Sucked into a Vacuum

This could be a cry for help.


Or a ransom letter.

But the one holding me hostage is an unfinished red sweater.

I have learned my lesson, never again will I allow a FIVE year old boy to dictate what kind of sweater his mother knits for him.  That was foolish, my friends, FOOLISH.

Back in June I whipped out a charming little cream princess sweater for my girl.  It worked up so quick and satisfactorily that I immediately wanted to cast on a masculine counterpart for my boy.  So, and here is where I made my mistake, I asked him, "What color sweater would you like Mama to make for you?"  And he said, "RED, MAMA, RED.  It makes me feel BRAVE."  And who doesn't want their charming and effervescent son to feel brave?

So I cheerfully ordered four skeins of cherry red wool.

Now, my original intent was to knit a PLAIN sweater for him.  Plain and red.  But then he asked me one day, one day as he was cuddled up to me, if I would knit snowflakes into his sweater.  And I looked down at his sweet face and big, imploring brown eyes and I said, "Sure, baby, I can knit you snowflakes."  And I cast on.

As I worked the sweater I became concerned.  It was looking a little bit small.  But I was a third of the way through it and didn't want to push the panic button, so I did what any reasonable woman in denial would do, and I took it to my sister.  I asked her what she thought and her jaw dropped.  Then she very gently said, "Sweetie, this is too SMALL."  And then she rationally took my child and held up the sweater against his back and I had the double realization that A) my child, my sweet, cherubic toddler is now a fully grown FIVE year old boy, all arms and legs and things that are TALL and lanky; and B) I was going to have rip out this third of a sweater and start over from scratch.

Not only start over, but work without a pattern.  Which, in the grand scheme of things, isn't really that hard, it just means I have to think while knitting and it's a lot more relaxing to just follow a pattern.

So my sister wound up the yarn while I ripped out the knitting.  And then I took it home, and punished it by shoving it into a bag in the closet.  In all honesty, we were going to Savannah the next week anyway and I needed to do a lot more thinking before I could get back to working on it.  So I knitted myself a pair of socks while I did the thinking.

After Savannah, I finally went back to it.  And I have been sucked into a red, snowflakey vortex of never-ending knitting ever since.

And I am TIRED.

It has been an ordeal from the get-go.  I knitted the bottom cuff plain and  for about 4 inches before starting the various patterns, and then I had the terrible realization (this was when I was almost done with the body) that because of the stranded color work, the plain section was flaring at the bottom and looked ridiculous.  So I painstakingly picked out the cast on edge and ripped the bottom 4 inches back and then re-knitted the bottom cuff into ribbing to pull the body back into line with the stranded color work.

Last night, I reinforced and CUT open the steeks for the armholes.  It was a little traumatic, necessitating a few brief moments lying down on the floor and breathing deeply.  Then I picked up and started knitting the sleeves.  I have only ever knit sleeves down from the shoulders, never up from the cuffs, but this evening as I was reading various books on the topic, I came to the realization that to achieve the look I want, I'm going to have to do just that.

I'll save that ripping out for the morning though.  I think if I rip that 3 inch of sleeve back tonight, I might just throw the whole thing out of the window.  And it's raining and muddy out there.

So if you've been wondering what happened to me this summer, THAT, my friends is what has happened to me.  And the other realization that I've come to, is that knitting a double thick, intricate sweater is a great project for MID-WINTER, not the middle of a hot summer.

In happier news, the Boy and I are starting back with school on Monday, and he'll start art classes in 2 weeks.  I am about to embark on that great initiation of motherhood, the Chauffeuring around of a child. 



Pray for us sinners. 

Toddler Indignation

It's hard for me to judge which stories are worthy of being blogged.  I'm with the babies all day every day and I see them when they're funny and sad and odd, and so it's hard to tell which moments need to be memorialized.

A couple of weeks ago, or weekends ago I should say.  It was a Saturday and Chris and I were in the kitchen making lunch for the babies.  I don't even remember what we were making now, but it was something hot, which I plated up and set before the Boy and the Girl, and I warned them that it was warm and they needed to BLOW.

The Boy has learned by now, that if it's hot, then he needs to just leave it for a bit.  The Girl, is not so patient as the boy...

So she picked up a handful (so it must have been something like pasta of some sort) and shoved it into her mouth.  Where she promptly realized that it was in fact HOT (Mama is no liar, and the sooner she learns that the happier we'll all be).  She spit the mouthful out, looked at it in her hand and then threw it forcefully (and with no small degree of indignation) back on to her plate.  She then looked at Chris and I (who were appropriately laughing at her) and began to gesticulate wildly while shrieking at us.


She still doesn't speak English yet, and I still understood that PERFECTLY.