Saturday, January 30, 2016


When I was a younger gal, I thought I'd write a book.
I figured, "I know how to write!, so why not take a look
at what things I could write, funny, smart or sporty?
I'm sure that I can finish by the time that I am 40!"

Well, 40 came and went, and I did not have a book to publish. I do, however, have a few short narratives on life, to be specific...and I've heard it said, "Smoke 'em, if you got 'em!" Couple this with the fact that there aren't many new details on the knitting front, and the fact that I recently shared a small portion of this story with a friend who laughed until she peed (we were in the ladies room!), it seems only natural to share part of my book with you today! 

Here is chapter 4, finished in the spring of 2002, and also known as

Bunny Slippers and Granny Curlers—
There was a time that I thought I had it all together.  I was 13.  My parents were idiots.  Boy!  Did that come back to bite me in the butt!  You see, I am now the proud parent of a 13-year-old. 

I have always maintained that having children does cause a slight loss of sanity. . .as a matter of fact, I believe that memory loss can be directly linked to the number of children a woman has.  After all, before I had children, I could go to the grocery store without a list, and I could remember to pay the bills before the past due announcement arrived.  Now it’s all I can do to remember that ketchup does not count as a vegetable, and bunny slippers are not adequate outdoor shoes during an Ohio winter. 

I used to think it was no big deal.  I’d wear the slippers out to get the mail or to sweep the snow from the front stoop.  These are quick activities, and I knew that once I got inside I could slip off the wet, fuzzy slippers and put my feet near the heater.  However, I soon found myself wearing the flimsy foot coverings on longer excursions.

I finally realized that I had crossed the line when my son, then 12, looked at me in the car on the way to school and said, “Um. . .are you planning to go inside when you drop me off today, Mom?”  Well, in my defense, I was not.  But as I considered his question, I realized why he asked.  From the hot rollers in my hair to the moth-eaten (but still warm) house sweater, to the flannel jammie pants and, of course, slippers on my feet, I was not dressed to be out of the house.

“No, I’m just going to drop you off.  Did you want me to come in?”
“No,” he answered.  “Umm. . .could you let me out here?  I can just walk the last block.”

“How did this happen to me?,” I thought as I looked at myself in the mirror after I got home.  I used to have so much fashion sense that other people would ask my opinion about coordinating their wardrobe.  I used to set trends!  But, somewhere between the wedding ring and my children’s pre-teen years, I seem to have lost my mind!  In case you are thinking, “Oh, that’s nothing!  All moms go through the slippers and curlers in public stage,” consider the following day:

9:00am-I arrive at work, ready for the day. . .as soon as I stop in the ladies’ room; 9:05-the phone rings and the trip down the hall is postponed; 9:15-three messages taken, I’d better check the voice mail; 9:45-I realize I still haven’t been to the bathroom, I’ll go on my way down the hall to give the boss his letter; 10:15-three more phone calls have come in with immediate requests, the letter is still on my desk and I’m thirsty; 10:16-get a glass of water and drop off the letter, the phone rings; 10:17-run back to the office to get the phone because I am expecting an important return call; 10:18-tactfully release myself from the grip of a telemarketer; 10:20-notice that I haven’t filed the petty cash receipts; 10:30-did I drink all that water already?  I’ll get more in a minute; 11:00-Wow!  I still haven’t been to the ladies’ room, and I don’t know how much longer I can make it; 11:01-UPS guy is at the door, receive packages and deliver to the waiting parties in the building; 11:15-girlfried calls to see if I’d like to go to lunch; 11:30-she’ll be here any minute, I’d better hit that restroom.

Let me just pause for a moment here to say that, during a busy day, I have a lot of sympathy for the potty-training two-year-old who forgets to tell someone she has to go until it is too late!  After two-and-a-half hours, I had still not been to the restroom, and I had added 16 ounces of cool water to the mix.  I knew I had better go soon, or I’d end up embarrassing myself!  So, I clocked out and headed down the hall.

Until I locked the stall door behind me, I did not realize how badly I truly had to go.  I grabbed my skirt to hike it up, but it wouldn’t budge.  I started to panic.  “What’s going on here?!,” I thought, “I have to go bad!  I’m not going to make it. . .”  As I continued to tug at the skirt, I got more and more flustered, and closer and closer to overflowing.  “This skirt is so loose!  Why won’t it come up?!,” I nearly shouted out loud.  In desperation, I looked down to see where I could tear the garment so that it would be easily repairable once I returned to my office.  I WAS WEARING PANTS!!! 

Disaster averted, I reversed tactics, yanked those loose-fitting trousers down and was able to go to lunch dry.  Didn’t even need the emergency sewing kit.  Whew!  That was close!

Well, for those of you who need an explanation, this is the best that I’ve got: With each child born, I propose that a certain amount of brain cells are lost.  These are probably the cells that contain information about fashion sense, common sense, and the memory of the pain of childbirth.  I theorize that these cells are actually dislocated during pregnancy to the placenta, and then lost in the afterbirth immediately following delivery of a baby, but that has yet to be proven.  The more babies you have, the more brain cells you lose.  Skeptical?  How many moms do you know, with more than one child, that still have all their mental faculties in tact beyond the age of thirty-five? 

OK, perhaps it’s not the afterbirth, as I have also known adoptive moms to have this kind of mental difficulty.  Perhaps it is more environmental.  Maybe the gradual loss of sanity and memory are due to overexposure to “O”-shaped spaghetti and sugar-laden cereal.  Mind you, I have not done any official research yet, but when I do, I’ll let you know what I find out.

For now, though, we’ll just have to be content to acknowledge the problem.  Isn’t that half the battle anyway?  Then, we can give it to God each morning with a simple prayer:

“Lord, I love you.  I know that I am fearfully and wonderfully made, according to Your design.  I don’t understand why You designed me the way You did, but I am thankful for each moment of each day that You have given to me.  Because I am sooo human, I pray that You will follow after me today.  Pick up the pieces when I am broken, give me the wisdom to look to You when I forget what I am doing and where I am going, and give me the strength to continue when I am discouraged.  Be my constant companion, and help me to glorify You in all I do, even when I leave the house in granny curlers and bunny slippers.  In Jesus’ name I pray.  Amen.”
So there you have it. A little look into the crazy that once made me want to write a book...a long time ago. I'd like to say that I am better about waiting until I am dressed to leave the house and "answering the call of nature" in a timely fashion these days. I'd like to say that, but the truth is that I still goof up on both of these fronts, often distracted by the compulsion to knit "just one more row." It's really only a matter of time until I truly DO embarrass myself (or someone else)...please pray for me.

Thanks for stopping by, and Knit in Good Health!

1 comment:

  1. Keep writing. Here, for a book, wherever: your grandchildren will thank you later. (Glancing towards the autobiography my grandmother wrote when she was 60 and I was 11) ask me how I know...