Checkmate
She’d tried. She’d really REALLY tried to love her mother-in-law. She knew the woman didn’t like her. It hadn’t taken much to figure that out, but when her husband (then fiancé) had let it slip that his momma had called him crying begging him “don’t marry that little Baptist girl” she’d known it was going to be an uphill battle. This was the same woman who had stood over the Thanksgiving turkey just the year before and had wept to the very same son about her fears that “he was just never going to get married”, so for his mother to swing so dramatically from one Thanksgiving to the next she knew either the woman was insane or just straight hated her. She settled on the latter. So she tried and tried HARD.
They were just going to elope, but her mother-in-law begged them for a wedding so she could “see her baby married”. She promised to help with the expenses as the two young people were old enough to pay themselves, but tight on funds. Her contribution? Wedding mints… And the death by a thousand cuts continued.
Their first Christmas she shopped for months for the perfect gift for her mother in law, grieving over it until it gave her the sweats and shakes. But she finally settled on it: she was an artist, so she decided that the best way to show her mother-in-law that she cared was to paint a portrait of the flowers for which her mother-in-law was named. She worked for months on the piece, creating a beautiful rendition in oils.
Christmas came and gifts were exchanged. Her mother in law opened hers first. “Oh” was her first response. Then the son said “mother, she painted it for you. For your name”. “Yes,” the mother in law said “I’ve never really liked my name”. She never saw the painting again…
Then it was her turn to open: as she peeled back the paper the mother-in-law said “If you don’t like it you can take it back. I got it at the Goodwill”. Probably one of the proudest moments of her rather young life was when she didn’t burst into tears at that very moment. She opened the box to find….what? What even were these? Some sort of doily coaster? What on earth… But she smiled and gave thanks and cried quietly all the way home.
But then, something changed. She realized she simply didn’t care. It didn’t matter what the woman thought of her. She was married to her son, but he was now HER husband. So she took out those doilies and began working, stitching them together one by one.
Her mother-in-law’s birthday came around in January and she sweetly handed her a gift. Inside the mother-in-law found a shirt, made from those doilies, and as sweetly as sugar she said “I hope you like it. If not, you can take it to the Goodwill.”
She’d tried. She’d really REALLY tried to love her mother-in-law. She knew the woman didn’t like her. It hadn’t taken much to figure that out, but when her husband (then fiancé) had let it slip that his momma had called him crying begging him “don’t marry that little Baptist girl” she’d known it was going to be an uphill battle. This was the same woman who had stood over the Thanksgiving turkey just the year before and had wept to the very same son about her fears that “he was just never going to get married”, so for his mother to swing so dramatically from one Thanksgiving to the next she knew either the woman was insane or just straight hated her. She settled on the latter. So she tried and tried HARD.
They were just going to elope, but her mother-in-law begged them for a wedding so she could “see her baby married”. She promised to help with the expenses as the two young people were old enough to pay themselves, but tight on funds. Her contribution? Wedding mints… And the death by a thousand cuts continued.
Their first Christmas she shopped for months for the perfect gift for her mother in law, grieving over it until it gave her the sweats and shakes. But she finally settled on it: she was an artist, so she decided that the best way to show her mother-in-law that she cared was to paint a portrait of the flowers for which her mother-in-law was named. She worked for months on the piece, creating a beautiful rendition in oils.
Christmas came and gifts were exchanged. Her mother in law opened hers first. “Oh” was her first response. Then the son said “mother, she painted it for you. For your name”. “Yes,” the mother in law said “I’ve never really liked my name”. She never saw the painting again…
Then it was her turn to open: as she peeled back the paper the mother-in-law said “If you don’t like it you can take it back. I got it at the Goodwill”. Probably one of the proudest moments of her rather young life was when she didn’t burst into tears at that very moment. She opened the box to find….what? What even were these? Some sort of doily coaster? What on earth… But she smiled and gave thanks and cried quietly all the way home.
But then, something changed. She realized she simply didn’t care. It didn’t matter what the woman thought of her. She was married to her son, but he was now HER husband. So she took out those doilies and began working, stitching them together one by one.
Her mother-in-law’s birthday came around in January and she sweetly handed her a gift. Inside the mother-in-law found a shirt, made from those doilies, and as sweetly as sugar she said “I hope you like it. If not, you can take it to the Goodwill.”
She’d tried. She’d really REALLY tried to love her mother-in-law. She knew the woman didn’t like her. It hadn’t taken much to figure that out, but when her husband (then fiancé) had let it slip that his momma had called him crying begging him “don’t marry that little Baptist girl” she’d known it was going to be an uphill battle. This was the same woman who had stood over the Thanksgiving turkey just the year before and had wept to the very same son about her fears that “he was just never going to get married”, so for his mother to swing so dramatically from one Thanksgiving to the next she knew either the woman was insane or just straight hated her. She settled on the latter. So she tried and tried HARD.
They were just going to elope, but her mother-in-law begged them for a wedding so she could “see her baby married”. She promised to help with the expenses as the two young people were old enough to pay themselves, but tight on funds. Her contribution? Wedding mints… And the death by a thousand cuts continued.
Their first Christmas she shopped for months for the perfect gift for her mother in law, grieving over it until it gave her the sweats and shakes. But she finally settled on it: she was an artist, so she decided that the best way to show her mother-in-law that she cared was to paint a portrait of the flowers for which her mother-in-law was named. She worked for months on the piece, creating a beautiful rendition in oils.
Christmas came and gifts were exchanged. Her mother in law opened hers first. “Oh” was her first response. Then the son said “mother, she painted it for you. For your name”. “Yes,” the mother in law said “I’ve never really liked my name”. She never saw the painting again…
Then it was her turn to open: as she peeled back the paper the mother-in-law said “If you don’t like it you can take it back. I got it at the Goodwill”. Probably one of the proudest moments of her rather young life was when she didn’t burst into tears at that very moment. She opened the box to find….what? What even were these? Some sort of doily coaster? What on earth… But she smiled and gave thanks and cried quietly all the way home.
But then, something changed. She realized she simply didn’t care. It didn’t matter what the woman thought of her. She was married to her son, but he was now HER husband. So she took out those doilies and began working, stitching them together one by one.
Her mother-in-law’s birthday came around in January and she sweetly handed her a gift. Inside the mother-in-law found a shirt, made from those doilies, and as sweetly as sugar she said “I hope you like it. If not, you can take it to the Goodwill.”
This linen an cotton pullover blouse is fashioned from hand crochet and bobbin lace doilies, along with an early 20th century tablecloth. Doilies donated, tablecloth sourced in Arkansas. 100% handmade by the artist
Measurements: Bust 31” Waist 32” Length 34 “ minimal stretch
Care Instructions and General Information: This one of a kind blouse is fashioned from a garment that is approximately 80 years old. It should be hand washed in warm water and laid flat to dry, ironed on medium heat with starch to retain crispness. Due to the age there may be minor discolorations or areas of wear commiserate with age. This is normal and to be considered as part of the beauty of the garment
NO refunds or exchanges due to the one of a kind nature of this piece