Sitting at my mothers side while she gives another push to the sewing machine. I am extremely excited and rightly so, she is making a dress for me. Its not just any dress but one for a birthday party.
30 or so years ago, we did not have amazing malls and outrageously expensive, superbly styled dresses but just the magic of a mother’s love. Her hands work nonstop, fixing ,folding and making sure every stitch is perfect. I sit by her side,only because I know the end result will be divine. She tries to shoo me away, tells me to go and play, even gives me pieces of cloth for the doll’s clothing. All this falls on to deaf ears, I fidget, poke,and fumble with the myriad items she uses.
Mom’s trusty sewing machine
It exasperates her to no end that neither am I of the age to learn nor am I of the inclination to sit still but still think that I am contributing to her work. As she gathers and stitches the pleats and makes the lovely frills, I can just not stop touching the cloth as it transforms into a beautiful red frock. Yes, the plain looking piece of red cloth is becoming some thing magnificent as I watch.
She always tells me to go and do something else instead of sitting by her knee but even though I never listen. Neither do I go and do something else nor do I try to be still for long enough time so I could learn some stitching.It is a mothers patience that finally gets the job done. The dress is ready, I wear it and preen in-front of the mirror. She tells me not to but I don’t listen,It is such a heady feeling of wearing a new dress.I am magically transformed into a princess and the feeling comes back to me when ever I think of those lovely days when I wore things handmade by my mother.
Such an inspiring memory, always reminding me to be patient, to work hard for some thing I really want, to realize the importance of working with my hands and instilling the importance of doing things out of love.
My mother has long since stopped stitching things for me but she still gives her now dusty sewing machine a twirl now and then, if only to remind me of all the good things I learnt at her side when she was not trying to teach me anything. What did you learn at your mother’s knee?