back to work, and would therefore need to getting him drinking out of bottles for his time in daycare, until the week before. He took to it immediately, and the physical relief of not feeding him myself every two hours was so huge that within that week I transitioned him to being entirely bottle fed. Feeding issues for creche: sorted. Me: liberated. I hardly gave it a second thought.

I should have. Eight years later, I am now quite firmly convinced (on no scientific basis whatsoever I must add) that that sudden hormonal, physical and emotional change was what flipped the switch in my brain somewhere and kicked off my journey into depression. I've talked about that experience here, and luckily, not much has changed since then (the meds and mindfulness do their job!) What I do have now, though, that I didn't fully realise at that time, is an awareness of just how much my struggle with depression and anxiety is and has been a struggle with the fact that I am a mother.

That's a hard thing to face. I'm not even sure I could say why it is (I could offer a few theories, but they're probably best kept for the therapist). But it recurs over, and over, and over again - almost any anxiety or stress I experience, however it presents itself to begin with, only gets resolved when I trace it back to the same question: who am I? I'm a mother. And what kind of mother am I? And what else am I? And who are these children, and how do we grow together? And that's where the process of working it out, picking myself up again, starts.

Left: bought the fabric without thinking of the ironing those sodding ruffles would need.
Centre: towels + bias tape. Seemed like a good idea at the time. Worn once only.
Right: the first trousers I ever made. A rare early success!

So, motherhood and sewing. Well, I completely agree with everything Vicki wrote here about Getting Yourself A Thing. Obviously, sewing is my Thing too, and I'm very glad I found it. Also my Things are blogging, and instagramming, and twitting (less frequently these days) about sewing.  Being able to communicate with others about the Thing does me a power of good! And if I have anything to say to other parents reading this, I suppose it's on that. Find Your Thing, yes, but also:  Find Your Voice.

I had another blog before I started this one. It only lasted a few months before I shut it down, and the reason I did that wasn't because no-one read it (though they didn't) but because it wasn't my voice that was coming out.  Instead, it was the voice of someone who thought that blogging about sewing was somehow the same thing as blogging about your children, and about sewing and crafting for them and with them. You see, there were so many wonderful sewing sites and tutorials out there - Dana, Sew Mama Sew, to name just two - and I simply didn't know where the not-mummy things were. In my real voice, now, I can tell you this: I hate crafting with children. I'm SO glad mine are big enough now to do their own crafts without very much parental input. But back then, when they were small, that blog started like this...

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Wednesday, February 9, 2011
First post

This is my idea of a good time: at home pottering about and making a merry old mess. Them: toys, crayons and books. Me: pins, needle and thread.

I learned to sew with my mum and at a rather traditional girls’ school where I and 5 others took GCSE textiles. In my rose-tinted memory the class was a twice-weekly haven of calm, creativity and gossip; my mum mainly remembers the enormous practical coursework burden and desperate all-nighters trying to finish the projects.  These were clearly enough to put me off, because I hardly sewed anything for the next 15 years or so.

And then last summer I got my stitching mojo back. I rediscovered my sewing machine (a secondhand 1970s model that cost 20 pounds and weighs about the same), experimented with some easy dresses, and then threw myself into making Christmas presents for my friends. Since September I’ve spent more lunchbreaks than I care to admit on fabric porn*.

Even at its most frustrating, sewing is total occupational therapy. It’s absorbing and it's liberating, keeping my hands busy and clearing my head. I find myself actually thinking about things again (with two toddlers and a full time job, it's been a while since I did that).  So this blog is mainly about keeping a record of the things I’ve made - but it’s also about getting myself to keep sewing and thinking. Because another thing I really enjoy but don’t do any more is writing.

The idea is that making stuff and writing about it keeps me more or less sane...

* i.e., wandering around fabric shops, stroking things and trying not to drool.

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It's clearly me in that post, and I still hold to most of it. But you know what? In reality, I hate mess. And nice though it was to sew in the middle of family life, generally I find it even nicer to sew in my own room, preferably with the door shut and an audiobook on. In that post, the kids get mentioned first, then I appear briefly before moving on to my own mother, who pops up straight away in the second paragraph (analyse that...). That idea I had about "keeping myself sane" - I suspect what I meant was "keeping" (or rather, "making") myself the kind of mum who blogs lovely things about her children on the internet. It is me in that post - but it also really, really isn't.

The only kind of parent any of us can be is an authentic one.  Nobody else can parent your kids the way you do (and that's a good thing!); no-one else can speak to your experience.  You might be the parent, like me, whose only choice is to embrace the fact that motherhood and identity are sands constantly shifting beneath your feet. That's ok. We're ok. Our kids are ok. It's who we are. The only stories we can tell are our own; and we are the only ones who can tell them.

You just need to Find Your Voice.

(It's the one that's been there all along).

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White, grey, all the colours

WHITE: this box, its contents, and snow.

Me and daughter went to buy the box and its contents on a day when the city was covered in dirty slush. She spent the whole time wishing she lived in the countryside where the cold is prettier, much to the chagrin of me and her dad - we both escaped from rustic tedium as soon as we could, but does she appreciate the bright lights of the big smoke? Does she crap. Ah, the circle of generational resistance! She also filled my phone with random pictures in and from the shop. This view of the car park is the only one in focus.

The box and its contents cost almost 1400 euros. Well, I suppose the box was free. The contents are for my sister's wedding dress. Am I insane? Yes, probably. I have until 6 May.  A mock up has been done, and I only have about 4 pages of adjustments to make before the next one.

Good thing I asked for a whole bunch of tailoring and couture-appropriate sewing supplies for Christmas, really.  Here's hoping it all makes the wedding dress sewing a total breeze. That's likely, right?

GREY: January, my mood, some yarn.

The above was a grey afternoon earlier this month when I cut out an admittedly not-grey dress (an Elisalex, should you be interested) which I am now wearing, as I write. That fabric combined with my blue cardigan makes me feel a little like I'm in school uniform, which is not exactly lifting my spirits.You can hear the grey mood, can't you? I've basically been a total misanthrope for the last two months, December's final week of food, booze and chocolate excepted. I expect I'll cheer up soon. But it probably explains my growing addiction to Noro yarn.

The trick with Noro yarn is to always buy it on sale. Although unless you are very strong willed you will cancel out the savings by buying so much of it your cupboard is overflowing with the brightly-coloured nubbly stuff and you have no idea what you will do with it all.

I am not very strong willed.

For balance, I have combined this radiant rainbow of a skein - so the scarf is at least semi-sophisticated - with a contrasting solid colour. Yes, more grey.

But, see this next knitted thing: ALL THE COLOURS!

Yes, I do already have a (not-combined-with-grey) Noro scarf thing. Which is just as well, because above-mentioned daughter has already claimed the new one for when its done.

I like how the fringe on this one makes me feel like a hippy.

In other news, I have been investigating (i.e. buying supplies for) cross stitch. Because I need a new hobby like I need a hole in the head. But hey, variety is the spice of life - and totally not a "I'm scared of sewing a wedding dress" distraction!

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I think I might be here more frequently, maybe, from now on. But less, well, I don't know - I might ramble and there might be less crafts. It's time... time to let some of the writing out...

I hope you are well, dear friends! Belated happy 2017! What are you working on to start your year?

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Dress like yourself

Just what is personal style?

It's probably inevitable to end up asking yourself that question during Me Made May, isn't it? This was the first year I've taken part wholeheartedly - i.e. without getting bored and giving up half way through - and with more or less daily outfit photos. It's a funny thing, to put those pictures out there (out here) and see yourself through the eyes (or likes, or comments) of others for a change. Funny because that's what we do every day - put ourselves out there, in our outfits. And like it or not, that's the person that others see.

They see if we're wearing a trend. They see shapes, colours and a level of over- or understatement (perhaps carefully constructed, perhaps not).  I think it's usually fairly clear to see whether we like what we're wearing, whether we feel comfortable. Maybe they see an image we're trying to project, consciously or unconsciously, even when that projection is the one saying: I'm not projecting anything, thank you.  Those who know us well might be able to tell what kind of day we're having.

I struggle a bit with this. That on some level, "personal style" can only be perceived through the eyes and, well, the judgements, of others.  I want to be able to say: personal style is about self-expression, regardless of what anyone else thinks. That those who look really great in their clothes are those who care least what others think of them. These things are true, surely.  It's just that - I'm not at all sure what it means when I say: I simply want to feel and look good. Good how? Good to who? Is it really even possible, or indeed important, for my only judge to be myself?

I don't know.

The only thing I do know is that finding a personal style which works for me has been a lifelong battle and that finally, at the grand old age of nearly-38, it's a battle I now seem to be winning. 

Cue another series of soul-searching questions...

 

... am I winning because I'm older and I give less shits? Because the sense of self that was so thoroughly purged by early motherhood has now risen from the ashes, stronger than before? Or will I hit my mid-forties and find myself wondering, again, how to adapt to a stage of life that seems to bring so many internalised preconceptions and ideas?

Is it because, nearly 40 years into dressing myself, I've finally worked out what I like to wear and what I don't?  Is it because of sewing - that I know what I want, and can make it work?

Or is it because the online sewing community has turned out to be an unexpectedly uplifting place to publicly post photos of oneself - to, essentially, invite the judgements of others, and for those judgements to be ever kind, positive and empowering?

Again, I don't know.

The fact is, Me Made May is a brilliant opportunity for some collective, positive exploration of personal style.  That I feel slightly awkward at my 'best' handmade outfits getting more likes than others, is more than offset by the overwhelming joy I find in other people's #MMMay selfies. If I'd had the time, there would have been likes for every. single. one.

When I put these collages together, I was thinking to analyse a little the outfits that really worked, and those that didn't so much.  The drape drape tops above, one t-shirt weight and one sweater, turned out to be immediate favourites. My Linden sweatshirts, below, paired with various skirt/dress options, were also super easy to wear. Far and away the most-repeated item of the month was my Turia dungarees, which was unexpected, but it seems I love the bib neckline and the fact that they have no waist (err, duh). There may well be more.

Call it coincidence - but of course, I'm pretty sure it isn't - the pictures in these three last collages of the "hits" are also those that proved the most popular when I posted them on instagram.

And I'm left wondering: were these my favourite outfits before other people said they were that good?

And yet again: does it really matter?

As an aside, another thing I find intriguing is that these are among my most recent makes.  Are sewists drawn in disproportionately by the new and shiny, I wonder? Is that inherent in the fact that, one way or another, we're all making our own fashion - and that's just what fashion does?

Well, I'm not attempting to answer any of these questions. In fact, I'm going to go all postmodern and say that I think the questions probably are the answers. (I love that that kind of evasion was basically how I ended up getting a decent degree, haha! Gotta love the humanities!)

If you're interested in thinking more about this kind of thing, I highly recommend reading through the intelligent and perceptive discussions going on in the comments of Karen's recent post on her Merchant & Mills Factory dress.  There is a wealth of food for thought there, about dressing for and through the transitional stages and ages of life.

Now, I want you to tell me: what's your take on personal style - can such a thing exist without being filtered through others' eyes?  Does that matter to you, or not?

And, surely I'm not alone in this: are you too perpetually curious about the age of other sewcialists??? I find it impossible to tell - some of you are spring chickens barely into your twenties, others of us bear the weight of many years! I always think of 'us' as being all the same, indeterminate age, but of course we can't be.

GO ON... I told you mine, now tell me yours: how old are you?! :-)

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2014 / 2015

I think that sometimes, if a thing is left unsaid long enough, it starts to get in the way of anything else being said.

Maybe you know what I mean (maybe you don't).

Another way of putting it is: I haven't been posting so much recently because I've been having trouble looking my own photo in the face (and duh those photos are usually the point!)  Call me naive and maybe sentimental, but I've always liked to think of this online space as an honest one. I know no-one is here to read about the details of my life - but sometimes those details are important, and the reality of what I make, and how I do it, isn't truly told without mentioning them. I also strongly suspect that many other makers have similar things to tell - and whether or not that's true, I very firmly believe that sometimes, these things are just better talked about than not. (I bet it is true, and I bet us creatives have a lot of good stuff to say about it too).

So, I'm going to say my unsaid thing, and those are my reasons. If you'd rather just read about crafts, feel free to click away now :-)

The thing is: I have depression.

I've had it since my son was about 6 months old, and this year I discovered that that wasn't a one-off postnatal episode.

The way that I discovered this is through finally, in the autumn of 2013, v e r y  s l o w l y and carefully coming off the antidepressants I'd been taking for the past four years - and then last spring, plunging into a severe and long drawn out depressive episode that, well, let's just say it beat the pants off the first one. To the extent that I was on full-time medical absence from work from the beginning of May until the very last working week of December - which I worked half-time, to ease myself in before I start again 'properly' this week. Wish me luck: all my extremities are crossed and after the year I've had, I'm taking nothing for granted.

Now, I'm extremely lucky, and I know it. My conditions of employment (and the accompanying health insurance) are outstandingly protective of employees in such circumstances. Both my line manager and my direct colleagues have been consistently, overwhelmingly understanding and supportive, despite this being an particularly bad time for our small team to be one (wo)man down. My doctor/therapist is a wonderful match for what I've needed, and has helped me out of some very, very deep holes. Much of the early summer I spent feeling stupefied at how bad things could be; mid-way through I was largely terrified of just how little control I had of my mind (and how much control it had over me, in worse ways than I could have imagined). Autumn was spent in despair and frustration, because how can 6 months on all the drugs not make the slightest bit of difference? And then, one Sunday morning in November, just like that, I woke up feeling normal. Out of nowhere. I'm incredibly, incredibly lucky.

It doesn't matter that feeling normal felt so unfamiliar, and how many months or years had it been since normal was normal, anyway? It doesn't matter that I mind, deeply, that I had to take so much time away from my 'real life', to be absent not just from my job but in many respects also from my husband, my children, from all the people who care about me. And of course, to wake up feeling normal rests very much on what is finally the right combination of medication, and on the weeks of mindfulness-based cognitive therapy, and on the rest I eventually managed to give myself.  But what I overwhelmingly feel is luck. Mental health balances on a pin, and I'm all too aware how easy it is to fall.

So, as I head into 2015, that's what's behind me (I hope). Mindfully taking life one breath at a time, or trying to (have you tried? It's not that easy). There is still making - there is always making. Now you know how I found the time to produce an entire new summer wardrobe for 2014 :-)  And I've had plenty of time to consider just how creativity plays in all this: making the mind, mindfully making... I think there will be a post about all that, at some point.

For today, I think I'll just leave it here. If you've read this far - thank you. Please don't feel the need to comment, especially as I'll very likely come over all awkward and not reply (yes, I'm already cringing in embarrassment at that as-yet unhappened possibility). Normal blog service will resume shortly: right now I'm just glad that I can 'come back', to talk again about the things I've made and the me behind the screen who made them.

The me that's stitching myself back together, as best I can.

All pictures in this post are of the weaving house at Fotovikens Museum of living Viking history, southern Sweden.

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Coat of many compliments: Veste Chloé

Spot the deliberate mistake - go on, let's just get it out of the way:

Yes, not only am I so rubbish at hand sewing that the lowest press stud unattached itself within about four wears, I also completely forgot to fix it before taking pictures. AAARRGHH IT'S ALL I CAN SEE!! That'll teach me for being sloppy.  But ok, fastened like this it's invisible and you would never have known:

Anyway! This is the Veste Chloé, the first piece of outerwear I've ever made, and the first pattern I've tried from Belgian sewing mag La Maison Victor, which launched about this time last year. In my opinion it's perfectly pitched at today's home sewists - good looking and accessible - and I was so excited about it that I immediately took out a subscription. However, I've only now been so grabbed by one of the patterns that I had to try it immediately. The Chloé jacket is on the autumn edition's front cover, tooted as quick and stylish, and it is. Judging by the number of them popping up on instagram (and blogs, see Jolies Bobines) I wasn't alone in my enthusiasm either.

This lovely red fabric is a slightly nubbly kind of faux-bouclé, which I presume to be entirely man-made as it was 4 euros a metre (thank you, Berger). When I bought it, it was lightweight and drapy and I was envisaging a sort of half-cardigan-half-coat scenario. Was, you'll have noted - because I chucked it in to pre-wash without even thinking about it, and it felted. One return trip for another metre later, because wow felting fabric shrinks it something awful, I had a heavier weight jacket on my hands. And in fact, it's all the better for it.

I'm getting quite good at derp pictures, no?

The fabric now holds and shows off the structure of the coat really well - and I firmly believe that it's this, together with the loud happy red, which accounts for the phenomenal number of compliments this jacket has received.  Several friends (individually, on separate occasions), my son's class teacher, helpers at the after-school club, a random bloke on the street - and this was all in the first three times I wore it.  There's nothing like spontaneous flattery to make you appreciate your own sewing brilliance, really, is there? :-)  And in fact, I've been not only astonished but also highly appreciative, because for a couple of reasons I wasn't feeling brilliant about this coat when I finished it.

First and most obviously, there's the basic fact of some lazy finishings. OK , they're on the inside, but coats flap open and I know they're there anyway.  When the fabric felted, it got so thick I couldn't think how to finish the seams without binding them, which I wasn't in the mood to do, because I just wanted to bash it out and be done. So, as felt doesn't fray, I just left them raw, and now I regret it because it's messy.  Plus, there's the press-stud hand-sewing fail too.

But ok, I can live with it - it was quick and fun make - and look, all the funner because yay contrast yellow pockets!  Which by the way are far too low on me, I need to take some length out at the waist if I ever make this again:

No, the real reason I was slightly insecure about this jacket ran deeper than seam finishings and some dodgy stitching.  It went back about 10 years, to a coat I bought that felt unnervingly just like this one. Thick fabric, too-low pockets and all - suddenly but unmistakably, this jacket dredged up coat memories I didn't really want to have.

The coat-of-10-years-ago had been bought in desperation, in the depths of winter, because I finally had to face the fact I'd gained weight beyond the scope of my clothing. The shopping trips to find it were awful: everything in the larger sizes was sold out or, like the coat I eventually settled for, irredeemably unattractive. As I saw it at the time. Now, I think that of course it was me seeing myself as irredeemably unattractive. That feeling of despair at paying good money for a coat I hated, for my shape that I hated, is what drove me finally, after literally years of procrastination, onto a healthier diet and into the gym.

Now, I'm still about 10 kilos lighter than I was then. I'm also about 10 kilos heavier than I was at my lightest (pre-kids, obviously).  But what I like to think has really changed in the last 10 years is the way I see myself. I was impressed when my body produced and squeezed out two small people - I like it better looking 'worse' now than I did before - and sewing my own clothes has liberated me from wardrobe angst almost entirely. Plus, y'know, older and wiser and less giving of shits. So it was a shock to unexpectedly get this jolt of memory, experienced very physically and as close as the coat I was wearing, back to a time when that wasn't the case.

I don't really know if I'm trying to say anything here. I'm just telling you, because that's the deal with this jacket.  It makes me appreciate who I am now, and the shape I am now, and the many wonderful sewing patterns people make now, which allow us to all sew up whatever we want, in whatever crazy colours and textures we like, and to look fabulous in them, because we're OURSELVES.

OK yes, that's what I'm saying :-)

Does the ability to sew your clothes how you see yourself and your shape? Do you think it makes us more likely to accept our little (or big!) shapely quirks and irregularities? Or is that just a natural consequence of growing up, and nothing much to do with our clothes at all?  These things have been on my mind since I made this, and I'd love to know what you think too.


And P.S. - if you'd like your very own Veste Chloé, you can get the current issue of La Maison Victor here, or keep an eye on this page where the patterns all eventually appear for sale individually (Dutch and French only I'm afraid, but with decent diagrams).

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The soft option: my high school textiles project

Hi guys :-)  And first of all, thank you for such kind comments on my post last week (and on twitter/instagram), along with apologies that I haven't been very good at replying. I've been doing my best to cut down on screen time, as believe it or not writing that post pretty much knocked me out for the rest of the day! But in my tired and emotional state I - of course - appreciate it greatly, especially as many of you know the frustrations of being long-term fatigued far, far worse than I do. What's really great is to know that you lovely sewing people actually understand the not being able to make. Gah! I've been so bored!

But, a week of rest has gone a long way, and I'm now back on my feet and sucking up vitamin D supplements with enthusiasm (not the full story, apparently, but certainly helping). Sewing is happening, little bits at a time, and I'm slowly on my way to my first proper shirt ever! (An Archer, inevitably). 

Of course, you doesn't need to be at full strength to think about sewing. One of the most interesting twitter conversations I had last week was sparked by this call to Give the Needle and Thread a Chance in schools, by Lisa of Sew Over It.  It prompted a whole discussion on the undervaluing of creative and practical subjects in education, even when they are actually on offer.  Textiles, art, woodwork: these things are rarely encouraged as leading to fulfilling career options (or even fulfilling hobbies, actually). They're the 'soft subjects', in contrast with the hard academic work of maths, science, and 'core' subjects such as English and humanities.

And this talk of 'soft options' particularly pushed my buttons. Not only because I agree on the importance of teaching young people that creating is a valuable use of their time and talents (obviously, I do). Mostly, it was because I know first hand that, however it might be perceived in terms of long-term career planning, GSCE Textiles is not a soft option*.  Just ask my mum, who sat up through several all-nighters and then wrote me sick notes off school so I could get the projects done. As it happens, she recently found one of the three coursework pieces I submitted aged 16. I had already photographed it, thinking I'd share it here one day, as personally I find it rather fascinating.  Not only was it clearly a lot of hard work (which I can hardly even remember doing in such great detail), it's also a total throwback to the world of pre-internet sewing. Remember that??

So, would you like a look? Be warned - it's photo heavy. Also, it's likely I'm not done with talking yet, either :-)

* GCSE = General Certificate of Secondary Education, usually taken in 9-10 subjects at age 16.

So this was project two out of three - I have no idea what happened to the others. It's very likely we lost them in a deliberate act of sabotage, after the trauma of actually making them. The brief, chosen from about 5 options, was to: "Design and make an educational toy for a toddler, using a variety of yarns, fabrics and decorative techniques." 

Outing myself, if there's anyone reading who cares which school I went to :-)

First, there's an analysis of factors to take into account. It should be  durable, washable, attractive, age-appropriate, safe, lightweight, appropriate size, fun, and educational. Aiming high!

Next, research. This was pre-internet, remember. My research consisted of closely looking at my younger siblings' toys, then cutting up an Argos catalogue (now sadly defunct, taking with it a little piece of the British collective consciousness). Anyway, I narrowed it down to making a cloth book because duh easiest way to try and fill that brief.

Some painstaking drawing of pictures to include, and then down to the business of colour charts, fabric types, and notions.

This is where it gets really involved: from what materials could I use, to what materials should I use? Yes - it's sample time!  I just can't believe I actually did all this. Quilting options for realistic fish scales and everything!

Pages and pages on researching & explaining the various techniques under consideration - plus a bonus essay on child development.

(Aside: oddly, this in no way resembles my current handwriting).  Then, with research done and decisions made, we have the "investigating" into how to execute it all with the techniques identified. I.e., more samples.

Painting, drawing and screen printing on various types of fabrics, quilting options for the pages...

... different ways to bind the spine...

... and here, drawing it all together, is my grand Plan of Action. In today's world, this would probably look like a tutorial - but back then, there was no template for this stuff. I was going to put the pictures in a collage, but in the end decided to let you marvel at the complexity of my explanations in full detail :-)

I have no clue what that middle picture is all about:

Calculations and costs:

The making of each page...

... and binding them all together:

Several more pages of 'conclusions', and that's it. Now, I bet you want to see the finished thing, don't you? Unfortunately, so would I - but I can't, because I gave it away, just as soon as it got back from marking, to a real life toddler.  Can you sense how much I wanted to be rid of the whole thing? As I said, I have no idea what happened to my other two projects (an embroidered wallet that I actually used for years, and a severely uncool nautical-themed jumpsuit. Don't judge me for that one - it was the early '90s, ok?).  And the more I think about this, the most it strikes me as being a bit off somehow. I mean, both the making and the writing up of all three projects were HUGE.  Why wasn't I proud of them?

Sewing under exam pressure is never going to be relaxing, I suppose. But I know the real reason I minded so much. It's because all this work seemed so disproportionate. It was 'just' textiles. It wasn't one of the important subjects. I was aiming for good grades (and it still rankles that I never got higher than a B, for all the effort I put in), but that wasn't the point. This was not a subject in which good grades were really needed - because it wasn't going to take me anywhere useful, anyway. All this work simply sucked time and energy away from the academic stuff that mattered.

It's a strange balance. When I look at this project - a mere third of the coursework I produced! - what I've described above is overwhelmingly what I feel. But once I put the folder away, I overridingly remember my textiles class as a haven of peace and creativity. There were six of us plus the teacher, and I have truly fond memories of quietly chatting while we experimented with painting, drawing and printing on fabric, with quilting and applique and finishing seams. I am incredibly grateful, too, that for part of my school career I was at a place with both the resources and inclination to offer me a really thorough grounding in practical sewing skills.

There may have been a gap of almost 15 years before I started to sew again, and I may have (definitely) forgotten immense amounts of what I'd learned.  But now when I sew, I retreat into that same space. There are windows and light, the sounds of scissors through fabric, whirring machines and concentration. It's a space where I know that if I apply myself a little, my head and my hands will put themselves together and create stuff, and that's actually amazing. All of it alongside friends who know what I'm talking about, pins in my mouth and all - whether right at the next desk, or in the computer and all over the world.

So yes, I'd sign a petition, launched on the back of the Great British Sewing Bee's popularity, to put sewing back on the UK's national curriculum. I'll wholeheartedly support any campaign for widespread teaching of practical creative skills. But when it really comes down to it, I actually think that valuing creativity is, most importantly, about valuing yourself.

That's not a soft option.

It is something we can all help teach, school curriculum or not.

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Outfit of my (day)dreams

Hello lovelies!  Well it's all rather quiet where I am today, and much as one might welcome some work downtime every now and again, I actually hate it. I could be at home sewing, darn it! But, instead I'm in the office, and just made the foolish mistake of distracting myself for 10 minutes on the internet.

Now I really really REALLY want to make these:

Source/available here

Like, I want to make them SO MUCH I am having a very hard time restraining my Paypal finger. My only line of defence is the idea that I should go and try on some RTW boyfriend jeans first to see if I like them as much as I know think I will.  But, there's a further complication: my browsing of the Fabric Godmother's website did not stop there.

I also found these:

Those are a) striped Prada and b) designer bird print viscose jersey.  Can you hear my brain going into overdrive? Stripes! Birds! VISCOSE!! I love viscose knits, they're so soft and gorgeous to both sew and wear. So it took about 0.0003 seconds to mash the jeans pattern with the jersey and think - HEY! Boyfriend jeans, slouchy tees - I could just buy all this stuff and sew it and be wearing the coolest of cool handmade outfits all summer!!!

A bit like this, thank you Pinterest:

Pinned here and here.

Sadly, I think we all know what happens to projects planned like this. Or at least, I know what happens in my case. They go on the end of a long list of projects conceived in a very similar manner that have yet to be executed but, crucially, ARE ALREADY IN MY STASH. Plaid flannel Archer? Up next, I promise! Zinnia skirt in oversized gingham? Yes yes - and another in mustard-coloured linen! Leggings, batwings, Renfrews - I'll have them all done before summer hits (somewhere in late May, no?), just in time for the sloppy jeans and tees!

Right??

So yeah, I'm holding back for the moment. I just had to tell someone who would understand :-)

Now, back to work...

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My disappointing slice of Cake

Dear, oh dear. Does this look like a happy dress to you?

Poor thing, just hanging there all limp and lonely.  Behold the sad little pleats - scissor and bust - just waiting for some curves to come and fill them.

Alas, those curves shall not be mine.  This dress does nothing for me. See my face? The dress ain't happy, the face ain't happy.

Now I suspect there may be several reactions going on at this point. Perhaps you're thinking, hey, don't blame the dress! And you're completely right. I am not blaming the dress per se - or at least, not the pattern (which I'll come back to below), or the lovely viscose fabric, or the execution which for once is rather tidily done. It's just that it doesn't work on me. Let's try smiling:

No, sorry. Not working. 

Now the other thing you may be thinking is, hey! It's not that bad! To which I answer, no it's not! But unfortunately, I don't feel comfortable in it at all.  Even G, who is normally quite tactful, took one look at it and said, wow that doesn't flatter your bust!  So let's backtrack a bit, and get down to some details, shall we?

This dress is made with Cake's latest pattern, the Red Velvet. I think it's a really lovely design. It's casual without being sloppy or slouchy, and it's just a little bit different from what else is out there - in a good way. Put this together with Cake's innovative approach to sizing (draw your own! Full busts welcome!), and I took a risk and bought it. A risk, because although I like the style, it's not one that I ever wear. So yes, I knew, before, during and after making this, that there was a high likelihood of putting it on and going "euh, meh". And unfortunately, this time, the meh won out. Even though the sizing IS that great, and the sewing that well-explained and straightforward.

Plus, I didn't help myself with my fabric choice At. All. The feel of this is lovely: a bit solid but a bit slinky, super soft and stable to sew. And I sort of got carried away when I saw those big mustard/grey/white flowers. But they're just not something I can wear like this. I fatefully ignored the voice in my head that goes "no big prints on top no big prints on top no big prints on top". As if I didn't know: whether or not you might be thinking it looks good - I don't like to wear big prints on my boobs. Especially when they're literally right on my boobs (good one, Jo).

So, also, the fit could do with some tiny tweaks if I'm going to do this again. I was right on the edge of sizes 30 and 35, so my first muslin was a 35 and it was too big: my final dress is a 30D. But looking at the pictures, I think I need the size 35 shoulders. I also definitely need a deep bust adjustment. I added some bodice length already, but maybe you can see that the upper midriff seam stretches up under my bosoms. Even if you can't, it does and I feel the constant need to pull it down, so there's that.

The other thing with the midriff piece is I can't work out exactly where I want it to hit. It just feels kind of not in the right place. Maybe I should make it narrower, so the skirt hits higher? Or just lengthen the bodice/bust length a bit more and skip the midriff piece altogether. I actually think getting the under-bust and waist lines to fall right is the key to deciding whether this dress can work for me or not. What do you think?

And finally, I need to change the sleeves. Again, I knew this in advance but sort of had a sewing casual clothes mental block (yeah, this thing again). I never wear sleeves this length, because I don't think they flatter me. Really, I'd like to lengthen them - 3 quarter or even full-length. Would I need to add an underarm gusset?? Because if so, I think I might just throw in the towel...

After all that, I hope you can see that my problems with this pattern are exactly that: MY problems, not the pattern's.  I must admit, being used to traditional patterns, I had an idiot moment when I first opened the envelope. Then I got on with it, and it works GREAT! I think Steph's innovative approach to her designs, sizing and instructions is spot on in dealing with knit clothes for real people.

The only thing I remain unsure about really is this: is it worth me futzing around spending money on more fabric to try and make this design work for me? Or should I just put it behind me and try a Lady Skater?

Well, I feel like this post has been one long moan - and an unfair one, because this is a really good pattern! I guess I'm actually just pretty disappointed that this version/vision of mine didn't work.

So how about I leave you with a picture of the hem?

Ooh I do love me a nice smooth hem. Double needles all the way, baby!

OK, it's Friday, I'm off to the Chinese supermarket to get exotic ingredients, and soon - very soon! - it's good food and weekend!! Enough wallowing in my-comfy-dress-didn't-work-out. Besides, I have a quilt to be getting on with. And a Mr Pringles costume...

Any plans for your weekend? I hope it's a good one!

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