A fresh batch of bright-eyed girls arrived at sewing camp. The theme was stuffies, which are popular with the preteen set, though not always with their mothers. I asked one girl who was working on a llama how many animals were already residing on her bed. 

 

"About a hundred," she shrugged. 

 

But allergies and dust mites aside, they are adorable. One girl cut out a swath of fluffy fabric, sending a small snowstorm to the floor.

 

"Do you have one of those roller things?" I wondered how an eight-year-old could be savvy about lint, but I handed her one. She tried to rescue her dark shirt. Then she spoke to me confidentially. 

 

"I don't want to finish it."

 

"I can help you..." I began. 

 

"My mom says our house is glitter free." I nodded and set it aside to be adopted by someone else. 

 

As is often the case, I am in a continual balancing act, between nudging girls to finish a seam and rescuing them from the jaws of the machine. Each time a girl asks if she can jump into a given project, I weigh her past endurance, the orneriness of the pattern, and how likely she is to succeed. Sometimes there are those who like to slide under the radar by making three pillows in a row, but this is not what I hope for on their behalf. Plus, we run out of stuffing. 

 

This week I was lucky to have an actual prodigy. Not that she will be designing in Paris, but several times I handed her a complicated pattern and turned around an hour later to see a finished pair of doll overalls. Or a cat with an embroidered face. I laughed out loud, to see her modesty and her skill. 

 

Being part of the magic that shows up continues to feel sweet.