With the change of each season, we swap out the quilts on the walls. The Christmas ones ignited a trove of sweet memories, and I felt blessed to gaze at them each day. But it is January now, and they can take their leave. The twins asked which ones to replace them with, and I said anything is fine. Frankly my lack of opinion was less a state of congeniality and more the aftermath of a despondent week. 

Aurelle chose the stained glass quilt, made of batik fabric with black leading. It is among the most challenging ever to slide under my presser foot, and seeing it where the tree had dominated for a month is, well, surprising. 

It is hard to believe I did it. 

Looking at thirty bright blocks, some of which entail over a hundred pieces, I feel not proud, but incredulous. How on earth? 

One at a time.

The other day I was at a meeting of women, some of whom have young children. While I sat quietly in my comfy chair, hand sewing, the moms orbited around us like moons after their toddlers. History tells me that I too did the chase and grab scene for a couple of decades, but honestly the effort is as faded as the snap shots in the basement. When the meeting was over and we chatted over crackers one young wife with a baby on her hip asked me point blank. 

"How did you ever have nine kids? I am exhausted by two."

I smiled. What words could I offer to this woman, giving the cream of her energy to an elfish boy with banana on his chin?  She could not imagine doing it. I could scarcely wrap my head around having done it. 

"One at a time." Then I remembered. "Or two."