I was one of the best-dressed kids on the block, all thanks to my mother’s craftiness with a thread, needle, and sewing machine. She took advantage of every opportunity to make me a festive outfit; but with each piece of clothing made, scraps were left behind. Before leaving for college, my mom surprised me with a quilt. Each scrap of fabric is sewn together for the purpose of creating a multicolored quilt to keep me warm at night. But when looking at those swatches of fabric individually, the true purpose of this quilt is revealed. My quilt takes me back in time to relive my childhood through the memories imprinted onto each piece of cotton.
As I unfold the quilt, the first scrap of fabric I lay my eyes on has two frogs hugging on a lily pad, and an image taken from when I was four fills my mind. I’m standing on a giant rubber frog, wearing a dress covered with a fun print of frogs. Instantly, the sound of a busy mall during the holidays fills my conscious. My small hands and feet fight to grip the rubber frog as my young muscles help me climb up to the top. I can hear my mom and Nana cheering for me while I jump excitedly on the top of the frog. That mall was one of my favorite places to go with my mom and Nana. Once I saw those two frogs staring at me from the quilt, I was sent back to feel the love and pure joy that always came when visiting my Nana and Poppy’s.
Looking at the red, white, and blue stars on my quilt, I picture my family and I walking to town for the Fourth of July party. The smell of barbeque wafts through the streets while drops of sweat drips down onto my flag dress. I can feel the excitement in my stomach, awaiting the rides. My brother and I wore matching outfits made by my mom, and ran around giggling for hours, hoping this day would never end. That Fourth of July was filled with food, fireworks and a good time with my family.
The next square of fabric I notice is blue with butterflies and ladybugs on it. When I see this, I remember the full quilt my mom made out of that fabric when I was five. It was the first time she ever attempted to quilt, and that blanket lay on my bed for years after that. The sound of my mother’s voice reading me a story before bed comes with the sight of this fabric. I can feel the warmth of my mother as she tucks my blue quilt around me before she turns off the light.
The most prominent part of my quilt is the hot pink fabric used to make the border. The theme for my fourth birthday party was Barbie, so my mom came home one day with yards upon yards of hot pink fabric. The family room was off limits for a couple days so she could set up for the party and I was tempted to peak many times. The morning of my birthday, I raced downstairs as my mom unveiled the party room. My mouth dropped as my eyes were stricken by hot pink. Every piece of furniture was draped in this fiery pink fabric; the ceiling was flowing in it. When I look at this fabric, I can see and taste the beautiful cake my mom made to look like the ball gown on Barbie. I can see my friends sitting along the hot pink table, each with a Kelly doll decorated with a mini-cake skirt. My mom’s creativity made this birthday magical.
A multitude of memories rush back to me when I spot the print of soft pink and red flowers fallen on a deep cream background. This scrap is very important to me, since I encountered it many times throughout my life. The first moment that comes to mind is opening presents on Christmas morning when I was a little girl. The smell of Christmas breakfast wafts into the living room as my brother and I raced to the Christmas tree. I went for the biggest box first, and after tearing the paper back, I see a box covered in this beautiful fabric. As a little girl, a box didn’t excite me much, not until my mom knelt down next to me and opened it. When opened, this box transformed into a doll-sized closet. The emotions rushed through me as I saw a single dress hanging in that box. The perfect dress for my American Girl doll was created out of that same fabric. As I thanked my parents, my mother handed me another present, saying that they went together. Holding onto my doll’s dress, I opened this next box to find the same fabric folded up. When I lifted up this beautiful fabric, it fell into an identical dress in my size. My doll and I wore these dresses until mine didn’t fit me anymore. I loved that dress because it reminds me of the happiness my mom can give me.
The second memory I have with this fabric takes place on a chilly fall day a couple years later. My mom promised that she would teach me how to sew and that day had come. She surprised me with an armful of supplies to make my first sewing project, and in that armful contained that fabric of flowers that is so precious to the two of us. I can still feel my mother’s hand around mine as she helps me maneuver the fabric to create the perfect stitches. I sat in my mom’s lap for hours that day, slowly sewing each stitch to perfection. She taught me how to sew on buttons for eyes and thread for the mouth. I was so proud to show everyone the cat I had made with the help of my mom. From then on, my mom and I shared a love for sewing, and to this day, all of my sewing projects have some of my mother’s touch in them.
Learning to sew from my mother was an important step in my life. My mother had learned as a little girl from my Nana, my Nana from my great grandma, and so on. I had grown up with the women in my family sharing a common interest of sewing, and to share that connection with them is an honor. Needlework is not something I could discuss with my dad or brother; it is something I share only with the women in my family. Although my mom’s side of the family is spread in between each coast, sewing has always kept me connected to them.
I hold each of these memories close to my heart, hoping to never let them go. Each time I look at an individual piece of fabric, I’m taken to a different place, but when I look at the quilt as a whole, its meaning transforms. I look at my quilt and can see the love my mother put into it. Each memory formed the building blocks of my relationship with my mother, just as each unique piece of fabric has been pieced together to form the symbol of my childhood.