Something that happened 3 weeks ago and has gone unmentioned until now

So the Elsebeth Lavold cardigan was completed.
Button bands picked up and knit, collar short-rowed, buttons sewn on, seaming completed, ends sewn in, wrapped up and given to the birthday girl herself, on her actual birthday, no less.
(You may notice the absence of "blocking" in the above list of finishing. That's because I did not block it. Neither after or *GASP* before seaming. Yes I am going to a kind of knitting hell, and it will be an odd and rather itchy place filled with people who are sticklers for details.)
So she was thrilled (the mom aka sweater recipient) and I was able to finally accept the title of "daughter who knits for her mother."


These are terrible, terrible photos.
I was not permitted to take "action shots," as it were, so these photos should be seen more as an example of my utterly horrid photography skills, and less as a decision to give my dear mother a gift of crap for her birthday.
I mean, who needs crap for their birthday?

Baby steps

My boy started his first day of daycare today.

I had one of those moments in parenting when you realize that this tiny creature which has relied for so long on you for every need is taking steps further and further away, and that my only job as a parent is to assure him that he is strong enough to take those steps, and that I am strong enough to let him.

He sat waiting for me and my husband this morning on our front stoop with his back pack (a birthday present from dear Mrs. Hammer) filled with snacks and lunch and a change of clothes, like an old pro.

His biggest concern was that there would be a ball there.

"Oh I think there'll be a ball, honey"
"And a baboon and a big gorilla?"
"Well, maybe not those guys, but I bet there'll be some blocks."
"And a ball?"
"Definitely a ball. And I bet there will be markers too."
"The children will have paper?"

This is my boy. The properness of "children" and the concern that if you have markers there just HAS to be paper.

So, like that, we dropped him off. And tried to be the cool parents that just leave the child without the laundry list of his likes and quirks and spying through the window to make sure the other kids were being nice to him.

Though the temptation was great. In fact, if my old man wasn't with me, I would have stayed for another hour, hiding behind the waist high coat rack and peeking from behind the tiny raincoats and hats watching for some horrible moment that would prove once and for all that I am a terrible mother for abandoning my heart.

But, we left quietly, with a hug and a kiss and a final wave goodbye from the doorway, knowing that he was safe inside with three other children and a lovely and capable woman who knows what she is doing.

And a basket full of balls.