Well. Sort of. It’s not perfect but as my sainted mother would say, “only the gods are allowed perfection.” She had a pre-planned mistake in every quilt – well, she told us she planned it and who were we to question Mother?
Before attempting the binding on the quilt, I made some placemats. They’re pretty ugly and too big for the table but they work well under Maverick’s water fountain. Yes, I said fountain. No, he’s not spoiled. Put your judgey eyes back in your head.
I’m a wee tad touchy these days. I need to shop. And get a haircut. My cute pixie cut looks like the pixies got at it with egg beaters.
I practiced my mitered corners diligently on those placemats. I watched youtube videos – those people should be locked up for making this stuff look so easy. Here’s a hint. It’s not easy.
Finally I sucked it up. I made the binding. I sewed it onto the quilt. First, I bought this handy little binding tool from Amazon because the nice lady in the Missouri Star Quilt video talked me into it. Seriously. I swear she was talking directly to me. It helped with getting the binding the right length, but did nothing for the corners
Mitered corners were invented by Satan
I ripped the binding off.
I had a shot of Irish Mist and wept a little.
Then I girded my loins – actually, no, I didn’t, I don’t know how to do that, but I’ve always kinda wanted to say that I did – and sewed that bitchin binding back on.
Nope, those corners were not gonna miter. No way, no how.
I had another shot of Irish Mist
I wept a little more
I tore the binding off.
Maverick and I had a long conversation, mostly consisting of me going, “why, why, why????????????” and him going, “shut the hell up, you whiny woman, and give me a treat for listening to you go on and on.”
I finally gave in, threw in the towel, and squared those bloody corners up and sewed that binding down and declared myself the victor.
The baby will never know that those corners were meant to be mitered. The quilt was delivered today – it’s cold and will be for a few days and then it will be hotter than the hubs of hell but hopefully she’ll get to be snuggled in it for a day or two. And by Fall, when this virus nonsense has become a bad memory, I hope to hold her wrapped in it and rock her for just a moment.