prying eyes
climb inside

raucous laughter?
tears I’ve cried?
secret shame?
lies I’ve lied?
compassion deep?
judgment wide?
sometimes
overwhelming pride?

visions of boys
when they’re full grown?
beating hearts
just mine on loan?
secret dreams
I have yet known?
hidden fears
that chill the bone?

who am I when all alone?
who are you when no one’s home?

what makes us strong?
what makes us weak?

seek and hide
hide and seek

When I was a kid, I dreamt of all kinds of things. A new idea of what to do, or be, or create popped into my head every other minute and usually had something to do with horses, unicorns, castles, or anything sparkly – the Bedazzler had nothing on me. But the things we dream of as children are often so fanciful that we abandon them in our rush to grow up, lest we be viewed as a child a moment longer than we find comfortable. Too often, most of us (myself included) slog about, bogged down in our daily trials and find it hard to even remember what dreams captivated us so very long ago. But the lucky among us hold tight to those dreams, even if only to smile at the memory of them. When we get older, our dreams are usually very different and much more serious because we are busy with the oh-so-serious business of being an adult.

For a long time in my grown-up life, besides the obvious of having a home, a good job, and a happy marriage, I had the grown-up dream of having a daughter. This dream was fully developed, complete with bouncing brown curls, ruffle tights, and a name — Nora. When life brought me two sons I was confronted with having to give up that dream. I could never have known that the loss of one dream was necessary to bring me another — these two very different but equally delicious boys — who bring me more pure joy than I could have ever imagined.

When I wrote about boxing up the dream of having a little girl, the words found me. They poured out as if I had turned on some imaginary tap in my mind, emotions overflowing as my fingers danced over the keyboard and struggled to keep up. I haven’t written anything since then, telling myself that it’s because life is just too hectic, and when things slow down I’ll write about the boys. But perhaps closer to the truth is that when I think about writing about these two little gifts that life gave me, I’m afraid I won’t find the words, and they won’t find me. After all, Nora Who Wasn’t won’t read those words, but if I write about my boys, I will have a real live audience whose review could crush me in a second.

So beyond the dreams for stuff and things, for futures and possibilities, I dream of words. Words that are right. Words that tell the story in my heart. Words that will erase the memories of bad days/bad moods/times I had to raise my voice/ timeouts/disappointing dinners… Words so brilliant and weighty that someday when my little boys are men, they will read them and know what a gift it is to be their mother.

These words I seek will somehow find a way to jump off the page, reach inside them, and fill their bodies with the things I have felt. One paragraph will brim their eyes with tears and make their hearts beat wildly like mine did the first time I held them, saw them smile, and heard a first word. The next will make them laugh out loud like I did when they insisted on dancing naked or said something profoundly hysterical, sometimes at the same time. The words will create in them the same feelings of otherworldly pride and delight that make it a moral imperative for me to tell both friends and random strangers about the incredibly funny/smart/wild/sweet thing they did (um, yes, even if I’ve told them the story before). They will warm them with the gratitude I feel when my boys remind me of my childhood dreams as we explore their imaginations. And finally, the words will pump their adrenaline into that crazy, feral, mother-bear place that makes this usually fairly docile lady not hesitate to say ‘step off b*tch’ to anyone even thinking of threatening my cubs.

So, my dream? It is to one day find these magical, elusive words that have the power to transform my experiences as a mother into a captivating love note to my boys. Really, it will be a thank-you note, for the privilege of having been not just a Mommy, but their Mommy. And when I do finally write it, I’m going to put it in a Bedazzled frame and hang in on their fridge, just like all of the heartfelt treasures that have been hung on mine.

Bouncing mahogany curls. Eyes like her papa – a deep rich brown that twinkled just before she faded from view, never quite letting me glimpse the whole of her.

I imagined rosy, dimpled cheeks, a tiny tinkling laugh, and chubby little legs that we would somehow sausage into tights – the impossibly sweet ones with the ruffled bottom that no baby needs but every mommy wants.

Like the wisp of reverie she flitted in and out of my days, prompting an accumulation of goods year after year. A dress, outfit, cute little shoes. Enough fabric and Daisy Kingdom patterns to clothe an entire kindergarten class. These treasures I lovingly stored away for Someday. They became the warp & weft of the intricate dream I wove. They allowed the idea of My Daughter to have some tangibility, and let Someday feel not so very far away.

Every now and again I would pull the box out of the closet, unfolding and refolding the items as I got lost in the idea of Her. Occasionally I added to the box, and occasionally I thought I probably shouldn’t spend money on a wish. But I told myself that if I didn’t have a girl, I’d have lots of presents for friends and family. How very practical.

The first boy came – my love Cameron, the scientist. Three and a half thrilling years later, the doctor said we were likely having a girl. Seventy percent chance, said he. Telling ourselves to be cautious, as we wouldn’t have confirmation for five more weeks, we nevertheless dared to believe the doctor was right. The box came out again, clothing unfolded and refolded, and as the idea of Her grew larger, so did the box. Now the wish had a name – Nora.

The five weeks passed with aching slowness as pink purchases were made – sometimes warily, sometimes giddily. A small pink sweater began to grow on my knitting needles, a tiny wish in each stitch. Every day of those five weeks I woke up wondering why I hadn’t dreamt of her that night. All I got were fleeting images during the day – the same as I had for years; and although I was nearly convinced she was finally real, there was always a seed of doubt. Always a little tug that said no, this baby is a boy. The more tugs I got, the faster I knitted, as though if I knitted the sweater fast enough it would guarantee that I would have a little girl to wear it. A wooly If you build it, she will come.

There was no doubt on the next sonogram that this baby was a boy. Even we could tell, but that’s a story for another time… As soon as the sonographer said it, the tug said I told you so. It didn’t come as a shock because part of me had known all along. Growing in my belly was boy number two – sweet little Rowan. And he was a bit too little, which gave us more to worry about than the dream of the Someday girl slipping away.

As we worried and waited and worried and waited, Rowan was all that mattered, and there was no room in the day to ruminate about anything else. I already loved this boy, and nothing was more important than his safe arrival.

During those last few pregnant months, through bed rest, a dramatic delivery, and the first sleepless weeks of Rowan’s life, that wisp of a dream disappeared, quietly tucked away in some forgotten corner in my mind. Six months have passed and allowed us to discover a charming, albeit demanding, loveable boy whose smile lights up the room, who delights his big brother no end and who thoroughly enjoys the smorgasbord of his fingers.

Only just recently did she whisper to me again. While reorganizing closets and shuffling the piles of boy clothes – those already outgrown and those yet to be grown into – I spied the box. I sat on the floor and brought everything out, unfolding and refolding the clothes as tears blurred my vision and I realized that there would never be a Nora to wear them. Before when I touched them they always held the hope of a dream, but now they were reminders of my unrequited yearning. I considered my plan that if I never had a girl, I at least had great gifts to give. At the time that had sounded perfectly reasonable. Never did I imagine that giving them away would mean giving Her away.

Our days now are filled with tractors, trucks, cranes and trains, insects of all kinds and a sandbox whose sand is slowly sneaking inside by hitching a ride in pockets and cuffs. It’s often a raucous house, full of laughter and no end of drama. Our boys mean the world to us and we can’t imagine our lives without them. But there will be no more babies for us. And although I like to say our family is complete, I know that from time to time I’ll glimpse the bounce of a curl and feel a zing in my heart where forever will live the incomplete memories of Nora Who Wasn’t.

Last night Allan started hauling 140 bags of sand (50lb each!) from the driveway into the backyard.  There the 70 cubic feet of sand would fill the newly minted octagon-shaped sandbox.  The stuff dreams are made of…

Taking a little break from his dinner, Cameron stood at the window and broke into a spontaneous cheer, “Go Daddy Go!  Go Daddy Go!  You can do it!  You can do all the work that you can do!  Go Daddy Go!  Go Daddy Go!”

Avast, me hearties

We went to Kirkland Parks’ free Pirate Party today. There were lots of pirates, beads (pirate booty) to wear, and activity booths where Cameron particularly enjoyed looking at real pirate artifacts. We had our picnic lunch on the lawn while we enjoyed the tunes of Captain Bogg & Salty, a Portland pirate band. After lunch, while Rowan napped on Mommy in “his pouch” (Baby Bjorn), Cam & Daddy went to get a balloon pirate sword. After having had to wait in a long line for food, Cammie was exceedingly patient waiting in another for his sword. Then he tore off down the lawn & ran around like a wild man brandishing his inflatable weapon. When the concert was over, he burned off a little more energy at the playground before it started to sprinkle again.

Pirate Boys

On the way to the car, the balloon sword started to lose air and shrank down a bit. With his imagination, Cam can turn any object into something else in an instant. As we walked up the street, he put the balloon up to his mouth & said, “I’m playing the tuba.” He did that for about a block and by then the balloon had shrunk down considerably. He took a look at it and exclaimed, “now it looks like a penis!” Then, holding it the way he had the ‘tuba’ he said, “I’m playing the penis horn!” Mommy & Daddy totally lost it in fits of laughter, so of course this refrain was repeated all the way to the car… to the enjoyment of the neighborhood.

Cameron and His Sword turned Instrument

Next up was a surprise visit to the toy store. We’ve been putting in a sandbox and yesterday I told Cameron I had ordered the sand to be delivered Monday. He was very excited and asked, “Mommy, do you think tomorrow you could order toys for the sandbox?” Well, of course we need toys for the sandbox, but we thought it would be more fun to trek down to the store to let him pick some out. As soon as we were all loaded in the car, we told him our plan. He nearly came out of his seatbelt and could barely contain his excitement until he remembered the penis horn again and got back to playing a tune. So, which reality show should he do, the rockstar one or the comedian one?

Toys, toys, toys, yeah

While Daddy finished giving Rowan a bottle, Cam & Mommy headed in to GiganticToyStore to use the potty. As we neared the restroom area, there was a vile stench that would like to knock a person over. “Sheesh it stinks in here,” Mommy says, just before we open the door to the ladies’ room. There are only two stalls, one occupied, one open. As we go into the open one, Cam says, “yeah, SOMEBODY must be pooping! Pee-yoo!” Subtle.

Before we go back out, he gives me one of his random affirmations which I adore, “Mommy, I love you! You are so cute!” awww J

We picked out some sandcastle-making equipment, met up with Rowan & Daddy, and headed for the tractors. Not a thing distracted us on the way. Ahem; I apologize. Wishful thinking… After about 3 hours we finally reach the tractors, and then the great debate is on. (Oh, I would really enjoy this one, with the remote control. That’s not for outside; how about this cool green one? But I would really enjoy it. But it’s not for outside; come look at this front-loader. Why isn’t it for outside? Because it’s not rugged enough. But I would be really careful and I would really enjoy it. And so on…) After about another 3 hours, we settle on a front-loader, a dump truck, and a crane, all Tonka. Hooray, we’re done. Oh, except first we have to trek back through the store to the baby section & get the goods for little brother. A few rattle-y toys later & we’re done. Little brother is too little for an opinion. Tender mercies.

On the way home we stop off for a milkshake at the local DQ. Somehow in all of his four years, Cammie has never had a milkshake. How could that possibly have happened? After explaining what it was, what flavors you can get, and why it’s called a ‘shake’ he settled on strawberry for his first shake experience. We hit the drivethru & passed the shakes out to their respective owners. Awww moment #2: Between sips of strawberrycreamygoodness, we hear, “wow. What a lucky boy am I to get this milkshake. And those toys, and that pirate party. AND, I got water for breakfast!” Lest you think we’re derelict and don’t actually feed the boy breakfast, he was talking about the fact that since we had run out of milk, he got to drink water with his meal. Since it’s generally all milk, all the time, this was somehow a treat in the mind of our sweet preschooler. So our only falling down was running out of milk, which is unfortunately very easy to do in this house.

Good Night

As I was finishing the neckband on Cameron’s sweater (Oh Mommy, it’s so woolly!) I listened to Cam & Daddy on the monitor, going through the bedtime routine. They were done with books and were having a nice snuggle before saying goodnight when Daddy asked Cameron what the best part of the day was. Not the party – not the pirates, the picnic, the sword, the playground; not even the cool new toys. His best was the milkshake. Simple pleasures satisfy my boy. We’ve got to remember that more. When asked about the worst part of the day, he replied, “standing in that boring loooong line!” Yes.

What a great day we had.

(Taking sHopping to new heights)

After a night of fevered dreams of the Fall Fiber Arts Retreat (what projects to bring on the plane? what WIPs to finish & wear? can we get them done in time? what classes to take? do you curtsy before The Harlot or does she have a ring to kiss?) our brave sHoppers brushed the (estonian lace) cobwebs from their heads and awoke to sHop another day.

So happy were they when they met again behind Cultured Purls that they were literally shocked out of their idyll by Lynn’s cell phone. Knowing the call was from home, the worst ran quickly through her mind – one of the boys was hurt, had thrown up, or clogged the toilet again with another Pez dispenser. Certain that before it had even started the day was coming to a screeching halt, she answered the phone with, “hello? What’s wrong?” Take heart, dear reader, as she was actually greeted with a chuckle rather than disaster. Her DH had received a call from Full Circle Yarn with news that she had won a prize
from a drawing on the first day of the Hop! After assuring her that all was quiet on the home front, he said a bag containing $50 worth of yarn & needles was awaiting pickup. How do you like them apples?!

So it was that our sHoppers started the day. And after a quick stop for fuel at Starbucks, the two began their adventure.

First stop was Evergreen Hospital to see Clarise. We found her on the east side of the Critical Care unit, already frazzled by a busy assignment. With a couple fast hugs & well wishes, we dropped off a bag of knitterly treats and then were back on the road. Later in her day when she got a second to take a break, Clarise was delighted to find out what was inside!

Next we headed into Seattle to catch the ferry to Bainbridge. The day was just perfect for a sailing, and we enjoyed the sun from the upper deck. After arriving on the island, we went into town to find Churchmouse Yarn & Tea. We were about to discover that this was the highlight of the weekend!

This perfectly charming shop was a veritable treasure trove. Just inside the doors was a display overflowing with Manos del Uruguay. Yes! They had the silk blend, and Yes! they had my colorway! I quickly plucked a few skeins off the shelf and hugged them to me, “Hola, el amante. Encontramos otra vez.” (I speak Spanish now to my Uruguayan beau. You monolingual needle-wielders out there will have to look it up). I also grabbed a few skeins of a luscious contrast. Now I’m going to have to meditate with a skein in each hand until they tell me what they want to become.

Manos’ next door neighbor was a large selection of Koigu, and what to my wondering eyes did appear but sock yarn of an almost identical colorway to my Manos. You have got to be kidding… They had an adorable Koigu baby sweater, available as a shop kit, and a huge selection of Socks that Rock. All this and we had barely stepped inside the door!

Manos & Koigu ~ Hola, el amante. Salude su amigo pequeño.

We perused the terrific selection of yarns, buttons, patterns, teas & wares, and I found a pair of leather purse handles. Then it happened. Jacquie found the hemp she had been searching for all weekend. For a minute there I thought she was going to start channeling a gospel choir. She started to glow in a halo of light, the store dissolved away in a swirling fog, and the shop ladies began humming the hallelujah chorus. Can I get an Amen?! Srsly, delight far understates her disposition when they checked the back stock and told her they had what she needed. Holy sheep! How could it get any better?

We were about to find out. For making the trek to their lovely shop, the Churchmouse ladies gave us a measuring tape and a copy of their one-skein fingerless glove pattern. Then they pointed us to the ice cream shop…

Better? Oh, yes. To sweeten our high-fiber diet, we indulged in the fantastic treats at Mora. Oh. My. Goodness. Fresh ice cream in such fabulous flavor concoctions it makes you want to do the happy dance. Ahh, Camelot. Friends, yarn, and insanely delicious ice cream on a sunny day in Puget Sound. Jealous?

We hopped back on the ferry and used the return trip for some knitting time, and then made the trek back to Ballard to pick up the prize bag. Inside was a selection of yarns (all without labels, hmmm) and an enormous set of hand-crafted walnut needles – beautiful, but certain to become an instant weapon in the hands of my 4-yr-old – must hide them.

Prize Bag from Full Circle Yarn

We headed up to Queen Anne to our old friend Hilltop Yarn. They’ve had a rough go of it lately after a fire wreaked havoc, and it looked like their stock hadn’t been fully replenished. Or, maybe we were just late getting there, as it was the fourth official day of the Hop. We left empty-handed. C’est la vie.

Next stop was out in West Seattle, at Seattle Yarn. They left a good impression with us the first year as all stock was on sale. Unfortunately that wasn’t the case this year. I did find some Malabrigo baby merino lace to try, though.

Malabrigo baby merino lace

Pretty weary and very hungry (a whole day on only a little coffee & ice cream!), we decided to make a quick jaunt to Renton to see The Knittery and then get some dinner. Sadly, this shop has the misfortune to share a wall with a tobacco shop. Sheesh. It would not have mattered what yarn they carried, because the minute you walked in the door, all you smelled was smoke. What a shame. While Churchmouse was the highlight, this shop, ahem, was the lowlight of the Hop. Hope the lease is up soon, because y’all need to get the heck out of Dodge.

Before heading home to hearth & family, we stopped for dinner at Coho Café. Over a leisurely glass of wine and delicious meal, we relived the fun times of the Hop, dreamed of our trip in November, and talked (inevitably as moms do) about our kids. What a truly terrific weekend! Shucks, Jacquie is just so much fun that as my Cammie would say… I want to just hug her to bones! Can’t wait for Calgary J

Okay, cue the violins & somebody get me a Kleenex. I’m getting a little misty…

(I Spent How Much?)

Yes, the sun was out, the birds were singing, and there was a spring (hop?!) in our step. The Hop was on. We were so excited that we met at a shop that wasn’t even Hopping. How could we possibly resist Jacquie’s lovely LYS Cultured Purls, which just happened to have all yarn on sale? A good time was had by all as we purred over the Blue Heron metallic rayon, amongst other beauties. Now, with lists in hand, the quest began…

Rayon Metallic

Jacquie and Sheila

Leaving Issaquah, we consulted Sheila, our astral navigator (ok, GPS guide), and headed into Seattle to Tricoter. Famous for both their patterns and their snooty attitudes, we wanted to see for ourselves as we had never been to this shop. I must say that while they may have been naughty before, the ladies were on their best behavior today. There were a couple of particularly nice designs, and we found a selection of Socks that Rock, but the overall layout of the shop was disorienting. The yarn was all organized by color, and while it made for nice eye candy, it was too hard to settle in and contemplate the fibers. Looking for a specific weight for a specific project was a joke and would have had you zigzagging about. Not for me. Je suis désolé, mademoiselles.

Next stop was over the bridge, through the U∙District, to Acorn Street. Jacquie found the Ty Dy she was looking for (YAY!) and we spent a good deal of time with the sock yarn. Boy was it hot in there! We finished up and headed over to Wallingford. Note to shoppers: be leery of things from the basement.

Socks!

Bad Woman Yarn was a delightful little shop in Wallingford Center. They were all ready for the sHoppers, with snacks, a list of sale yarns, and a list of local eateries. We kept feeding our sock yarn appetite (Shop Hop? Maybe Sock Hop!). This is also where I started my relationship (can you stalk a yarn?) with the luscious Manos Silk Blend. I quickly snapped up every skein of a particularly lovely variegated, and made it my mission (obsession) to find more before the Hop was done. It was here that we also picked up some knitterly trinkets for Clarise – the poor girl was slaving away at work and couldn’t Hop with us. Afterwards, we poked around at a cute gift shop in the Center, and then had lunch across the street at Julia’s. Yum!

Manos Silk Blend – “Hello, Lover”

A note about Knitterly Guilt: I have such fondness for my LYS (Main Street Yarn), the lovely owner Marie, and the ladies like Teri and Tina who taught me to knit, that I often feel guilty shopping anywhere else. I rationalize by saying that most of what I’m buying isn’t carried by MSY (sometimes true). I rationalize further by saying that I try to bring back juicy bits of espionage about their competitors (usually true), and even further by reminding myself that I have sent several customers there (always true). Today there was an extra source of guilt when I felt I was cheating on another lovely entrepreneur, the yarn dying diva of Damselfly Yarns. But, I do have a skein of her Sturdy Sheep Blend in Chartreuse Mousse, earmarked for Pomatomus, and a skein of Glacier Lake that is awaiting assignment. I’m going to start saying personal affirmations in my mirror, “I am an equal-opportunity sHopper. I support many local businesses and the national economy. I am loyal and adventurous. ” – hey, do you remember that song from Girl Scouts? “Make new friends, but keep the o-old, one is silver and the oth-er gold.” See. It worked for the Girl Scouts.

The Fiber Gallery was next. Not much ambience, not much inspiration, and one singularly wrong item. Sick and wrong – a knitted thong. Enough said.

Over to Ballard, to Full Circle Yarn. This was a yarn, stitchery, and framing shop. A little scattered, but nice folks and a clever one skein purse pattern for the Hop. I picked up a little 220 for my Bird In Hand mitts.

Cascade 220 Solid & Paints

We headed north to Village Yarn and Tea and found delicious chocolate chip cookies waiting just inside the door. They were a perfect little snack to perk up afternoon sHoppers. Always fun to peruse the teas & fibers, it was a little disappointing because they didn’t have the colorway of Kauni that Jacquie wanted. And I was still on a quest for more of my Manos Silk Blend. Sigh.

We stopped off at Evergreen to drop of the goodies for Clarise. Alas, she had gone home early. Our surprise would have to wait another day. Sigh, part deux.

We wound up the first day of our tour at Hilltop East. I helped myself to a cute pink polka-dotted Lantern Moon bag and proceeded to load in some more Blue Heron metallic rayon. A beautiful black with gold Tinkerbell trail throughout. Divine!

After reaching yarn satiation for the day, we walked down to Maggiano’s for a little dinner. Mmmmmm… Yummy pasta followed by apple crostadas with ice cream and caramel sauce. Night night. Until tomorrow…

Uh, or so you thought… But, dear reader, don’t be fooled. Where there’s a will (and internet access) there’s a way. Our intrepid sHoppers would continue in their quest for all the Knittle Bits their hearts desired. Jacquie found the highly sought Kauni at Little Knits, Lynn prowled Ravelry in search of sock designs for the miles of new sock yarn, and both burned up the messaging system… Furiously they typed messages back & forth to plan a special getaway to the Fall Fiber Arts Retreat in the Canadian Rockies. So giddy were they it was like passing notes in the fifth grade about a boy you liked – and you knew the teacher would catch you any minute. Srsly, a knitting trip with a great friend to meet and learn from some of your favorite designers and knitting personalities, all while staying at a resort in Kananaskis? What more could one want?!

We’re going to have to remember that if we dance around singing “we’re going to meet The Harlot, we’re going to meet The Harlot” someone is definitely going to get the wrong idea.

After getting being up most of the night with our non-sleeper, we “got up” at about 0330 to give Rowan a bottle of Pedialyte and then get ready to go. His little eyes bugged out at the new flavor while he let it just bubble down his chin for a bit before settling in, and then he thought it was pretty great. We had to be checking in at 0600, so we left while the rest of the house slept. Grandma and Grandpa were staying with us to look after Cameron.

Preop

They had the tiniest hospital gown I’ve ever seen – so cute, and somehow it ended up coming home with us. They did the typical weights, measurements & medical history. Ha! Thankfully a short history since he was exactly eight weeks old that day. After he was all checked in, we went up to the parents’ surgical waiting room, with was really just a closet with a small couch & chairs, and some disturbing child artwork on the walls (seriously, a coloring book for kids that’s all about hunting and eating “delicious animals” like bunnies? Yuck!). From there the anesthesiologist carried a sleepy Rowan, with binky, to the OR, and then the real waiting began. We stretched our legs and got a quick snack, then went back up to the closet.

PACU

Before long we heard from the surgeon that all was well, and shortly after that they came to take us to him in the PACU. He was swaddled in fresh blankets from the warmer, hooked to all the monitors, and the nurse handed him right over to me. He slept in my arms in a rocking chair until it was time to go up to Peds. This pic is on the gurney right before we headed upstairs.

On Peds

Here he is hanging out with his tired papa.

This is later on, after sleeping it off, having a bottle, and checking out his surroundings. He was all grins by this time, and ready to go home. Phew!

Some clues:

• Look around the house. Where is your yarn? Do you have nice little organized bins, each grouping already assigned to a project? Or has your stash spilled out of those cute little containers and invaded some fairly inappropriate places? Do you have to pick mohair out of your pantry goods? Have you ever (gasp!) had your closet shelf crash down on under the weight of your stash? (true story – happened to my friend, srsly.)
• Do you hide new purchases from your loved ones? Tired of the eyeroll, glazed look, or “you bought more?!” when you try to share your latest find?
• Do you shop online a lot, telling yourself it’s for the great deals but really just to escape the watchful eyes of the inevitable ladies shopping at your LYS? You know, the ones who assume you work there because you’re just a little too familiar with where everything is?
• Have you ever been overheard at a yarn shop murmuring, “And what is your name?” while you fondle a new little imported merino gem you’ve never come across before? (and how, ahem, is that possible?!)

If you answered Yes!  to most of the above questions, you may want to work on the:

12 6 steps for Yarn Addiction

• Step 1. Admit that you have a problem. Yes, I know, that’s the hardest part. But excusing your stash accumulation as simply the result of fabulous sales or support for your LYS is mere fodder for your therapist.
• Step 2. Rely on a power greater than yourself. Think Ravelry! Maybe you can use the online stash function to sell some of your yarn to fellow Ravelers. Start small – we don’t want you riddled with acute withdrawal. Maybe just a ball or two of the closeout angora blend you bought and has now fuzzified its surroundings.
• Step 3. Make a searching and fearless inventory of your stash. You’ll never know just how big of a problem you have if you don’t see the evidence all in one place – one huge fiber potpourri. I know you’re afraid if you list it all in your online stash you’ll crash Ravelry’s servers. But really, wouldn’t it be fun to try? If you do succeed, skip ahead to Step 5…
• Step 4. Confidentially disclose your addiction to another fiber fanatic. Join the SABLE group and confess your stash stats. Some of them are measuring their yarn ‘yardage’ in miles!
• Step 5. Make amends to those harmed by your yarn habit. Give your sincerest apologies to those whose closets (drawers, bookshelves, bathtubs) you have overtaken with your yarn fantasy or have otherwise inconvenienced with your wooly wares. Then pay your penance (literally) to your bank account. Your future retired self will thank you.
• Step 6. Be of service to others who suffer from your malady. Recognize the symptoms in fellow yarnies and help them through the steps. Beware if they try to sell their yarn to you while working on Step 2 — unless what they’re offering is too good to pass up!
• Step 7. Uh, there is no Step 7. Nor 8, 9, 10, 11, or 12… My sincere apologies (see Step 5) to those of you who wanted to complete the 12 Steps. But you could see I was already slipping in Step 6. As I was creating the steps, I saw a flyer about our upcoming LYS Annual Yarn Crawl. I already have plans with a girlfriend (yes, she of closet shelf fame) to spend two blissful days hopping from shop to shop, fondling the fine silks, purring over the pretty handpainteds, and learning the names of all my new beaus. Maybe I’ll see you along the way? Enablers, unite!

You Sunshine Booby Potter!

From the same 4-year-old, that night at bedtime:

Scene:  Mommy & Cameron snuggled together like spoons in Cam’s racecar bed, ready to say goodnight.  Cameron snakes an arm up around Mommy’s neck…

Cameron:  Mommy, I love you!  You are a very nice Mommy… sometimes.

Mommy:  Oh Cameron, I love you too!  You are a very nice boy.    (notice how the very nice Mommy keeps the ‘sometimes’ to herself?!)

C:  Yes.  Mommy, I love you no matter what.  If I didn’t love you, my heart would cough and sputter.  And then it would shudder.  It would cough and sputter, and then it would shudder, and then it would break into… break into bones.

M:  Well, then it’s a good thing that we’ll love each other forever.

C:  Yes.