I have blisters on my palms from yanking the apron strings back and forth.  I let them out and they are shoved back, I pull them in and they are stretched to the limit. I try to hold them lightly so I can feel the tugs, or see the slack that needs to be tightened.  It’s always too much or too little, depending on the day, the mood, the situation.  I’ve got one that hangs by threads as he enters adulthood, a little lost but headed in the right direction.  He keeps looking back and I really try to let those last few strands lay loosely, lest they break or become a strangling bond.  The other seems to need heavy duty canvas as the teen years stretch them to their limit.  Some days we both feel smothered and bound, then we have those few minutes where we‘re both softly drawn in together, only to fly once more into a tug-of-war. I’ve picked up my mother’s well worn apron, from the opposite end, reweaving the strands for her to hold.  Some days I dream of tossing it aside and other days I wonder what I’ll do with empty hands.  So I just brace for another tug, hoping to know when to lighten my hold, when to tug back, and when to really give them a yank!