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Time on My Hands

Today I had extra time to read through some blogs I haven’t seen in a while.  These are my rambling thoughts after reading theirs: 
I’ve been engaging in what The Sweatshop of Love calls selfish knitting.  And I love it.  It’s the one area of my life I am not a bit convicted about being selfish in.  I have made everything from potholders to purses to yoga mat bags to leg warmers for people.  I don’t regret any of it, but let’s face it, not everyone gets the idea of love in every stitch.  After someone told me she must have spent an hour or so picking the woven ends out of a child’s knitted tea set I’d made to unravel  and use the yarn for a dishrag… well I carefully backed away, hid sharp objects from her, and decided gift cards might be the best received gifts for most people.   I have other things I can make, though I fear, the necklace may be unwound and fashioned into makeshift braces.
I ‘ll still knit gifts- but I’m just not going to do a marathon session the week before Christmas or a birthday.  Even now, I’m about to start a cardigan for my daughter (not so selfish), but I’m chasing it with one for me 🙂 
(365 day 342)

Then Brooke at Playing Grownup posted a wonderful reminder of why I have so much reason to be happy this Christmas.  I wanted to cheer when I read it, but afterward, couldn’t get the phrase, “Epic Fail” out of my head.   My son and his friends say it all the time.   I even heard my Grandmommy say it with her hint of a Mississppi accent (she was reading one of my sons cartoons, but still…talk about surreal)  When did this become part of the common vernacular?  You can see I have some time on my hands today to sort through life’s deep-seated mysteries, so I googled it and read through some very sincere, if strangely opinionated, answers.  I don’t know,  I’m going with the Dungeons and Dragons rationale.  It makes it more fun to hear that way.

Just before logging off, I read a post by Jane, of C Jane Enjoy It,  on finally getting to have all that sweet, snuggly fun of staying home and playing with kids.  It was sweet but, in a semi-related way, reminded me of the day my son watched Scooby Doo with me for my benefit.  He didn’t want to hurt my feelings, but the mysteries weren’t doing it for him like they used to.  I smiled, ruffled his hair, then turned my head away and bit my fist in agony.  Why!?

You know what?  I’m about to have two weeks with those not- so- grown kids all to myself, and along with Mansfield Park and Tron, we are watching some old cheesy kid show , playing board games (even never-ending Mousetrap,) and having an evening of Blind Man’s Bluff– so there, maturity!

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