I’m making quilts for the kids. I just want to. I wanted to learn how to quilt, and in my mind I think that it is something the kids can watch me do and know that I love them. And then they will have something to take with them throughout their lives that will remind them of it. Really cute, I know.
Simon’s quilt came first. He’s the oldest, he’s been waiting the longest. And the perk of getting the first quilt is that . . . he gets the experiment. It’s fine. It looks good. If you don’t look too close. Or maybe if I don’t. But Simon doesn’t notice, and that’s what’s important.
And then I did Oliver’s. He had so much time to anticipate it, watching me make Simon’s. And he loved it. He especially liked the “bears” fabric. He loved it until . . . I brought home the fabric for Elsa’s quilt. And then he saw how many of the fabrics had animals on them. And then he realized that I don’t love him. Not a bit. There are no jellyfish in his quilt. No elephants. Not even any snails. The only animals were those stupid bears.
So, so much for all the love I put into picking the pattern and the fabric and cutting and sewing and quilting and binding. So much for all that love.
Ha! But I am pretty good at damage control. And all this snafu cost me was the promise of a new pair of pajamas. Homemade. With jellyfish. And possibly elephants. Because nothing says love like jellyfish and elephants.