So, sometimes yesterday I lost my keys. And I've spent the better part of the day, alternating between trying to get things done and trying to stave off a panic over the missing keys. I've cleaned in some amazing places, looking for the keys.
You see, every once in a while, I misplace the darned things. And invariably I find them, someplace very unexpected and strange, because I have a periodic problem with being sidetracked or preoccupied.
sigh, I sure hope they turn up.
And then this evening I get an email that reminds me that sometime, likely within the year, I may have the exquisite pleasure of making the dress for my daughter to wear down the aisle (or through the field, or crossing the river in a canoe ~ whatever they decide will work for them on their special day). I have another moment where I wonder how in the whole wide world is it possible for my little curly haired, wide awake baby to be a grown woman who loves a man enough to give her hand to him. I've sewn the 'special' dresses, for the most part, and have loved every moment, except possibly one where I labored for a week over an ornately lacy Easter extravagance, only to HATE it... it so overwhelmed her delicate being... I need to remember that lesson as we approach a wedding gown. It helps that she is opinionated and has a sense of her own style. Back when she was three, she had it then too, but had not yet begun to assert herself in these matters. She liked dresses and would happily put on anything that qualified, even if she ended up looking like she'd rolled about in the heirloom lace department far too long.
This new dress needs to be hanging in the closet months before the day, so we need to do some planning and start the process of seeking the things we'll need to do that. I've always loved to see her in something that I've made, loved to see her move and play and enjoy herself in them. Strange,,, the things we think about when they're quite grown up.