My mom used to sew “jumpers” for me when I was a kid. I’m not sure why she called them jumpers instead of dresses. I remember standing on the kitchen table with my arms out and my mom sticking pins into the fabric wrapped around me. I was so careful not to move. I probably felt so special in the dresses she made me, but I don’t remember that part very well. What I remember most was the look on her face once her project was finished, tried on, and fit. She wore a beautiful accomplished smile with soft eyes that said I love you, sweet girl. She’d hug me and tell me how that dress was much better than one I could have got at a store and how no one else in my class would have the same one.
Sometimes, especially at the holidays, I find myself in backward dejavu moments. This season, I sewed Maple and I matching Christmas skirts. I let her choose the fabric. When she couldn’t decide between a cute pink print and a cheesy Rudolf one, I bought both. The Rudolf fabric was sewn into a tiny apron that very same day. It shouldn’t have taken as long as it did, but I let her “help” me make it. She pretended to measure out the fabric and she pushed the floor pedal for me. When I was finished, she couldn’t wait to try it on.
Every time she wears it, she repeats with enthusiasm, “See it, Mama! Arpron same as a wed nosed weindeer mobie!” Then I feel myself putting on that same proud, mother-of-a-daughter, ‘little house on the prairie’ look I remember on my mom’s face. I love you, sweet girl.
Its a common misconception that Christmas is most magical for kids.
I know that it’s actually most magical for parents.