One of my primary goals in teaching sewing to children is that they come back for more. I do not mean necessarily under my tutelage, but to the world of fabric in general. Given a choice between pushing a child to make a wall hanging worthy of a blue ribbon at the state fair, and having her enjoy the process I lean toward the latter. This means that I let crooked seams slide, and exposed edges go unchecked. Something I often ask is how the seamstress feels about it. 

"Would you like to redo this or is it fine?"

If she is good with it, I harness my urge to fix it. In the hopes that she will still be piecing this summer or next year, skills can improve incrementally. This philosophy is based on the faint memories I have of my own middle school projects which frankly were flawed. No one reprimanded me for wonky sleeves, or an inconclusive hem. Which cleared the way for me to keep at it. Fifty years later I actually could enter a quilt in a fair. 

I wouldn't win, mind you. There are women out there in the quilt world whose needle turned applique makes mine look like shabby chic. But I am pleased with the double wedding rings and one block wonders, and because no one is tsk tsking them, I keep at it. 

One time a young husband told me that he was feeling deflated. He had done his best to help his wife, dressing their two children in what he thought were appropriate outfits. But she was not amused and told him as much.

"That sweater does not go with those pants! And the shirt is on backwards."

He had, he assured me, asked the kids if they liked how they looked, and they said yes. Well, admittedly they were pre verbal, but they didn't say no. I had a suspicion that the next time bath time was over he would be hesitant to step up. 

It can be hard to hold my tongue when things aren't to my standards. But in the interest of not alienating everyone within reach, I do.