Kevin Photo Bomb

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There he is, my dear sweet rescue kitty photobombing the shit out of what was supposed to be a nice pic of the hat I finished a week ago. Ahhh…lookit that face! I can’t be mad at him! The fuzzy wuzzy baby head! But seriously, here’s the hat I finished.

I love this funfetti yarn from Hobby Lobby! It’s like the cake and just as soft and fluffy! I will be using it a lot more of it every chance I get.

Rough Weekend

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Me as a kawaii crochet hook.

I had the kind of weekend where I couldn’t focus my attention but I had too much mental energy and my body felt like a wet rag. I couldn’t crochet. It wasn’t peaceful and that was concerning in itself. I tried doing something else creative from my bin of creativity but that felt empty too. Just felt like I was spinning my wheels and my brain wouldn’t level out.

I hate days like that.

But I did rediscover Phil Collin’s No Jacket Required CD. So that’s something I guess.

Swiss Army Hookin’!

  
Have you seen this??? Apparently Boye wants us ready for anything! I suppose it does beat carting around different hooks but I wonder if you could actually comfortably use something like this? 

I checked Amazon and they aren’t currently available with no reviews. Not sure if they didn’t do well or are extremely popular…

When He Sleeps

 Basic beanie cap with coconut button made by me

I’m not entirely sure how to share with you the thoughts I have when I am cycling through the mess I do but I figure I’ll share some of the little projects and my own thoughts as well. Kinda free form poetry style. Which technically it might not even be since I haven’t taken a poetry class since high school. But the feelings are true enough even if the delivery is not.

It’s only when he sleeps
When the restlessness of his nature
Falls quiet and I feel the heaviness
Of his consciousness give way
Under the pressure of sheer exhaustion.
The stillness is almost eerie in the dark
As I watch shadows make monsters on the walls
And the hum of the humidifier roars,
a hungry vacuum in space.
He holds my arm steadfast,
a vise between arms and legs.
A quiet, relentless wish for me not to go.

I pull gently and the arm slips free,
Heat embedded deeply seeps
from the skin of my shoulder.
My duty is done and the curtain falls
on final act of the day’s motherhood.
Guilt whispers thickly in my ear
as the weight of my own distress
blooms heavily in tight space
around my heart.

It’s in these small moments
Before my own inevitable fatigue
Draws me to a close
That I allow the shroud of normalcy to fail.
I am fragile with emotional immaturity.
No better than a child myself.
Who am I to mother and comfort?
Who I am at all?