This, of course, led naturally to a discussion of the upcoming industrial revolution & its effects on cities, farms, & families. We talked about the $2 shirts at Walmart & the factory conditions in other countries today.
In the end, my 5yo commented, "It's cheaper to make your clothes than buy them."
My 8yo piped up, having done the math, "No, if the material costs $7, plus thread, buttons, & mama's time, the $2 shirt at Walmart is *much* cheaper."
His sister was thinking from the other end of things, though, & said, "But how much did the person who made the shirt get paid? It wasn't worth it to *her.*"
I just started sewing for my children last summer while I was expecting baby #4. I guess it was the nesting instinct. I hadn't sewn for them before because a) I'm slow & inexperienced, & b) I'd noticed the same thing my son had: it's cheaper to go to Walmart.
Sewing for them, though, held secret treasure. In the same way that finally becoming a stay-at-home mom held secret treasure--unexpected moments of closeness & intimate conversations beyond the feeding, changing, cleaning that I'd expected, sewing those first dresses was so much more than clothes for my daughters' bodies. The older one sat with me, watching, playing with scraps, talking, the whole time I sewed. Her face shone with femininity & joy, pride in a mama who could sew.
It mystified me. I'd never seen hero-worship in a face pointed my direction. It's a frightening weight, humbling & convicting & awesome all at once. But then she tried her dress on & twirled, & her whipping, twirling, pink-run-into-green dizzying girliness lifted everything. Hair & giggles & arms filled the living room, & when the smaller dress was finished for my 1yo, her big sister taught her to spin.
She's right, you know. The clothes at Walmart *are* more expensive. They cost the hidden joy of these moments.
No comments:
Post a Comment