Happy Birthday...um... to me!

Yesterday I celebrated 38 years of living by spending time watching my children play soccer and volleyball. Then we made our 3 1/2 hour jaunt to our "old home" as we do every weekend.

My mother came "up north" with us to stay the week, and it was a wonderful visit with her. As we drove home, my mother told me about her memories of the day I was born. After finishing supper that night, she began to feel some contractions and called the doctor. She was told to get herself to the hospital. Being the kind of person who tries to plan ahead, she called her mother, my grandmother, who was in the hospital due to an illness to see if she needed anything.

"Yarn," my grandmother told her, meaning that she needed some skeins wound to continue working on her project. My mother checked into the hospital, and then promptly went to visit her own mother. As the contractions became stronger and stronger, my mother continued to hold up her hands wrapped with yarn, so that my grandmother could wind the skein she needed into a ball. My mother was never a knitter, and everyone tells me that I inherited my love of knitting from my grandmother.

This is how I was greeted into the world, a knitter from birth.