The string of four letter words coming from the other room must have shaken my husband from his football coma.
Timidly, he ventured into the dining room. “You okay in here?” he asked me.
I looked up from the sewing machine and gave him an exasperated look. “This is is a pain in the arse,” I said through clenched teeth.
“You know, when we were at Target the other day, I saw some of these on sale for only…” his words trailed off as he met my withering stare. My nerves of steel were frayed, but my look told him all he needed to know.
The mother of Superman would not back down. I was intent on completing the mission.
This isn’t the first time this has happened. The first year, I started off pretty easy. Football pants for Peyton Manning seemed simple enough.
The next year, I got a little more crazy. I have to confess that my sewing skills are remedial (at best), and there was definitely plenty o’ cussing involved. But lucky for me, my mom came to my rescue, and managed to give me enough pointers to be able to send a little Dorothy merrily down the yellow brick road.
But this year? As I sat cursing at the sewing machine, I realized I might have bitten off more than I could chew.
It probably would have helped if I would have used a pattern. But all I had to make was a cape. And a Supergirl skirt. And undies for Superman. And another cape. Yeah, in retrospect, a pattern would have been a good idea.
Because this year, it’s almost like my sewing machine was made of pure kryptonite. The yards of crimson satin that seemed so perfect at the fabric store slipped awkwardly through my fingers like melted butter. It snagged. It bunched. Capes are not supposed to bunch. Undies? Maybe. But capes, definitely not.
About the time I finished up Supergirl’s skirt, Bobo woke up from her nap and came bounding downstairs. “Is it ready, Momma?” she asked excitedly.
I held up the first cape. It was crooked. It bulged in a very un-capelike manner. I have to admit, it looked pretty ghetto.
“All set,” I said, trying to sound more upbeat than I felt. “Want to try it on?”
We dug out the Supergirl shirt we had found at the mall. We slipped on the skirt, the crooked cape, and the boots. I stood back as Supergirl studied her reflection in the mirror. In the back of my mind, I wondered if those costumes at Target were still on sale.
Suddenly, she beamed. “I love it, Momma,” she said, as she hugged me with superhero strength. “Thank you for making this.”
And, for a moment, I felt like Supergirl myself. Or, at least, like Supergirl’s mom.
It wasn’t perfect. But Bobo didn’t care. And as I got busy sewing Chip’s cape, I felt more confident that I could tackle my costume nemesis. And if it didn’t turn out? At least I knew there was a Target down the street.