My youngest daughter, the light of my life, the glimmer in my eye, and the bane of my existence... I get up to go get a cup of coffee and what does she do? Well, let me back up.
See, I thought I was being smart. Put the yarn on your desk, we say. She's a small fry, we say. The little one won't get it there!
So we go to get a cup of coffee, because yesterday evening was quite unpleasant all around. It's also spilled over into today, but that's another post entirely. So there I am in the kitchen, minding my own, doctoring up my coffee with some heavy whipping cream - which is like adding clouds to heaven - and I didn't hear anything.
I did see something, though. When I returned to my desk and found my skein of yarn by my chair and a trail of yarn leading toward the back hallway, two knitting needles carelessly strewn like they were showing me which was she went, George.
And there, just inside her bedroom, stood my Breanne. She was smiling quite gleefully as she ripped out all those carefully knitted stitches and proceeded to drape the yarn over her hair like silly string.
If it were a crochet project, I would've been able to salvage it. But I have no stitch markers, I wasn't counting, and I'd been in the middle of a row when I'd gotten the hankering for caffeination. Which is why I simply snipped the yarn.
And started over.