Crooked Legs
My mom and her boyfriend decided to get one last motorcycle ride in before the snow flies, so they took their last week of holidays to go camping and fishing, and stopped by to visit for a couple of nights here.
My mom is awesome. Of course, she's my mom, so I have to say that, but really, she IS pretty great. She's really go-with-the-flow, and very non-judgmental, which is good, because it means she eats my cooking without complaint, and doesn't care if I NEVER dust under the TV.
My mom blames herself for the fact that I'm clumsy, though she herself is incredibly graceful, and up until a few years ago, was winning dance competitions all over western Canada and the US.
When I told her about falling off my deck, and showed her my still-swollen ankle (yes, three months later, it's still swollen and painful, but that's another story) she sighed heavily and shook her head.
Mom: "It's all my fault."
Me: "Wha...?"
Mom: "Me and your dad. We should have broken your legs when we had a chance."
Me: "WHA...?"
Mom: "I just couldn't do it to you - you were so little. And cute."
Me: "What. Are. You. Talking. About?!"
Mom: (nonchalantly) "Oh, you were born with crooked legs."
Me: "Crooked...legs?"
Mom: "Oh yes, REALLY crooked. The doctors wanted to break them and splint them right after you were born, but your dad and I just couldn't do it to you."
Me: "Crooked? How crooked?"
Mom: "Oh, like this, kind of." (she draws a sketch on the table with her finger that resembles frogs legs - in at the knees, out at the feet) "But you were so little - we just couldn't do it." "But I guess if we had, you probably wouldn't have fallen off your deck."
Me: "Or out of the back of the truck. Or off the dance floor. Or at 7-11. Or at prom. Or in the parking lot. Or off the swing set. Or..."
"Mom: "Yes, yes. See, it's all my fault! And your dads!"
Now I have an official excuse for being a klutz! It's my mom's fault! I wonder if that will cover me for sewing through my fingernail this weekend. Maybe my arms are crooked, too!
In any case, I'll leave you with this:
Simplicity 1447, size 18, bust 36. I LOVE this dress.
I couldn't wear it, of course, because my legs are crooked, so I'll end up selling it, but what I really love is this cover art.
The lady in the blue dress is obviously the clear winner of a fairly scathing verbal exchange between herself and the lady in red. But nobody who wears a red dress is going to take the humiliation kindly. Her little red clutch purse contains a tiny vial of something that mixes very well with a vodka martini, and her next words will be "I'm sorry, you're right. May I get you a drink?"
My mom is awesome. Of course, she's my mom, so I have to say that, but really, she IS pretty great. She's really go-with-the-flow, and very non-judgmental, which is good, because it means she eats my cooking without complaint, and doesn't care if I NEVER dust under the TV.
My mom blames herself for the fact that I'm clumsy, though she herself is incredibly graceful, and up until a few years ago, was winning dance competitions all over western Canada and the US.
When I told her about falling off my deck, and showed her my still-swollen ankle (yes, three months later, it's still swollen and painful, but that's another story) she sighed heavily and shook her head.
Mom: "It's all my fault."
Me: "Wha...?"
Mom: "Me and your dad. We should have broken your legs when we had a chance."
Me: "WHA...?"
Mom: "I just couldn't do it to you - you were so little. And cute."
Me: "What. Are. You. Talking. About?!"
Mom: (nonchalantly) "Oh, you were born with crooked legs."
Me: "Crooked...legs?"
Mom: "Oh yes, REALLY crooked. The doctors wanted to break them and splint them right after you were born, but your dad and I just couldn't do it to you."
Me: "Crooked? How crooked?"
Mom: "Oh, like this, kind of." (she draws a sketch on the table with her finger that resembles frogs legs - in at the knees, out at the feet) "But you were so little - we just couldn't do it."
Me: "Or out of the back of the truck. Or off the dance floor. Or at 7-11. Or at prom. Or in the parking lot. Or off the swing set. Or..."
"Mom: "Yes, yes. See, it's all my fault! And your dads!"
Now I have an official excuse for being a klutz! It's my mom's fault! I wonder if that will cover me for sewing through my fingernail this weekend. Maybe my arms are crooked, too!
In any case, I'll leave you with this:
I couldn't wear it, of course, because my legs are crooked, so I'll end up selling it, but what I really love is this cover art.
The lady in the blue dress is obviously the clear winner of a fairly scathing verbal exchange between herself and the lady in red. But nobody who wears a red dress is going to take the humiliation kindly. Her little red clutch purse contains a tiny vial of something that mixes very well with a vodka martini, and her next words will be "I'm sorry, you're right. May I get you a drink?"
Labels: family, vintage patterns
Hey Rachelle,
This is Juliet, we were friends in high school (I went by Julie in those days.) I hope you remember me. How the hell are you??? I still remember our list of places not to be while still alive, (glued to the wing of a DC-8, or aboard a burning zeppelin) and wish I had a copy of it somewhere. We also played a lot of cards.
Just so you know, I'm not a creepy stalker, I was browsing the comments on the cakewrecks blogspot and came across yours... "No way, it can't be her," I thought, but the picture did look an awful lot like you. So I clicked on it, and yeah, that is you. The cakewrecks is one of my favourite things to look at on the internet.
I liked your comments on the dress pattern, the lady in the blue dress does look self-righteously smug. The lady in the red dress is clearly biding her time and waiting for a chance to passively-aggressively get even. To bad we can't see the lady in the yellow dress's face. Her pose does echo the blue dress lady's though. A size 18, with a 36 bust? Really?
E-mail me some time! My e-mail is
wow.loyalty[at]gmail.com
I hope you're doing well.
Juliet (Julie Rice)
JULIE!!!!!!
OOLIEJAY!!!!!!!!!
I'm sending you an email right now!
I can't believe we were reunited by Cake Wrecks. My love of messed up cakes has been vindicated!
Blue Dress: "So, I did get all of the attention tonight, you miserable cow."
Orange Dress: (signing) "Sometimes blonds don't have all the fun."
And at least your mother gave you an excuse for being clumsy. When I was 17, in college, and at a dance, someone I wasn't dancing with stepped on my foot and snapped two bones. I dance no more. Not that I was ever any good, anyway, and I had no excuse for that!
Ok, once again I'm laughing hysterically. Not at the crooked leg story (although imagining your facial expressions did provide some entertainment), but the thought of the scathing verbal exchange between the pattern ladies. You are a hoot! What you lack in grace, you more than make up for with humor. I'd rather have humor!
Hey there - been reading your blog for a while and am loving your misadventures with frocks and decks and so forth. Turns out I've been looking for a cheongsam pattern in a 36" - would love to purchase it from you, if you're happy to post to Australia. If so, let me know when you're willing to part with it! (I even have the wee Chinese frog closures for the neck, just waiting for a pattern...)
Email is livebirdblog_at_gmail_dot_com.
Thanks!