Mornings.

I realize as of late there has been an abundance of posts about my finished objects, while my un-finished objects have gotten the short end of the stick.  Ultimately, I started this whole blog thing for them.  Life, ideas, focus changes.  I look up expecting to see a familiar landmark, instead it's all new.  Again.  I watch my daughter put long sleeve shirt over short sleeve shirt tucked into jeans worn over tights capped off with a dress, my brain spins.  The oldest emerges ready for the day in whatever he decided to sleep in last night.  Chastising the claim of minty breath, he's sent back to try again.  Youngest's assignment to don shoes and socks evolves into a complete wardrobe change minus foot coverings.  Still.   Laughter, tears, tattling, whining, gripes under breath, eyes roll, hugs given.
"Will you come to lunch with me?"
"Don't come see me, I miss you too much when you leave"
"Don't come see me, it's embarrassing."
It's not even 7.
Coats, hats, mittens, door opens.
I pick up the trail leading to the still open door and the forgotten backpack.  I'll surprise him with it when I join him for lunch.

One Plus Six.

In all, it took an entire year to complete.  I bought the yarn last year for a project that had I read a bit closer I would've realized it would not work for.  So it sat.  An entire year staring at me waiting to be, what?  Truth be told, the yarn was ready.   A scarf, a hat or dog blanket for all it cared, I was the one that needed time.  Time to understand how to alter the chosen pattern to fit the amount I had.  Time to read enough into the pattern to know not to follow the size recommendations.  Time to trust in my own capabilities, knowing that honestly, what is the worst that can happen if I run out of yarn?  Country's will not collapse.  Banking systems will not freeze their accounts.  In the end it's yarn.  I can re-wind with the best of them.  Screw it up?  Rip it out and begin again.  Of course none of that happened.  It's oddly, perfect.  No wonky lace under the left shoulder blade, no un-aligned ribbing graces the waist.  One year in the basement, 6 days on needles.  Patience rewards yet again.  Now this next project just might be on needles for a year or so it would seem.  Teeny-tiny stitches in my current work in progress, for a teeny-tiny person which himself is a work in progress.  I pray I beat him to completion.

Night at the Improv.

Macgyver excluded, no one can improvise like a mom.  I take that back.  As women we start improvising early.  Hair gets in your way, invent a new style with twists, turns, pencils and a paper clip. A Sharpee is great for last minute 'shoe polish' and no one understands the power of duct tape and super glue better than a woman.  From fixing your hem to a broken nail, we know how to get it done no matter what our circumstances.  As moms we quickly discover how many McDonalds napkins stuffed in babies onesie will hold them till you get back home to your forgotten diaper bag and once again Duct Tape is great for keeping them there! 

Life in general is left open for chaos and any fix necessary to get the job done.  Recipes are a suggestion and even patterns can be altered to perfection, but starting from scratch?  A designer I am not.  Designers I love were former, physicists or engineers, very detailed, technically minded individuals that understand the science and reasoning behind every stitch.  I just wanted to keep my Kindle cozy and while I'm at it, my toes too. 

Two designs emerge from nothing. 

Complexity, zero.  

Oozing with functionality and just enough detailed bling. 

Turning what was once thought of impossible into reality, nice. 

Gifts.

That is not my gift.  Referring not to the curly topped package but the God given ability to perform a task. 
It's what I will tell you if you ask me to work in the nursery or any other child centered leadership role.  If that doesn't suffice I can relay how many kids choked on Cheerios on my watch.
Or tell you of the unruly preschooler that while stomping her feet in defiance didn't receive nearly the same grace from me that I myself would like. 
Stopping just short of dragging her by her pony tail back to class to read that day's scripture.  
Teaching kids, is not my gift. 
But this season I was able to share many gifts that I do have with those I love. 
From hats, to scarves, to slippers, to shawls. Throw in a couple sweaters a few jars of home made jellies and Christmas was complete. 
Each project unique. 
Each one I wanted to keep so badly for myself. 
Internal conversations about how she is surely allergic to alpaca, I can't give her something that would make her sneeze!

And, wool really is too warm for a hat, her head could over-heat and then how would I feel?! 

Just because red is her favorite color surely doesn't mean she needs this intricate red shawl, jelly is fine.  In the end they won.  They always do.

My personal version of pay it forward.  Ability,  possibly the greatest gift of all.

The Boy in the Brown Knit Pants...

By my clock, they took forever.  Little tiny stitches for long, lean legs.  By Ethan's clock, they took even longer.  He first requested his "soft pants he could wear to bed" last Christmas.  Realizing my time for petitions of hand-knits from my eldest is dwindling, I deemed them my December project.  Can't do wool lest he wake in a pool of sweat.  Cotton seemed obvious but that much work with no elasticity appeared even more daunting.  Finding a perfect blend since I have acrylic issues was key.  Skeins and pattern attained, cozy, softness finally emerged.  He loves them.  He wore them 2 days straight.  He told the parents of each of his friends dropped off for his Birthday party about them and requested to wear them today the first day back to school.  Internally, I blush.  He's 10.  Double digits.  Sleepover conversations ranged from the origins of creation to empathy for children of divorce to the strongest Pokeman strategy and culminating with a nearing disturbing conversation about suckling puppies.  He's 10.  Next year Elaina will be sent for her own sleepover, realizing his friends may be coming to see her as much as him.  Days of showers every other day left back in 2011, his own scent firmly established.  Whether after a day of lounging or a day of wrestling, neither matter.  I remember turning 10.  I felt so old mature.  No longer a child.  I felt the same thing when I turned 18.  I was correct both times.  I pray he knows I was thinking of him with each little stitch, my best guess is over 40,000 total stitches.  FORTY THOUSAND times I said how much I loved him.  40,000 times I prayed his name. 40,000 choked back tears for the man we're raising.  40,000 smiles of joy for the man he is becoming.  Happy Birthday Ethan, I can't imagine a better way to send my child off to sleep.

eta:  I was impressed when I thought it was 9000 stitches but after further research on how to actually figure it out I came up w/40,800.   May God be praised because I know without a doubt I could never do that many stitches on my own.  When I think of all the other projects and all the other little, tiny stitches that have been adding up over this time, Wow, He is awesome.  Thank you Lord for this gift, I pray I continue to re-gift it as You choose!!