So I’m the third girl in my family, with a little brother finishing it off. My mother is a quilter. And no, not the kind of quilts your mom made with all your soccer jerseys. My mom is a quilt artist, as is evidenced by her “stash” seen here. (Though I can assure that is only a small sampling of her fabric. The quantity of material in that woman’s possession is illegal in 23 states.)

My other two sisters are excellent seamstresses. One sewed my wedding invitations, the other sews her own winter coats. I, on the other hand, am just learning how to thread a bobbin.

I’ve frequently pestered my mom as to why I was never taught to sew, since it’s clearly in our blood. She claims she tried, and I wasn’t interested. Probably true, as I very involved with boy-chasing as a youth, but it’s a huge regret of mine, because sewing is, like, the best thing EVER.

The point of this rambling is that when I finally learn to sew I am going to immediately make this beautiful headband by giantdwarf — after first sewing some curtains and some pillow covers and adorning every last sweater I own with a bird. Then, I’m going to make it, and I’m going to wear it every day, even to the grocery store. And then I’ll go home and die because I’ll be 95 by the time I figure out that stupid bobbin.

via sweet sassafras