TODAY
Drama Queen candidates Contestant #1
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RECENTLY
The nanny trial:
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Bringing up bébé
Word by Word
My other mother
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Mamafesto
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[ CONTESTANT #3 ] SEW SCARY
We've all heard the myth about the supermom: always patient, always kind, always ready to go above and beyond for her child, her school, her job, her nation. Naturally, I'm always searching for ways to compete, and this is my opportunity. This Halloween, I won't subject my kids to those cartoonish dime-store versions of last year's Disney characters. I will make the costumes, craft them with my own two loving mother hands. And I will involve my children in the process, blending a valuable learning experience with priceless bonding opportunities. Our day begins with a trip to the fabric store. I tell my kids they can look through these special pattern books and choose to their wildest heart's content. I try to steer my daughter toward the Sew-Easy, Sew-Fun patterns, but noooooo. She wants to be the Princess Bride, with flowing cape and tufted skirt and big puffy sleeves with magic sparkles and hard-to-find gems. Three-year-old Spencer zeros in on the Street Shark, with oversized jaws fitted with individually sewn teeth and wads of padding and stuffing over top-stitched scales and fins. And of course, he particularly likes the shoes. "Sew the shoes ... YES! THE SHOES ARE COOL! THE SHOES, MOMMY, YES! YES! THE SHOES!" OK, I'll see what I can do. I pick out the patterns and search for appropriate material: 3/4 yd. of this, 5/8 yd. of that, extra-heavy non-fusible interfacing, single fold bias tape, half-inch sequin strand, two zippers, quarter-inch wide elastic, felt appliqués -- the pattern "requirements" rattle on without mercy. I haul all my patterns and fabric and "notions" to the check-out. Grand total: $95.36. I get home and spread out the folded-up papers marked "cutting layout and sewing directions" on the table. "When is it going to be done?" asks Spencer, "Hurry, mommy, HURRY!" Six-year-old Susannah will have none of that. "Spencer, she's sewing my costume first, aren't you, Mommy?" Before I can take the rick-rack out of the bag, my two sweet darlings are on the floor, battling each other with bloodcurdling wails. "Kids, mommy will work on both costumes at the same time, and there are still literally DAYS before Halloween." Don't worry, my treasures. OK, so the directions are out. As I lug my 10-ton sewing machine up the stairs, I'm reminded that it was purchased somewhere around 1972, built like a tank in gunmetal gray. But the strength of my determination carries me and I manage to plunk the warhead on the kitchen table, rub my hands together and position myself squarely in the chair, with little eyes looking on with great anticipation of the wizardry about to take place. I can hear the oohs and aaahs as I gracefully thread the needle through the maze of loops and gizmos on the front of the machine. But wait. Something's missing. Oh yeah: I have to cut out the pattern pieces. Let's see, for the shark costume alone, that's 27 pieces. Add the princess AND her cape, and we're talking about 55 separate little pieces of tissue to be pinned ... that is, if I can find an area large enough to smooth out all the different kinds of fabrics. Hmmmmm ... cut four, on the bias, two of interfacing, with the grain, matching notches and seamlines, adjust for length and width. Right now, I feel ready for a nap. I want to cry. Why not? My children are. I guess they're starting to doubt the omnipotence of their mother. They think I'm a scam. That I can't sew! Never could! I'll show them, the little wretches! Mommy will not be defeated! Mommy will make the best infernal costumes this town has seen! They will be the envy of all, taking major awards in the town Goblin Parade, possibly going on to regionals. Then we'll see who's crying! I persevere, suppressing expletives as I calm their fears, their doubts, their snuffling pusses. I look at the clock. 2:30 p.m. "Mommy, I'm hungry," says a wee voice. "Hungry? HUNGRY! HUNGRY????" says the mommy monster, "Can't you see your mommy's BUSY??? You just HAD lunch!!!" Susannah, the bolder of the two, pleads, "No, we didn't, Mommy, remember?" "Oh, I forgot," I shamefully admit. Five p.m. I'm still cutting out pattern pieces. Little 3-year-old Spencer has cried himself to sleep. After numerous laments such as, "Where are the shoes?" "When can he try on the shark head?" "What's taking so long?" his little body is spent. He collapses. Susannah, very much awake and starting to pace, wants to know about the kind of crown she's going to have. And the silvery sequined slippers shown in the photo seem to be nowhere in sight. What do I plan to do about it? she wants to know. If you've ever seen the movie "Amadeus," you have an image of me now. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, struggling to compose the last Requiem Mass as the cruel Salieri haunts and threatens him, wearing his dead father's black cape and mask. My face is white. The shadows under my eyes are growing larger by the moment. My hair has turned stiff and gray, standing straight up from the incessant scratching and mangling. "Just one more piece ... almost finished ... please darling, can't you see I'm almost finished ..." At the word, "finished," Spencer is aroused from his sleep and screams, "Finished? FINISHED? Can I try it on now? Mommy, I'm so excited. Mommy, where is it? Did you make the shoes, too?" My heart sinks. "Honey, I mean ... I've finished cutting the pattern out, I haven't exactly ... started the actual, well, SEWING, but ... that's the easy part. Look at this!" I hold up one 2-by-three-inch piece of tissue-lined material and say, "this is part of your fin! It won't be long now!"
Just as he's about to pounce on me in a fit of anger
and despair, the doorbell rings. It's little Jason from next door. He wants
Spencer to come out and look at the new Halloween costume his mommy just
bought. "I'm a Street Shark!" he says, "Cool, huh?" His mother joins in,
"Isn't this a great costume? I ordered it from one of the catalogs. He
loves it."
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