Taking the Bonnet Call
Last week, my six-year-old daughter brought home a wooden clothespin and instructions for the parents to create a pilgrim with a glue gun and felt fabric. I stared at it in silence, trying not to alarm my daughter with my ineptness and panic. How in the world was I going to turn a piece of wood with a knob at the top into one of our founding fathers? And with a glue gun nonetheless? The last time I handled one of those, I not only burned myself, but also glued the gun to plastic flowers that melted. I threw the whole contraption away, vowing to never again be a part of the glue gun culture.But just as the pilgrims set out with brave intentions and a sense of adventure, the time had arrived for me to face my past, my glue gun anxieties and the famous Fugate bonnet incident. When I was thirteen years old, my mother arrived home from work hysterical. Thinking that she must have lost her job or perhaps my baby sister at the grocery store, I offered assistance. Amidst the tears, I discovered that my four-year-old sister’s pre-school had sent home instructions for making a bonnet for the upcoming dance recital.
Not being the crafty type, my mom had ignored the bonnet call. Surely, it wasn’t mandatory for a mom working full-time to spend her evening cutting, pinning and sewing a bonnet together for a bunch of toddlers to dance. The school, however, had informed her differently. The recital was tomorrow and my sister would be the only one without a bonnet.
Fortunately, my mother had already had the psychic insight to enroll me in sewing classes at the local Singer Center. After one semester, I could thread a machine, but I was no sewing genius. I tended to sew things together backward, which is exactly what happened when I tried to make the bonnet. The ruffle turned inward, the lining became the outer lining. My mother sat nearby, extremely grateful. I was determined not to let her down and fail at my heroic seamstress moment.
After ripping the pattern apart a couple of times, I finished the bonnet, strings and all. The next morning, we put it on my sister and while I can’t say we completely understood the preschool’s vision, she did look adorable. The joy that my mother felt over the fact I was able to help her in what was obviously an overwhelmed-overworked mommy moment has stayed with me.
Clothespin in hand, I did what any good pilgrim would do and walked out my front door and into the neighborhood. Within minutes, I had a glue gun, fabric and good advice about how to glue-pin-and-dry-to-stabilize. Back at home, I laid out newspaper, so I wouldn’t glue the gun to our dining room table, and set about designing the pilgrim with my daughter. Fabric wrapped around the pin served as the dress with white muslin on top as an apron. Snipped doll hair made her hair, a felt tip marker made her face. And for the final touch, we added a white bonnet complete with ties.
Within an hour, Emily the pilgrim had arrived, and my daughter was thrilled. I, too, was giddy with excitement. I hadn’t given birth on the Mayflower like three of our founding mothers, but I had come through on the bonnet call. Silly, I admit, but I can’t help but feel thankful for those small moments that keep us feeling connected, loved and appreciated. Even if it did take a glue gun to make it all come together.
Posted on Wednesday, November 21, 2007 at 09:35PM
by
Christine Fugate
in Columns
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2 Comments
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12 References
Christine Fugate
in Columns
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2 Comments
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12 References
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Reader Comments (2)
Enjoyed reading the article, there is always so much relatable. I could visualise my situation when I help my toddler with crafts but it is always very rewarding.
This article brings to mind the heroine, as she was always struggling to make an effort at her kid's school. It is hard to figure out how to put that time in at school as well as do all the other stuff that demands our attention.
Your mom was lucky she had you!