This was me in preschool or kindergarten. My teacher, Peggy, took a picture of all the kids for their end of the year report card and my mom loved the picture so much she got the negative from Peggy and made a million copies. I give credit my grandma for teaching me how to machine sew when I was a little bit older [and I remember being the most ornery student and Nana getting so mad and pointing her crooked Nana finger at me for not listening all the time] but Peggy was the one who sparked my interest at the age of three and fostered it for two years. She dealt with her fair share of my tugging at the bottom of her shirt to get her attention to trace my 10th cross stitch for the day and to also please tie off all my knots while she's at it. Because of her, I have a whole little quilt of my crazy preschool embroideries. Stick people with hearts for heads and all. My mom picked up where Peggy and Nana left off gave me the kind of guidance I learn best from: stay away until I either make something awesome and then tell me how awesome I am, or share a laugh at my whacked out project and take me to the fabric store to buy more fabric and repeat until it's awesome. I can't even explain how glad I am that there were people in my life who let me get away with that crazy, manic crafting that has been going on since toddler-hood because it basically led me to a job that I freaking love. And I'm so glad I have a picture of it. It's basically the sewing equivalent of getting a pro ball players little league card.
The fact that my work day is not that different than my day at preschool kicks much butt. Also amazing? My crazy sideways hat, my boldness in pattern mixing, and the fact that if you threw some mascara and boobs on that kid that's pretty much exactly how I look now... in the least creepy way possible, of course.