It's not the clothes that make the man...

I did it. I finally tackled the sewing machine. It's one of those things that I have been privileged to learn from her. My mother. She was a Proverbs 31 woman. She loved sewing. And I hated it. I loved watching her sew, and I loved the new creations that would come into existence. I loved the process, and I loved how she did it with ease. How the idea of a new dress for church could become a reality in the special time spent together between the morning and evening service. But I never really liked doing it myself. And I didn't have to. She was always there. She did it so much better anyway.

I remember buying material to cover my couch. That in itself was a miracle... Material shops freak me out. I never know what the right type of material is, and I don't even think to ask whether it must be shrunk in the wash before being cut. So I bought the material, having a logical idea of how the pieces should fit together to cover the couch neatly. They were due for a visit and I asked her help. It was magical watching her transform a piece of cloth in to a slipcover for my couch. It was magical to have a new slipcover for my couch. She was magical. I didn't know it. I thought she was ordinary. I loved her ordinariness and didn't realise how magical it was.

So back to now. I sewed. I went to the shop with my princess. We picked out t-shirt material. We bought three pieces of material and a length of elastic. I didn't even buy thread. There's lots of thread at home. There were bound to be some matching the colours of the different materials. I had inherited everything from my magical mother, after all.

I unpacked the material. I laid it flat. Thinking about my mother and how perfectly she did it. I cut up the old torn pair of pants and laid it flat on top of the double layer of material. I pinned it and cut it. I sewed. I was proud. Every time I put a pin in my mouth, I remembered how she did it. I remember how she would keep them stored between her lips, sometimes biting them between her teeth to say something. And for the first time, I imagined the sight it must have been for her. The excited daughter, sitting by her side, handing her pins, barely being able to contain herself in anticipation of something new to wear. It must have been heart-warming. It must have been tiring and draining at times. It must have been very demanding at some points. But it was always done with love. And for the first time, I loved sewing. I loved it. The best part is when she has a giggle that almost skips a beat when it's done. And when she wears it to school.

Dankie Mamma.