The day I decided to try my hand at what I call a “real” quilt (meaning something other than patchwork) was an important day in my life. I’ve made many things since, and have many projects in various stages of progression. I think that on most occasions I would even call myself a quilter.
Until I saw this quilt the other day, and wondered if perhaps I still deserve the same kind of ranking that I gave myself years ago.
I found this at American Jane, and I love it! It’s called Mothers and Daughters.
I love the colors, the pattern, everything.
But I’m pretty sure it’s way out of my league.
I find myself wishing that I was a REAL quilter. And then I think that someday, just someday, I might be.
A week or two ago, my parents got news that their 18th grandchild was born. Pretty neat, especially when you consider that half of their children aren’t parents yet.
My oldest is their first grandchild. When he was born, my mom made him a flannel quilt. He loved it to death and she made him another a few years later. She’s made one for every one of her grandchildren since then, and my son is not the only one to have received a replacement.
Last weekend she gave me the blanket she’d made for my baby.
My Mom would say that her quilts aren’t much, but I love them. I also love this flannel. Little flowers and birds and butterflies. Perfect. I also love the edge she always puts on them.
Look at this, a little baby girl wrapped up in blankets made by her Mom and Grandma. What could be better?
Thanks, Mom. It’s perfect.
For my baby’s blessing day, I had pictured a lovely little pieced quilt in all white.
But on the morning of the blessing, I had nothing done. I saw this coming, so I had picked up a minky fabric with a lovely paisley and flower like pattern on it, and some white satin blanket binding to make a ruffle with.
A few minutes at the sewing machine and this is what we had:
It turned out really pretty, and it looked lovely with her gown.
There she was, the star of the evening, and she slept right through it.
Can’t say that I blame her.
And may I be allowed to say that I love, I mean I LOVE the little rhinestones on that waist?
Meaning, I am smitten with that gown. It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.
Next to the baby, that is. She’s perfect, and I love her so much.
So, now that the event is over, I can’t put the blanket away. I know I’m just begging for something bad to happen to it, to stain it or otherwise ruin it before I pack it away, but I can’t help myself. It’s the perfect weight and it’s so soft and pretty. I wish I had one my size! So I just keep wrapping her in it. And life is good when you can do that.