I don't like to sew. Which is funny, because I grew up sewing, and started this blog mostly to have a place to show off my sewing projects. For years, I honestly believed that I loved to sew. Until about 6 months ago. I discovered that, for me, sewing is simply a means to an end. I never wake up in the morning thinking, "I feel like sewing. What should I make?" Which is probably why my machine is in desperate need of a tune-up and a new light bulb, neither of which it will be getting any time soon.
Instead, I begin with vision. I can see in my mind exactly what I want the project to look like. And sometimes sewing is the evil necessary to achieve it. This dress, for example. My daughter needs to dress in all white for her Christmas play at school. Yes, she has white shirts, and a white skirt, and white tights. But The skirt is thin cotton, and wouldn't look very snow-people-ish. Did I mention the play is on Monday?
So I pulled out this thick white upholstery fabric that I found at value village years ago, and a dress of hers that fits to serve as the pattern. After a few hours of thinking about the exact style I wanted, I started cutting. I don't know yet whether this will turn out as I envision or end up crumpled in the ever-growing pile of junk-to-be-sorted in what passes for my laundry room.
My dislike of sewing has been a strange realization for me. Sewing is just what housewives do, according to the ideologies I absorbed during my teen years (along with getting married at 18 and having a dozen babies). And while I'm knocking down a few of those, I may as well add another: I hate cooking too.
(And despite that fact, I'm seriously considering writing a cookbook)