When my daughter asked for a $400 prom dress last month, I actually laughed out loud. Not because it was funny, but because I'd just paid the electric bill with coins I'd scraped from the car's cup holders. Here are a couple of quick shots I took of the ball gown I made from an old table cloth and doilies. Tea dyed and sewn over a slip ...not bad for $6 (op shop slip). When she is all prettied up for the ball I hope to get some better pics. I found the tablecloth at Goodwill, still had the estate sale tag on it from 1987. The doilies came from a box I'd bought months ago from a woman closing her grandmother's house. She'd thrown them in as extras with the vintage buttons I'd ordered for my little crafting shop. My hands shook the entire time I was cutting into that tablecloth. What if I ruined it? What if she hated it? What if the other kids laughed? The sewing machine kept jamming, probably because I was crying and couldn't see straight. My daughter doesn't know her dad lost his job three weeks ago. She doesn't know I've been selling my jewelry collection piece by piece just to keep groceries on the table. When she tried it on yesterday, she twirled around in our tiny living room, nearly knocking over my coffee. "Mom, it looks like something from a movie!" she squealed. Then quieter, "None of my friends will have anything like this." I held my breath. Was that good or bad? She grabbed my face with both hands, her eyes serious. "I mean it's absolutely perfect. Like, actually perfect." I ugly-cried right there in front of her. Couldn't help it. She thinks it's because I'm proud of the dress. She doesn't need to know it's because I was terrified I was failing her, that she'd be the girl in the homemade dress everyone whispered about. Her friend's mom texted me this morning, asked where we bought such a "stunning vintage gown." I just smiled at my phone. Sometimes love looks like staying up until 3 AM, pricking your fingers bloody on antique lace, turning someone else'