MommyCoddle

rookie mistakes

Several years ago, when we lived in Wisconsin, the local craft store around the corner from my house went out of business. In the back of that little craft store was an overwhelming selection of yarns. I suppose when you live in a place with a long, hard winter you must knit your way through it.

I watched the signs on the doors and waited, as each week the prices lowered. "EVERYTHING MUST GO. 50% OFF STOREWIDE."

I decided that the 50% off weekend would be my day to step into the shop and see what I could find.

The place looked like it had been ransacked. Every box from the back warehouse brought out into the store, left open and unpacked. Decorations and trinkets from every holiday of the year. The store was jammed with people. Sashaying sideways to get past customers digging in boxes was always necessary.

I made my way to the back, to the huge selection of yarn and realized I wasn't the only person who had this idea. The place was packed. Women were grabbing yarn by the armloads and stuffing it into their carts.

Like diving into a freezing cold lake, I took a deep breath and dove into the madness.

Now personally, I tend to shut down in these kinds of situations. I'm not the aggressive, elbowing, shoving, anything goes for a good deal kind of shopper. And I felt myself glazing over. Overwhelmed with the scene before me.

When I walked out of the store with two large bags full of yarn and every imaginable knitting accoutrement known to exist, I was feeling quite good about myself.

But it wasn't until weeks later, when I had become inspired by a project I needed to begin right that very minute, that I realized my rookie (or glazed over by the crazy crowds) mistake. I had only purchased one or two skeins of each thing I threw in my cart.

In my dazed state I must have walked through the rows of yarn tossing one or two skeins into my bag without any thought to the fact that maybe, just maybe, I'd want to make something slightly bigger than a cowl or pair of infant mittens?!

I can just picture myself: This is pretty. Toss. Oh! This is pretty, too! Toss. Toss.

I wonder if the ladies were snickering behind my back….

So now, in my basement (actually my dad's basement b/c I have no storage) sit two large plastic storage tubs of single skeins of yarn.

Lovely. And oh so unpractical.

So when I became reacquainted with the One Skein book
last week, and saw the felted bowls and took a little visit down to my tubs of neglected single skeins down in the basement, I decided that I would felt and "single skein" my way through these balls of yarn.

I grabbed the bright, electric, pumpkin orange (don't ask, because I have no idea) ball of yarn first because it was the same type of yarn called for in the pattern. Except I didn't have the pattern in front of me because the book wasn't mine and I was just too anxious to give this a try. I simply cast some stitches on the needles and started decreasing haphazardly in a "bowlish-hatish" shape.

And then I felted. Which is amazingly exciting and relaxing and also works wonders if you have poor hand circulation and they are always purplish-cold.

But apparently not every color felts the same. And apparently bright pumpkin orange is one of those colors that doesn't like to felt completely.

But now my "bowl" makes a great doll hat. A quite sophisticated doll hat, in fact.

And I have plenty more skeins where that one came from.

I foresee dishpan hands in my future….

I watched the signs on the doors and waited, as each week the prices lowered. "EVERYTHING MUST GO. 50% OFF STOREWIDE."

I decided that the 50% off weekend would be my day to step into the shop and see what I could find.

Like diving into a freezing cold lake, I took a deep breath and dove into the madness.

When I walked out of the store with two large bags full of yarn and every imaginable knitting accoutrement known to exist, I was feeling quite good about myself.

I can just picture myself: This is pretty. Toss. Oh! This is pretty, too! Toss. Toss.

I wonder if the ladies were snickering behind my back….

So now, in my basement (actually my dad's basement b/c I have no storage) sit two large plastic storage tubs of single skeins of yarn.

Lovely. And oh so unpractical.

And then I felted. Which is amazingly exciting and relaxing and also works wonders if you have poor hand circulation and they are always purplish-cold.

But apparently not every color felts the same. And apparently bright pumpkin orange is one of those colors that doesn't like to felt completely.

But now my "bowl" makes a great doll hat. A quite sophisticated doll hat, in fact.

And I have plenty more skeins where that one came from.

I foresee dishpan hands in my future….

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there and back again

This weekend, I did something that fell into two categories…something I haven't done in a really long time, and something I've always wanted to do.

On Friday morning, I packed my bags (equal parts knitting/camera supplies and clothing), waved goodbye to my three little girls and headed out on the road with my dear cousin Maggie. We were on a little pilgrimage of sorts–the something I've always wanted to do. We took a long weekend away to visit our other dear cousin Catherine and experience first-hand some of our family history.

We saw the homes that my father, grandmother, grandfather, and other "great-greats" grew up in or called home. We stood on the shores of the bay where my grandmother once played and sailed. We visited gravestones, yacht clubs, cottages and main streets.

We hoisted each other over tall privacy fences to snap pictures and get closer looks.

We sat around, knitting in our laps, watching old movies and slide shows mourning, yet adoring the loved ones we've lost.

We laughed until our sides ached.

We cried some more.

I tried to figure out a way to really describe my weekend away, but I am truly left without words. It feels like something that can only be understood by a handful of people who know what I know, have known what I have known and long for the same things I long for.

But I can tell you, that getting to experience my family's history in such a tangible way has left a deep impression on my heart.

I haven't done something like this in a very long time, leaving all my babes behind and going somewhere by myself. But I am returning with a sense of refreshment, contentment and a joyful sorrow that has been escaping me for quite some time.

This weekend, I did something that fell into two categories…something I haven't done in a really long time, and something I've always wanted to do.

We hoisted each other over tall privacy fences to snap pictures and get closer looks.

We sat around, knitting in our laps, watching old movies and slide shows mourning, yet adoring the loved ones we've lost.

We laughed until our sides ached.

We cried some more.

But I can tell you, that getting to experience my family's history in such a tangible way has left a deep impression on my heart.

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home / life (in general) / LIVING WELL / MOTHERHOOD

normal is good

I read this quote last week on Ali's blog and it has left a serious impression on me. I don't know what it is about these words, but they really were the thing that I needed to hear.

Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you,
love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest
of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it
may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or
bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands
to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.

I think that sometimes, I get too thrown off by a slight bump in the road, an unexpected mess, a bit of disobedience, a forgotten errand or ingredient, an argument between little girls. I forget that these things are just part of life. These things are part of a normal day.

And while I strongly believe that each day holds bits that are glorious, and sweet, and tender and darn near perfect–a normal day, I'm reminded–is an excellent thing. It is something to be celebrated, and recognized for what it is.

Maybe I shouldn't open this can of worms, but I think the search for "some rare and perfect tomorrow" can be one of the downsides of blogging and blog reading. Because it is true, we pick and choose what we share, what we photograph, the stories we tell. We often capture moments that look like bliss. We zoom in on the children playing happily and don't zoom out on the piles of laundry on the sofa and the ping-pong-sized dust balls scampering around under the furniture.

And that's okay. If blogging were only about those piles of laundry and dust bunnies, it would lose a lot of its inspiration. And the celebration of those blissful days and moments and creativity is important.

But if we think that everyone is having a "rare and perfect tomorrow" but us, then we are beginning to lose perspective. If we think our day was less than wonderful just because it was "normal," than we need to step back and take a look at what is good and healthy and what is part of our every day lives.

And though I've somehow managed to change my pronouns from "I" to "we", I'm still mostly talking to myself.

And on some days, when we may be lamenting "normal", there is someone else, somewhere, who is longing for just a little taste of normal once again.

So I hope you know, that this post is written for me. And that when I sat down to write this post, my intention was to only share the quote. I guess I had more to say. And I don't mean this to be a trashing of blogging because those thoughts showed up as I was writing. But lately, I've found myself really trying to keep my blogging habits in perspective.

Mostly I want this post and this quote to be an encouragement. Because while it left me thinking, it really encouraged me as well.

And this last week, I've really been enjoying my normal. Both the wonderful little nearly-perfect moments, the chaotic moments, and the mundane ones, too. Because they all make up my normal.

And normal is good.