I’m up to 12 yards of snuggly fleece fabric. That’s what it takes to outfit 8 grandchildren and 8 stuffy friends in Grammy Jammies. Along with 10 solid days of sitting in front of my sewing machine. But the smiles on the kids’ faces and the love that it brings make it all worth it.
It’s no surprise any more. After 15 years, they come to expect the Jammies, and I love that they do. This year the guesses began in September. “What color will they be this year?” By then the fabric was already stockpiled in my sewing area. But they know better than to expect me to answer. My friends also quiz me on the progress, awaiting the unveiling of each year’s model.
October was serious production month. It started with cutting out all the pieces – the most tedious part of the project, in my opinion. I’m always relieved when I know I have enough fabric. Serious sewing came next. I’m in my own zone when I’m in that mode, ticking off the jammies day by day. Meals and sewing dominate my days, along with easy listening audio books.
Grammy Jammies always come in the same cloth Christmas bags. They were a gift from a dear friend years ago, and I made more to accommodate the growing population.
By the end of the month all was in readiness, at least for Round 1. Kid jammies are delivered around Thanksgiving so they can wear them leading up to Christmas. I was fortunate to find a time when our whole family gathered in November for a baby shower for Erik and Katie, who are expecting their first child in January. Naturally, Baby Girl had to have her first pair of Grammy Jammies!
Round 2 is shorter, as the jammies are a fraction of the size. But they still entail all the detail work of the larger model. Friend Jammies are my special addition, and arrive at Christmas.
And yes, Baby Girl got a new Friend too!
Isabel has already put in her order for next year. “No feet next time.” At 9 she’s migrating toward the next stage. It starts with dropping the slipper feet, then moves on to Jammy Pants. I’m fine with that. Kids grow up, and if that’s what it takes to continue the tradition, I’m all in!
“Maren has asked for an American Girl doll for Christmas.”
The words immediately transported me back to when the coveted dolls were new, and we bought the Molly doll for our daughter, Karen. She came with her own book Meet Molly, wore glasses, had long dark braids, and a World War II background. The dolls had extensive accessories and wardrobes you could buy, but being a frugal parent I zeroed in on the sewing patterns they also offered.
“Mom, do you think you could make an outfit for Molly?” She was an excellent seamstress, and I knew she’d take up the challenge, but I didn’t anticipate the extent to which she would go. She made not only one, but all six outfits included in the package.
I was pretty sure I had those patterns. When we cleared out Mom’s house after she died, I collected many of her sewing tools. Sure enough, I found the packet squirreled away in my sewing cupboard – a treasured prize. These patterns were not for the faint of heart. They included elaborate instructions for tailored clothes, but that didn’t phase me. I already had my own designs in mind for Maren’s doll, but needed a guide to size and fit.
For further assistance, I asked Karen if I might borrow Molly to use as a model. So Molly came for a visit at Thanksgiving to help me in my task.
My vision was to start with fabric scraps from outfits that I had made for Maren and other grandchildren. I chose a knit dress and the summer jammies I made for all of them. I spent hours measuring Molly, cobbling pattern pieces together, drawing my own patterns, sewing sample pieces and trying them on her. I could feel Mom at my side, handling the same paper pattern pieces she had used, reading the same instructions and translating them into completed outfits. Like hers, it was a labor of love.
In time I got the hang of it, and completed two outfits, pleased with my first attempts.
But what is Christmas without Grammy Jammies? You guessed it, it was time to make the 21st pair of Jammies this year.
It turns out that a doll is a lot less forgiving than children or stuffies. American Girl dolls are amazingly flexible, but that only goes so far. Getting the proportions right was trickier than I expected, but after some trial and error I had a credible pair of jammies for Maren’s doll. Perhaps you spotted her in my last Jammie post, where she snuck into the pictures from Christmas.
But that wasn’t the end of the story. Maren’s birthday falls right after Christmas, so I had one more project up my sleeve. Resurrecting and modifying the girl’s dress pattern I’d used before I fashioned matching outfits for Maren and her doll. Once again, I felt Mom looking over my shoulder, approving of going above and beyond. Of making the most of my sewing skills and the satisfaction of seeing them delight a little girl.
Maren and her doll had the good fortune to attend a tea party at the American Girl doll store in Chicago with her other grandma, as well as her Mom and Aunt with their own American Girl dolls. It filled my heart to see Maren and her doll wearing their matching outfits for that big outing.
I’m now in my 14th year of creating Grammy Jammies. The grandkids wait with eager expectation at Thanksgiving time, knowing I will bring out the fabric bags that contain the newest iteration of Christmas fleece and footies. ”What color do you think they will be?” they wondered this year, inventorying all the past colors and designs. I never give away my secrets.
It’s a joyful mayhem, untying the bags, pulling out the contents and rushing off to don the new soft Jammies and present us with a style show. Karen’s kids were at our house for the festivities. Ben and Mya have self-selected out of the footies by now, but still willingly sport matching jammy pants.
Unwilling to miss the fun at Carl’s house, I made a special trip to Milwaukee for the presentation. I barely got in the door before they clamored for the bags. There’s nothing like hugging wiggly laughing grandkids in fleece.
That brought the tally to 7.
Not one to shirk my duties, I continued on to outfit the furry friends as usual. Many of them are the same shape and size, and thankfully they do not grow or change from year to year! I can dash off at least two of those in a day.
Now I was up to 14.
But this year there was more. After at least a year of not so subtle hints from the parents, I took on the challenge to outfit them as well. Even though jammy pants are naturally loose and baggy, I found that fitting adults was trickier than the forgiving slipper jammies on the kids. Especially when compounded by a rather outdated pattern that assumed we still wore pants up to our natural waistline! So I took a graduated approach, making two pair at a time, altering them after try-on sessions, and learning as I went.
Karen and Matt were my first guinea pigs, and thankfully they took my outlandish productions with a great deal of humor and good sportsmanship.
For the record, I managed to tame their pants down to more reasonable proportions.
I arrived at Carl and Chelsea’s house equipped with sewing machine and measuring tools. Fortunately, my latest revisions served me well, and their jammy pants required just minor adjustments.
By the time I got to Erik and Katie, I had the process down to a system and quickly modified theirs to fit.
The good news is that I now have six individualized patterns that should suit everyone for future years!
So that brings the total to 20 pairs of jammies this year. A credible effort, and weeks of fun in the process. But wait, the title says 21!
Ah yes. Stay tuned for the next blog post to reveal the finale. (And no, I’d never get Rich to wear jammy pants!)
I couldn’t get the idea out of my head. I knew it would take a lot of ingenuity, time and patience but I just had to do it.
A year and a half ago we made reservations to rent out a whole resort on Lake Vermilion for a family vacation. It’s a small place, and although we only needed four cabins we rented all five so that we could have the place all to ourselves. Just coordinating the work schedules, family plans and kid activities to find a mutual week for ourselves, our three kids, spouses and seven grandkids was daunting, but we finally agreed on the week of the 4th of July, 2023. The idea that each family would have their own space appealed to everyone, and as the summer began the excitement ratcheted up.
Knowing those seven kids would all be together, mingling day in and out at the resort, images of them in matching jammies kept dancing through my head.
The trick lay in the fact that these had to be summer jammies. Fleecy Grammy Jammies would not do. I couldn’t rely on the proven sewing patterns I’ve been using for 13 years, that I can make in my sleep. But I did know exactly what they should look like. I made them for my own kids year after year. Little knit t-shirts and shorts, or versions with long sleeves and full pants with ribbing at the bottom. I still had those patterns, but times have changed and even kids styles have evolved. My kids sported loose comfy garments. Today kids favor slim versions hugging their bodies.
Turning to the internet and the community of resourceful crafters out there, I found t-shirt patterns that not only suited today’s fashions but offered slim versions. For the shorts, I decided to alter my own patterns, taking tucks to narrow the flair. Whew, step one completed.
But what sizes to make? Pattern sizing is not uniform, so how was I going to translate the paper outlines to real kid sizes? The only answer was to be sneaky.
Both families with kids were due to visit in June. During each stay, stealth Grammy took action. When no one was looking, I swiped jammies lying in the hall. I snuck into their bedroom and rummaged through the pile of laundry. Suitcases held samples as well. I dashed into the laundry room with them, taking critical measurements and laying them on top of the patterns to match them to a size. Sometimes their clothes rendered different results. Waist measurements seemed to range all over the board. Were these well-fitting garments, or about to be discarded as too small?
My brain was spinning with the mental gymnastics and angst of trying to get the best fit. It was all a guessing game, but I ultimately had to commit to seven sets of patterns to use.
From there I was in familiar territory. I had already procured more than enough fabric. Now it was just a matter of cutting out the pieces and sewing them together. Soon I had seven little piles ready to go.
Three solid days of sewing later, the line-up was complete.
It was tempting to leave them out to admire, but I needed to package them up before I began to second-guess my work. That part was easy. The only fitting presentation was to use the same Christmas fabric wrapping bags that hold the Grammy Jammies every year.
The box lingered in the corner, untouched. Its factory tape still in tact. The large cardboard cube became invisible over time, as all things do when left alone. I passed it numerous times a day without giving it a thought. Yet at the same time, its very existence hung over my head.
I had wrestled with the idea for months. At first it prickled, then it pestered, then visions formed on how I could bring it to reality. Until one day I just did it. I walked into the sewing machine shop and bought myself a new serger.
I had survived seven years without the specialty sewing machine that breezes through knit fabrics, rendering t-shirts, sweatsuits, leggings, shorts, pajamas and even swimsuits in a flash. Its mastery over ribbed cuffs and necklines brought professional finishes to all these garments. For years I clothed myself and my children in custom outfits for mere pennies and large helping of personal satisfaction.
Matching family outfits so we could find one another at Disney World
That trusty machine soldiered on for years, then lay dormant when those little children went off to college and moved on to real jobs. But I brought it back into service to finish the edges of the cloth napkins for my son Carl’s wedding reception. It was on the 240th napkin that it ground to a halt – about a dozen napkins short. The repair shop delivered the harsh news, it had met its demise. My years of sewing had completely worn out the parts inside. Fortunately, the final guest count did not exceed 240.
Rich offered to buy me a new machine on the spot, but I declined. After being idled for so many years, I was uncertain I would make use of it. And so I laid the idea to rest. Or did I?
Perhaps it was my annual Grammy Jammie sewing spree that unearthed the thought again. The possibility that older grandchildren might soon opt out of slipper jammies and prefer something lighter drifted into my thoughts. And even Grammy Jammies could benefit from the bound seams the serger produces. As I picked out knit dresses for my 5 and 6 year old granddaughters for Christmas, cousins who refuse to wear anything but dresses, the niggling truth lingered. I could make these. So easily, with a serger.
Visions of resurrecting my old sewing life danced before my eyes. Just think of all the cute outfits I could make for them! And then the other voice intervened. What about my writing? Would this usurp the hours I had formerly designated for writing? Is this a delay tactic, to put off getting back to writing my book? I tried to silence the mental arguments.
So the box loitered. I couldn’t open it before Christmas, as I knew it would unleash a mountain of tasks. Choose new patterns, figure out sizes, buy fabric, cut out garment pieces. Worse yet would be the learning curve. Sergers are notoriously finicky machines and I had a brand new model to master. I had no intention of spoiling my family holidays with a new obsession.
Weeks went by. Then, in the depth of our latest cold snap I took the plunge. Tearing the tape off the box, I extracted the thick manual, then shut it again. Just flipping through the pages of instructions in three languages sent my eyes rolling back in my head. But I went ahead and bought fabric anyway, and cut out a little girl dress. Then I watched the instructional DVD. Taking a deep breath I returned to the box, lifted out the squeaky styrofoam, lugged the heavy machine to my workspace, and stared it down. Perhaps this wasn’t such a great idea after all. I would wait until morning to do battle when I was fresh.
To my great joy, the serger came already threaded. That alleviated one huge hurdle right away. Until I jammed the fabric in the machine and had to rethread the gnarliest of the four threads. But my confidence soared when I was able to return the stitches to finely tuned regularity. I continued to practice throughout the morning, tweaking tension, adjusting the differential, eyeballing the seam allowance and honing my technique.
Eventually the moment of truth arrived. It was time to sew for real. Sergers are not at all forgiving when it comes to mistakes, so my heart thumped and my throat tightened as I fed the dress pieces under the presser foot and pushed down on the pedal. One seam led to another. I successfully married the ribbing with the neckline and attached sleeves and skirt. The familiar loud thumping of the machine (as opposed to the sweet hum of a regular sewing machine) brought it all back. My fingers remembered what to do, and my eyes guided the fabric. And in short order I had a completed dress.
Maybe it wasn’t such a hairbrained idea after all.
The frequency of the question came as a surprise. Apparently my annual sewing spree has spawned a following. It’s nice to know that a simple, homespun and creative work of love can capture an audience. Amidst the stress and anxiety surrounding our Covid-laden lives, it’s heartwarming to be able to contribute some whimsy to the world.
The answer is “Of course!”
What started with a single pair of slipper jammies 11 years ago has blossomed into seven pairs of Grammie Jammies and six Grammie Jammies for special friends this year. Thinking that a newborn was a bit young to have adopted a favorite friend yet, I added a matching stuffed animal to the assembly for him.
With each passing year, the kids get older, the Jammies bigger and I hold my breath as I check with the oldest ones to see if they are still “in.” Now topping out at 11 and 9, I realize this ritual may be nearing the end of its lifespan for them. But this year they came up with their own creative solution. “Can we have them without feet?”
“Yes! I can certainly do that!” and the tradition lives on.
I admit that I let this venture consume my fall. Once the Jammies are all cut and ready to sew, my obsessive side comes out. I develop tunnel vision, waking only to ponder how many Jammies I can complete by the end of the day. I feed material through the machine, clip threads, insert zippers, zigzag seams, top stitch, stretch ribbing, wind the bobbin and start new spools of thread all the day long. Admittedly, I still do my share of ripping out stitches and do-overs as well. Practice doesn’t always make perfect.
To date, I’ve made 51 pairs of Grammy Jammies, out of 16 different patterns of fleece. Expanding into friend Jammies four years ago adds another 20 miniature Jammies. Taking the numbers game even farther, here’s what it took to produce this year’s Grammy Jammies:
13 zippers
9 yards of fleece fabric
5/8 yard ribbing fabric
Gripper foot fabric
1 snap
3 large spools of thread
3 old Kwik Sew patterns, sizes newborn to kids XL
1 44 year old sewing machine
By now the kids all know what comes in fabric bags, and I’m always as excited as they are when the latest creations are unveiled. And the best part is snuggling in together, surrounded by soft fleece clad bodies and a whole lot of love. Just like what went into the Jammies.
I can only hope that they will be back by popular demand again next year!
The annual tradition starts soon after Labor Day. I hunt down yards and yards of cheery Christmas fleece and commence sewing Grammy Jammies. What started with one set of jammies has blossomed to 12 pair and counting.
I have six grandchildren and they get one pair each. They know the drill by now. I try to finish them by Thanksgiving so that they can wear them for the season leading up to Christmas (and beyond, of course). Each is wrapped in a cloth bag, and as soon as I bring out the stack, I hear “I know what’s in there!”
But that is no longer enough. It started with Ben’s Bear, who he claimed was cold. That led to jammies for Mya’s Puppy, Isabel’s Bunny, and Michael’s Puppy. Each year now, they too get new Grammy Jammies.
Maren and Crosby didn’t have jammie-friendly friends, so that had to be rectified. They each have a room with a woodland theme – foxes for Maren, deer for Crosby. Favoring the soft and cuddly JellyCat animals, I hunted down one of each. And now they get Grammy Jammies too. (And a seamstress secret – JellyCats all have the same body shape. One size jammies fits all, with modifications for tails!)
Over time, I’ve gotten to know these little friends pretty well. Through multiple measurements, try-on sessions, alterations and fittings. We’ve had some good times together. But I didn’t realize how attached one in particular had become.
As Karen and family departed after Christmas I waved from the deck until they were out of sight. It was only half an hour later that I discovered that Bunny had defected. She had jumped out of Isabel’s arms on the way to the van and hidden on the walkway by the garage as they drove away. Bunny was ours for the weekend, until the post office would re-open Monday morning.
I texted a picture of Bunny to Isabel, to reassure her that Bunny would be in good hands.
But that was only the beginning of Bunny’s adventures. Bunny accompanied us every where we went for the next two days. She joined us for dinner and watched our favorite TV series before I tucked her into bed. Bunny went birding with Rich in the morning and attended virtual church with us. She even helped me with the laundry.
I’m going to miss the little gal when we send her home to Isabel. She’s getting a First Class passage through the mail. With tracking. After all, she’s still wearing her new Grammy Jammies.
I had a reliable source, and the news was alarming. I heard that Bunny and Giraffie were trying to share the same set of slipper jammies. And it wasn’t going well.
It started with making Grammy Jammies for my grandchildren each Christmas, their numbers now climbing to six. My oldest grandson, Ben, talked me into making jammies for his Bear. And it took off from there. Next was Mya’s Puppy. Last Christmas Isabel’s Bunny joined the jammie parade, and Maren’s baby doll.
“Jammies for Giraffie might be a good birthday present for Isabel,” my daughter advised. But what better project to tackle during my coronavirus sheltering time? The key was that both “friends” were JellyCat animals and shared the same shape – soft pear-shaped bodies, scrawny arms and big fluffy feet. It took several tries to get it right for Bunny, but I finally perfected the pattern. After 10 years of making slipper jammies, I had bags full of fleece scraps and I even scrounged up a few unused zippers. I was in business.
With extra time on my hands, it felt good to pull out my sewing machine, thread it up and make something from nothing. Sewing opens so many creative opportunities – designing the garment, choosing the fabric, picking coordinating ribbing, placing the print on each pattern piece. As my machine hummed, so did I.
My thoughts turned to the book I recently finished reading. I picked up The Murmur of Bees quite by accident in the early days of the invasion of COVID-19. When the spread of the virus was still news, I was surprised and fascinated to find that the book was set in Mexico in 1918, in the heart of the devastation wrought by the Spanish flu. It was history I did not know well, but it had an eerily familiar strain.
The family in the book fled from their home near town and relocated to another hacienda further away, where they rode out the worst of the pandemic. Mom couldn’t settle herself, and it was her young son who figured out why she was so distraught. He convinced his dad to return to their home, pack up her sewing machine, material and tools and bring them to her. She was puzzled and angry at their curious actions. Until she threaded her machine and began sewing. With each garment she sewed, a sliver of peace was restored. She was grounded at last, in the productive and creative endeavor of sewing.
I felt the same way. When Giraffie’s jammies were done, I needed another project. I decided little brother Michael needed a stuffed animal friend. Obsessed with the idea, I scoured the internet for a free pattern for a fleece animal. More scraps to cut up, excess stuffing that needed a home, and a load of fun later I had a soft little puppy for Michael. It was such a hit, that I couldn’t stop there. Five grandchildren later, I had a whole litter of pups and kitties!
There’s something inherently rewarding about using only what I have on hand. Taking bits and pieces and ending up with a little critter that will delight a child. There are many ways this pandemic has forced us to simplify life. To do without. To make do with what we have and forego what now feels like frivolous shopping.
Sewing returns me to my roots. My mom taught me to sew long before I took Home Ec classes in junior high. She made all my clothes until I took over, then sewed for my own children. By now when I sit down in front of my machine, innate skills take over. My hands know how to guide the fabric, my eyes gauge the seam, my foot regulates the speed. I reap the rewards of familiarity, of falling back on something soothing and rewarding. I feel Mom’s presence as I follow in her footsteps. I imagine she too would sew her way through this pandemic.
I hear that Bunny and Giraffie are friends again. And my daughter’s whispers, “Michael has taken to a Jellycat puppy recently.” I can already hear the whir of my sewing machine.
Beware of brainstorms. It seemed like a fun idea at the time. Little did I know where it would lead.
After my annual sewing spree making slipper jammies for my four grandchildren last Christmas, I decided to make a matching pair for Isabel’s baby doll. With a little ingenuity, I was able to create a miniature version which delighted little Isabel. End of story. Or so I thought.“Grammy, Bear is really cold.” This was Ben, Isabel’s older brother. “He has to stay under the covers in my bed all the time. Do you think you could make some slipper jammies for him?”
How could I refuse? I have to admit, my heart soared. Here was something I – and probably only I – could do for Ben. And for Bear. “Of course!” was the only answer. Complete with a ribbed collar and tail-hole, Bear was soon warm and cozy.
By that time, I knew it would not end there. I had already bought another zipper. “Grammy, what about Kitty? Could he have slipper jammies?” Big sister Mya. I was unfazed but after several hours of wrangling with tracing paper and pins, Kitty proved to exceed my design capabilities.
“Mya, we have to talk.” This was serious face-to-face conversation. “Kitty isn’t so sure about slipper jammies. I tried really hard, but she asked me if I could make them for Puppy instead.” Uncertainty crossed her face, but to my relief she agreed. “I think Puppy needs four slipper feet, don’t you?” I suggested. “Oh yes!” I was saved.
At eight weeks old, I doubt Michael has expectations just yet. But if cousin Maren gets wind of these developments, I see another creative slipper jammy session in my future.
Which all leads to the next logical question. Will they expect new matching slipper jammies for their friends next Christmas, just like theirs? I’ve saved the patterns just in case…
Sometimes the writer has to take a backseat to being a Grammy. My office space allotment has ample room for my laptop and was designed with plenty of surface area for spreading out notes and research materials. It just does not accommodate a sewing machine and yards of material without a bit of compromise. So when my inner Grammy takes over, the laptop gets shoved aside.
It’s well known in this space that I have an annual appointment with the sewing machine and piles of fuzzy fleece. What started as a single pair of slipper jammies, also known as Grammy jammies, has multiplied into four such outfits fitting little bodies from 10 months to 7 years. And next year already promises to push the total to five. No matter what the number, I press on and rue the day when the older grandchildren start opting out of such cozy comforts.
It feels a bit like an assembly line. Cut, cut, cut. Sew, sew, sew. A zipper here, a cuff there. Gripper feet for all. The outside world hardly exists. All I see is red fleece, goofy reindeer faces and a needle bouncing up and down in rapid motion. I cannot rest until the last piece is in place. The final stitch sewn. It is a labor of love. When I am finished, they come to life – four little visitors inhabiting my couch.I am lucky this year. I found Christmas fleece, which has become a rare commodity. That means an early delivery so that the kiddos can wear them for the run up to the holiday season. When I produced the customary cloth gift bags last weekend, the older ones already knew what must be inside. Kids sure learn fast.
I had to entrust the final pair to the US Mail. Through the marvels of FaceTime I was able to watch Maren rip through the packaging to reveal her very own Grammy jammies. A style show ensued.
My task complete for now, the laptop has been restored to its place of honor. With this little interlude behind me, my writing resumes. Bits of fuzz and pins linger in my workspace. I smile, looking forward to Christmas when all four grandchildren will pile into our house – in their matching togs.
Superior Footprints 