I have never attempted cross stitch before in my life and was worried that it would turn out so horribly wrong that a pile of dirt might look better than the end result. But I still wanted to try.
So I did.
Towards the end of last year, I mentioned that I wanted to learn cross stitch, embroidery, and various other needle-related things that have seemed impossible after my checkered history in the Home Economics classroom. My mum had more faith in me than my Home Ec teacher and one of my Christmas presents was a little kit packed with—among other things—needles, needle threaders, plenty of stranded cotton, and an
impossibly small hula hoop embroidery hoop.
Of course, my innate fear of domestic arts meant that I had exclaimed in joy and gently put the kit away, assuming I would fail miserably at any and all attempts to use it.
When I told Mum what I wanted to make for Emma, she was happy to help. She led me to a craft store, helped me pick out colours, aida cloth, and a smaller embroidery hoop. Then she kindly drafted a pattern for me, based on this. Mum showed me how to stitch and how to fix up my mistakes. I worked on my project for a couple of hours after work for a few nights until I had finished my first ever cross stitch pattern.
And this morning I woke to a very appreciative text and a photo of the frame in its new place on her bedside cabinet.