Some friends and I have been talking a lot recently about Christmas, gifts, and what we plan to give to our children. I go back and forth about the subject – on one hand, I love to shop, to give, and to watch my children unwrap the very gifts they asked for. On the other, I have a very small house, and a even smaller budget. There are wonderful articles and blog posts about the subject, but I add this:
A pillowcase my mother made for me when I was 10 years old. Our mother made us one each year – sometimes our names, sometimes an elaborate landscape, sometimes a simple scene. Most were worn out after a full year of use, so when when my sister found this mixed up in her things and returned it to me this summer, it felt like a physical reminder that my mother thought of me with each stitch, each knot, each twisted thread. My mother could not afford to buy us armloads of gifts, but each night we went to sleep and dreamed on a pillowcase she had stitched with what she had – time, and patience and joy. (You’ll notice the signature in the right hand corner is sloppy, compared to the tight, even stitches above. That is because my mom did not sign it, so 10 year old Ivory stitched it, after working on this masterpiece.)
I’ll give you two guesses what my girls are getting in their stockings this year. If you need both guesses, I hope you said chocolate the first time.