Yesterday was surprisingly warm and sunny (I think it was in the 50's), so we took a walk to the nearest playground. This was our first walk all together on our own since Billy was born.
I had to stop to take a look at them all before we left. Hey! I have a lot of kids! (Am I old enough to have that many?! I'm pretty sure I'm only 19 or 20-ish...)
As is always the case with small children, our walk was slow and peppered with stops to look at things, but if it had not been for the boys, I would never have been able to notice these beautiful Snowdrops (?) blooming:
Or this brilliantly green patch of grass:
(Max has been perfecting his "candid photo shot" face -- my husband does the same thing. I'll be waiting for the face to change to some more attractive expression, and all the while, they've frozen in the oddest "caught at a bad time" look on purpose. Terrible. But how does a 3-year-old come up with this?)
There is nothing like spring; to me, no other season can compare to the joy of newness and growing, brand new tender plants poking through previously frozen soil. The air smells different at this time of year, fresh and clear.
By the time we'd reached the playground (took us about 30 minutes even though it would take an adult 15 minutes at most), they were so warm that they took their jackets off to run around. They got cold after a bit, but the promise of spring is definitely in the air.
I felt like my brain was rinsed clean; I breathed in the fresh air deeply; it was so good for the children to be able to run free.
I brought along my sock in progress and realized that the last time I'd really worked on it was last year, when the weather was warm, and the children were playing outside. I love the portability of being able to tuck the ball of wool under my arm and get a few rows accomplished while watching the children play. Knitting this sock indoors, however (unless I'm on the phone and need something truly mindless), nearly makes me itchy. I just have no desire to do it. I suppose that means I've become a Playground Sock Knitter. Well. That wasn't all that mindbending, but there it is. (And sock knitting used to be all that I could ever think about!)
It is not to be imagined, of course, that I even got one single stitch in -- Billy woke up to nurse the second I pulled the knitting out, but it was nice to have it there, on the bench next to me, just in case. Comforting, somehow.
The day at the playground was not entirely roses, of course -- there was a minor incident which involved Daisy making a dash through the gate for the road and being virtually tackled by Max. Although he probably saved her life, the blood curdling screams she offered up to the neighbors probably suggested otherwise.
When we got home, she created yet another scene in the stairwell that is best not remembered, but suffice to say it brought out more than one of the neighbors, one of whom thankfully scooped her up and just carried her up, no questions asked.
After this week of varied struggles and joy, I began to wonder: what would the brilliant, gorgeous moments be without the bitter? Without the struggles of toddler wrangling, and preschool rebellion and moments where I'm Pretty Sure I Might Just Die Right Here, how sweet would the lovely moments really be? In the end, I have four beautiful, healthy and strong children that I love more than my own life. Even on the worst of days, I have it pretty good. I am blessed beyond anything that I could deserve.
With my head full of these musings, today has been a day for spinning.
When I want to quiet my mind and just be, feeling the tug and spring of wool passing through my fingers is just the thing. During naptime today I finished up 2 ounces of the 4 from my February Southern Cross Fibre Club: Love Over Gold.
I plan to start the next 2 ounces tonight. This is my first time spinning Polwarth, and the glow of the fiber is particularly alluring. I look forward to seeing this yarn finished! It'll be woven into a scarf for my mom.
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