Late one night last week, I whispered goodnight seven year old! and in the morning he was eight. Late the very next night, I whispered goodnight three year old! and in the morning the Little said she was Very Big. And all of last week, at odd and inbetween moments, I remembered that kid birthdays are, secretly, as much for Mums and Dads. Anniversaries of long labouring hours and those first moments when our hearts were stolen and worlds were rocked.
Late one night this week, I shall be up to my elbows in the making of coffee and walnut cake, because it is the Mr’s birthday. He is talking endlessly, hintfully, teasingly, about how he hopes to wake to a full English breakfast, (ON A SCHOOL DAY!). The preparation of which he knows, is likely to send me over the edge, due to the complete lack of ‘morning person’ in my genetic make-up.
Last week and this week and next, I have work up to my eyeballs but it’s nice work and so far I have managed to keep at bay, the tone at the edge of my voice, that hints at too many fingers in too many pies.
I am over the moon that the bike race is over and I can go to bed and not feel that I am missing out on priceless Phil Liggett commentary and I am chuffed to bits about the outcome. But I am indignant, that last week, a complete stranger, (and patently no Tour de France convert), who had no idea how exhausted I usually look, commented on how exhausted I looked.
I am remarkably serene that the cardi I have been knit-knit-knitting for the last six weeks is finished and a complete fail. This goes to prove that I am all about the process and sadly, barely anything about the result. It was a game of Yarn Roulette from the start. I have been modifying the pattern to make the most of my limited, discontinued yarn and it all worked – except for the neckline, which is uncomfortably tight. The heavy irony is that I am now left with enough yarn to make the necessary adjustments but to do those I will have to unravel four weeks of knitting.
I wonder what you’ll morph into next?
Last night, inbetween a kid drop-off and pick-up, I happened by the local library and was overwhelmed – for the first time since discovering craft – by a need to read. With a crick-in-the-neck, sideways-tipped head, I scanned shelves of titles and, appalled, realised I no longer know who to read.
It was with the skill of a ninja that my nana Eunice, performed the Art of the Simultaneous Knit and Read. I have long vowed to follow in her footsteps and I suspect this is the time to start. Book suggestions? Top tips? Only now do I consider that the Large Print-ness of all Eunice’s library book borrowings were to accommodate the knitting and distance-viewing as much as the failing eyesight.
So hope your world is swimmingly good, lately...