And I missed it. A lot.
For weeks straight, I sewed and pinned and cut and measured and ironed and sewed some more and cursed my sewing machine and stabbed my finger with my scissors and ripped out an insane amount of stitches and contemplated throwing various crafty items across the room in moments of overwhelming frustration.
Why was I doing all this again?
Then I took off for Thanksgiving. And I went to my parents’ house. And I didn’t sew a single stitch for almost a week. And I missed it. A lot.
Missed choosing the perfect fabric and then watching its wrinkles disappear beneath the heat of the iron. Missed choosing the right shade of off-white thread. (Ivory. With a touch of pink. But not too peach.) Missed the cozy feeling of my craft corner. The piles of fabric. The cats falling asleep on my cutting table.
The sound the rotary cutter makes when it slices through fabric. Wearing my measuring tape around my neck like a scarf with my pin cushion strapped to my wrist like a bracelet.
It might not make sense to people who don’t sew. Or maybe it can be compared to other things — like running or writing or playing guitar or gardening. Something that you have such a passion for that it’s become a part of who you are and you feel a little off kilter when it’s missing.
One side is powder blue with random white polka dots and a stripe of red polka-dot trim at the bottom. The other side is a graphic black and white print.
I’ve posted the apron in my Boutique here. Hope you like it!