Panaway, My Gateway

I’m familiar with essential oil blends, but I mostly have experience with single oils, such as lavender and rosemary. Panaway is one of those oils I didn’t have a way to compare with other oils. The first time I massaged it on my husband I thought it smelled like something my brothers used after football practice. I didn’t really touch it for a few days after using it, not that I didn’t like it, but it wasn’t what I needed at the time.Read More »

Masks

I used to make myself up everyday. I was in my twenties, and I had a great deal of self expression, which is good, but what was truly at play was a need to put on a mask so that people wouldn’t see the real me, the vulnerable and insecure me. I was a contradiction, I wanted to be seen and hide. I thought my self worth was wrapped in how I looked and what I did for others. All in an effort to like me.Read More »

Lessons

We all begin somewhere. Not one of us is born knowing everything or anything. I watched Quinn write the beginning letters of our names, having to instruct and guide him with proper placement. As an adult, it took me a long time to realize that what I didn’t know could be learned, and what I did know could be unlearned. That there is no shame in having to find the answers or ask for help.Read More »

Under the Pecan Tree

We walk every morning in our new town.

One of the delights about our neighborhood are the abundant pecan trees,

Which Quinn requests every time we go.

We scour the ground on Tuskeena Street, under the shade of the pecan trees.

We look for the lightest colored shells, they usually give us the sweetest nuts.

We smash them under our shoe. Quinn brings his heel down, shoes flashing green.

The nut rolls, I bring it back to him.

He tries again, it’s almost pulverized. We check to see if it’s a good nut.

My little boy, so young, has already learned about bitterness.

“This looks like a good nut, Mommy.”

It was, plump, sweet, giving.

We stand there, sharing the moment.

I see the early Autumn sun shining on him, his brother. There’s a cool breeze.

I am reminded of these moments with the women in my life.

My memory is of picking black berries with my grandmother,

Watching her tat with strings pulled from grain bags.

Walking out to the field so that she can dig up thistles. She had her own personal vendetta against them.

They were as prickly as she was.

My mom gave me an appreciation of old things, antiques, historic sites, experiences.

We gardened together.

I remember her diligently taking care of me while I was sick.

She showed me what love is.

Imperfectly.

I look at my son’s darkening hair in the sun, his blond locks long cut off.

I have a thought that I am creating a memory for my children. For Quinn.

He, too, will look back on this with fondness.

He, too, will say my mother loved me.

Imperfectly.

Urban Garden

The five month old decided it was time to get up at 5:00 am. Usually I’ll put the stars and moon projector on to entertain him while I get the coffee percolating. We lay in bed together till the coffee is ready, just about the time the lucious aroma reaches the bedroom I know it’s time to get up. 

I love these mornings, when the house is still, the birds morning song is serenading us, and Finis is happily bouncing in his saucer, or quietly daydreaming. I take this time to knit or crochet, sipping guzzling my coffee in my favorite Sally mug. This self care fills me up.  

Two of these, please

I grew up on a farm during my formative years, it was a wonderful experience. After taking Quinn to the local fruit and berry patch, I knew I wanted him to have some kind of experience that resulted in outdoor life and developing an appreciation for fresh grown food and caring for our environment. The garden started when Quinn was two years old and quite the connoisseur of blueberries. Our purchase of two bushes happened just at the time that Calvin was over mowing the yard. So began our foray into urban gardening yardening. It seems like every time Calvin mows what’s left of the yard he comes in sweaty, sneezing, and covered in grass clippings with a new idea on how to get rid of landscape the yard.

My husband has created a little oasis in our back yard. 

Planting potatoes

This morning we met our neighbor and a photographer for a photo shoot. We will be featured  in a book of neighborhood garden stories. It’s so exciting to be part of this project. (Thanks, Terry!)

Our busy day ended with a neighborhood yarn bomb project for the marathon water stop. More on that in an upcoming post. But for now…

What’s in a Name?

I’m changing the name of my blog. I figure this is the best time to make a change since it isn’t fully established. To the 11 people who have subscribed so far to The Knitting Whovie, ThanK You! I hope you stick around.

I started this creative project four years ago as a knitting blog and expression of my adoration for Doctor Who. I was burning as hot as the fires that destroyed Gallifrey over Doctor Who and knitting. I needed to talk about these topics at length and with gusto. But then…

Times changed, my focus and interests shifted, as did my identity, which happens frequently, otherwise I’m not growing. Basically, I added another title to my belt…mommy.

I look over the few posts I’ve written and I see that life crept in, as it is wont to do. My musings, my stories of everyday struggles and those messy feelings that can get in the way, seeped into the context of my blog.

Then there are the boys, I’m learning from them as they are learning from us. I’m a wife. All these things are me now…and I’m still a Whovie.

I researched ideas, relying in my emotional response to the list of potential names I compiled. Here’s the criteria:  

  1. It has to flow well
  2. Easy to remember (let’s face it, I’ve noticed “whovie” is not something that people often search for, much less can pronounce)
  3. Speak to the topic and theme of the blog which is anything having to do with life, parenting, fun things, hard and serious topics, and yarn
  4. Be creative and capture attention

This is harder than it appears. Every creative, whimsical, funny name I came up with has either been taken as a blog, is a Facebook page, or an Etsy store.
There are some great names out there, too. Tricksy Knitter, Yarn Harlot, Mama in Stitches, Mama Needs Yarn, Demonic Progress, and so many more that have so much meaning in a couple of well combined words. Their blogs are awesome, too. I have blog envy. Truly.

What are my words? Where am I now and where will I be in the future?

I’m Mama.

I Knit (well, I aim to learn just about anything that has to do with yarn: Spin, weave, knit, crochet…bring it).

I Love….fiercely.

And I do all of these imperfectly (do I ever), but with the desire to improve and learn. To always aim higher, set goals, and practice them all with love and intention. 

I am Anna at my core.

Mama, Knit, Love.

Mama. Knit. Love.

Mama knit love…that’s what I do. This is where I belong.

What does that mean?

You can expect to see a new name on this blog and in your mailbox (if you have been interested enough in my life and work to hit that subscribe button). 

It also means I’ll be writing about a variety of topics, and I’ll be writing more about my adventures in knitting and all things yarn.

Thank you all for following Mama-Knit-Love.