My girls started preparing for the craft sale a month ago. They were hooked on arm knitting, which makes needles obsolete. You do have your lap full of loopy yarn all afternoon and if you suddenly need to stand up, well you can't. When they used up the supply in my sewing room on scarves they asked to go to the store. I knew something they didn't. Yarn is not cheap. 

But my parents were unfailingly generous about footing the bill for fabric when I was growing up and I was committed to following suit. Sewing has brought me enormous joy, and who knows where knitting will take my twins.

They were surprised to do the math as they filled up a cart with bright colored balls, but I brushed away their worries. 

"I'll pay for it."

They also decided to make the stained glass pillows they had successfully made for their sister last summer. It is not the easiest pattern on the block and they priced their wares accordingly. A friend said she had been driving up our road late at night before the sale and saw them in the sewing room, heads bent over the machines, cutting and laughing. If it had not felt like stalking, she would have taken a picture. 

When the afternoon of set up arrived they excitedly arranged scarves on a hat stand and lined up the pillows like a cathedral window. 

But as the first evening wore on, the display stayed largely untouched. The girls from their class selling candles had a constant crowd around their table, and nearly sold out. The girl next to them had made bracelets by knitting with toothpicks. They cost five dollars each, but their competitor mentioned that the process takes two hours. 

They shook their heads. "Candles are easy enough. All you do is pour wax into a jar," they muttered. "Two hours for five dollars? Not me." 

By the second day they had sold half a dozen scarves, but no pillows. 

Their mood was subdued when we packed up to go home. 

I on the other hand had a very low expectation of sales. I brought thirty quilts, and decided to call it a show, not a sale. My goal was to sell two. Hence when four display bars were empty I felt elated. 

But as we cuddled on the couch that night I told them stories of dozens of craft sales where I zig zagged through jealousy, anger, disappointment, apathy, comradery.

"There were sisters who had a faithful following. Anything they made, ten women lined up to buy. One year they painted rakes and old suitcases. They flew off the tables. I was annoyed. Rakes? When my beautiful quilts were waiting?"

Comparisons are our constant companions in life, at least until we stop. Looking over at another marriage  we may feel jealous about how they seem so ridiculously happy, while ours is mundane. 

But it turns out we are blessed with a Parent willing to foot the bill for our efforts to keep trying.