11/04/2025
My sister's getting married this Saturday, and about two months ago she asked if I'd help with wedding favors. "Something handmade," she said. "You're so good with your hands."
I should've asked how many guests first.
Forty-five. She needed forty-five blankets.
I almost laughed until I realized she was serious. "I can't make forty-five blankets in two months," I told her. But then I saw her face, that hopeful look she gets, and I heard myself saying, "Let me see what I can do."
I started that same week. Every evening after work, I'd settle into my spot on the couch with my hook and yarn. Weekends became full-day crafting marathons. My husband would bring me coffee in the morning and find me in the exact same position at dinner time, surrounded by growing piles of blues and greens.
The color scheme was ocean-inspired - her fiancƩ proposed on the beach where they first met. I worked through every shade I could find: deep navy, bright emerald, soft seafoam, cream like beach sand. Each blanket needed to be different but cohesive. Some got chevron patterns, others stripes or textured stitches. A few got intricate cable designs that made my fingers ache.
My family thought I'd lost my mind. "Just buy something," my mom kept saying. "Nobody expects handmade favors." But my sister did. And honestly? Once I got into the rhythm of it, I didn't want to stop.
The repetitive motion became meditative. I'd put on a show I'd seen a dozen times and just let my hands work. The pile on the couch grew slowly at first, then faster as I found my groove. I started recognizing which stitches worked up quickest, which yarns were easiest on my wrists.
I posted progress updates in my crafting groups on the Tedooo app, where I usually sell smaller projects. The support was incredible. People sent me tips for avoiding hand fatigue, suggested patterns that would work up faster, cheered me on when I hit blanket number twenty and thought I couldn't possibly finish.
Last week, someone asked to see more photos. That's when I realized I'd actually done it. The living room looked like a yarn explosion - blankets draped over every surface, sorted by color, waiting to be wrapped. My husband helped me fold and package each one with a little tag my sister made: "Love is meant to keep you warm."
This morning, I packed up number forty-five. My wrists are sore, my fingers have permanent indents from the hook, and I've probably watched every show on Netflix twice. But Saturday, when forty-five wedding guests leave with something I made with my own hands, something that took months of late nights and early mornings, something made with love for my sister's special day - it'll be worth every stitch.
Three days to go. And I actually made it
