This morning I told my teen I was jealous of our dog because my daughter cuddles more with our white pup than she does with me. But stop the presses, I found a solution to my angst: I’ll knit a version of my girl.
It's apparently a legitimate solution to the common ailment of Parent Loneliness Due to Increased Child Independence: Amsterdam mom and “textile enthusiast” Marieke Voorsluijs knit a life-size replica of her adolescent son and the Internet went wild.
As a professional knitter, Voorsluijs writes on Bored Panda that she was used to knitting weird things for her brand Club Gelak. “To set the bar a little higher regarding my knitting skills I thought of knitting my son. He liked it and we worked together on it,” writes Voorsluijs.
An action shot of mom Voorsluijs with her arm around her knitted masterpiece pokes fun at what some might call a helicopter action with the caption “Smother mother.”
These pictures are a welcome relief to the pile of books that’s growing on my office floor. So far, I’ve almost started reading The Gift of Failure: How the Best Parents Learn to Let Go So Their Children Can Succeed by Jessica Lahey and How to Raise an Adult: Break Free of the Overparenting Trap and Prepare Your Kid for Success by Julie Lythcott-Haims. Without reading one word, these book covers offer sweet relief on the days that I wait for my teen as she walks home in the dark after play practice.
Still, before I pick up my dusty knitting needles, I attempt to change my lawnmower-parenting ways by watching a video of Lythcott-Haims giving four parenting tips from her book. As a former Stanford Dean, I’m guessing she knows a bit about well-intentioned parents who bulldoze their offspring. I learn that “we” aren’t applying for high school (only my daughter is) and that my children can do their own homework.
But laughs aside, I’m right now penning tip no. 4 tip on my to-do list: “Put independence in their way.” Truthfully, my teen is teaching me the merits of doing this daily. The last time I reminded her she was walking home from school solo, she heckled me by saying, “Why are you telling me this? I do it all the time!”
If only I had a knit version of my eldest daughter. Then I would say to her replica, “You’ve been walking home alone from school for four weeks now.”
Instead, I keep my lips sealed and ponder buying yarn that matches my sweetheart’s beautiful hair color hue. Soon enough, that girl of mine will be grown and flown. Might as well start knitting a creepy sidekick for myself now.
