Mitts

mitts

 

So, here’s the thing. Grandma goes to Australia to spend the summer with her sister.

Our summer. Their winter. No central heating. Damp and cold. Of course her thoughts turn to knitting and knit she does. Mitts for her grandson from special wool she bought in Tasmania.

A couple of months later grandson heads off to school, happy and proud to be in grade one. Then it’s winter. Mom takes the special mitts, sews a bit of elastic to each one and attaches the other end of the elastic to the sleeves of his parka.

She sends him off to school content in the thought that he can’t possibly lose his mitts and he’ll always have warm hands.

To her horror, he arrives home that first day with elastics dangling from his sleeves. Elastics only—no mitts.

“Where are you mitts?” she asks.

He looks up at her with a puzzled frown. “What mitts?”

The mitts are never found, not even after several searches in the school lost and found box. Mom is more upset than Grandma, who quickly knits him another pair—but not with special wool from Tasmania.

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