On the outdoor glass topped table in Grandma and YaYa’s back yard sat a colourful ball of thin yarn, attached to a knitting needle by way of a newly started scarf.
As Daniel sat on my lap, his eyes immediately darted towards the colourful ball, prompting him to throw himself towards the table top in a failed attempt to grab the mesmerising yarn.
“No buddy, you can’t have that,” I told him. ”That’s Grandma’s and you’ll ruin her knitting if you grab it. Or maybe it’s YaYa’s.”
He looked at me, his eyes glistening with cheekiness, “or maybe it’s Daniel’s.”
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Copyright 2013 Sheri Thomson