Tuesday, May 4, 2010


These days, my knitting unfinished objects are the least of my worries.

I started in the attic today, preparing for the Big Bedroom Move. The kids sleep up there right now but we hope that it will be a studio SOON. In the meantime, it will be a "spare" room for poet friends visiting at the end of May. As I travelled up and down the stairs, my eyes were drawn to a few of the UFOs in this house:
A quilt (started about 10 years ago) and some "fox and geese and fences" mittens...Robin's gift for Christmas 2007.

Sorting through the dress-up drawer and toys.

Painting our bedroom (yes, that curtain DOES look suspiciously like a Wolverine beach towel)...and painting the living room, kitchen, hall, sunporch, etcetera.


However, if having children has taught me anything, it's pacing, and patience. I can get carried away with my desire to get these jobs done. Then a scraped knee needs a kiss...

Spiderman's tattoos need admiring (the spots on his palms are actually for shooting webs):

The eggs need collecting and cleaning:

And my sweet tooth needs calming. I've just noticed how many of my photos feature eggs as a background prop.

And I am reminded of this poem, the last verse of which my mom had stitched in a frame when we were little:

Song for a Fifth Child
by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing and butter the bread,
Sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I’ve grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren’t her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
For children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.


  1. Hmm....I LOVE THAT poem. I am going to print it out and put it on my fridge. Love it. love it! What a fantastic reminder...of such a fleeting time in the lives of our children---and our time spent with them...lovely! ;o) K

  2. lovely. its great to meet a mama who knows that boxes are boring, and sweet little faces can cure all woes!

  3. Oh how your post and that poem resonate. It puts me in mind of Anna Quindlen's words, "The strangest thing about having babies is that before you know it you have adults." Babies really *don't* keep.

    Snuggling with my drowsy nursling,

    Wabi-Sabi Wanderer

  4. I totally feel you with the UFOs! Quilts and knitting are so satisfying, and so hard to prioritize when there are other big things to take care of!


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