This weekend should have smelled like wool, cider donuts, and triumph. It should have been Rhinebeck Sheep & Wool Festival weekend — the knitter’s pilgrimage, the Super Bowl of yarn, the holy grail of fleece. But alas, instead of frolicking among skeins and sheep, I’ll be attending a far less glamorous event: Chemotherapy, Session #Whatever-We’re-On-Now.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for modern medicine — it’s just that oncology wards really need more yarn vendors and apple cider slushies.

Meanwhile, my mom will be there at Rhinebeck, holding down the fort with the Dachshund Daddy Knits booth. She’ll be surrounded by walls of alpaca, Irish Aran, and enthusiastic knitters showing off their handknits. And yes, I am thrilled for her. And also wildly jealous.

Mom promised she’d FaceTime me from the festival, which I fully plan to treat like my own personal livestream. I’ll be at home in my comfiest sweater (ironically not handknit — my fingers are still on neuropathy hiatus), sipping coffee, shouting things like, “TURN THE CAMERA! IS THAT THE MOHAIR BOOTH?!” and “GET CLOSER! I THINK I SEE A SHEEP IN A SWEATER!”

Honestly, it’s the next best thing to being there in person. Mom’s got a good eye for yarn and a generous heart, which is dangerous — I can already hear her saying, ‘Oh, I just picked up a skein for you.’ (Translation: wishful thinking, as she will be too busy manning the booth to do much shopping, sadly.)

So while she’s chatting with fellow fiber lovers and maybe sneaking in a cider donut or three, I’ll be cheering her on from the chemo chair. I might even wear a Rhinebeck-worthy shawl just to keep the spirit alive — because you can’t cancel cozy, even when your body’s busy fighting bigger battles.

Next year, though? Next year I’m going. I’ll be there with bells on — or at least a really fabulous handknit.

Until then, I’ll be living vicariously through Mom’s blurry FaceTime feed, drooling over yarn photos, and reminding myself: the wool will wait.