Zipping Back.

Normal knitters take a break for the Summer.
A pair of socks or a nice light shawl may be on needles.
As you well know, I'm not normal.
Summer began with an Aran weight, cabled, wool cardigan.
Flowing nicely into Worsted, wool, pull-over for Elijah.
Pieces, pieces, every where pieces!!!
Honestly, for kids there is really no reason not to do seamless.

This was a jigsaw puzzle.  Not one of those 12 pieces floor models either.  The real deal, seam here, seam there, seam that seamed piece to the other seamed piece so you can seam in the zipper to the seamed down collar.  Makes you want to knit tubes through the Fall, kind of seaming.
Have I mentioned I hate to sew?
It's done, thank you very much.
Extended the length of the body and of the arms, nice and big to hopefully last through the Winter.
One back to school sweater folded in the dresser, awaiting crispy leaves, and visible breath.

He's heart-achingly adorable.
First grade begins in one week.
Soccer is in full swing.
Deep river tan on arms kept strong by swinging repeatedly off rope into creek.
Seven days of vacation still beckon.
Crisp air greets our morning, swimsuits still rule the afternoon.
Wool and angora hoodie for NFL wanna-be taking shape.
My nemesis, endless stockinette rears it's ugly head.  Luckily, it's seamless.

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.

Thanks.

A full week off with the kiddos and everyone is still accounted for. 
True, by Wednesday I was hunting down ingredients for my Bailey's recipe, which turned out fantastic by the way, but I digress. 
We've made it to Saturday. 
Accomplishments thus far... 2 hats I love and will have a hard time parting with. 
1 amazing turkey dinner, brining and smoking is definitely the way to go. 
Which lead to...Smoked turkey enchilada's with a chipotle cream sauce last night, enough said there.
Avoided the crowds on Black Friday.   Opting instead to purchase from my lovely computer and have it hand delivered to my door for free, all while receiving those 'doorbuster' prices that the masses were trampling each other for. 
Happy mom, soon to be even happier kids, bliss!!! 
Today, another Christmas project will hit the needles. 
A dinner not containing turkey will hit the table. 
Children will more than likely hit each other. 
And I will continue to give thanks for the privilege of being part of it all.

Seven.

I can't even say I would like to have my days filled with a general fluff of the house in the morning and complete freedom from there on out. 
I'm too twitchy.
Luckily, that is not the case, so here I am playing catch up, writing the girls birthday blog a full week and a half late. 
I'll do my best to leave out pinings for the oldest who is making his homecoming from camp today. 
I'll also leave out any gratuitus mentions of all the mommy time the youngest got with brother at camp and sister at grandma's.  I won't talk about how we sat outside the yogurt shop slurping chocolate off gummy worms or how we poured over a bike map spread before us in McDonald's Playland, plotting our morning ride. 
No. 
This is about the girl.

Quickly approaching age 3, she still didn't talk.  If you've met Ethan you would know why.  It was time for a girls trip.  I loaded her up, fuzzy pink backpack with the horsey sticking out the back and we headed for the airport.  Nodding in confidence to all the "how cute's" and "isn't she adorable's". 
I knew. 
She was.
That trip marked her first major change.
She was able to speak!
She was also infatuated with the in flight bathroom and potty trained herself.  Nice bonus!
In a blink, seven candles ignite on birthday grasshopper pie. 
An unconventional request from an unconventional girl.
Waiting 12 weeks to change out her first pair of earrings, inaugural pair removed, she refuses to let me near her.  Holes closing before my eyes. 
This was hard.
I was mad.

Not so much that I paid for the process and wanted a refund.  Well, maybe a little.

But that she kept repeating over and over "I'm not strong enough,  I'm not strong enough"

What?!

The little waif that climbs to the top and over anything...not strong enough?

The princess that tackles her older, larger brother without smudging her eyeshadow...not strong enough?

The athlete that takes no prisoners on the way to the goal, not afraid to hone her elbow jab skills on her own team mates...not strong enough??
Seven.
Will of her own firmly established.  Lineage recognized.  Chuckling softly at family traits awaiting her own brood.  I love my girl.  Her mental fortitude alone confirms the strength she believes she lacks.
You are mightier than you know my daughter.

Phases.

I've honestly lost track of which phase this would be, but if there is a precursor to empty nest this would be it.  On the tail end of storm clouds, summer vacation arrives. 

Today was my last day alone with Elijah. 

This Fall he enters the world of school.  Another woman will not only hold his attention but his affection as well.

Ethan lived his youth in daycare and pre-k.  Elaina soaked up one solid year at home, while I got my sea-legs.  Elijah basked in three entire mommy filled years.

With my heart in my throat we commenced our day. 

What does a perfect day for a 5 year old look like?

It starts with a stroll downtown. 

Stopping to watch a bird in the awning above a store. 

Waving at a toddler crawling through mannequin legs. 

Staring in awe at rapid water as it disappears underground. 

Ice cold strawberries and cream licked greedily off a straw. 

A surprise stop at a favorite sweet shop. 

Lunch on a blanket with Frank and Jessica squirrel as they snatch up all the apple they possibly can. 

Back in the car, a sudden cry to stop, simply to drop a stick in a tiny stream and watch it flow all the way to the pond below.

And with that our phase has ended. 



Will this time shape him differently than the other two? 

Will he encourage his future wife to sacrifice career to the infinitely more important role of mom?

Bell rings, two more enter. 

Arguing ensues, tears flow, the injustice of imagined lack.

Heart firmly pushed back down in place, one long, deep breath before diving into this next phase. 

Summer begins.

Bliss.

After a ridiculously wet May and a months worth of rain in one day for June we knew, without a doubt, it was time.  Trailer in literal tow we packed up the kids and headed over the hills in search of bliss.  The clouds parted and sun beams shone down on the perfect spot nestled in the woods.  This was of course after the current campers with the three enourmous dogs that tried to eat our friends dog left. But I digress.  Oasis rises with the turn of a crank.   Bliss emerges.

Chairs unfold, fire smolders to life, children giggle-run after butterflies fluttering for their lives. 

No buzz of technology. 

No "Can I get on?" cry to play on the computer 24/7.

Not even enough reception to determine the time.

Silent bliss.

Native fish navigating the river behind camp, provide the perfect opportunity for Ethan.  Unfamiliar fly rod tentatively held, he manages to entice.  Success spawns confidence, another fly fisherman has been born. 

Back at camp, grill marks form while sausages sizzle. 

Marshmallow, chocolate and dirt covers each child as they sleepily retire from day 1.

Exhausted bliss.

Bacon fills the air as scorching water drains through  grounds. 

Kids happily play with bubbles as groggy adults prepare for the day, Lawrence Welk's camping road tour.

Never to be out done by the older brother, Elaina awkwardly makes her first cast.  Middle child triuphantly lands four fish.  Two small fly rods now in our monetary future. 

Two days down, three spent kids, one dog that will sleep unmoving for days and two very satisfied parents. 

Victory claimed over the inaugural trip.

Memories and abilities to be passed down to their own broods.

Stocked trailer simply awaits food and clothing. 

Bliss attained.

Casting On...

Wet hens are not mad.  I know, I have 15 hens.  They are seldom, if ever, what I would call angry.  Wet hens are determined optimists.  A sprinkle from above does not deter their focus on the goal.  Only when the rains come down, do the worms come up.  Wet hens are patient.  The heavens may open up.  Minds unable to comprehend such massive amounts of water being held in fluffy clouds.  We watch in awe as gutters overflow.  A hole dug by persistent, young hands becomes a wading pool.  Hens gather together.  Keeping each other warm, while they wait.  Clouds wane, worms come up. 

So begins a new venture.

Casting off the old and heading into where only He leads.

When I began my first blog I was a new stay at home mom, fresh out of the wine industry, culinary degree under my belt and deeply in love with all things food.

Three years later, I am first and foremost a wife.  One who enjoys snuggling up on the couch with my husband and a good vintage port, no longer pining for the 'industry'.   I am a mother who knows the meaning of every sound, scent and eye roll my three kids try to hide.  I will always love food.  I will create what I can, but have no qualms buying it when necessary.  Fresh bread is a staple, but a loaf from the store currently resides in the pantry.  Homemade granola is nestled next to the Frosted Flakes.  I garden, but am not a gardener.  I plant three times what I need to account for the inevitable failure by my own inattention, weather or feather.  Finally, I knit.  After years of anxiety ruling my being, I picked up needles and cast on my first scarf.  Well, what was supposed to be a scarf at least.  When I knit, I am calm.  When I knit, I can think, I can pray, I can ponder and I can relax.  When I knit for someone else,  I am thinking of them with every little stitch.  Frustrations are worked out, love is worked in.  Insights gained with each new skein.  Making intricate beauty out of flat and straight.  Seeing what will be, not what it is now.

The Wet Hen Chronicles, will tell the story of phase two.  In knitting terms FO's are finished objects, projects completed.  Rest assured, there will be plenty of knitting.  UFO's are un-finished objects, projects I'm currently working on, the kids will remain UFO's indefinitely.   All else would be WIP's, works in progress, the garden, baking, me, simply life day to day. 

Determined optimist, patiently waiting.  A lofty goal but a goal none-the-less.

Casting-on.