Little Miss spent the weekend with her abuelo and me, days full of new discoveries. At nearly three years old, my eldest grandgirl loves to play with stuffed animals, listen to stories, dig in the garden, and design with triangle scraps on the big quilt wall. A trip to the park elicited plenty of discussion about squirrels that make Buttercup bark, plus we checked out fabric that will become a cover for her big girl blanket.
Thankfully I remembered to prewash those prints, and will attempt to complete that project before her birthday at the end of the month. And since she’s gone, so are the triangles that she happily laid over the wall. She loves The Hulk, calls him the Big Green Guy. Her duvet cover will be a mix of Marvel fabrics, with some princesses thrown in for good measure.
For good measure was sort of the theme of the weekend, as our usually quiet household became the domicile of a little girl. She’s not a toddler anymore, inquisitive and imaginative with her own preferences, like for superheroes. She even appreciates basketball, cheering when a bucket is made. I’m looking forward to surprising her with this t-shirt on her birthday; it’s way too big, but could double as a nightgown until she grows into it.
Hexies are still popular in her little girl world. Only this morning did I wonder how might unwashed fabric shrink on a prewashed t-shirt. I’ll know soon enough, ahem.
Not that I foresee myself doing much garment sewing; I don’t like patterns very well, or rather I’m bad at interpreting them. I prefer winging it, lol, even if it means occasionally forgetting to wash fabrics until right before beginning a project. I would have kicked myself had I constructed the cover, only then realizing what might have been a big mistake.
Fortunately the only loss was a little time spent on ironing those fabrics, small potatoes in the long run. Little Miss loved examining them after I took them from the dryer, then questioning me as I trimmed the frayed edges. “Why that look like that Grandma?” Hard to explain the difference between a selvage and where the fabric is cut, but I think I answered her sufficiently.
If you had asked me five years ago to predict what I’d be doing now, there’s no way I could have dreamed up this past weekend, but then isn’t that the beauty of life? When I think to all that has occurred in the last half decade, these little slices are just as vital as the major events. This past weekend is a huge portion of my granddaughter’s life, not that she’ll remember it, but the essence will remain; hexies and The Hulk, fabric and basketball and so many books enjoyed. I told her that my grandparents had a huge vegetable garden, and at her age I sat amid rows of strawberries, eating to my heart’s content. She’ll outgrow her pink hexie shirt, but I bet another will have been added to her wardrobe. Maybe quilts aren’t the only reason I took up sewing.
I can list all the blankets I hope to make, or endlessly ponder various novel plots, but surprises proffer a necessary thrill. I never dreamed The Hawk would be so encompassing, nor did I assume my dad’s quilt would lead to English paper piecing. And even if I forget to prewash fabrics, the world won’t fall apart. All part and parcel of the whole, which is far too awesome to shoehorn into my clothes dryer.