Love from Moab

arches

We just returned from spring break in Moab. And because Ruby spent the whole time looking for someone to slap hands with her and play Concentration, that set the rhythm for both the trip and the ditty I composed in its honor. Find a partner and sing along!

Five kiddos
Five days
Pop-up camper
Tent in the shade

Four mile hike
Dino tracks!
Long way down
Don’t look back

Flat tire
Papa pumps
Curious horses
They look stumped

Arches! Canyons!
Dust and wind
Strange new sights
Around each bend

One more stop?
I think we can!
Petroglyphs
and Moab Man

canyonlands2

And…..I’m still working on the last verse. Something about leaving a trail of dust so that we can find our way back again soon. Suggestions??

top-of-the-world

Keeping Me Humble

A few weeks ago, when I was tucking Gabriel into bed, I noticed he had strung up some colorful bits of paper from the underside of the top bunk.

Me: This is nice. What did you make here?
Gabriel: It’s the planets!
Me (swelling ever-so-slightly with pride in my sharp-minded homeschooled boy)Oh, that’s neat! (I point to the one hanging by my nose) Which one is this?
Gabriel: That’s Hoth(brief pause while my mind realizes it’s in a completely different solar system and tries to reorient itself). And that one’s Naboo. And there’s Tatooine….

Moral: never assume your son is anything more than a Star Wars crazed seven-year-old. Even if he is homeschooled.

Grumpy

I like that my kids can take photos of each other that I could never get away with myself. For this reason, I’m always amused at what I find on my camera.

GrumpyGabe3

For example, when one sibling is feeling a little grumpy, it’s perfectly acceptable for an older sibling to grab the camera and start shooting.

GrumpyGabe2

But a Mama could never be so bold.

GrumpyGabe1

Don’t worry. He got over it. Whatever “it” was.

Back on the Weaving Wagon

After a long (very long) hiatus last year to accommodate pregnancy and all the things that went with it, I am back on the weaving wagon.

Weaving4

Here, photographic evidence of me working at the loom. Never mind that I’m pretty sure I had just returned all sweaty from an extensive walk around the neighborhood. I’m still glad that Ruby snapped the photo.

Weaving5

When I was in school I really hated the entire process of warping the loom and I always rushed through it. Picking it up again 20 years later, I find the whole process meditative and relaxing. I’m sure there’s some kind of life-lesson in there someplace, if I could just get a good night’s sleep and a few quiet minutes to think about it.

Weaving3 Weaving2

 

On Getting Over It (or Perhaps Not)

“But what if the great secret insider-trading truth is that you don’t ever get over the biggest losses in your life? Is that good news, bad news, or both?…The pain does grow less acute, but the insidious palace lie that we will get over crushing losses means that our emotional GPS can never find true north, as it is based on maps that no longer mention the most important places we have been to.”

Anne Lamott, Stitches

The Story of a Sweater

I cast-on during a weekend trip to a local hot springs with the Sweetie Pie. I sat in our cabin at the rough-hewn log dining table, watched the sheep in the pasture outside the window, and counted stitches. I sipped hot tea and the baby slept in his swing.

I knitted the entire body on our drive home, the tires spinning and the wiper blades icing over as we crossed the Continental Divide. I averted my eyes from the cars skidding wildly off the road, focused on the endless rows of stockinette and repeated to myself “Just keep knitting, just keep knitting….” The baby snuggled deep in his carseat under a mound of blankets, and obligingly slept away the storm.

Owlet-detail

At home, I stumbled over the sleeves, which required some focus and counting of stitches. Between the bustling household and the baby that needs so much cuddling and holding, I had to knit, and unknit, and knit again in short ten minute sessions.

I picked up season one of The Paradise from the library. The baby kicked his legs next to me on the couch as I breezed through the yoke of owls and we watched love and commerce in Dickensian England unfold on my laptop.

buttons

As I completed the short rows and ribbed collar, I held my breath. I prayed my yarn would multiply like loaves and fishes. And when I cast off there was only six inches of yarn to spare. I snipped it off and put it into the baby’s chubby fist. He looked at it quizzically, and then tried to shove it (along with his entire fist) into his mouth.

I put the baby down for a nap and spent a blissful hour sorting through Great-Aunt Virgie’s tin of vintage buttons. Fingering my way through the contents, I found the most. perfect. pair to make two little owl eyes. I sewed them on, stopping only twice to put the baby back to sleep.

Owlet

And now, I watch the snow fall quietly out the window, show the baby his new sweater, lay it on top of him and try to picture him wearing it a year from now. He kicks his feet enthusiastically. My mother’s intuition tells me he approves of it. I fold it gently and tuck it away for next winter, when we’ll bring out the sweater and all the memories that have been knit into it.

** Pattern and yarn details are found on my Ravelry page, here

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