The Sewing Box

When I was little, my grandma taught me how to sew. And by sew, I mean that I would sew buttons to my grandpa’s handkerchiefs, and occasionally, I watched my grandma on her sewing machine. She even gave me my own sewing box – small, plastic, and blue, it has served me well over the years.

On the front, I can still see some of the rainbow ink from where I tried to use my “Meghan” rubber stamp. In the bottom of the box, I found a piece of Christmas fabric with buttons and bells sewn all over it, some faded denim that I think I cut off a part of an old jacket when I was like, 12, and finally, a piece of folded and taped paper containing a few beads and appropriately labeled in crayon.

All of this is to say that I finally made an upgrade. I am, in no way, getting rid of this stuff. But I DID finally buy a large sewing box for all my goodies. My little box from grandma just wasn’t cutting it anymore.

And voila! Look how pretty and colorful and EFFICIENT it is. You know you’re getting older when efficient is the most exciting part of that sentence…

I think I’ll hang on to that old box for my daughter someday. It might be just a crummy little sewing box, but it’s definitely meant a lot to me over the years.

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