My strategy, if you can call it that, for sewing with young children is to leave a wide berth for quality control. What I hope is that they will enjoy making things. I harbor no aspirations for blue ribbons at a quilt show. This seems to jibe with the mothers that drop them off, who express copious joy at yet another pillow for the playroom. 

 

Since joining someone else's sewing business, I am trying to read between the lines about such expectations. How much can I rescue a child who wants to give up? If the girl is content with lopsided straps may I please keep my mouth shut? This week word reached me that a mother was displeased with the imperfections in her daughter's tote bag, which I supervised.

 

"I think you need to pay closer attention," my boss told me. 

 

As far as feedback goes, it was mild. But I wondered if perhaps I am not as good a fit as I thought. Giving a child the message that their bag has to be beautiful enough for someone else's standards rubs me the wrong way, like sliding my hand across corduroy against the nap. I had certainly noticed the errant seams, but I asked if she was happy with them. She was. 

 

I felt a wave of gratitude for the parents over the years that have entrusted me with their children. It is remarkable, not only because the room is rife with needles, scissors, and pins. It is a sacred duty to be a shepherd for someone's creativity. 

 

The next place I headed after class was a meeting. I noticed feeling ornery. Not for reasons that amount to more than a hill of beans, but enough to burden a friend with later. My heart went to the girl who perhaps overheard her mother criticizing her project to the supervisor. I wished I could shield her from those sharp words.  

 

Probably I can't. But it is within my power to dilute them with encouragement.