One of the many things I love about my Fidget-Wear journey is that it answered a question I had wondered about for years: Why did Grandma leave me a sewing machine?
It seemed like such a random thing. I didn’t sew. I hadn’t sewn since Mrs. Johnson’s 8th-grade Home Ec class, where I had to make a pair of shorts. Yet, there it was—a sewing machine, with a piece of masking tape on it, my name written in Grandma’s familiar handwriting. The same handwriting that filled recipe cards, birthday cards, and notes stuck to the fridge.
For a little background—I lived with my grandparents for a few years during college, then moved back in after my internship to help care for my grandpa until he passed. I stayed with my grandma after that, figuring out adulthood, trying out jobs, even opening and closing a store. I worked at an orthodontist’s office, went back to school, and yes, I was still there when my oldest son was born. We lived with her until she moved into assisted living.
Before she left her home, she began placing small pieces of masking tape on items, writing names on them to ensure certain things went to certain people. Not a lot of things, just items that she wanted to make sure got to certain people. While still living at the house, I would occasionally come across something with her handwritten label, and it always made me smile.
After she passed, my aunt found the sewing machine, still marked with my name. And I remember just staring at it, thinking, Why would Grandma leave me a sewing machine?
I took it with me when I moved out, but it mostly lived in the basement, shuffled from shelf to shelf in various attempts to organize. Every time I moved it, I’d pause, see that little piece of tape, smile, shake my head, and whisper, Why?—as if maybe, just maybe, Grandma would answer.
The Sewing Machine Waits
Life moved on. My family grew—son #2, then son #3. And that sewing machine? It stayed right where it was, collecting dust, waiting.
When my oldest was in first grade, I started looking for alternatives to the sensory tools the school kept giving him. As well-intentioned as they were, they were always lost, forgotten, or misused—leading to them being taken away. I needed something different. Something better.
The requirements were simple:
- Quiet – No distracting clicks or rattles.
- Discreet – No child wants to be singled out for needing extra support.
- Limited misuse potential – Let’s be real: if something can be used in an unintended “creative” way, my boys will find it.
- Always accessible – It couldn’t be set down and forgotten. It couldn’t be detached. If it could be removed, it would be removed.
(If you’ve ever owned those zip-off pants that turn into shorts, my boys loved them, you’ll understand. At one point, my house was filled with, one-legged pants.)
Grandma’s Answer
And then—finally—a use for the sewing machine.
I never would have bought one just to test out ideas. But now, as I brainstormed solutions, it was there, waiting for me, just as it had been all those years. I was even shocked that I remembered how to thread it—thank you, Mrs. Johnson!
I made my first design, stitched together in my own home, using the machine that Grandma had set aside for me. And here I am today.
Now, when I see that little piece of masking tape, still stuck in its place, I don’t ask why anymore.
I just smile and say, Thank you, Grandma.
P.S. I have to do a quick edit. I wrote this entire thing, went to take a picture to share with you of just what I’ve been explaining and here I find that there isn’t even a piece of tape on my sewing machine. Grandma wrote it directly on the handle of the case. Still her hand writing, and yes, there were items with tape on, I guess she figured that the sewing case was okay to write directly on. Now I wonder if anyone else kept the piece of tape on their item just to have grandma’s handwriting on it or if it was removed or fallen off by now. Maybe I was the lucky one that mine is marked forever.