Last summer I had two sewing students on one day. One was a five year old girl, and the other was a preteen. They both chose to make doll dresses. The little one looked carefully through my fabric library, finally pulling out a piece with pink and yellow flowers. The older girl chose blue velveteen. 

I drew cutting lines for them and as they finished clipping I pinned pieces together. The older girl could handle the machine alone and the younger one pressed the pedal while I guided the cloth. 

"Where are the flowers?" she asked. 

"They are still there. But when you sew you mostly have it inside out. Then we will turn it so you can see the pretty side." I was sure about this. She was not. 

The older girl looked doubtful. I saw her pin the skirt to the bodice with the pretty side on the outside. She was not going to let the softness disappear. I reminded her about pretty sides together when you pin. She frowned at me, but replaced the pins. 

It is true that a half finished garment looks messy. Seams and threads are everywhere, and the colors that you originally fell in love with are somewhere out of sight. One of my delights is turning the dress right side out and seeing the child's face. When the sleeves were in place I did just that. 

"It's beautiful!" She seemed incredulous. 

When two people fall in love the beautiful sides are on the outside. But eventually those qualities seem to hide  beneath the minutiae of the daily scramble. I wonder if the one who wrote the pattern for marriage knows something I don't.