One good thing about being childless is that I get to be a restless adolescent for as many Saturdays as I can muster. I'm in bed, with the Ripplestillskin, playing Facebook games, and thinking deep thoughts about federalism and republicanism, and this can go on for as long as I like.
That is until the day ends and it's Sunday.
For the first summer in a long while I feel absolutely entitled to do nothing of import. I'm enjoying my second childhood. And I'm done with thinking about republicanism for a bit.
I'm thinking about other things too.
A couple of nights ago an interwebs friendship was rekindled. The hubster and I met Knitting Kris and her engaging family for dinner at the Olive Garden in South Bay Thursday night. Friendship is not my forte, but there seems to be such an urgency the two times we've met in person. Like I'm trying to fit an entire friendship into a couple of hours.
But then it's quiet and I'm back in my bubble of solitude.
I can no longer imagine what it would be like to be a mother. My mind doesn't allow it. A sheltering scab has grown up in that part of my mind. Meeting with Kris, I feel I'm seeing what would be my life in an alternate universe, if I had grown up in Crown Point, instead of Long Beach, if I had two feisty daughters, one snarkily proud she defiled hallowed red sox territory, as she's a Phillies phan, and the other, a bundle of caged electricity, instead of none.
Gosh I thought I knew where this was going, but I don't. I will leave that non-sentence as is. And moving right along, in light of one of the things we discussed, and the fact that all posts at chez yarn must be accompanied by a photo, here's one from a couple of months ago of knits I had to darn for the hubster.
If darning wollmeise socks isn't a sign of my love for him, I don't know what is.
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