Gentle Weaning

Dear son,
Thank you for weaning me gently.  As I tried to sleep last night I took a minute to watch you breath slowly, and I was instantly overwhelmed with gratitude for your choice to wean me gently. 
I am so thankful that you floated through infancy, and into toddler hood gently, instead of overnight, even though it felt far too fast.  
I am thankful that you melted from that toddler, into my child with ease, instead of being ripped away. 
I am thankful that you didn't instantly sleep in your own crib in your own room from the start, but that you slept only with me, on my chest for the first many months, then transitioned to sleeping cuddled next to me, lending my your softness and warmth. 
I am thankful that you took your time transitioning to your Arms Reach co-sleeper slowly as the years went on, though it still feels like you are constantly drifting away, into your own person. 
Again, I thank you for always needing me, and wanting to be as close as possible, though less so as you find your own world.
  I thank you for allowing me to hold your hand just a little longer than needed, hold you a little tighter, and kiss your Golden locks just a tad too often.
I thank you for being afraid to leave my side at your first play date, and for looking back to make sure I was safe as you played at the park. 
I thank you for asking me to put your shoes on, and dress you even after you were physically capable.
Thank you for accepting my breasts with vigor, and weaning me slowly with time.
  It seems that each day that goes by you need me just a little less, and I am thankful that you still curl in my arms and ask for comfort in the best way you have known since the moment of your birth. 

I thank you, my precious son, for weaning me gently, for taking the time to allow me to adjust slowly, for the day you leave my home for a world of your own. 

Finding my Fade

I have heard a lot of Knitters talking about, and knitting Find your Fade.  I finally listened to the sister wife and cast on, after much stash diving.
I realised something about myself fairly recently. I can't properly pair a yarn and project.  For that reason, I am extra thankful for the talents of the sister wife.  I sent her videos of my extensive stash, and she said "this, this, this and this in this order." So that is what I did. 

And it turned out beautifully. I adore it, and have work it very frequently. This pattern was so fun, and the shawl is huge, and amazing. The construction was just clever and awesome as well. 

I have been a little obsessed with it honestly.  So this week, while on vacation in Phoenix, I was thrilled to run into another knitter poolside.  I can't tell you my delight when I found that she was knitting none other than her very own find your Fade!
I actually had a good laugh when I asked her what she was knitting with, and she very slowly explained "This is called FINGERING weight yarn.." as though she was speaking to a very special, new, or possibly Red Heart knitter.

In other news, and speaking of Red Heart knitting...

Once upon a time, someone at my church gave my neighbor a large bag of yarn.  My neighbor brought it to me, knowing that the original giver had intended it to be mine, but had gotten the wrong home. Because of this, I have nonideq who the giver was.  I decided to knit this fuzzy yarn into a large blanket for my husband, who appreciates hand made blankets.  I knit it this summer, and the yarn whispered to me that it was not meant to be knit. So crochet we did. I won't pretend that I didn't fell a little dirty... Hooking in secret, with sketchy, unknow origin yarn... Hiding from my husband day after day, hour after hour...  Running out of yarn, finding it was discontinued, and purchasing more on eBay in a secret purchase.   But in the end, I was left with this, which the hubby seems pleased with . 

What a difference a year makes

After a bone is broken an x-ray will always tell its tale. Though the bone may heal, it very well may always ache with certain factors, like weather changes etc. I find that is a lot how the healing from a loss has been.  It was a year ago tonight that I received the haunting call from my daughter.  This time last year our lives changed so dramatically that I feared the fractures would never heal. I didn't think we would ever be "normal" or happy again.  While things are so very, very different, and we are clearly still broken, things are not as bad as they were at that time.  Things have glued themselves back together in a new, still painful, but with a sprinkle of joy normal.  We are still going on.  We are still putting one foot in front of another, and we are still here.  Still trying. Things are worse than they were a year and a day ago, but so much better than a year minus a day.  Life truly does go on.  It goes on in a different, beautiful way. It goes on in ways I didn't think were possible the night the Drs told us all that they told us. 
Things go on, no matter how slowly, or painfully. The world doesn't stop. It doesn't even slow down.  It doesn't matter how much your own sphere is shattering, it just keeps going, feeling joy, feeling whole.  Eventually it drags those who stay along, and though they can't ever be whole and undamaged again, they can feel joy. They can learn to heal enough to form a new normal that contains so many levels of love, light and happiness to mingle with their sorrow and despair.

A year ago I really believed the world held no more light. I believed that we could never be normal and happy again.  And we won't ever be our old normal.  But we are happy with our new normal, and are finding new joy.  We stumble. We fall. We know what the bottom feels like, and we know how to call on our savior to help us up again.  There is light.