Trust.

Why it still amazes me, speaks volumes for my human-ness.  December, as always, is nutty.  Christmas shopping aside, there are two birthdays needing attention.   A Christmas program that 3 children must be completely outfitted for.   A Christmas Tea that no matter how many I do, I apparently haven't amassed all needed supplies.  Throw in multiple Christmas parties for the kids that each come with their own set of gift giving and treat making.  And to top it off our house has now become after school snack central for all local children before they head off to play!  Visions of sugar plums aren't just dancing in my head, they are giggling, giving advice and I think one is now knitting a scarf.  In short, the chances of me going mentally AWOL, are high.  Which is probably why I simply shrugged and cast on when the thought of knitting a dress for an event that was 8 days away flooded my brain.  Use what I have, no purchases to make, you can do this.  Five days later, the smell of wet wool still in the air, it dries.  Done.  Now before you fear for the state of my house or the health of my children, all is well.  I don't knit unless the house is in order, meals were prepared every day as usual and still, it dries.  TV stayed quiet as songs of the season and of praise echoed off the walls, fuel for the soul.  So much still to do, I know all that is supposed to be accomplished will.   Gauge swatching sleep pants for Ethan, no timeline needed, they'll be done when they're supposed to.

Thanks.

A full week off with the kiddos and everyone is still accounted for. 
True, by Wednesday I was hunting down ingredients for my Bailey's recipe, which turned out fantastic by the way, but I digress. 
We've made it to Saturday. 
Accomplishments thus far... 2 hats I love and will have a hard time parting with. 
1 amazing turkey dinner, brining and smoking is definitely the way to go. 
Which lead to...Smoked turkey enchilada's with a chipotle cream sauce last night, enough said there.
Avoided the crowds on Black Friday.   Opting instead to purchase from my lovely computer and have it hand delivered to my door for free, all while receiving those 'doorbuster' prices that the masses were trampling each other for. 
Happy mom, soon to be even happier kids, bliss!!! 
Today, another Christmas project will hit the needles. 
A dinner not containing turkey will hit the table. 
Children will more than likely hit each other. 
And I will continue to give thanks for the privilege of being part of it all.

Coincidence?

Christmas knitting all consuming my brain, I retreated to my haven.  Footsteps on stairs followed by uncontrollable sobbing soon planted in my lap.

Elijah what happened?

muh, muh, my foooooot...

Arms encircle, tears ebb, tale of wrestling gone awry unfolds.

Wih,wih... will you make me some socks?

Um, sure baby I can do that.

Can you make them green and orange and blue???

Ummmm....hmmmmm...actually? 

Getting up I walk to 'the stash', rummaging until I find it.  The yarn.  The yarn I bought 3 years ago on a trip to Portland.  The yarn I spent way too much on, only to look at it upon my return and wonder what in the world would possess me to buy this yarn?  This green and orange and blue sock yarn??  3 years it sat and now tears have brought it forth.  Call it what you will.  I know this, this is True Christmas knitting.

Breathe.

It actually became humorous after a while.  Had a recipient in mind.  Picked the project, simply yet elegant.   Picked the yarn, yummy merino and cashmere.  Cast on 125 tiny stitches on 2's.  Knit 6 rows in pattern, that would be 750 stitches, only to discover a hole.  Hmmmm?   Rip it out start over.  125 tiny stitches, w/a 17 stitch lace pattern repeat.  Or was that 18?  Crap.  Whole pattern off.  Rip it out start over.  Cast on 125 tiny stitches, count them again to make sure....Can't get past 38, kids yelling, dog barking, 57, 58, 62, 71???   Arrrrg...put down till next day.   Cast on 125 tiny stitches using stitch markers every 10 so I wouldn't lose my place or my mind.  Cruising right along, brim complete!!! Hmmmm?  I have 5 button holes the picture has 3.  Sigh.  Reread pattern, read all project notes from others, still have 5, everyone else has 3, I'm a dork who apparently can't read, found my error.  Determined to sew the extra's shut I forge on.  Joining round!   Simple cross of one side to the other so button band will lay nicely on top of buttons, I've done this on pullovers, no biggie!!! Hmmmmm???   4 rows up, I realize my button holes are on the bottom and unless I think she'll enjoy buttoning it inside out something drastic needs to occur.  Drop all 6 crossed stitches back down 4 rows, recross and weave back up.  Honestly.  Time to decrease and be done with this demon hat.  "End of row 15 you'll have 84 stitches".   Um no.  More like 126, why yes I did read it wrong AGAIN and completely missed decreasing 42 stitches.   Quickly, throw extra 42 stitches in the final decrease mix so hat is not 3 feet long, bind off, throw on floor, stomp up and down, pick up, beat mercilessly on coffee table.  Breathe.  Place gently in bowl of warm soapy water, pat water out on towel, lay to shape, off to find buttons.

Grace.

One big gust and I'm suddenly blown right into Thanksgiving.  Best of intentions at updating the blog aside, life continues on at a pedal to the metal pace.  Project after project rolls off needles.  October birthed "Diamonds for Mom" an early birthday present.  Opting out of the zipper it called for, simple closure at the top of just her choosing.

"Football Hoodie" completed just before hunting season began.  A woolen behemoth to wrap around my love while he was stalking the big one.

Knee-highs for the girl rounded out football and soccer season.  Mindlessly knitting while little legs ran.

A quest for the perfect fall hat resulted in a cabled and brimmed chapeau, not sold on the brim a bit too Sherlock Holmes.  May rework this one in the days to come.

Successfully added 2 inches to a sweater I made last year and regreted binding off too early, now it's perfect!  Frogged and rewound another sweater I did last year and was forever irritated by.  Some mistakes are known only by me and some are blaringly obvious. 

Finally, Grace.  A cabled beauty I've been pining for since publication last year.  In keeping with my theme, I screwed it up.  Not once, but twice.  I know right where they are.  I know where it all went awry.  I also know where I recognized it, where I stopped what I was doing and where I moved forward, correctly.  No need to go back and try to fix it, wouldn't have mattered to anyone but me.  I know they're there.  Nobody else does and I kind of like it that way.

Comfortable.

The cooler nights have admittedly been getting to me.  Summer took so long to arrive I no longer care if it stays.  Pining for wool.  I not so jokingly tell my family we'll get an alpaca when we buy our house.  For now I'll make do with a simple sweater made of one. 

Kids at school, canning done for the year, garden putting it's energy into ripening the last fruits.  Nothing to plant.  No activities to plan. 

Frantic running from practice to games even finds it's rhythm.  Picnics packed, eating in the grass, knitting draped on lap, watching them run and run and run...

Lengthened waist.  Lengthened arms.  Left off buttons.  Simple stockinette body shows off the thick/thin baby alpaca blend.  Perfect for the morning walk to school, while the air is still crisp.  Turn on the radio and curl up with the second cup.  Is that a leaf that just fell?

Comfortable.

Ch..Ch..Ch..Changes

Trust me, my lack of posting is not an indication of a lack of knitting. 

Quite the contrary, I finished one sweater, another that's missing 1 1/2 sleeves and a third that all too soon will also need homes for arms. 

In other words, I'm knitting just not writing. 

I loved this pattern since I found it back in January. 

After reading about how to 'fit' my knits more, I knew it was time to take knowledge to needles and this was the platform.

I love it.  Once again, I had to make some changes because of me, not because of her pattern.  Her pattern was perfect.  I am not.  Change the gauge.  Change the length.  Change the increases.  Change, change, change.  Perfect?  No.  Still messed up on a lace row, saw it as it laid there blocking.  My eyes roll back, figures. 

Summer comes to an end and all the real changes rear their heads.  School starts for all, slowly, but starts nevertheless.  Would love to say I'm basking in the silence, needles clicking steadily away but I haven't found my rhythm, yet.  Still too twitchy. 

More change on the horizon.  It lays outstretched in one hand, while the other hand is firmly on my back.  Two hands to come together at a time only He knows.  Calm resolve in the Divine plan.

Day 4 of a long weekend.  Summers last stand, keeps windows closed and sprinklers on.  Round ball of wool becomes a collar, a shoulder, an elbow, a wrist. 

Everything changing right before my eyes.

Complicated.

Luckily, this one didn't smell.  100% silk so the potential was great.  Airy light, rippling drape, just in time for Summer. 
Looks ridiculously complicated.
All over lace,elegant.
4 different lace charts, scary.
Customizing size away from pattern, confusing.
Seaming all pieces together, boring.
Complicated?
No.
One week of knitting, not even every day. 
Including a full day of ripping back, after a failed attempt at therapy knitting. 
Lace is for a clear head. 
Rhythmically counting off each stitch.  28,29,30,31...only to return again 1,2,3,4...over and over until all that seems so complicated, ceases.
The pulse that pounds the temple, slows.  7,8,9,10...
Ears open.   Ah, so that's what He's been trying to say. 
Priorities firmly re-assessed.  Back to my simple life and it's amazing here.

sniff..sniff...

I have a tendency to over complicate things.  I'm female, it's what I do.  Sometimes, I crave simplicity. 

Smooth lines. 

Subtle detail. 

Calm. 

Peace. 

Sometime, that's exactly what I get.  More often, everything just stinks. 

Quite literally that's what I got with this last project.  Simple, quick, gleaming silk reflecting suns rays. Perfect. 

Unfortunately it smelled awful.  What seemed so easy, what seemed so indulgent, what seemed so right, just stank. 

A camping trip in the great outdoors and a soak in some serious fabric softener has tamed the beast but I know what lies under the surface. 

Forever tainted.    

Don't get me wrong, I still love the pattern. 

The kids enthusiastically helped pick out the buttons.  Cap sleeves for summer vs. the full length originals. 

Still, simple. 

Still, me. 
Casted on, hooded pullover for the man. 
Celebrating our 13th  Anniversary today, this next one is for you my love.

Seven.

I can't even say I would like to have my days filled with a general fluff of the house in the morning and complete freedom from there on out. 
I'm too twitchy.
Luckily, that is not the case, so here I am playing catch up, writing the girls birthday blog a full week and a half late. 
I'll do my best to leave out pinings for the oldest who is making his homecoming from camp today. 
I'll also leave out any gratuitus mentions of all the mommy time the youngest got with brother at camp and sister at grandma's.  I won't talk about how we sat outside the yogurt shop slurping chocolate off gummy worms or how we poured over a bike map spread before us in McDonald's Playland, plotting our morning ride. 
No. 
This is about the girl.

Quickly approaching age 3, she still didn't talk.  If you've met Ethan you would know why.  It was time for a girls trip.  I loaded her up, fuzzy pink backpack with the horsey sticking out the back and we headed for the airport.  Nodding in confidence to all the "how cute's" and "isn't she adorable's". 
I knew. 
She was.
That trip marked her first major change.
She was able to speak!
She was also infatuated with the in flight bathroom and potty trained herself.  Nice bonus!
In a blink, seven candles ignite on birthday grasshopper pie. 
An unconventional request from an unconventional girl.
Waiting 12 weeks to change out her first pair of earrings, inaugural pair removed, she refuses to let me near her.  Holes closing before my eyes. 
This was hard.
I was mad.

Not so much that I paid for the process and wanted a refund.  Well, maybe a little.

But that she kept repeating over and over "I'm not strong enough,  I'm not strong enough"

What?!

The little waif that climbs to the top and over anything...not strong enough?

The princess that tackles her older, larger brother without smudging her eyeshadow...not strong enough?

The athlete that takes no prisoners on the way to the goal, not afraid to hone her elbow jab skills on her own team mates...not strong enough??
Seven.
Will of her own firmly established.  Lineage recognized.  Chuckling softly at family traits awaiting her own brood.  I love my girl.  Her mental fortitude alone confirms the strength she believes she lacks.
You are mightier than you know my daughter.

Blessed.

When the random thought to knit overtook me, I figured my family at the very least would think I was insane, or more insane.  But that persistent voice in my head won out, needles and yarn purchased I settled in.  Granted it was hours of me locked in my room screaming at tiny needles and unruly, squeaky acrylic but I did in the end succeed. 

My first box of yarn arrived shortly there after.  A gift from a friend who acquired it for free on Craigslist.  

Addiction established. 

A hat gifted to my mom, resulted in two huge bags passed on from one of her friends, excited that I was taking it up. 

Most recently, a Christmas hat for my sister leads to conversations of yarn with her friend and now another bag ends up on my doorstep.

 

I still don't know the why behind me picking up needles. 

I don't know if I'll ever be privy to that information, if the stars will align and it'll all make sense. 

I'm more than confident in the necessity though.  I gave up on coincidence a long time ago.  For whatever reason, bag after bag keeps finding it's way in, it's not my place to question, simply to cast on. 

My "Thank You" hat knit for my sister's friend.  I love the cable band and cloche styling, hope she does too!

Perfection.

Something I have yet to attain, nor see in my immediate future.  Pretty darn good, I know a lot about.  The latest project was conceived as a knit along with my girlfriend and since I had yarn searching for a project, I paired them up and cast on. 


Needless to say this one made me think. 

Middle medallion was actually done rather quickly, star transforming before my eyes.

The outer band was another beast entirely.

"Knit until it fits around" is not my favorite term.  A quick Google search on finding circumference refreshed my high school math skills and gave my goal number.

After some chart memorization techniques that would've come in handy about 52 inches earlier, it began to fly.

Perfect would've been the cotton it called for, I used wool.

Perfect would've been all cables crossed correctly, instead I once went right when I should've gone left.  Realization too far along to care.

Perfect would've been a nice seamlessly, tight kitchener.  I can barely spell kitchener I'm impressed I thought to do it at all.

Perfect would've read the pattern to see an additional seam needed before joining all pieces.  As usual, I dove right in to get 'er done.

But in the end, it is me.  Thank you my friend for doing this one too, commiserating along the way is half the fun.  You'll be done before you know it, two imperfect friends, happily looking over the faults.

Phases.

I've honestly lost track of which phase this would be, but if there is a precursor to empty nest this would be it.  On the tail end of storm clouds, summer vacation arrives. 

Today was my last day alone with Elijah. 

This Fall he enters the world of school.  Another woman will not only hold his attention but his affection as well.

Ethan lived his youth in daycare and pre-k.  Elaina soaked up one solid year at home, while I got my sea-legs.  Elijah basked in three entire mommy filled years.

With my heart in my throat we commenced our day. 

What does a perfect day for a 5 year old look like?

It starts with a stroll downtown. 

Stopping to watch a bird in the awning above a store. 

Waving at a toddler crawling through mannequin legs. 

Staring in awe at rapid water as it disappears underground. 

Ice cold strawberries and cream licked greedily off a straw. 

A surprise stop at a favorite sweet shop. 

Lunch on a blanket with Frank and Jessica squirrel as they snatch up all the apple they possibly can. 

Back in the car, a sudden cry to stop, simply to drop a stick in a tiny stream and watch it flow all the way to the pond below.

And with that our phase has ended. 



Will this time shape him differently than the other two? 

Will he encourage his future wife to sacrifice career to the infinitely more important role of mom?

Bell rings, two more enter. 

Arguing ensues, tears flow, the injustice of imagined lack.

Heart firmly pushed back down in place, one long, deep breath before diving into this next phase. 

Summer begins.

Bliss.

After a ridiculously wet May and a months worth of rain in one day for June we knew, without a doubt, it was time.  Trailer in literal tow we packed up the kids and headed over the hills in search of bliss.  The clouds parted and sun beams shone down on the perfect spot nestled in the woods.  This was of course after the current campers with the three enourmous dogs that tried to eat our friends dog left. But I digress.  Oasis rises with the turn of a crank.   Bliss emerges.

Chairs unfold, fire smolders to life, children giggle-run after butterflies fluttering for their lives. 

No buzz of technology. 

No "Can I get on?" cry to play on the computer 24/7.

Not even enough reception to determine the time.

Silent bliss.

Native fish navigating the river behind camp, provide the perfect opportunity for Ethan.  Unfamiliar fly rod tentatively held, he manages to entice.  Success spawns confidence, another fly fisherman has been born. 

Back at camp, grill marks form while sausages sizzle. 

Marshmallow, chocolate and dirt covers each child as they sleepily retire from day 1.

Exhausted bliss.

Bacon fills the air as scorching water drains through  grounds. 

Kids happily play with bubbles as groggy adults prepare for the day, Lawrence Welk's camping road tour.

Never to be out done by the older brother, Elaina awkwardly makes her first cast.  Middle child triuphantly lands four fish.  Two small fly rods now in our monetary future. 

Two days down, three spent kids, one dog that will sleep unmoving for days and two very satisfied parents. 

Victory claimed over the inaugural trip.

Memories and abilities to be passed down to their own broods.

Stocked trailer simply awaits food and clothing. 

Bliss attained.

Leftovers.

Brand new, shiny, gleaming has been left by the way side.  Garage sales fill our newspaper, a weekly run to Goodwill penciled in the calendar.  Reduce, reuse, recycle our mantra out of necessity. 

Previous weekend ribs transform into last nights BBQ pork sandwiches.   Homemade sauce, homemade bread, grocery store avoided, money saved.  Plates greedily cleared.

I've been blessed with a stash of yarn that a great deal of, I did not have to buy.  From the day my needles took off in the Fall of 09, I've been on the receiving end of bag after bag of others RRR lifestyle.  That's not to say the UPS truck never stops here, just not as frequently as my obsession would otherwise require.  My last project was spurned on by my desire to use up, not order more.

Ridiculously cute. 
130 yds of leftovers. 
Not enough for a hat. 
Ridiculously cute. 
I wanted a small bag for small projects.  Something to tote around a hat in progress or that airy little shawl. 
Taking the 130 yds of leftovers and creating something I almost love more than the original intent. 
Making the most of what we have, not constantly pining for something better.  Trust me, purchases were made.  I did not whittle the handles and Elijah did an amazing job of picking out the lining.
Ridiculously cute.

A series of small projects comes to an end.  Casting on a lace vest that may very well erode the last bit of my sanity.  Again, using stashed yarn.  Beauty to emerge from a Ziploc hiding in a dark basement.
Value will be found in whatever the underbelly sends forth.

No Two Snowflakes...

In technical terms it's called SSS~Second Sock Syndrome.  I find a pattern that's calling my name..."Shannon...knit me...I'll look so cute on your feet..." 

Round up yarn, needles, pattern and settle in.  The first one takes shape rather quickly.  Some short row shaping, a little lace, nice!  Sew some seams, voila!! One down.

Wait.  I have to do it again?  The same thing?  I just did that.  I don't want to do that again. 

A full day and half passes before I hunker down and pick up number two.  What should for all intents and purposes be identical, is of course not.  Rows miscounted, right stitches not picked up, corrections made, discrepancies only I can tell.  Seams sewn, buttons attached, two identical slippers stare floppily.  They were calling out for me to knit, but not calling to be knit for me.

Some days, as groggy eyes come into focus and bare feet search the floor for the pair that does fit, my thoughts repeat. 

"Do I have to do it again?"

"The same thing?"

"Didn't I just do this yesterday?"

And then the homepage emerges and I thank God for a kitchen floor that needs to be cleaned of paw prints, again.

I thank God for three children breathing under covers, whether wet or dry, sheets rise and fall, again.

I thank God for a husband at a job before the sun comes up, returning as it goes down,  providing for us, again.

When the hardest decision I can make in a day is if I should play it safe by getting an extra skein, that's when I rejoice at all my agains.

House in order, laundry caught up, bathroom shines, time to pick up needles.  Again.

Grey.

Two Ibuprofen were desperately utilized, fingers and wrists swearing off cotton indefinitely.  An unhealthy yearning for animal fiber remains.  Ultimately, I do love it.  Bamboo lends softness and shine, the cotton will keep me cool.  It is finished.

I thought I knew the plan. I thought it was all laid out, black, white.

But, as with most patterns I follow (I use the term follow rather loosely) I had to improvise a bit. 

My stitch count is tighter, figure it out. 

My waist is shorter, figure it out.

Don't want the hip as wide, figure it out. 

Seldom is life black and white.  Grey rules most days.  Grey makes me use my head.  Grey allows, even encourages creative license.  Grey causes me to reach out to others, not relying solely on my own limited understanding.

One day my kids won't think I'm the ogre that wouldn't just do it all for them.  Making them search for the lost who-knows-what, when I alone am privy to the location.  Having them get their own snack because they can, not because I want to finish one more row.  Suffering consequences out of love not spite.  Embedding deep in their beings not only the ability but the drive to simply figure it out.   Whatever it has been thrown at them. 

Spring arrives.  Shoulders bare.  Umbrella's raise. Grey never looked so beautiful.

cluck, cluck, ugh.

5:20am, frantic chickens baw-gocking, bye-bye sleep, buh-bye.  I used to leap heroically out of bed, robe in hand, racing to the rescue.  Visions of soaring bald eagles, heading towards the highest pine with their feathery cache tight in their grasp. Now I know it's probably a small hawk circling above, or a crow, or maybe a butterfly.  Possibly they wanted to inform the others of a pill bug on the patio and then forgot so they send out the call again, only to forget and again send out the call, only to forget... You get the picture.

Regardless, I'm up.

God has graciously granted me another day that my feet hit the floor.

Currently, surfing seems to satisfy.  A quick check of fb re-assures that life really is pretty darn good.

Thoughts of fluffing house, feeding brood and sending them all off tower.  Ridiculous blue sky with sun, yes sun, is calling my name.  Garden in, a shady spot to watch the youngest romp seems the natural route for the day.  To sit and knit.  Ugh, knit.

When I started my latest project I was drawn to the beautiful lace and the simplicity.  That evil, evil simplicity is what gets me every time.  Straight knitting.  Fifteen inches of sport weight, straight knitting.  Will it ever end?  I'm not that tall, I can make it shorter right?  Am I really too old to wear a midrif?  Straight knitting.  I'd like to chime in here and say how I've been toiling for a month and not getting anywhere but it's only been an official week.  That would be 2 days of employing my brain in lace and 5 turning it to jelly.  Straight knitting.  The goal is in sight with about 4 inches to go, another lace border caps it all off so cognizant functions should return.  In the mean time I'll be searching out my sunbeam.  If this is as hard as my day gets, than hens cluck away.  My own are slowly emerging, so it begins.

Casting On...

Wet hens are not mad.  I know, I have 15 hens.  They are seldom, if ever, what I would call angry.  Wet hens are determined optimists.  A sprinkle from above does not deter their focus on the goal.  Only when the rains come down, do the worms come up.  Wet hens are patient.  The heavens may open up.  Minds unable to comprehend such massive amounts of water being held in fluffy clouds.  We watch in awe as gutters overflow.  A hole dug by persistent, young hands becomes a wading pool.  Hens gather together.  Keeping each other warm, while they wait.  Clouds wane, worms come up. 

So begins a new venture.

Casting off the old and heading into where only He leads.

When I began my first blog I was a new stay at home mom, fresh out of the wine industry, culinary degree under my belt and deeply in love with all things food.

Three years later, I am first and foremost a wife.  One who enjoys snuggling up on the couch with my husband and a good vintage port, no longer pining for the 'industry'.   I am a mother who knows the meaning of every sound, scent and eye roll my three kids try to hide.  I will always love food.  I will create what I can, but have no qualms buying it when necessary.  Fresh bread is a staple, but a loaf from the store currently resides in the pantry.  Homemade granola is nestled next to the Frosted Flakes.  I garden, but am not a gardener.  I plant three times what I need to account for the inevitable failure by my own inattention, weather or feather.  Finally, I knit.  After years of anxiety ruling my being, I picked up needles and cast on my first scarf.  Well, what was supposed to be a scarf at least.  When I knit, I am calm.  When I knit, I can think, I can pray, I can ponder and I can relax.  When I knit for someone else,  I am thinking of them with every little stitch.  Frustrations are worked out, love is worked in.  Insights gained with each new skein.  Making intricate beauty out of flat and straight.  Seeing what will be, not what it is now.

The Wet Hen Chronicles, will tell the story of phase two.  In knitting terms FO's are finished objects, projects completed.  Rest assured, there will be plenty of knitting.  UFO's are un-finished objects, projects I'm currently working on, the kids will remain UFO's indefinitely.   All else would be WIP's, works in progress, the garden, baking, me, simply life day to day. 

Determined optimist, patiently waiting.  A lofty goal but a goal none-the-less.

Casting-on.