I am just going to come out and say it. I have too much sock yarn and I am in need of an intervention. After sitting waist deep in the stuff while trying to organize a yarn closet in the spare bedroom I came to the conclusion that I just can't help myself when I am around the lure of sock yarn. I need somebody to tell me no because I can't seem to say it to myself. There are too many pretty colors, too much cashmere and too many lovely hanks of squishy yarn begging to live in my lavender scented closet and I can't stop. I am a yarnaholic.
I used to trick myself into thinking that I didn't have a problem by hiding the yarn around the house in various types of storage containers. I was surprised one day when I moved a lidded basket I had sitting by the fireplace in order to clean the tiles and it seemed heavy. Oh! It was crammed full of sock yarn that I had forgotten all about. I had a basket by my knitting spot on the couch full of the stuff and that was sitting on top of a round basket also packed with sock yarn. There was a small bin in the coat closet and a small bin in the upstairs linen closet. Also, sad to say, there were two bins rammed into the spare bedroom closet. And a couple of hanks in a tote bag that was hanging by the front door. I found a couple more in a bookcase drawer that I never use. And in the corner china cupboard hidey hole. I had a problem.
I tried to fix the situation by first taking an oath to not buy anymore sock yarn and then taking every hank and cake I could find up to the spare bedroom and starting a little pile. I would organize that pile I said to myself and then I will have a handle on the sock yarn and I won't buy any more. That pile soon grew to epic proportions as I went up and down the stairs with more hanks of hidden yarn and before I knew it the bed was covered in wool and I forgot what the color of the carpet was. I needed more bins. I need several more bins I said to myself and closed the door.
Every once in awhile I would go into the room full of yarn and wade around thinking about how to actually start. I would set down a new bin or a new hank of yarn I had found and quietly leave the room. The cat enjoyed taking his daily nap on the bed covered in wool and I certainly didn't want to disturb him. I was never in the exact right mood to clean the old clothes out of the closet to make room for the new bins but the weight of all that sock yarn in piles began to hang heavy around my neck and pretty soon I was looking into the room every day and feeling bad.
Then one day I had enough. I heard that my grandchildren planned to sleep over at my house on that very woolly bed in the room full of yarn and it snapped me into action. This could not happen. They couldn't see what a yarnaholic grandma was and they needed a safe place to sleep. I steeled myself and marched up the stairs with a cup of coffee and a sense of determination. Yarn was not going to get the best of me. I dove in and soon hanks and balls were flying every which way. The cat left in a panic as I emptied the closet of sad old clothes and pulled out the bins that had been stuffed in there willy nilly and emptied those as well. I set up new bins and labeled them with my extra fancy label maker. Pretty soon I could see the light and the carpet. I sorted, I tossed, mixed and matched bins and slid the ones that just weren't working out into the hall. An under-the-bed bin just does not belong on a closet shelf. Something will fall on your head every time you try to get it down.
Finally, by late afternoon, I had the wool under control. There were 4 bins of sock yarn and one for laceweight. There was a giant bin for worsted and a giant bin for 'everything else'. There was also a bin for leftover sock yarn because you just never know. One bin was for gifts and one for sock kits. A bin for needles that I hardly ever use and one for extra stuff. Like a junk drawer. A knitting junk drawer. A bin for my spinning spindle that I don't quite get the hang of and a bin full of unfinished projects that I might finish someday. I cornered the market on bins and they were all eventually in apple pie order in the spare bedroom closet.
I was so proud of myself. I had taken an oath witnessed by the cat and overcame my yarn obsession and even though I was sweaty and tired I went downstairs to get the camera so I could capture my shining moment on film. As I passed the open front door I saw a box sitting on the top of the steps outside. Oh.
I had a birthday the other day filled with fun, family and grandchildren playing soccer. It was so much fun watching them and seeing how they've improved with every game. It brought me right back to the days when I was driving my own three girls hither and yon to games, practices and tournaments. For a few years there I felt as though I lived in the car and only ate meals out of a zip lock bag. Hubby was a soccer coach so it was up to me to get everyone every place on time and in the correct uniforms. Clean, of course. I wish I'd had the technology then to put some kind of device on my lawn chair just so I could see how many miles the poor beat up thing had traveled. I can't begin to guess how many games I watched and cheered at over the years what with rec soccer, school soccer, college soccer and summer traveling soccer. I also can't begin to guess how many times I ended up in the emergency room with a child who had sprained an ankle or torn some kind of ligament somewhere. There were also wrists that had been bent backwards way too far and one nasty concussion. We prefer not to dwell on that particular injury because it all turned out okay. And it's the hard part of the game.
Looking back, I think playing soccer taught my girls a lot about life. To listen to the coach, to play the game hard and to the best of your ability and when push come to shove...either solve the problem or talk and pass the ball. It's all about team work but occasionally it's about getting the ball out from someone else's feet and running with it. I hope my granddaughters learn the same lessons. And for parents of soccer players? Sometimes it's all about keeping your mouth shut and enjoying what's happening in front of you.
I loved reliving the old soccer days on my birthday. Watching my daughter's kids play and hearing them coach, give advice and cheer warmed my heart. I didn't mind one bit that my birthday cake was a Hostess Cupcake. I got to see the next generation of player step up and score.
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