The Day After

Shortly after the first lesson in the classroom, the plans for our quilt changed. It was uncontrollable and bigger than us. It was about resources.

So during my second visit to the class, I had to teach a quick lesson that our quilting grandmothers and pioneers had no choice but to follow: Make do or do without. It tied in nicely with the patchwork theme.  

However, Make do or do without might have been difficult for the kids to hear. It was the day after Halloween, and their bodies were silently churning through an elixir of neon-colored sugar from the night before. My son gave me the update: "Today, a bunch of kids felt sick to their stomach and someone barfed." But surprisingly, the class was well-behaved and considerate (if perhaps, a bit comatose). 

I explained that our quilt would not have a watercolor look because we did not receive that style of fabric. I also explained that our quilt would be made from a combination of natural and synthetic fibers rather than 100% cotton. The kids stared back at me. 

Then I explained that we were going to cut our donated fabric scraps and clothing into small pieces and pin them onto a bed sheet in the style of a crazy quilt. I also explained that their scissors--those round-tipped, plastic things that barely cut paper--would not be able to cut fabric, however, several pairs of fabric scissors were available and my son had a pair of Fiskars that was strong enough for fabric, too. 

My son held up his tiny scissors and laughed. "This cuts fabric?" he said.

That made the kids wake up. They began to pull out and examine their scissors, and nearly the entire class waved pointy-tipped Fiskars at me. Whoa. It was the day after Halloween, and the peasants just realized they were armed.

But it did make things easy. I threw piles of fabric onto each cluster of desks and the kids attacked (and marveled at their newfound weaponry). Fabric was cut, chopped and diced, and the kids dropped piles and piles of it in front of the bed sheet. Some dictated where they wanted their swatch to be pinned, and others didn't care.

It's important to note that I wasn't the only adult leading a bunch of children with scissors and pins. Two other moms were with me: one supervising the kids with the fabric, the other helping me pin the swatches onto the sheet. And the kids were producing faster than we could keep up with. I was sweaty and thirsty. And very, very busy. And there was the frequent tap, tap, tap of little fingers all over my arms and back (kids who were proud of their work--and scissors--and wanted me to admire it).

In the end, this might have been the best way to begin our patchwork, crazy quilt: the day after Halloween with the newfound respect for a school supply and stomachs still trying to digest a wretched dinner. And right before the class was about to leave to go home, I also spotted the boy who had labeled our quilt "girly."

"Hey!" I said.

He turned around.

"So, what do you think? Is the quilt still too girly?"

He looked up and down the bed sheet and studied the patchwork. His hands moved through the air like they were sizing things up.

"With the colors and the way it is, naw, it's not girly."

And just like that, our classroom had found its groove. And it was crazy.