There’s something heart warming about receiving a parcel, especially when you’re living in a foreign country. When I got back from work today I saw in reception a parcel with what could only be my Dad’s uber large handwriting. Basically, I order things to my house in England so my parents are forced to forward them on to me so as to avoid paying extortionate p&p charges, sneaky eh. And my mum’s parcels are the crème de la crème; not only did she send me the stuff I ordered but she also sent me Sinutabs (the best decongestion tablets ever) and some cute little flowery tea dresses made by her own two nimble hands. That’s what my mum does for a profession, as it were.
I remember sitting cross legged on her desk in the sewing room watching her cutting out patterns, piecing together wedding dresses, gowns and the like. She’d never do my textiles homework for me though. It’s a shame that I’ve only just started to appreciate her pursuit, and I never paid more attention. I can sew a button on or hem things but that’s as far as my capabilities go.
She’s basically altered all my clothes since I can remember and until I knew how to choose my own clothing Mum made all my party dresses as a child. When I reached that difficult adolescent age I refused to wear her creations as I thought it was a bit of a faux pas. Now I’ve come back round full circle... thank-you madre!
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