A soft light of a new day outside, and I’m well into my second cup of chai. There is a streaky grey sky morning about to break through and all is quiet. With little people still tucked up in their beds, a new day lays before me.
It’s 5.30 am and the day was going to be a busy.
Biscuits to make, boys to take and a check list that needs crossing off one and a half pages long; but my mind is only half on it. I want to make a little bag. A little bag with colours and tassels, a little bag for a little girl.
Colours were chosen, scraps of wool divided out and the bag already finished in my head. But it wasn’t to be. That bag lay dormant for another whole month until finally, there it was, finished. Not exactly as I had imagined it, (but things made by me rarely are.)
She loved it, and I was happy to make her something out of bits I already had.
Thankfully Little Monkey is still young enough to want to wear most things I put him in. I’m sure if I strapped a pancake to his head, secured it with a ribbon and it kept out the sun, he would still wear it.
Pancakes aside, but with this philosophy in mind, I started crocheting my first hat.
I had the wool, I had the hook, and I had the image of a lovely warm colourful number. A hat to keep small ears warm, with the little imp running around and looking rather dashing in his new hat at the same time.
Now I just had to harness that imagery and put it into practise. Crochet and I were new friends, quite new friends. I was still practising and wasn’t quite sure how to make a hat rather than a… well, a pancake.
Now, how do I make it all go in again?…
Ah well, lets get cracking anyway.
Reclaimed wool from my mum, who in turn had reclaimed it from someone else. Stolen moments at the playground after school to crochet, and a week and a half later Little Monkey can now wear his new pancake… I mean hat.