Are You Even A Southerner If You Don’t Have A Sewing Kit In Your Kitchen Drawer?

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Growing up, my mom had a sewing basket. It looked like a small suitcase weaved out of brown, rubbery plastic, and it creaked when you opened it. It was filled to the brim with a sundry of items including the usual suspects like needles, a pincushion, measuring tape, needle threader with a little yellow duck on the top, and spools of thread representing every color of the rainbow. And then there was the plastic container of spare buttons. That was the treasure.

Every time that basket found itself down off the shelf for some hemming, mending, or button-sewing, my sisters and I would beeline it for the button container. They would wind up on the floor, sloppily glued onto paper, or thrown up in the air like confetti. Doing the latter would have to be a heavily weighed decision, though, as that action was a known straight-to-timeout offense.

Years ago, I remember thinking I would probably never be so adult as to have a sewing kit. To me it was the pinnacle of motherhood. The day finally came when my son’s favorite stuffed dinosaur had a rip in its tail big enough to leave a trail of white stuffing around the house, Hansel and Gretel style. I collected the stuffing in a zip-top bag as my son asked me daily for an updated prognosis for his beloved T-Rex. To Amazon I went.

A few days later a little black sewing kit landed on my doorstep. There were larger options, but I decided I needed the introductory model—the make that said definitely-not-yet-expert-status. It came with everything I needed: needles of every size, an assortment of strings, a thimble I’ll never use, tiny scissors, and a measuring tape. It sits in my kitchen drawer, sometimes laundry room drawer, and has even made it into the glovebox of the car a time or two. It reaps the benefit of its size and we’ve been a very happy pair for the past few years.

I was sewing a button back on a shirt recently when my son came over and spotted a little zip-top bag with three clear buttons sitting on top of the kit. He took the three buttons out and started sliding them around the table—there’s not a lot you can do with three buttons. I realized I had a few buttons in my makeup bag (don’t ask), so I went to get them and realized I had a few more sitting on my dresser. As the hunt continued, I sleuthed out buttons atop my husband’s chest of drawers, on my vanity tray, and more. It turns out, all those extra buttons that come with just about every garment these days were scattered throughout the house.

With buttons in hand I headed to the kitchen and grabbed a little round plastic container and dropped them in. I didn’t realize I had been scattering the evidence that I was nearly reaching that elevated level of motherhood that I thought unattainable. My button collection is too big for my tiny black sewing kit, so the two now sit side by side in the same drawer. I don’t think I’m ready for my mom’s sewing suitcase quite yet, but I’ll let the imaginary fill line on the little container of buttons be my guide.

Coquimbo Sewing Kit
BUY IT: $5.94; amazon.com

The introductory-style sewing kit comes with needles, thread, tiny scissors and more, all enclosed in a zip-fastened kit.

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