On Saturday, the littlest progeny of the family Stink had a birthday party to attend.
While we were there I received a call on my cell from the oldest.
It went like this:
"Hey! I was wondering if you knew where I might find those really sharp scissors in your studio? You know, the ones you cut fabric with?"
Me without thinking, and pleased that I actually know where something is in my studio: "Sure, in the "sharp drawer" in the apothecary chest."
The big girl, sort of breathless with excitement: "Great! Thanks!"
I had a odd sort of queasiness at the sound of that click.
Once, when our girl was a very little stink, she asked me where things went when they were flushed down the toilet. I answered her factually.
It wasn't until several minutes later that I pondered the origins of this sort of question, and by then of course, there was nothing to do but drip dry.
This feeling was sort of like that.
This is what I found when I got back and headed into the studio:
This is the big girl making a skirt.
She did not use a pattern.
She used the parchment paper that I use to draft, the pencils that I pattern with, the pens that I mark with, and the seam ripper that I ... well, I rip with.
And here's the kicker...
She used one of my denim pencil skirts as a base to draft from.
Our children are watching us, even when we don't think they are. They are watching, and learning, and maybe even loving our skirts, even if they never say a word.
As a post script, it was shoes that our gal Stink decided to flush; this would prove to be just the beginning of her rather unfortunate shoe flushing stage.