Eleventy-billion ends woven in, I had laid the two halves of the nine patch bathmat/rug down to match the pieces for the middle seam, and popped in a big safety pin a few inches from the edges. I am staring at it, mulling “Border or no border? I know, I’ll ask the readers.” Nine appears, picks it up and pops it over her head, like a vest, and announces she loves it, it’s the coolest thing she’s ever seen, and all it needs is a button, and, well, a few more inches of back. “Can I have it please, Mom?” I am stunned. It actually looks pretty good, and beyond that, fits, even the little sleevelets that form when you match the sides. Apparently, I am not done knitting this thing after all.
“And besides, Mom,” Nine pointed out, when I outgrown it, you can always turn it back into a rug.”
