Stitches in My Story: Where It All Began

Not my mom's acutal machine, this photo is just about as close as I can get to what it looked like. Photo found on: https://estatesales.org/online-auctions/vintage-pfaff-sewing-machine-with-45672191

I can’t remember the first time I used a sewing machine. Honestly, it just feels like something I’ve always known how to do, like tying my shoes or knowing exactly when banana bread is done by smell alone.

What I do remember is my mom’s sewing cabinet. It was dark brown, and her gray machine lived inside it, nestled into a hidden compartment that dropped down into the cabinet when she closed the lid. When the lid flipped open, it became a tabletop that was ready for patterns, fabric, and a warm cup of something. I thought it was the coolest little transformer of a piece. Half furniture, half magic.

But I was always a little wary of walking too close to it. I had stepped on my fair share of pins over the years — the kind with flat little heads that disappeared into the carpet like tiny traps. No colorful ball on top to warn you, just a sharp surprise between your toes if you weren’t careful.

I remember my mom sewing Sunday dresses, holiday outfits, and special clothes for all of us. She made beautiful things for our everyday lives and for big moments too, including wedding guest attire when my older siblings got married. She didn’t sew constantly, but when she did, it left an impression on me. Watching her turn fabric into something lovely stuck with me more than I realized at the time.

And it wasn’t just my mom. My dad sewed too. He grew up on a farm and learned out of necessity. He made his own shirts and patched things. I specifically remember watching him darn his black socks with bright yellow embroidery thread. He was good at it. I remember him letting me help sometimes, especially when it came to adding rivets. He’d hand me the hammer and we’d do it right there on the fireplace bricks. I felt so important, pounding metal into fabric, like I was part of something lasting. And I was.

Looking back, I think that’s where it started for me. Not in a formal lesson or a how-to book. Just in those everyday moments, watching fabric become clothing, hearing the hum of the motor, holding the hammer steady, and learning that you could create something beautiful and useful with your own hands.

That’s the magic I carry with me now. Every time I sit down to sew, I think a little bit of both of them comes with me. Not just their knowledge, but their heart. The care they put into each seam, the thoughtfulness behind every stitch, the quiet confidence that comes from knowing how to make something yourself.

Maybe that’s what sewing has always meant to me. More than just thread and fabric, it’s connection. It’s tradition. It’s a way of wrapping people in something handmade and meaningful.

And it all started with a brown cabinet, a gray machine, a hammer on fireplace bricks, and a handful of sneaky pins.

Now, that same thread runs through Suzie Sews Sunshine. The little dream that’s grown from my love of sewing into something so much bigger. Each apron, smock, or tote I create carries that same spirit of storytelling and connection.

Right now, I’m especially loving my Once Upon a Sunshine collection of dress-themed aprons inspired by classic stories. They’re playful, nostalgic, and one-of-a-kind. Each piece feels like something out of a storybook, stitched with purpose and personality. And just like those Sunday dresses my mom made and the shirts my dad once crafted, they’re meant to feel special. Not because they’re perfect, but because they’re made with heart.

Creating these aprons connects me to the little girl who once watched quietly at her parents’ side, and to the woman I am now: someone who’s not afraid to reimagine, to reuse, and to bring a little sunshine into the everyday.

Thanks for being here, for reading, and for being part of this story. I can’t wait to see where the thread leads next.