A quilt

Ada's birthday is coming up and I was planning on making her a blanket, the kind you just cut strips along the edges of two squares of fleece, put them back to back and tie them in knots. The store had no fleece and told me it was impossible to find it in the city, so I decided to buy a bunch of fabric and make a quilt. In two weeks. I don't quilt. Or I suppose it's accurate to say I didn't quilt, as I have three of the eight squares I need done. I'm using a paper piece patter and this tutorial, and it's going better than it might have. Why did I decide to make a quilt when clearly this plan is nuts? It's hard to make good decisions when you're in a store with two toddlers.

There are mistakes in the quilt, where I didn't cut quite a big enough block so I sewed two smaller blocks together after the first piece was already attached. It's easier to do that then start over or rip out tiny stitches. (You're supposed to use tiny stitches so the paper rips off more easily at the end.) I'm having fun and figure I'll deal with the actual quilting next week after I get this assembled. I'm okay with the little mistakes, the extra seams. I was thinking about this and I've seen kids get frustrated when they try to do something new and aren't good at it right away, I think it must be hard to have adults as your point of reference. Adults, who are competent at more things, like tying their shoes, and dressing themselves, and driving cars and all the other things they see us do. And I'm more than happy to explain that we learn too, and that we make mistakes when we're new at things, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with being proud of something that's imperfect. It's okay that there are mistakes we can see, because that means we're learning and that's something to be celebrated.