Crafts are for Babies! (pt. 2)

When I was a girl child, my Mama taught me how to sew.  This was probably a rather obnoxious process for her, given myself, but she persevered and I went on to make many pairs of pajama pants.  The last few years I've wanted to get a sewing machine but since we didn't really have a place, I held off.  This past Christmas, aided by Black Friday, I got myself a shiny new sewing machine.  It is hardly fancy pants, but it's just right for me right now.  

After Christmas I did not sew a single thing, partly because I was just too intimidated by it after not sewing for a number of years.  I talked a lot about making things for the Speck, but it never happened (see previous sentence).  Finally, when our recent vacation plans materialized and involved a pool, I decided it was time to break it out--I needed a swimsuit cover-up, if I wanted to avoid looking ridiculous in my usual one.  I read this tutorial about 50 times and decided I could do it (insert triumphant *fistpump* here).  

The first step: Subject Drewbles to the fabric store after work.  This was a good idea because it turns out he has a knack for spotting the perfect thread match.

(I say subject because my Daddio would rather go, well, anywhere other than the fabric store, so I have long since assumed all dudes are this way.  But, as usual, the Husb is happy to go along to anywhere.)

The second step: Decide there's plenty of time before vacation and let the fabric age like a fine cheese on the counter.

The third step: Realize we're leaving in two days and spend part of Friday night learning how to thread the bobbin and practicing on a fabric remnant from Walmart.  

(This is the ideal setup for sewing)

The fourth step: Trick Drewbles into thinking I made him pajama pants and watch him try to put them on.  

 

HAHAHA, I fooled him so good!!!!!

The fifth step: Mark the pattern with chalk using a tank top and maxi dress (I didn't trust myself to do it free hand), then do anything else to avoid actually cutting the fabric.

The sixth step: Cautiously cut the fabric, gathering steam along the way.  Gather so much steam that I don't bother to cut the hem in any kind of straight line.

The seventh step: Fret that it will never fit, but start sewing anyway.

The eighth step: Finish, with only having to redo one section, and immediately wiggle into it, despite all the clothes I'm already wearing. 

The ninth step: Rejoice that it fits!  For some reason, I uncharacteristically skipped the "weep and wail as perfectionism takes over" part and went straight to the "laugh at how wobbly some of the seams are" part instead.  

The tenth step: Hurray!