
After printing and tracing it onto fabric, I'm stitching Moon's recent hand art onto muslin.

Recent days have held a roller coaster of feelings about my boys growing up. There was that prom night (aka hotel request), Blue's 17th birthday - when I started to cry while making of his pie, realizing that when they were younger birthdays were milestones, and now they seem like countdowns, and then Connie's memorial this weekend - seeing her two twenty-something boys, and imagining how heartbreaking it must have been to leave them.
I am shocked to find myself being one of those kind of mamas, it is not what I expected from myself, but then again, I never expected to have children, or to be here this long. When I was growing up I always assumed that something would happen - a bus accident, spontaneous combustion, something.
But, here we are, here we go, and there they go . . . I am working at smiling and waving goodbye, and trusting the universe to take care of them. I suppose stitching the galaxy onto a hand is a subconscious stab at control . . . you do what you can.