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So I knit. And I think about knitting. I think about those who knit before me. The lore of knitting and the lure of knitting. It is all about how I knit in my life and what knitting means to me.

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Growing Away


How did this happen? You are thirteen now. Sweet Little Boy-Man-Child of Mine. 

One month ago, I was with my Knitting Tangle and I said, "In a month I am going to have a teenager." This proclamation was immediately followed by my uncontrollable laughter. The notion of me having a teenager is absolutely absurd.

And yet, here we are.

Here you are.

My heart is breaking. My heart is absolutely breaking. Yet it is full of love and wonder for you as you wander through life, figuring out who you are and where you are going.

Memories blindside me, leaving me crushed by their fleeting beauty. A moment forever gone. 

The time when you were 16 months old, and I was hugely pregnant with your brother. You emptied two full containers of Q-tips onto the bathroom floor and I, in exhausted frustration, yelled for you to go to your room. I immediately apologized for yelling, and as you made your way to your room, without looking up, you raised up your chubby little hand for me to hold. With no words, you melted my heart and I pretended that you forgave me for not seeing the sheer joy in Q-tips scattered all over the bathroom. 

When you were four, we were walking home from school -- you running ahead of me. I am certain I was shouting for you to wait for me -- not get too far ahead. In a moment of pure magic, you reached into your pocket, pulled out a handful of helicopter seed pods, and threw then into the air. They rained down on me like so many kisses, as I tried to soak in the mystery of you. 


I remember with so much pain, the day your father and I told you we were getting divorced. You were seven. I tried to be strong. To not cry. As you sat with your brother and sister on the couch hearing the words which could not have made sense, you simply looked at me and said, "It happened to Joey in my class, too." 

When we were in Utah at Arches National Park you scrambled up the red rocks with great abandon. Every time I looked for you, you were further away and higher up. You screamed down to me "Don't worry, mom! I'm not going to do more than what my skill level is comfortable with!" And out of nowhere, you flashed the 'hang loose' sign. 

I remember the many hikes we have been on. While your brother and sister ran ahead, you stayed back, and walked slowly with me. Sometimes holding my hand. I have watched you notice things the way I notice things. I have seen you seeing the tiny, spectacular things others miss because they are trying to get to the end. For you, it is the journey. 

It always has been.

I see you, and have always seen you. You are different in the deepest, most spectacular way. 

So many times I asked you to stop growing up. It is happening anyway. Despite all my wishes that you stay small enough to curl up on my lap, you have your own plans. You just keep growing. 

Already your feet are bigger than mine. You outgrew a pair of shoes so quickly they showed no wear and I claimed them for my own.

Already the top of your head comes up to my nose. I can no longer kiss the top of your head unless I stand on my tiptoes.

Already your hands are starting to look like the hands of a man. 

On the day you were born, I whispered into your ear that you filled up my heart. I have said it to you hundreds of times. And it is so true. My heart is absolutely filled with you. 

So go. Be a teenager. 

Take the rocky path, not the paved one -- that one is boring and it was never your style anyway. Go ahead. Cause me angst and turmoil. Tell me you hate me. Tell me you can't wait to get out of here and be on your own. Do all the stupid things that Sweet Little Boy-Men-Children do on the way to becoming Sweet Grown Men-Boy-Children (because I'm pretty sure no man has ever actually grown all the way up).

Don't go further than your skill level is comfortable with.

Except always go further than what your skill level is comfortable with. 

Hang loose. 


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