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Promises

The fabric was cut and folded neatly, ready to be sewn. When it was done it would be a fairy dress, floaty and beautiful to match the dreams of a young girl who fell in love with a picture on a pattern in the craft store. Gleek clutched that pattern and begged with big brown eyes. I couldn’t say no. Then we raided our fabric stash at home and found the pieces we needed. All was ready and waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Other sewing bits got piled on top as I occasionally rummaged in my sewing box to make various emergency repairs. Mostly the sewing box resided in the closet with the cut fabric hidden inside. Life marched on. One Halloween passed, then another. The dream dress was mostly forgotten, except every so often when the Gleek would remember and remind me. I would sigh and carefully not promise exactly when the dress would be done. Promises matter. I don’t want to break them. Yet the cut pieces of fabric were like a promise. They were a task incomplete.

Another dress was dreamed of. This time it was mine. I bought an out of date dress and had grand plans to re-make it into something lovely. Stolen minutes went into the measuring and cutting of bright chiffon. Time came to hem and I dusted off my sewing machine. I pulled out my sewing box of supplies. The pieces of that previous dream dress were there. My dress needed to be done within a week. It made sense to work on it first. The project with a deadline takes precedence. Yet my kids so often must be patient when I have a project. They spent the summer at home instead of with lessons and trips because I needed the calendar to be empty. They foraged for their own meals far more often than I want to confess. My kids must wait on me for permission and for most of their dreams. Gleek’s dress had been waiting on me for two years. I put aside my bright chiffon and finished a fairy dress for my daughter to dance in. She looked beautiful.

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