I Love My Mitts

As I write this I realize that my life is in a strange place when I can be this happy over something so rather unimpactful. I feel the need to tone down my rapture over my mitts but then I think, no, I LOVE my mitts! Why should I whisper?

And you know they are so very flawed. Not little flaws that someone would never notice, but flawed in huge Karie-like fashion. I mean the thumb on one of the gloves is on inside out and you can see the sharpie outline (it's permanent you know), on the right side (which is wrong). But like most of my flaws, I'm OK with them. I see them for what they are.

I have been freezing my ass off for a few months now and generally moaning about it to whomever would listen. It occurred to me yesterday when I was on the hunt for some nice new mitts at Idle Hands (and I found some beauts), that I could bloody well make some. I mean I have been hoarding wool sweaters since returning to Canada, felting them, and stockpiling them for some reason? So today after I took Sam to school, I rushed home and whipped up a pair of mitts in just enough time before heading back to grab the kids from school.

The mitts are made from a felted wool sweater and I just traced my hand for the pattern. After I had sewn them up I was going to applique something on and then I remembered that I had some nice roving courtesy of a great kit I bought from my friend Annie so I needle felted instead. I tend to really heavily on my circa kindergarten flower when I need to illustrate something and I did it again, this time with a vow that I have to give the flower a rest - it's been a pillar for so many decades. The next mitt, I needle felted a sun, which I am rather disappointed in as it does not look like the glorious sun I had envisioned (see what happens when I stray from the flower) but rather like my morning sickness puke when I was with child.

And (has anyone ever gone on so long about mittens before), here is why they make me happy. They make me happy because when I am wearing my mitts I am cold. When I look down at my mitts I see a flower and it is like a promise that they exist and when I look at my other mitt, I see the sun (after I think of puking), and I remember that it IS warm and it WILL shine again and I will be warm again, at some point, 5 or so months down the road. I believe my winter blues may be behind me. Love.