Poekies Are A Girl’s Best Friend (not Crafty Cathy)

Recently, I spent a morning at my daughter’s school flipping through books about pigs, rockets and an olive’s journey through a human digestive system. The books were written and illustrated by Phoebe and her fellow second graders.

Each author had dedicated her masterpiece to an inspiring person in her life. Most wrote sweet tributes to their teachers or parents. Phoebe’s dedication was a little different: “To Sophia, for letting me sew when Crafty Cathy wouldn’t.”

I’m sure some found the dedication puzzling—her book was about cats, after all. But I got it.

In kindergarten, Phoebe begged me to sign her up for Busy Bees, an after school sewing class. Since pre-school, she’s had a history of getting easily distracted, disrupting other students and exploding when she’s upset. I was leery of the sewing class, but decided to give it a shot.

The teacher, Crafty Cathy, was an elderly, no-nonsense woman. She was accustomed to making antsy five-year-olds fall in line with a single stern warning or flinty stare. Then she met Phoebe.

“Your daughter really has a hard time following directions and sitting still,” she greeted me when I arrived at the end of the first class.

Phoebe avoided being expelled from the Busy Bees but continued to struggle. Crafty Cathy had neither the time nor patience to help her. By December, while the other kids were whipping out fancy Christmas trees, Phoebe was still fumbling with her simple pumpkin.

The following spring, she was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Her therapist said finding something she loved, and was good at, would help boost her fragile self-esteem. So I continued to sign her up for after school classes she was interested in.

She tried soccer but couldn’t keep up with the other kids. In the middle of kicking drills one afternoon, she stomped off the field and refused to go back.

Tae Kwon Do came next. I’d heard other parents rave about how it instilled confidence and self-discipline. Perfect, I thought. But when I discovered Phoebe lolling on a pile of mats in a corner of the studio, a strip of duct tape plastered across her mouth, I realized you can’t reap those rewards if you lack the self-control to sit quietly and listen to the Sensei.

Cooking, ceramics and drama were also unsuccessful. I was done with classes.

In desperation, I took Phoebe to The Planet, an after school activity center near our neighborhood. Her eyes lit up when she walked into the cozy wood-paneled sewing room. Colorful hand-made stuffed animals—Poekies–filled the shelves. Sophia, one of the owners, sat at a big table, laughing and chatting with a group of girls as she helped them sew Poekies. She smiled warmly at Phoebe and invited her to join them.

In the following weeks, Sophia helped my daughter master the whipstitch and backstitch. She praised her pattern-cutting technique and fabric choices. When Phoebe got frustrated, Sophia gently got her back on track or sent her outside to cool off on the rope swing.

The day she finished her first Poekie, a blue mouse she named Sky, Phoebe thrust it in my face.

“Look, Mama! Look!” she cried, beaming with pride. “Can you believe I made this?”

I smiled and said it looked like it came from a store. I marveled at how far she’d come since her days as a Busy Bee.

A year and forty-something Poekies later, Phoebe still loves sewing with Sophia. And her self-esteem is getting stronger.