In keeping with my promise not to start any more projects I have been adding, stitch by stitch, to the crochet ripple throw/blanket. This morning I sat hook in hand as the baby crawled around in the lounge room and pressed buttons on a toy so that 'Mary had a little lamb' was on repeat.
I might have been distracted by his excursions away from his toy, to chairs and dog pillows, or perhaps it was while he explored the Cd's and cupboard doors... whatever it was, Cohen was having a great time and I managed to put in an extra stitch half way along my work. It was not until I had finished that row and was half way through the next that I realised. I ripped and refinished the first row a tad annoyed with myself.
I made brownies and ate some. I vacuumed and mopped. I read through blogs. And I stopped, at this, got out my scissors and turned on the sewing machine.
Generally when I say I'd like to make something out of something, but I'm not sure what, it takes some time. The fabric sits in my stash. The world turns. Days could become weeks, months or years and that something might not yet be something else.
This time something was different.