I Spy . . .

Something that isn't quite right. Yes, this is what I found after setting my knitting down to go answer the phone. I came back and found my best pair of 7s snapped like twigs. He-who-is-feared-by-knitting-needles-everywhere had struck. We'll just call him . . . say, Matthew. The size double points that ended their career last year with a decorative addition of teeth marks over them--well, I could live with that, but this, well, this just bites. No pun intended.

I should be in mourning over the loss of this pair. They were part of my grandmothers' sets that I inherited over the years as they stopped knitting and then eventually passed away. They were an old pair of plastic Boyes, but they were worn wonderfully smooth from years and years of use and they just felt great in the hands. And now they are landfill bait.

I could get furious with Matthew, but he wouldn't understand. You see he has autism. And when things get broken, (which they often do in his excessive exploration of the world around him,) you just have to count to ten. Worst of all, he is convinced that Mom's knitting, when left unattended is a prime target for unraveling all over the house. Believe me, his middle name should be "froggin."
But yesterday was also one of those days that mom's who have special kids find remarkable. Because at 5 and a half, Matthew drew his first picture yesterday. Buzz Lightyear, to be exact. He was quite proud of his accomplishment, and carried it home like a prize.

The knitting needles? Well, they held sentimental value--but I will never forget as long as I live the moment I looked in the rear view window and saw him gazing with unabashed pride at HIS picture. Now that's worth holding onto.