I can’t wait to share it with you, but I have to run away this weekend to frolick in the spring grass with my college classmates.  And before you ask, I may be old enough to attend a college reunion, but I’m young enough to wear starry Punkrose skimmers to it.

In the meantime, here’s a preview of this amazing gift.

I LOVE it.

Truly.

Thank you, all!!!

That evolved into a simple conversation on Flickr:

And then my imagination ran away with me:

The take-away:
1) I miss these gals.
2) I am SO ready for festival season.
3) I can’t believe they still like me.

So, I’m curious — what do YOU think Manise was doing with the stick?

ETA: Perhaps I should turn this into a contest?  Since Cheryl, Manise, Beth & Laurie are such good sports (presumably… ), they can pick the best answer and I’ll send sock yarn.

After hearing that, MafiaMom had words for me:

“[Xifey]‘s been a negative force in your life. She stifled you, and controlled you and sent you down the wrong path. Don’t let her continue to stifle you. People should be free to be who they are, and their partner should support that individuality. If she doesn’t like the blog, that’s too damn bad. Tell her to put her big-girl panties on and deal.”

Apparently this conversation is over, because her next statement was, “I like J. Jill.”

[Oh look, there's a butterfly ...]

And while my mother snores in the next room, I’m still sitting here with her words bouncing around in my head.

Perhaps this gorgeous photo, from the Frida Kahlo exhibit at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, will inspire me to move through the world with a teeny fraction of the strength, fortitude, determination and self-possession that Frida did. May Frida’s cropped hair be my sustenance, while my mother’s words push me forward.

I am waking up.  Things are good.  Beautiful.

Budding.
Growing.
Blooming.
Flowing.

Dr. Hot is … well … hot. So so so sweet to me. And most of these things too. Instead of indulging in the fear of ‘what if’, I keep my mind and body present. Here. Now. This moment. This is the moment that matters.

After years of not being on the ‘right path’ and facing obstacle after obstacle, the universe has decided to make up for lost time. So this crazy luge I’m riding may lead to quitting my job + full-time school + fellowships + independent consulting + applications to doctoral programs + the faculty track.

Could it be?
My dreams?
Coming true?
Really?
Me?

It seems like every time I turn around, there’s someone offering me an opportunity. But I can’t get my hopes up yet. Very little is resolved. But I hope. And hope. And hope some more.

And tomorrow I will gather a flock of kids and their adults for a celebration of spring, complete with an egg scavenger hunt up a long dirt road to the base of a castle, followed by a walk in the woods to look for birds & buds.

At some point, in the shadow of some tree, I will pause for a moment, allow the others to run ahead, look deep into the forest and say:

Thank You.

My second was here, while we were waiting for Wifey to birth the Surrogate Baby.

The third is today, which I spent teaching a dear friend how to spin (both spindle and wheel).

This day is celebratory. Three years of blogging. That’s big. In fact, that’s longer than most of my relationships. (whoah) But …

I have to be honest here. For the last couple weeks, I’ve been thinking about quitting. Before you decide to write crazy comments, please know that I’m not saying this to elicit “oh, please don’t go, we love you so…*” comments.

*extra points if you can identify that quote*

I started blogging in an effort to focus on the good in my life. I needed a place to write positive things, because life was hard and very disappointing. It worked. I felt happier and more content. Without a doubt, this incredible community kept me standing through some of the worst times of my life. But at this moment, I’m not sure where I’m headed or what I want.

Oddly, I am content for the first time in many years. The divorce was a blessing in disguise, and I’ll be forever grateful to Xifey and her next-door-neighbor-girlfriend for giving me an undeniable exit. An evil horrible exit, but an exit that showed me that I could survive a fiasco and plopped me into this dreamy life (which could be much dreamier if I was having lots and lots of crazy lusty sex with the beautiful women that constantly cross my path, but I digress…).

And yet, as I piece together this dreamy life, I’m not sure where/how the blog fits in. My attorney isn’t terribly happy that I have a blog (though she’s thankful that it’s completely anonymous). I’m quite sure that Xifey (or at least her attorney) is printing posts to use in court. It’s caused fighting and struggle and custody questions. If custody is actually at stake, there is no doubt that I’ll delete the entire 3 years of posting in an instant. [poof. gone.] As the blog has become more personal, I’ve lost a lot of my favorite readers, and I’ve gained new favorites. I’ve nearly stopped posting photos of knitting. I’ve stopped responding to comments. This is not the blogger I want to be.

This is all a long and depressing way of saying that as a celebration of my 3rd blogiversary, I’m going to take a break. ‘Tis a bittersweet celebration. It feels selfish to stop now, when I’ve received so much support from this community.

Please forgive me for being so selfish. Because I feel guilty about it, here’s some eye candy in the form of drafted Visions of Revenge, a Rabbitch stroke of genius.

Anywho … while I was busy cooking, Little Man went over to Cheryl’s spinning wheel and started treadling. He does this with some regularity, but the drive band has been too loose to get the flyer going, and he gets upset about this. Apparently tonight was the night that a loose drive band was no longer acceptable to the wee one. He insisted that I fix it. I’m not kidding. He kept saying:

“Mom. You need to fix this. I want to make yarn. If you don’t fix this, I can’t make yarn.”

Who can argue with logic like that? So I fixed it. And we played with the wheel, and then the yarn winder, and then the lazy kate, and then the other wheel (because he wanted to see the brown alpaca fiber (not kidding!)), and then … before we knew it, the living room looked like this:

Which is good, because Kellee proposed the most incredible trade — her beautiful Traveler + stool in exchange for my sweaty labor expertise in home renovations. I’m not sure about the expertise bit, but thanks to Ms. 1890, I can scrape and spackle ceilings like a pro. I guess she needs some ceilings done. So we have a deal, and I couldn’t be happier.

This means that Cheryl’s Traveler is going to the next victim home and Julia’s Joy is going to the next victim home. With departures pending, Little Man’s spurt of creativity was perfectly timed, because I have several full bobbins of practice singles hanging around. So I spent the evening plying, and it was good.

Not so balanced 2 ply, before its bath

My first attempt at Navajo Plying, thanks to this video, also crazy unbalanced and pre-bath

After bathing and hanging that yarn, I started throwing lustful glances at Rabbitch’s Visions of Revenge. Perhaps I’ll just pre-draft a little of it.

It’s good to be back at the wheel.

Motivation comes from the most unexpected places. Thanks, Little Man.

*extra points if you know where the title comes from*

Go give her a spanking.

As soon as I see her at the office, there will be spanking, and quite possibly, photos. 

“hello, HR?  hi.  there’s a hostile work environment in formation on the 6th floor.  could you come up here, please? thanks.”

Obviously there’s a much bigger story (isn’t there always?), but I can’t go into it here.

I can say that through it all, I can’t stop wondering why I’m the one being attacked? I am not the person who left the marriage in exchange for the girl next door. Shouldn’t there be some guilt? Some apologies? Some walking on eggshells? Some sensitivity? Some compassion? Any shred of basic human decency?

I just want to end this senseless fighting. Even if we’re not fighting in front of Little Man, which we don’t, he must pick up on that energy. And he’s displaying tell-tale signs of stress, which his teachers are telling us about.

We must stop. We must try to be civil. We must cooperate. If we can’t, then we’re harming him. And that breaks my heart. I must protect my boy from the stress he’s experiencing.

Oh god Little Man, please stop hurting. It’s going to be okay. I’m trying so hard. I’m nearly biting my tongue off to keep the nastiness safely unspoken. I’m doing this for you, my little love. I know the fighting hurts you, so I’m trying to bite bite bite bite bite bite bite bite my tongue. Trying to be civil. This is so hard. But for you — anything. Anything. My sweet little love. For you, I will bite my tongue and try to stop this fighting. My boy. Oh, my sad little boy. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow and enclose you in my arms and rest my nose on your soft little curls.

“thanks for the sites.  they have kept us going!”

Secondly, what do you think this is?

There were some slap-happy designers in that room.