Stellan stared at his classmate with envy this week. He carried his backpack down the hallway and said, “I need a backpack with rollers on it, Momma. Will you buy me one?” I took his backpack from him and carried it, thinking maybe he was right. If he could manage it himself without deciding it was too heavy, I wouldn’t have to add it to the fourteen other things hanging off of each arm and shoulder and bumping people as I went.
I found several options at the local consignment sale, but two were flimsy and cheap and boasted characters from movies none of us have seen. I’d rather not. One was black, thick, with good working zippers and little wear. But it had vinyl and embroidery from a Missouri university for which I have no affection for on it. I bought it with a project in mind.
Stellan thought it was great. Even the tiger was “cool”. But I couldn’t handle it and was itching to make it better. I went digging through fabric scraps this morning, found something I could work with, and set out to cover up its college affiliations. All of it had to be hand sewn save for one piece, and my hand sewing skills are poor and sewing through thick areas of backpack and inside pockets didn’t improve the situation. I got all attached, then set out to put his name on it in vinyl.
Major fail. I tested the fabric with the iron, but failed to notice the binding was not going to like that heat. I melted the trim on both sides of that top pocket when I ironed the vinyl on.
I was so close to finished, and then. Nope. Gonna have to do something about that.
I grabbed some more red fabric, cut strips and ironed it in to a bias tape of sorts, and trimmed out the pockets, covering the melted trim.
Better. Not fabulously sewn, but it’s all his own now. The trim turned out to dress it up nicely. I like it.
Stellan does too.