I now appreciate the genius of having little project bags tucked about the house. Or at least having several repositories for the working bits and a few spare balls o' yarn.
Why the sudden epiphany, you may ask?
And your answer:
I spent last night FREAK, FREAK, FREAK, FREAKING OUT!!! And without a scrap of yarn within usable distance. Trust me, I would have finger knit if there were even spare shoelaces within reach.
To cap off my horrendous week of sick-babysitter-means-no-billy-joel-concert-going, spinning-class-canceled, busted-budget-means-no-wool-festival-for-you, can-we-stop-pretending-about-mother's-day joy, some punk, jeans hanging off of his tattooed ass white suburbia living teenager came down into my sickeningly urban yuppie neighborhood with his wanna-be gangsta friends and ended up shot and bleeding all over the sidewalk across the street from my house.
Yes, we heard the gunshots...and saw the blood pool.
Yes, my 3 kids were sleeping less than 50 feet away.
Yes, I want to vomit just thinking about the what if.
And the worst part? The cops were freaking out about why these kids were here. I live in the city. Supposedly people move to the burbs not out of a love for Applebee's, but to stay away from what the city harbors. And the cops are freaked out about why this is happened here, in my urban neighborhood where this never happens.
(OK, it sounds bad, but truly the worst part really might have been the sleepless night endured with out a stitch of yarnyness to work on because it was all downstairs and traipsing down to get it past the baby's crib, thus waking him AGAIN at 1:30 am when everyone finally cleared out seemed like a very bad idea. Must decentralize the project stash.)