On Easter Dresses: or, Why Do We Tear Each Other Down When We Could Build Each Other Up Instead?

When I was a very young mom, with no car and few social skills, all the women I knew were either single college students or the wives of my only-just-former college professors and had busy schedules and a million children. As a result, I was alone, a lot. My husband had two jobs and was trying to finish college himself, so he had only so much to give me, and my baby was All Things Miraculous, but even she couldn't talk in full sentences until she was 18 months old, plus she is an introvert. She didn't like even mamma getting all up in her space.

So I learned how to sew.

It was an uphill road. Being the clever person that I am, I assumed I knew better than the pattern designers, mostly because I didn't acknowledge things like grain lines, and my early efforts were mostly Lessons Learned The Hard Way, and not actual usable pieces of clothing. But because I was lonely, bored and desperate, I kept at it. I probably learned twenty or so lessons The Hard Way before I produced a single thing I could use or wear.

One of the things I have continually dedicated myself to over the years is the creation of Easter Dresses. I love Easter, and all the things it promises. I didn't have the budget to make it more special than Christmas in the same manner as Christmas, so I had to get creative (my specialty!) and one of the ways was to make matching dresses for all the girls, beginning with my first and myself. (I stopped making dresses for myself after two, though.)

Easter Skirts

As my skills developed, the dresses got nicer and nicer. My adorable three little girls all had completely different coloring - a blond with grey eyes, a redhead and all that that entails, and a dark brunette with alabaster skin. My approach was to find the same print in different colors, and make dresses from the same pattern. In later years, when they started to have vastly differing tastes in clothing, I went exactly the other way, and started choosing a color palette, and making them totally different styles of dress. But I kept it up, year after year, even if it meant doing everything during Holy Week. It is a project that means a lot to me.

Well, one year my ever-expanding repertoire of skillz reached the stage of including smocking, thanks to one of my crafting gurus - Maureen, who also helped teach me to quilt and has inspired me in so many other ways. I was pregnant and feeling sick during Lent, so I spent many hours curled up in my chair, hand-smocking some muslin panels. It's probably the earliest I ever started on dresses, and it took a lot of time, but the results were deeply satisfying, and I dressed them in t heir smocked dresses whenever I had an excuse.

One day I took them to the library, because our wonderful dear children's librarian had asked me specifically to show her my Easter Dresses. In we filed, splendidly arrayed in smocked dresses and little white gloves and straw hats with matching ribbons. (Hey, when you go to that much trouble, you take it all the way, right?) It was Story Time Day, so a lot of other moms were there, and one said to me "Please don't tell me you smocked those dresses by hand." So proud of myself, I told her that I did.

She said "I hate you."




Looking back on it, I know why she said it, and she meant to be funny, I'm sure. She was tired, she had that difficult blend of older children that keep you running and tiny babies that keep you up at night, and she is also a woman that loves beautiful things - she grows a lovely garden in the spring - and not enough time to fulfill that love. She didn't know what I gave up to make those dresses, because it's not like I go around showing people pictures of my mountain of laundry or the unswept kitchen or the uncategorized piles of papers and books... I sacrificed to make this a priority. I knew she didn't mean it. But wow, did it hurt. In fact, I'm sure she's forgotten the incident completely. (Hey, it might be you!)




The Thing is, just as we don't see those background sacrifices, that different ordering of priorities, we also don't see what kind of power our words can have. I carried that "I hate you" around for a long time in my heart, believing that I must have done something wrong, that my creative drive was somehow blameworthy because of the things I let go. I often lock myself into a place where I'm "not allowed" to make anything or buy anything until I've done X amount of housework. It never works. In fact, one time I actually got my entire house clean AT THE SAME TIME but still didn't sew because of the guilt block. Every time I sat down to make something, I felt badly. That "I hate you" became the Voice of Bob. He was right on top of that one. Alongside "You never finish what you start," it's one of my most deeply rooted Bobisms.


I'm working on it, though. I'm learning to let myself be, to recognize what people mean when they say things like that. And I'm trying to be very, very careful about what I say when I wish I could do what someone else can do.

My beautiful Audrey, recycling dresses from
last year. This year, I actually DIDN'T MAKE ANY,
and my lovely Helen wore this dress.

Bullet Points

Whoops, been a while since I last posted anything here. It's Easter Week, which traditionally in my family consists of completely clearing the schedule, then packing it full again with stuff we never have time to do. The reason we do this is because I direct the choir at my church, and, being Catholic, this means a LOT of work in the week leading up to Easter, followed by the obligation to keep the feasting up for eight whole days. So, fragmentary brain produces fragmentary thoughts. Here you go, compliments of my shattered mind:

Craft Update: I am on pattern repeat 21 of 31. I'll be done soon. I fiddled a bit with Fair Isle knitting, I think I may try a project soon. I bought some new yarn today to make a baby-sized Entrelac Hat for... a friend... who just had a baby... who might be reading this blog.

Insight of the week: My "job" outside the house - directing the choir - is how I fill my tank, so to speak. Immersing myself in music refreshes my soul, and when things get really crazy, especially at Christmas and Easter, it's more singing and less learning, which is MORE energizing to me than the weekly grind of going over parts. At the end of 9 days in which I led 5 hours of rehearsal and 12 hours of liturgy, including the year's most dramatic moments, I was exhilarated and overflowing. And really, really tired, but in a good way. If it were any other way, I would currently be deceased.

Complaint of the week: my local yarn shop is having their annual "Ewe-niversity" day of classes on the same day as the monthly local Handspinners and Weavers Guild meeting, which I promised to take my kids to. You'd think they would have planned around that. I can't even catch a class in the afternoon, because we have a Mother/Daughter Tea. It's all about priorities here, but it's annoying when priorities so high on the list get crossed. It's like when your two favorite teams match up in the first round of the playoffs instead of the end.

Funny Story With No Plot And No Punch Line: I went to therapy this week, and when I left my house, I was stewing, boiling mad at my husband for reasons that I won't go into. All the way there, I rehearsed my list of things that were bugging me. When I sat in the chair, my therapist asked "How are you?" which prompted me, instead, to talk for an hour and a quarter about all the reasons I am happy. It was the best therapy session ever.

Well, that looks like it for today.

Sunday Inspiration: My Own Thoughts!

It's Palm Sunday for us Catholics (and others, too), marking the beginning of Holy Week. So, while I don't want to make this a blog about religion any more than I want to make it a blog about parenting, it is about what inspired me, and what I like to do, so those things are going to figure pretty prominently if I'm going to write honestly.

Today, it's St Peter who is on my mind. Whatever kind of person you are, if you spend some time reading the Gospels, and do just the tiniest bit of visualizing, you're going to get a bold and bright picture of this guy. He's larger than life, a big personality, a person who, like myself, has adopted the personal motto "To Hell With Starting Small." Take, for example, the bit where the disciples are out in a boat, a huge storm arises, and they fear for their lives. Then they see Jesus, walking on the water. All are terrified, but not Peter. He wants proof: "Lord, if it is you, command me to come out of the boat." (Though, to be fair to Jesus, that's not really his usual style.) "Come out, then," says Jesus. Well, gosh, Peter's stuck now. Jesus says come out, so, well, he'd better do it. A little forethought could have prevented this, but forethought isn't Peter's strong suit. So out he jumps, and starts walking on water. I mean, HE STARTS WALKING ON WATER!

I feel like this when I do things like decide to make Easter Dresses for all four of my daughters. Two weeks before Easter. Or to put together binders for everyone in the choir with everything we are singing from Holy Thursday to Easter Sunday, in order, so that all they have to do is turn the page - which involves filing, collating, photocopying, enlarging (gotta make it easy for them to see), typesetting, hole punching, binding, unbinding because I did something wrong, rebinding, etc. At some point, I ask myself why on EARTH I thought this was a good idea, but at another point, I find myself saying to myself "Holy crap, I'm actually doing this!"

But then the other thing happens too. The waves are so high, the wind is so strong, and people aren't supposed to be walking on water, and I get this sinking feeling (sorry for the pun). People aren't supposed to walk on water. Sometimes the Lord permits it, to make a point, but then he has to step in and save us from ourselves.

Then there's the Passion reading. Peter, again, is there drawing his sword in the garden, ready to die with Jesus, but that's not what Jesus had in mind. So he trails along behind, getting into the courtyard, hoping to catch a bit of what's going on. He's worried, he's distracted, and he's confused. And he's out of his element. Someone, just as curious about the proceedings as he is, asks if he's one of Jesus' disciples. Peter, probably thinking that he'll get kicked out and won't be there when Jesus needs him, says he is not. And then again. And again. He doesn't have any intent to repudiate Jesus in his mind, he just wants to stay warm and close to the action. The denial slips right by him.

Oftentimes, we are perfectly willing to self-immolate in the noble cause, but unable to bear a collection of small indignities. Washing the dishes EVERY DAY. Smiling at the lady in the store who says "better you than me" when she finds out you have seven children. Giving your teenager a hug when she needs you, even though it's way past your bedtime. Forgiving someone who always says that thing that sets your teeth on edge, and not even telling them that it hurts you. Saying yes, actually, I AM that's man's disciple, even if it means you have to move away from the fire.

Because after the ordeal is over, when Jesus returns, Peter jumps out of the boat (again!) and swims to shore, leaving behind a miraculously large catch of fish, eager to come face to face with Jesus again, even though the last time they were together, Peter denied that he even knew him. And Jesus puts this guy, with all his faults and strong feelings and bold impulses and poor planning skills, in charge of everyone. And he's totally the right man for the job, too!

Moment of Realization

There's this thing I do, and I don't know where it came from, but I noticed it in choir today. I make things, I put things together to make someone's life easier, or give a gift, and someone will jokingly ask "Wow, but can you do this (impossible) thing too?" At which I immediately begin thinking of ways to accomplish the Other Thing. And then, somehow, I do it.

Or I'll hand out something I typeset, and someone will ask "Did you sleep this week?" At which I will feel a pang of guilt over having slept five whole hours last night, realizing that if I hadn't, I could have typeset the music AND done the dishes.

And today, I realized that people are joking around; that they are paying me a compliment by teasing me for not being superhuman. I don't ACTUALLY have to be superhuman. Not even if I wanted to. And maybe, just maybe... I should stop trying.

Because it's making me crazy.

Good one, Mom!

On Getting Bored

There are two virtues I associate with creativity: Cooperation with inspiration, and Perseverance. Correspondingly, there are two blocks to creativity: failure to respond, and Getting Bored. These two features of being a creative person are often at war with each other, in my case, in this particular way:

Lace Stole as of April 11

Me: Oh, I bet this hat would look cool if it was made out of such and such a yarn...

Bob: Don't you already have a project going? You can't start a new project until you finish your old project, otherwise you'll never finish. You never finish anything you start. (This is one of Bob's favorite proverbs.)

Me: Oh, OK, well I'll just sit down and finish my old project so I can get to my new idea... yeah... old project...

New Project: Hey, over here! I'm flashy and interesting, and I won't take long...

Old Project: Look at me, I'm familiar, and comfortable! You can follow my pattern without thinking now, it's like second nature!

Bob: This new project is irresponsible. This old project is boring. Knitting is dumb. Go wash the dishes.

Me: (washing dishes) Maybe if I had two different colours of self-striping yarn... 

Anyway, there's a lot going on in my head. My lace stole looks much the same as it did, only somewhat longer. It's true that I can now follow the pattern without thinking, and I barely need to check the chart now, but it's also true that it's getting long enough to be unwieldy when I go out, and the hairiness of the yarn makes it a bad outdoor project.

And then I saw the Entrelac Hat. Oh wow, it was cool. Furthermore, I could sort of make it an old project: see, I have this yarn. I bought it to make my eldest daughter a Christmas present, but I bought it without inspiration, only liking the colour combination. I had a vague idea for a project, but after multiple attempts, I just surrendered, showed her the yarn, and promised her an item made from it when I thought of a good one. And when I saw the Entrelac Hat, I knew what I was going to do.

My uninspired Bag of Yarn

Entrelac is a knitting technique where you make a bunch of small squares, working back and forth in very short rows, and connecting them as you go. The end result looks like knitted bands woven together. While you're working, it looks very odd indeed. I wasn't so sure I'd picked a good pattern at the start, but after a couple of tiers of blocks, I knew I was on to something. There's no picture with this pattern, so here's the one I made:

I did it slightly differently, of course - I got really bored with the ribbing right off the bat, so I didn't bother with the turning ridge, I just did twelve rows of ribbing and went from there. (Oh, and I had to learn a new, stretchy cast on method in order to make this, too! Yay, new skillz!) Then, I alternated between turquoise and purple yarn for the A colour changes.

My plan was to have a small project for my car-knitting bag (the hat) and a home project for watching TV and drinking tea (the stole). But instead, I started the hat on Tuesday and finished it on Thursday. And got only one pattern repeat done on my lace this week. Again. But that's OK! I have no deadline on my lace. I knit for fun and relaxation. As long as it is fun and relaxing, I can continue to strive for balance between Inspiration and Perseverance. I can't let Bob take it away from me.

Notes on the pattern: I used a worsted weight yarn, and had to use size 9 needles to get the suggested gauge. While I'm happy with the result, if you examine it closely, or you have a friend like Bob who will examine it closely for you, you will see that the gaps in the ribbing are pretty large, and where the squares join together, the edges look pretty ragged, and it wasn't because I knit loosely. I think that this problem could be solved by using a chunkier yarn, or by using smaller needles and increasing the number of blocks in each tier to get the right size. The adjustment would be pretty easy - you cast on 5 sts for each block. Next time I make it, I'm going to use a finer yarn and tiny needles, and see if it comes out baby or toddler size.

Sunday Inspiration (more of other people's writing)

Just a little something I embroidered
a few years ago - my daughter taught
me a few stitches so I could do this.

This week was filled with photocopying and camping, so I didn't even get to complete a single pattern repeat on my lace, not even while watching TV. So I'm going to refer you, again, to a post by someone else, this one about the importance (for homeschooling mothers particularly, but for everyone else, too) of nourishing your own interests, continuing to draw inspiration from your culture.

This post took an hour to write, because I was called away so many times. Thus goes many a "quiet" Sunday afternoon.

A Poem, a Book and a Thought.

My therapist (it still sounds funny to say that) gave me this poem to think about:

Love After Love - by Derek Walcott

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.


My Husband gave me this book to read a long time ago, and I think it might be time to read it again.

My brain gave me this thought today: when you were just a twinkle in the Creator's eye, do you think He was mostly excited about the things you would do? Or was there something else He had in mind when He thought you and made you?

This is Me being Me, 14 years ago.