...and just like that

the top was done.

We've had builders in the house all week tearing apart my bathroom.  Between them turning off the power and water at unannounced intervals and sending demolition dust throughout the house, I found time to iron and stitch the six rows of Pruin's quilt.

Ironing is a funny thing.  It is such a necessity in quilting.  It changes the shape and size of even the cleanest seam.  I thought of this while ironing out the seams of each row.  They matched up great before ironing, not so well after.

I thought of the over-privileged city-boy tailor that made Pete's wedding suit almost three years ago.  At our first fitting, the suit looked ridiculously big and clownish and I was not happy seeing as we were putting more money into this suit than my dress (justifiably, as Pete has gone on to wear that suit at least five more times and my dress is still sitting in a box under the guest bed in my parents' house).  The young cocky tailor assured me it was the right fit, it just needed to be ironed and pressed.  He claimed these hot air and steam actions would 'shrink' the suit at least half a size and give it that 'tailored' look.  It did, to an extent.  It also had to be taken in because it was just too big.

With Pruin's quilt, the opposite happened.  Each row got a little longer and a little more out of sync.  As I pieced the rows together I realized my triangles weren't going all 'pointy' but keeping their blunt corners as I was a bit too stingy with my initial seams.

I could have ripped it all out and started again.

I didn't.

It's good enough.  Another parenting lesson hidden in the stitches:  letting go of perfection.