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Stepmother of the Groom?

In my role as bridal seamstress, I see a lot of mothers of both brides and grooms.  Compared to mothers of the brides, mothers of the grooms have it fairly easy.  Traditionally, the groom’s family only has to worry about the rehearsal dinner, their own attire, and the groomsmen.  Not having children myself, I thought I would never have my own “mother of” story to tell. However, I am technically a stepmother. Still, being “stepmother” of the groom, I thought I was home free. Alas, the Universe had no notion of letting me off that easily.

Some background: I met my current husband about 10 years ago.  When we decided to tie the knot, we were considered an “encore couple” in the industry.  In other words, it wasn’t our first rodeo.  His first marriage had produced one offspring, a very bright young man with an auspicious future.  When I met him, he was just finishing his PhD and looking for universities at which to teach and to research.  In other words, he was fully grown.  To him, I was merely his “father’s wife.”

He decided to “run away from home” when he found a position as an assistant professor at a university in South Korea—about as far away from Texas as you can get both in distance and in culture.  That didn’t stop his mother from calling him every day, however.   He met a young woman there who had gotten her master’s degree here in the states, so her command of English was very good and she could relate to his culture while she taught him hers.  They were two peas in a pod, so it didn’t surprise his father and me that, the Christmas after he brought her home to meet the family, they announced their engagement.

For most of the family, this news was met with joy and enthusiasm.  His mother, however, was less than thrilled.  In her mind, not only did he run away to a foreign country, but he also got “captured” by a foreign bride.  It was bad enough that she had “only child” syndrome going on, but the foreign bit only added insult to injury.

To smooth things over, the young lady wisely involved her mother-in-law-to-be in as many wedding planning items as possible.  This calmed things down–but not enough to make all the animosity go away. 

In my mind, they didn’t need TWO mothers of the groom there, and, as she didn’t include me in any plans, I thought I would sit in the back row and heckle the bride and groom like Statler and Waldorf. 

Have I mentioned that the Universe has a warped sense of humor?

The Christmas before they were to be married, she asked me out of the blue if I had gotten my dress. The look of bewilderment must have been very evident on my face because she filled in the blank for me before I had the chance to ask. I told her no, that I hadn’t, because I hadn’t expected to be involved in the wedding. My stepson walked into the room at that point and explained that they were having a combined ceremony of both Korean and American elements and that they wanted to include all parental parties. I gave him the Spock eyebrow and asked rather incredulously how he could consider me to be a “parental party.” She didn’t give him the chance to answer, however. Asian young people have great respect for their elders.  She looked at me with a little girl look on her face and a little girl whine in her voice and called me “mommy,” basically begging me to be a part of what, unbeknownst to any of us, was to be just this side of a train wreck.

What could I do? My husband was learning Korean so he could have a rudimentary conversation with his future daughter-in-law’s parents, and I wasn’t yet immune to her petulance. I sighed deeply and told her I would go looking for something appropriate.

I had heard horror stories about mixed families having issues at big events like weddings and funerals.  I also knew there were still hard feelings on the Ex-wife’s side. I really, REALLY didn’t want this blowing up in my face. So, I consulted with the only two people I knew would understand my predicament: my own mother and my mother-in-law. Both had very sage bits of advice to offer: my mother-in-law because she knew the Ex and her family and my own mother because she had the experience of my father bringing a date to MY wedding (that’s another story).

The weekend of the wedding arrived, and we all gathered at my in-laws’ house.  My husband and I cooked a summer meal that incorporated elements from all of our backgrounds. We put chopsticks on the table in addition to forks, and I made a VERY large pitcher of my special sangria (it never hurts to grease the skids with a bit of alcohol).  This was our opportunity to meet the parents of our future daughter-in-law, and we wanted to make them feel as welcome as possible.

The evening began with the four of us shouting the standard greeting in our best badly accented Korean.  Everyone was pleased and surprised by our efforts. The hubster used his broken Korean to try to speak to the newcomers, but our future daughter-in-law played translator most of the night. Sometime during dinner, it came out that the hair and makeup person they’d hired to handle the bride had reneged on them. Hair was now being handled by a cousin from the Ex’s family, but there was still no makeup artist.  Thus, my brilliant husband spoke up (heavy sarcasm inserted here) and said that I was a wizard at stage makeup and that, of course, I could do it. I scowled at him from across the table. Yet again, I was on the receiving end of the little girl petulance (she’s an only child, too), so I decided it was best to bail her out. While the men did the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen, she and I went to the drug store and I helped her choose the correct shades for all her features.

I had one problem. I have almond shaped eyes.  My future daughter-in-law has Mongoloid eyes.  I had NO CLUE how to apply eye shadow, eye liner or ANYTHING to her eye shape. I must have watched a hundred YouTube videos on how to do eye makeup on her eye shape. I even practiced by drawing eyes on paper and coloring them in with crayons. 

The following day, the Ex was supposed to bring her over to do a practice run. However, there was only one car for five folks since they decided not to rent a car for the duration of their stay. Not sure of the wisdom of that decision or what caused the Ex to change her mind, but our future daughter-in-law was in tears when she called my husband to explain that she didn’t have a ride. Talk about a Mom-zilla moment! So, the hubster went to fetch her, and I discussed strategy with my mom-in-law.

First thing I had to do, of course, was calm her down. A whole bunch of hugs from everyone, a wad of Kleenex, and a sip or two of leftover sangria did the trick. Next, I took her into the one bath in the house with all the Hollywood bright lights. We tried two looks per face (one for each side), snapped pics on her phone, washed it all off, and did it again several times. She finally picked her favorite, and I applied color to the whole face so she could wear it home for final approval. The hubster dropped her back off at his Ex’s while I poured off the rest of the sangria into my glass and commiserated with my mom-in-law.

The wedding day dawned warm, bright, and humid. The ceremony was to be held in the Ex’s mother’s back yard. My husband and I arrived early because I had to do the bride’s makeup. I had only formally met the Ex two days before at the rehearsal. Talk about being X-rayed! I just tried to remain calm and sweet to everyone.  Inside, I was boiling over.  I wanted to be anywhere but there.

While waiting for the bride’s hair to be done, the hubster and I set up chairs, arranged flowers, and basically did anything to keep our minds off the chaos. I was finally called in to do the bride’s makeup, but I had to prevail upon the hairdresser to trim her eyebrows as they were in a right state of disarray.  Then the bride confided that everyone thought her choice of makeup was too bold.  I held her hand and explained that we could use the same colors but tone things down a bit.  She dried her tears and seemed content with that.

After I finished, I left the room.  She was going to change into her gown at that point.  I tried to encourage the Ex to leave the room too, as this should have been a private moment between the bride and her mother, but the Ex didn’t get the hint.  As it was, I was corralled to put a little makeup on the poor groom as his face had decided to break out in acne from the stress overnight. The hubster made jokes as I was applying concealer to his son’s face, but I could tell both were very nervous.

Finally, it was time. We let the bride’s parents be escorted down the aisle first. Then the hubster and I went. As we went to sit down, it occurred to me that tradition dictated in mixed family situations that the mother sat in the front row and then the father in the second. I realized with horror that we were in the front row. As an industry professional, I should have been paying closer attention to that detail.  As it was, I just shoved him over one seat and invited the Ex to sit right next to me on the aisle, the best seat in the house. Some would call my actions gallant.  I have one word for that setting . . . AWKWARD!

Thank goodness the ceremony and the pictures went off without a hitch.  Though there are WAY too many of both sets of parents with me next to the Ex. Ah, well . . . the things we do for the ones we love.

I was now looking forward to the reception: booze, food, and dancing!

Well . . . there was no booze! So, the hubster ran to the liquor store and bought it for the parents’ table. It was the bride’s parents, the translators, and the hubster and I at this table, and we all desperately needed a drink.  I had no idea that the Ex’s family were non-drinkers. Food?  Well . . . it was the standard fare Texas barbeque.  Yawn.  At least the cake was good. Dancing? Well . . . that wasn’t too well organized either. The person they “hired” as DJ was a cousin, and the person they “hired” as wedding planner was also a cousin.  You can read into that what you will.

Remember the car thing? Well that came back to bite us again. The newlyweds were borrowing the Ex’s car to go spend the weekend somewhere private. The Ex was supposed to get a ride back to her house with someone else, but they had bailed early. No one had thought to make arrangements for the bride’s parents to get back to the Ex’s house. Guess who came to the rescue? Me . . . “the stepmother.” We piled everyone into my CRV and drove them home.

My mom-in-law was still up when we got back. She made me a cup of tea and bade me join her on the couch for some quiet conversation. I told her all about having to take everyone home and the parents’ table and the dirty looks my husband and I got while dancing from the Ex’s family. It seemed like she was the only one worrying about me that day.

So much for hiding in the back row and not being involved.  I’m quite certain that Statler and Waldorf enjoyed the show.  

Weddings are a wonderful thing, but they do bring out the worst–as well as the best—in some. It’s bittersweet to see your child grow up and start a family of their own, and a lot of parents have mixed emotions over this most important rite of passage. At the very least, after that saga, I can certainly relate and commiserate with all the moms that come to see me.

Until next time, dear readers. May your bobbins be full and your seams be straight!

Heather

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Little Black Dress

The little black dress has been around for 100 plus years. Prior to the Roaring Twenties, black was worn mostly for funerary occasions. Then, artist John Singer Sargent came along and painted a canvas that rocked not only the art world but also the fashion world, Madame X. It transformed black from mournful to sexy.

Coco Chanel took the concept and ran with it, creating a fashion trend that has survived to this day. It has gone through many iterations from the full skirts of the ’50s, to the sleekness of the ’60s as exemplified by the iconic Audrey Hepburn dress from Breakfast at Tiffany’s, to the crazy shoulder pads and embellishments of the ’80s, to the basic pared down grunge inspired number of the ’90s and beyond.

It is a universal piece of fashion that belongs in every woman’s closet. I even have a few.

What I’ve noticed, being in the wedding industry, is the influence that the little black dress is having on those gowns.

Wedding gowns also reflect the changes in fashion, but black wedding gowns or gowns with black decorations on them are becoming increasingly en vogue. I’ve made several gowns that incorporate black elements, and I’ve also added black accents like buttons and lace to existing dresses.  It’s not for everyone, but, then again, I’m all for uniqueness in every situation.

The above was a two-piece wedding gown. I loved the way the black racer back of the bodice highlighted the rose ink on her left shoulder blade.  She brought me black lace that went with the bodice to attach to her veil and the hem of her gown.  The end result was just superb.

This mermaid gown had dark silver lace appliques on it, but the bride wanted to take it further into goth territory.  We added a black and rhinestone trim at her neckline (as well as to her partner’s outfit) and black pearl buttons all down the back of the dress.  She wore black jewelry and carried blood red roses and calla lilies. Stunning is the best way to describe this bride!

To meet this bride’s desire to go all the way goth, I built this dream dress from scratch in two pieces.  I made both with a corset back so that she could continue to wear it on anniversary dates no matter how her weight changed.  She added the red garnet jewelry and diadem, and, instead of a veil, we attached a long length of tulle as a cape to the back of her dress.  Talk about drama!

Here is my latest creation.  The young lady came to me almost in tears, telling awful tales of fat shaming at all of the boutiques she visited.  (Honestly, I’m in shock that this still happens in this day and age.)  Even if they had been willing to accommodate her, they wouldn’t have had this gem in stock in her size.  Since we were starting from scratch, she told me of her secret desire to have black lace incorporated into her gown.  She knew her mother was going to hate it, but I told her what I tell all my brides, “It’s YOUR gown and YOUR wedding, NOT your mother’s.”

We designed something simple and elegant, hiding her “faults,” enhancing all her good bits, and adding just that bit of daring that made this gown truly one of a kind–in her words, “a real show stopper.”

The little black dress . . . no longer just for funerals and fancy cocktail parties. It was only a matter of time before it burst onto the wedding scene in its unapologetic way, bringing with it drama, sex appeal, and just a bit of mystery.  I am thrilled that so many brides trust me with their secret longing to add black, in big or small ways, to their wedding stories.

Until next time, dear readers, may your bobbins be full and your seams be straight!

Heather

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Funky, Funny, Fabulous Dresses

As a bridal seamstress, I’ve seen all sorts of gowns and several designs multiple times.  I’m always intrigued by the styles folks bring in and the stories behind what about the gown appealed to them.  People always ask me if there are some gowns that stick out in my mind, for whatever reason, and the answer is a resounding “YES!”  Here are descriptions of some of the wild and wonderful dresses I’ve seen.

There’s one I always like to discuss. I affectionately refer to her as “the Octopus.”  This dress had 30, count ‘em, THIRTY layers of tulle to the skirt!  It literally stood up by itself when you took it off the hanger. This dress drove me crazy when I attempted not only to shorten the skirts, for obvious reasons, but also when I tried to alter the bustle.  No matter what I tried, I couldn’t get all 30 layers to lay straight and behave themselves to coordinate into a bustle point.  So, I ended up doing 5 layers at a time and making a rather pretty layered scalloped effect.  Unfortunately for the maid of honor, the silly thing had 46 bustle points when I was done. Yes, you read that correctly.  I think I gave her an 8-page diagram of instructions.  I have no idea if it was even attempted, but I am very grateful that I’ve never broken this bustle point record.

One bride brought me not one, but two weird dresses.  The ceremony dress was a bodycon column number covered in crystals from neckline to hemline.  The silly thing was so heavy that I didn’t move it from the fitting room until I was ready to work on it.  I had to remove 2 inches of crystals on either side of the seam to be altered in order to get it into the sewing machine and then I got to put them back when I was done with the change.  The even crazier thing was that this young lady was short and built like a pencil.  The running joke was that the dress weighed more than she did!

The second dress, in complete contrast, was made from a type of scuba fabric, extremely stretchy, was off the shoulder, and had an A-line skirt.  She was a size 00. So was the dress supposedly, but I ended up taking 4 inches out of each side seam! She also had me change the skirt while I was at it.  The A line became a mermaid.  Not sure what the rest of her wedding was like, but I’m quite certain that it was a showstopper.

Another bride brought in a gorgeous ball gown with an off the shoulder neckline and what seemed like millions of little 3D flowers all over it.  She asked for a Belle al a Beauty and the Beast style bustle for the train.  The only way to achieve this well was through French points (attaching under the skirt versus over) and there were 25 of them.  This was my second “worst” bustle in terms of difficulty.  I’ll never forget the look on the maid of honor’s face as I was trying to show her how to bustle the dress.  There was murder in her eyes directed at both myself as well as her sister, the bride.  I advised the bride to buy her sister a double after she successfully completed bustling the gown.  Alas, I have no idea if either occurred.

A bride also brought me this fabulous Italian number that was long sleeved and had dress-length lace illusion insets from shoulder to hem. It created a VERY striking silhouette, as they were strategically placed to show just the right amount of skin and leave the imagination wondering. 

Then there was the bride who brought me the gown that was 8 sizes too small for her and wanted me to add panels to either seam in order to make it fit.  I talked about this gown (as well as included a pic) in my blog entry “Fairy Godmother.”

Also in this parade of gowns is an incredibly cheap garment made in China and haphazardly constructed. The bride wanted me to fix all the issues it had AND make it look fabulous on her.  It was like putting lipstick on the proverbial pig.  I did the best I could with what I had to work with. To the bride, not only did her pig have lipstick on, it came complete with earrings, smoky eye shadow AND the smolder!  My alterations were 3 times what she spent on the dress.  Probably not her smartest move, but at least she was happy.

One of my favorite gowns looked like Picasso and Edith Head went to Greece for inspiration and collaborated on the project. The fabric had a very unique hand as well.  There were asymmetrical petals everywhere.  I thought it was gorgeous.  It, however, was also a pain to bustle. Since it didn’t have normal symmetrical layers to it, drawing a diagram for it was nigh on impossible.  I had the mother of the bride video me bustling it as I hoped it would help the day of.  Again, no report back, so I can only speculate if bustle-age was ever achieved.

Not only do I alter wedding gowns, but I also remake vintage gowns into something more modern.  One gown in particular was straight out of the ‘80s–HUGE sleeves, super high neckline with illusion fabric to the sweet heart of the satin, tons of sequined Battenburg lace appliques everywhere with the satin cut out from behind them, and a HUGE bow on the back.  It was fashionable for the time, but mom, bride, and I all agreed that it was hideous now.  First, we got rid of the bow and the sleeves.  I took off the illusion neckline, adjusted the front, and lowered the back so they were both a V.  I removed about half the sequins and filled in select appliques so they had backing again. We also took down the skirt from a generous A line to a more narrow and fitted A line.  Both bride and mom loved the finished product. 

One bride brought me a gown that had a split overlay.  She wanted me to take the satin underskirt off and make her fitted ankle pants out of the same shiny satin as the dress.  One problem . . . she was too plump to be wearing shiny satin in the form of fitted ankle pants! Palazzo, maybe.  Matte satin, maybe.  I tried to tell her this, but she insisted I make the shiny satin pants.  Of course, she was disappointed when she came for the fitting.  I always make things larger as you can pin things to make a perfect fit, but the satin was unforgiving of her curves, as I knew it would be even after pinning.  I think that’s the only tantrum I’ve had in my studio, knock on wood.

Whew!

Thank goodness wedding gowns are as varied as the folks purchasing them.  I would surely get bored altering the same thing over and over. I can’t wait for the next surprise to come through my studio door!

Until next time Dear Readers, may all your bobbins be full and all your seams be straight.

Heather

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Conferences … for Santa?

Conferences have become ubiquitous in our culture. Whatever interests you, not only are there groups where you can meet other folks with the same interests, but they usually hold semi-regular conferences on said interests.

Folks usually assume that I attend bridal conferences. I went to a few but quickly discovered that my alteration services weren’t something brides were focused on at that point. Additionally, most folks looking for a custom gown don’t attend those sorts of conferences.

Instead, I attend Santa Claus conferences. Yes, you read that right. I regularly hang out with 300-600 guys with white beards who wear red clothes of all types. And if you’re thinking, “That’s got to be surreal!” you would be correct.

Santa conferences are a lot of fun. Most of the guys and gals are indeed jolly, and they love to talk and tell stories. I love listening to the stories of the kids they meet. There are awesome stories–like when they get to tell kids they are being adopted by their foster parents–and there are the heart wrenching ones—such as when they visit terminal cancer patients. They see all of humanity. Those that take their roles seriously have huge hearts and deep souls. They truly feel for the people they touch, and you can hear it in their voices when they talk.

A lot of them know me now and bring their friends over to meet me and get a custom suit made. It’s fun to make a suit unique to a Santa and his market. The devil is always in the details, but that’s also where the fun is. Each gentleman brings something unique to the role, and I like to reflect that in the clothes I create.

If you’ve read my blog “What Christmas Means to Me,” then you know how much working with these folks means to me. I get to be a part of thousands of children’s happiness through these amazing men and women.

I get to truthfully say that I make magic for a living.

Until next time Dear Readers, may all your bobbins be full and all your seams be straight.

Heather

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Pink Bridezilla

If you’ve read my previous blog, “To Pink or Not to Pink,” you understand that I am not a fan of brides choosing pink for their bridesmaids. I have an example currently in my studio that is probably the most hideous example of this that I have ever seen.

I will start first by saying that the bridesmaid in question (I will call her Samantha*) was a bride of mine. Samantha’s sister is now getting married, and she has chosen this awful rose gold metallic dress with a herringbone pattern that has a knotted feature at the middle for her bridesmaids, including Samantha. The only person this would look good on is a size 2 or less. Never mind that there isn’t anyone in her lineup that is a size 2 or less. Samantha, for instance, is definitely Rubenesque in figure, and a knot in the center of a Rubenesque figure is certainly not an asset.

Samantha brought the dress to me and explained that she bought the biggest size they had. Unfortunately, this didn’t begin to fit her. The dress, in addition to having a knot in the front, had a U-shaped back with a bar across to hold the straps in place. So, not only did the zipper not go up all the way, but the bar didn’t even make it halfway across Samantha’s back.

What I ended up doing was taking the scraps I cut off the bottom of her dress (because it needed to be hemmed) as well as the scraps from another of the bridesmaid’s dresses to fill in the back for her. I got rid of the U shape, made it a V to match the front neckline, and put in a longer zipper so the dress was at least more supportive of her curvaceous figure.

Miraculously, also with the help of a pair of Spanx, the dress looked reasonable on her post alterations. It was never going to look fantastic, as the design elements didn’t go with Samantha’s figure. Samantha even confided in me that ALL of the bridesmaids hated this dress.

I understand that, from the bride’s point of view, this is HER day and she should be able to do whatever she pleases. HOWEVER . . . for the love of all your friends, sisters and other relatives who have to wear these often hideous frocks, PLEASE have a care for what these wonderful folks will look like in the photos. If you can’t make them look fabulous, at least don’t make them look hideous.

After this kerfuffle is done, I fully expect to get a video from Samantha with her and the other bridesmaids burning all these dresses in effigy in her friend’s outdoor fire pit. I also plan to drink to their fiery demise as I watch said video J

Cheers y’all! Until next time!

Heather

*Name changed to protect the innocent and to avoid pissing off the bride in question LOL

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Fairy Godmother

If you’ve met me in person, you know I have a penchant for wearing snarky sewing tee shirts. I have one that says, “I broke my wand so now I sew,” and it has a picture of Disney’s Fairy Godmother on it. Once in a while, the universe sends me a special project that lets me demonstrate that I am, in fact, related to said Fairy Godmother.

The first dress belonged to a young lady with Lupus. Under stress, her body would drastically change shape and size and would make a wardrobe choice nigh on impossible. She told me that she had at least three sizes in her closet to accommodate her condition. So, what to do about a wedding gown? I think she made an initial smart choice. She bought a skirt separate from a bodice. After telling me about her condition, I set about noodling on a solution. It came to me, as many things do, as I was falling asleep. The bodice was easy; I just installed a corset closure on the back. It’s extremely forgiving. You can go up and down in weight ‘til the cows come home, and it will still look amazing. Then, I thought, Well, why not do the same for the skirt? So, I installed a modesty panel that would accommodate quite a large change and did the same corset treatment as the bodice. It worked beautifully! The best were the joyful tears in the bride’s eyes when she tried the dress on for the final time in my studio and realized that it was one less thing that she had to worry about on her special day.

The second dress belonged to a lady who was a “big girl,” in her terms–tall and curvy but not overweight. She told her grandmother about her dream dress, and Grandma surprised her by going online and purchasing it. The only problem was that it was eight sizes too small. Her question to me was “Could you make it bigger?” My first suggestion was the corset back, but she didn’t want that. The only other solution was to add fabric in on the sides–4 INCHES on each side. Luckily, the dress had several things going for it that made it easier for me to hide my alterations. First, it was strapless. Second, the bodice had ruching over the top of the base layer, which made it easier to hide the side seams. Third, the skirt was gathered. Again, it made hiding the side seams a breeze. The other problem was the color. It was a delicate shade of champagne blush. I went to my go-to fabric place and couldn’t match it . . . only to come home and discover that I had the right stuff in my stash. Lesson learned: always go shopping in your stash first. Since I was adding fabric to the skirt, I also added pockets. When she tried it on, she was speechless. She couldn’t believe how the new seams disappeared and loved the pockets . . . of course.

The third dress belonged to a tiny woman. I think she was a street size zero, but she fell in love with this dress that was eight sizes too big. (What’s with the number 8?!?) She found the dress at a bridal resale shop with which I work closely, so they suggested that she call me and ask if I would meet her there and pin her up so she could decide. Normally when brides-to-be are trying on dresses, the helpers will clamp the excess material at the back. When she sent the pictures to me, I knew that taking it in from the back would be a lot more complicated than taking it in from the sides, but she was having a hard time picturing it. I met her with tools in hand and proceeded to pin the dress from the sides so she could see what the front and back would look like when I got done with it. We also had to move the straps in so the dress would lay correctly at the shoulders. I took pictures of the back after pinning, and she agreed that it looked fine that way, so she purchased the dress. In addition to taking four inches off each side, I also had to take six inches off the bottom, AND the train from the side seams back had a lace border on it. So, we did the alterations in stages–take the sides in first and then adjust the length and fuss with the lace border. Admittedly, I was rather nervous cutting that much off the dress, but the first fitting was amazing. She actually squealed when she viewed herself in the mirror. She couldn’t believe her eyes. The rest of it was easy.

In fact, most wedding gown alterations are easy for me now. That, of course, comes with experience, expertise, and a whole lot of plan B’s. (Still, I guarantee you that I’ve made a TON of mistakes along the way.) I’m glad the universe throws me curveballs like these now and again. They keep me on top of my game and help me earn the title of Fairy Godmother.

Until next time, dear reader, may all your seams be straight!

Heather

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What Christmas means to me

Like so many of us, I had a traumatic home environment when I was a child. My birth parents were divorced when I was very young, and the man my mother chose as her second husband was abusive in every way the DSM-V has a label for. Eleven months out of the year was an eggshell walk on razor blades that I do not ever care to repeat, but one month of the year was different. December was the warm, soft center of the universe to me.

Somehow, someway, the “stepfather-of-the-year“ faded into the background during December, and my siblings, my mother, and I came together as a united, loving whole. You see, there was this advent calendar that my mother made from a pattern in a Sunset magazine back when I was a baby. He always appeared December 1, hanging on the back of a door somewhere in the house. He was constructed out of felt, and he had 24 pockets in different bright colors on the front of his jacket. In each one of his pockets was a slip of paper, and on each one of those small pieces of paper, in my mother’s Palmer-method-perfect handwriting, was a task for the four of us to do together that day.

The tasks ran the gamut from making paper chains and other ornaments for the Christmas tree to baking Christmas cookies, setting up the manger scene by the fireplace, making birdfeeders to hang outside, cutting out snowflakes and taping them to the sliding glass door, recording cassette tapes to our grandparents where we read to them and sang Christmas carols to them, driving around the neighborhood looking at lights, and having my mother read How the Grinch Stole Christmas to us while enjoying hot cocoa. We also learned about our heritage. We celebrated Saint Nicholas Day and St. Lucia Day. We learned to roll lefse and make krumkakes– always accompanied by much swearing and burning of fingers from the krumkake iron.

It was 24 days of joy.

I hated Christmas Day. I know it’s Jesus’ birthday and “the reason for the season” (blah, blah blah), but I also knew that the next day everything would go back to what passed for normal at my house and the “stepfather-of-the-year” was definitely not very Christ-like.

As I grew older, I struggled with how to keep the spirit of Christmas alive year round. There were many Decembers that I was a complete Grinch. A lot of folks have issues with the holidays so I was in good company, but I still longed for the magic of those childhood Decembers.

Then, seven years ago, a theatre friend approached me and asked me to build him a Santa suit. He and it received such a good response that he introduced me to the regional Santa group, The Lone Star Santas. I started making suits for some of their members and got invited to be part of the largest group of Christmas performers on Facebook. I posted my work and continued to get more orders from all over the U.S. I think I have Santas in almost all 50 states now. With those orders came friendships, and with the friendships came the sharing of stories–the joy and the magic that the children of all ages felt when they saw “my” Santa and/or Mrs. Claus friend in something that I made.

I realized that I’d inadvertently stumbled onto how to keep the spirit of Christmas alive all year. You see, the majority of folks only get to see Santa and Mrs. Claus once a year. I get to see them all year round, and I have met some truly wonderful people with huge hearts and humble souls on this amazing journey. They remind me daily of the magic that surrounds us if only we remember to look and help perpetuate it. They remind me of what it is to be a child full of joy and wonder in the month of December again. And, for that, I am truly thankful.

Wishing you a December full of joy, dear reader, and a Happy New Year!

Heather

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An Incredi-BULL Story

I work with some amazing clients. If you’ve watched my picture posts, you know that I work with some very famous characters, too–Santa and Mrs. Claus, Buc-ee the Beaver (Folks in the South know who he is.), and an NFL mascot known as Toro.

This year, I had the privilege of attending the Houston Texans’ Halloween game where they honored Toro’s achievement as NFL Mascot of the Year 2021. He earned that award as well as the Anchor in the Community award, both of which were voted on by his peers (i.e., the other NFL mascots). I’m super proud of the young man whose face we don’t see, who embodies the bull costume and bullish attitude, and, doubly so, proud that he won the award in a PANDEMIC YEAR. I know some of you are thinking, “Why is this so extraordinary?” First, he was confined to a stage for every game, yet he still gave it his all. He and his team came up with all kinds of creative skits, and he wore crazy, eye-catching costumes (mostly made by yours truly, but definitely a collaboration on design). Second, he wasn’t allowed to do his in-person visits to see the community kids he loves so much, so he found all kinds of other creative ways to reach out to them–like holding Zoom visits to classrooms, riding the window washers’ dolly up the sides of the hospitals, and creating silly TikTok videos on social media for them to enjoy. The mayor of Houston even honored him with a proclamation, indicating that October 31 was now officially TORO DAY.

So, how on the hot plains of Texas did I ever get to meet this amazing guy?

Toro and I met almost four years ago when his alter ego (whom we’ll call Andrew) did a web search on seamstresses who could handle making costumes for mascots and sent me an email inquiring about my skills and services. Honestly, I thought it was a joke. Why on earth would anyone from a professional football team be reaching out to me? I mean, seriously . . . he GOOGLED me???? Good sense and curiosity got the best of me finally, and I replied. I figured, if it was real, it could be a lot of fun. If it was fake, then I merely wasted five minutes in replying.

Well, the reply resulted in many emails back and forth and finally an in-person consultation.

Not sure exactly what I was expecting, but I will admit to being blown away when I opened the door to find Andrew on my doorstep in full Texans regalia, Toro costume in its VERY large bag, and the Houston Texans van parked a few feet away. Okay . . . it IS real. Just breathe, Heather.

I look back on that now and laugh. I admit, I was expecting someone who was full of himself. I’ve certainly had my share of client-zillas, and I was wondering if this guy was one in the making. I am happy to say that my worrying was unfounded. Andrew is quite simply the nicest guy you will ever meet. He’s creative, excited about his job, passionate about the kids he visits in the hospitals as well as the kids he visits across the city with his anti-BULLying campaign, and he just loves being with people.

The initial consultation was about a tuxedo (which he has worn a GAZILLION times by now), but over the past four years we have collaborated on and created some truly awesome costumes, some of which have even been shown on national TV—and, yes, HE is as excited as I am when that happens. I’m extremely proud to be a part of a team who is enthusiastic about what they do, both on and off the field. He, just like Santa Claus, is the most visible part of the team, but as there are about twenty or so of us who make Toro “go,” he stands on the horns of some very strong individuals . . . and that’s no BULL.

Until next time dear reader!

Heather

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Reflections on a Half Century

Some time ago, I read about a father who started collecting bits and bobs (photos, articles, mementos, etc.) during the course of a year and put them all in an envelope for his daughter to open at a later date. On the eve of her birthday, he would write her a letter, seal it in with the envelope, and write the year on the outside of the envelope. He started this the year she was born, doing this for eighteen years and presenting all eighteen “time capsule” envelopes to his beloved daughter on her eighteenth birthday. This story inspired me so much that I decided to do something similar for myself–but on a much larger time scale.

On my thirtieth birthday, I bought the best bottle of scotch I could afford (which wasn’t very fancy or expensive) and hand wrote a letter to my future forty-year-old self. I painted a broad brushstroke picture versus going into minutia (a good idea). When I look back at that letter now, I can see the 20s optimism arriving at thirty like I’ve won the Oscars oozing through the loopy handwriting. I have to remind myself that, although I was smarter than the average bear then, I was still pretty stupid.

On my fortieth birthday, I bought a much better (and much more expensive) bottle of scotch and wrote my future fifty-year-old self a letter to keep the tradition going (typed this time, as my handwriting was starting to resemble a doctor’s). It was interesting to see what my goals were at thirty versus forty–how many of them I had achieved, how many of them didn’t matter anymore, and how I still sucked at romantic relationships–but my hunger for significance as well as emotional and mental growth was still there. I wanted to know more about what made me tick and why, but it was quite clear that I was still casting about for what would make my life “significant.”

My fiftieth birthday passed a few months ago. The huge blowout party that was supposed to happen was cancelled by COVID. The world has been living with a pandemic for the last eighteen-plus months, and life is anything but normal. I celebrated quietly with my husband, two close friends, and my bottle of scotch.

Half a century isn’t so bad, though. I look in the mirror and see a few things: one is my mother looking back at me. Perimenopause has not been kind to me. (I now understand all those menopause jokes intimately and both laugh and cry at them.) I also see a tired but defiant artist looking back at me: purple, spiky hair, no makeup, silly, sarcastic purple tee-shirt. I see fierceness in those eyes: a social justice warrior, a staunch feminist, and unapologetic humanist staring back at me. I see passion in my eyes. My business is thriving, and I get to make art and magic every single day. (Bonus – I figured out how to keep Christmas alive year round! See December blog coming soon.) However, I also see sadness in my eyes. I hurt for everyone who suffers. Being an empath sucks sometimes, and it’s definitely a boundary with which I still struggle.

More than anything, I see growth. I see all the wounds, scars, mistakes, shames, and failures. They make a patchwork quilt that would make any 1920s seamstress who specialized in crazy quilts envious. I also see my successes and triumphs–both large and small. They make up a suit of armor that is battered and burnished. You can see some of the botched repair jobs here and there, but it’s still in one piece, and it still stands proud. I’m not the same woman I was at thirty or at forty. I don’t struggle with my self-esteem anymore. I’m comfortable in my own skin. I forge my own path, and the naysayers be damned. I’m finally a formidable force in my own right (one of my fortieth birthday goals achieved).

Additionally, the MOST important goal of all has finally been achieved, and that is I found what makes my life significant. As alluded to in the previous paragraph, I created a business that brings joy and magic into people’s lives. I created a safe space for me to make art and get paid for it. Through my work, I get to touch thousands of lives. In essence, I get to love the world. I receive evidence of this through all the pictures my clients send back to me of them wearing my art. The smiles are a million watts, and the elation is evident even from a random collection of colorful pixels.

So, what’s next? One goal that stands out from my fortieth letter that I think I’m going to take forward is “an acute appreciation for all the good things in life.” During this pandemic, I’ve discovered what is and isn’t a “good thing” . . . an important thing. It definitely ISN’T material things. It’s the sound of a live band playing. It’s the feel of your best friend’s hug. It’s the smile on a client’s face. (Those have been hard to see through the masks!) It’s the wind whipping your hair as you drive with the top down or walk on the beach. It’s the sun warming your face. It’s the people in your life who make it special. It’s how you make them feel loved. It’s all the collective experiences of being ALIVE.

So, for my sister in time at age sixty, my wish is that you LIVE each day unapologetically. Create each moment with significance. Love with everything you have, and help all with whom you cross paths in some way, even if it’s merely to smile. Realize that each new day you are given is a chance to make a difference . . . a chance to make magic . . . a chance to change the world. Even if it’s just a small bit of magic, it could be the world to someone. You just never know.

Thank you, dear reader, for coming on this journey with me! I wish you magic every day!

Until next time,

Heather

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The Ultimate Bridezilla

When most folks think of the term bridezilla, they picture the tantrum throwing, sailor swearing, hysterically sobbing whack job that you generally see on reality programs like Say Yes to the Dress (which is one of the reasons I don’t watch that show, incidentally). In my line of work, I’ve been exposed to enough of them, including Mom-zillas, but I would have to say the worst one I’ve come across was far calmer, far scarier, and more insidious than the tantrum throwing toddler in an adult body.

The appointment began like many others: I welcomed the bride and her best friend/maid of honor into my studio, talked about the dress, did the fitting, discussed options, and talked about what comes next. In many cases, the bridesmaid asks if she can bring me her dress too. The answer is always yes, as I do alterations for the entire bridal party.

At the time, I didn’t think anything of it when the bride told me that she was getting married in the Mormon Temple and her dress needed to cover her temple garments, underwear worn by followers of the Mormon faith after they have taken part in the endowment ceremony. These garments are required for any adult who previously participated in the endowment ceremony to enter a temple. They remind me of saint medals worn by the Catholics, yarmulkes worn by Jewish men, and hajibs worn by Muslim women. They are symbols of their faith. I’ve known a handful of devout Mormons in my life, and these garments are a BIG deal to them. Something else that should be mentioned is that, if you haven’t gone through the endowment ceremony, you WON’T be allowed in the temple. No exceptions. So, unlike the other three examples that I mentioned, this one is representative of exclusivity.

Okay, so the stage is set. Enter the maid of honor (MOH) on her own for a fitting appointment for her dress. When I answered the door, there she was, sans dress. Usually when this happens, something else has gone awry in the woman’s life, so I asked if she was okay. She attempted not to burst into tears . . . and failed miserably. I invited her in and scooped her into my arms for a much-needed hug (don’t worry . . . it was pre-COVID). In my line of work, I’m often called upon to play psychologist.

I sat her down, provided tissue, wine, and chocolate, and offered to listen to whatever she needed to say. Slowly, the story poured out between her tears. Apparently, the two women had been thick as thieves through high school and college even though the MOH was not a member of the Mormon Church (not that her friend hadn’t tried). They both dated another set of best friends, neither of whom were Mormons either. When they graduated from high school, the MOH and her beau went separate ways, but her friend received a proposal. The bride apparently agreed on the condition that her fiancé not only become Mormon but also go through the endowment ceremony.

At this point, I didn’t quite understand or remember what the big deal was, so I asked for clarification. She then told me that the only people who would be allowed to attend the wedding were the bride’s parents (see paragraph 3). I was aghast. I asked why they didn’t just elope instead of making a big deal out of it. The MOH continued, saying that it wasn’t the worst part. She told me that her BFF had chosen another Mormon, someone she’d just met, to stand with her for the ceremony. Now I understood the betrayal. The MOH, who had been the bride’s best friend all through high school and college, was being laid aside like an old doll in favor of someone who had the right credentials.

When I saw the bride for the final fitting, I chose to say nothing. It wasn’t my affair, and karma would take care of her in the end. I never saw the MOH again. I heard nothing back from either of them, so I don’t know what happened with the wedding or their friendship.

From my perspective, it seemed that the MOH was deeply wounded by the bride’s betrayal. It was almost as if the bride was telling the MOH, “I’m getting married now and I don’t need you.”  Don’t get me wrong.  I understand that someone’s faith can be extremely important to them.  It just seemed extremely selfish to me for the bride to treat the person who was supposed to be her best friend in that manner. And it wasn’t just her BFF.  She made crazy demands of her fiancé (as I understand it now, the endowment ceremony is quite the event for which to prepare) and unfair demands of his family and their attendants, as she expected them to help with the reception even though they would be unable to witness the union. With so many easy and loving compromises at her fingertips, it just flummoxed me why she would choose this route … one that excluded so many and damaged so many relationships.  Not a good way to start what should be a joyous transition in your life.

Until next time Dear Readers, may all your bobbins be full and all your seams be straight.

Heather