Home sickness

This last September my husband and I had to move our family from our home in southern Idaho to Montana. My husband was offered a great job in the economy that demands that you don't turn down jobs so we packed up our two little ones and our belongings and moved 10 hours by car from everyone that we loved and who loved us back. I would love to say that I am fearless and able to take all the change in stride, but I am not. Nearly six months after the move I am still heart broken.

The package looks great, we are renting a beautiful home in a beautiful neighborhood. And things have gotten easier along the way, I have made some amazing friends, and am waiting patiently for spring(ok not really patiently, I may beat up the next snow flake that I see) but no matter how bright my outlook I still cannot shake the desire to pack us up and move back home. No spring plan will ever be better than having my sisters over for dinner and watching them love my kids or heading over for the day to my grandparents house, or cleaning like mad while I wait for my parents to visit for the weekend.

I am not a person that can sit in uncertainty. I always have a plan, a list and a million things to do. There has never been a situation that when taken into my own hands that I couldn't fix. So right now while we try to decided how much homesickness is too much, and weigh the options (or lack thereof) I find myself in uncharted territory. I wish that there was a bandaid that I could apply to ease the ache, but am afraid that this wound runs too deep for such an easy fix. Home may be the only remedy that will suffice.

It is better to have worn and lost than to have never worn at all

So last week I finished this cardigan. Pretend that I am an aged (through the miracle of movie make-up) Richard Dreyfuss conducting a large orchestra because this sweater was my opus. It was very (very) cabled Autumn Vines Cardigan by Connie Chang Chinchio and loved it . Notice, my use of the past tense?
On my first day of wearing my cardigan to work I realized that it had been the victim of a chicken broth splashing (which is the lesser of the two evils that it suffered). I was pretty mellow about this little upset. After all, chicken broth washes out easily. So I put it into the laundry on a gentle cycle (cold) wash. When I went to take my little lovely out of the washer however I realized that my two year old had been playing with buttons and had turned the wash to warm. Voila! Felted cardigan. Ughhhh.
First I wash nauseous, almost tearful. Then I decided to do my next one in purple. That is the beauty of knitting, I made it so I can remake it. Probably even better than the first time. Take that fate! You just cannot hold a happy knitter down.