Fall

It shouldn't be nearly the shock that it is, that I haven't posted lately.  Granted, the kids think I lounge around basking in the silence all day while they toil away at their desks and there's no viable reason for my writing hiatus.  Once again, they would be wrong.  This is the first week I haven't helped at the school since it started in September.  Instead putting my energies into the now bald walnut tree and it's preceding shedding.  Leaves bagged, garden done, blog yearns to be updated.  A whole mess of projects still managed  to emerge this Fall.  Between three kids in three sports with practices at three locations, I seemed to find lots of time to sit with needles in lap.  Balls whizzed pass and Gatorade was guzzled with abandon while the sun shone down.

The first to be completed was a hoodie for Ethan.  After accidentally felting the sweater I made him last year, which on an up note is a perfect fit for his younger brother, understandably,  he wanted one of his own.  Merino and angora in blue.

A quick detour to make a little something for myself, turned a BFF cowl for two into "My Own Best Friend."  I was even able to break in the buttery merino and camel at the end of season Football and soccer games.

A pair or two of socks were also thrown in the mix along with me "fixing" the first hat I ever made my husband.  One hat, that should have taken one night,  took one week.  Tore it out, in it's entirety, 3 times to start over.  Contemplated lighting it on fire.  Sometimes you just need to leave well enough alone.  Finished up my "mini-me" for Elaina.  Just enough yarn left over from my Yuuret to make a smaller version for the girl.  She's worn it twice this week.  Enough said.

Moving on to what should be a simple black cardigan for moi!!  I should know by now, complicated is always faster.  I've already tore out and re-knit 8 1/2 inches of simple broken rib.  Not only can I not see the black stitches to have any clue as to where I am in the pattern, but the dye is bleeding something awful.  Inciting concerns from my kids about the state of my sooty hands and is now responsible for videos of Chimney Sweeps to be posted on my FB page (thank you very much!!)  Irritation will more than likely keep this one going at warp speed.  Thoughts of Christmas knitting still nag but not enough to prompt progress.   Great White Hunter is next on deck with a zip neck pullover.  Snow is in the air, cake pops for Ethan's Super Bowl victory party are in the freezer, children will tumble in any moment.  Silence to be broken but not forgotten.

Girl.

I like to think I was pretty easy kid.  Loved to read or simply ride my bike.  Playing with the neighborhood kids until my parents voice echoed through the night.
Perfect? No.
Mischief mainly relegated to secretly poking my sister.  That would be hiding her stuff and feigning innocence, all while watching the tearful drama unfold.
Siblings are fair game in the mind of a child, provoking my parents not remotely on my radar.  That little trait of Elaina's, I've decided came from my husbands side because as we all know, I would've never!
In other words, the belief that each child's traits are sent specific to us from On High based on our behavior to our own parents is not sitting well.  It is on the other hand giving me promise for her future.
Knowing how I will snicker when she tells me the latest unbelievable act of her offspring, I will give her the link to this page.
Here is a snap shot of last week.
Early in the week she heads to the school to play with her dad, brothers and friend after dinner while I basque in the rare silence at home.  Moments later she returns saying she felt like coming home and setting out a 'sundae bar' for the others upon their return.  When husband arrives with a sideways glance to the girl he tells me how she was sent home as punishment for twisting Elijah in a swing so high that not only could he not get out of her play equipment prison but he was sent spinning at speeds that would make NASA proud.  And she trots in and makes a sundae bar!!
A few nights later while enduring Ethan's football practice, the last sane nerve I possessed snapped and I sent her to stand by her father who was critiquing the boy at a closer range than I, while I kept her accomplice at my side.  Settling back into my book, I look up to see her smug grin leaning ever so lovingly on the shoulder of her only ally who unknowingly was cradling the little imp in his arms.  As both our eyes narrowed, the tip of her tongue parts cherub lips, she knows exactly what she's doing.
God go before any smitten man.
Which brings us to a few nights ago.  Creepy tooth hanging on for dear life, plucked to freedom by a napkin at the hand of a fairy loving girl.  Luckily, the tooth fairy thought I should read the letter that accompanied the fang left under sleeping child's head.

is it fine if I can keep my tooth and annoy my mom and still get money?
please give me $10

She didn't get to keep the tooth or $10.

Elaina, I love you.
When your own daughter narrows her eyes, the very ends of her mouth edge slightly skyward and it takes every ounce of your being to not permanently remove all traces of superiority, only then will you know it's depths.  And I, will know Joy.

Zipping Back.

Normal knitters take a break for the Summer.
A pair of socks or a nice light shawl may be on needles.
As you well know, I'm not normal.
Summer began with an Aran weight, cabled, wool cardigan.
Flowing nicely into Worsted, wool, pull-over for Elijah.
Pieces, pieces, every where pieces!!!
Honestly, for kids there is really no reason not to do seamless.

This was a jigsaw puzzle.  Not one of those 12 pieces floor models either.  The real deal, seam here, seam there, seam that seamed piece to the other seamed piece so you can seam in the zipper to the seamed down collar.  Makes you want to knit tubes through the Fall, kind of seaming.
Have I mentioned I hate to sew?
It's done, thank you very much.
Extended the length of the body and of the arms, nice and big to hopefully last through the Winter.
One back to school sweater folded in the dresser, awaiting crispy leaves, and visible breath.

He's heart-achingly adorable.
First grade begins in one week.
Soccer is in full swing.
Deep river tan on arms kept strong by swinging repeatedly off rope into creek.
Seven days of vacation still beckon.
Crisp air greets our morning, swimsuits still rule the afternoon.
Wool and angora hoodie for NFL wanna-be taking shape.
My nemesis, endless stockinette rears it's ugly head.  Luckily, it's seamless.

Testing...Testing...

Will I do it again?
Not sure.
As far as projects go, I love it.
My brain does not work the same way a designers does, that is obvious.
I knit.
They write.
Alas, testing, is just that.  They have a good idea. How it should  turn out.  But until it's put on needles you really don't know that it's going to be 3-inches too long and now you have to rip back 10-inches of cable, lace and seed to re-knit to the 7-inches it was intended, because, it's a test.
A test in patients.
A test in grace.
A test in forgiveness.
My commitment to finish will be paid off with one hand knit sweater.

Clasps from Etsy came as I was casting off.
Photo shoot in sweltering heat was short and sweet via 3rd grader.
Still contemplating long sleeves and the power of a few more well placed decreases to relieve the remaining puffiness.
Inner-designer unleashed.
Original design currently on needles.
Input from budding photographer duly noted.
Never under estimate the mind of an 8 year old.

*For those considering knitting this pattern, once you wrap your brain around the concept it's really a quick easy knit.  If you need 100% written/charted instructions this may not be for you!  The ability to recognize what you need to do and actually do it is a must.  She wrote it out better then I ever could, some things can't be charted simply executed.  This project was completed in mid-July but per designer request no postings or comments were to be made until the pattern was released, so although I wrote this in July before my "Dizzy" posting, I finally get to post this, YAY!!

Dizzy.

She makes my head spin. My girl, freshly eight, continues to baffle.  Confidence from test knitting still pumping through my veins I sit with Stichtionaries in lap and peruse.  One stands out, swirls and circles, winding this way and that, forever on the move.
Can't decide.
Can't commit.
Can't.


Hand over book to the girl.  It's her sweater, let her decide.  Circles and swirls, of course.  Simple raglan, V-neck.  Cable and lace body with mock cable sleeves.  Ribbon closure and I-cord trim to finish.  "Cropped so my shirt shows out the bottom."  Elbow length "because that looks super cute with a tee."








She knows what she wants, has no fear.  Dive right in, what are you waiting for?
Dizzy, our first design, beautiful just like her.

Failure.

I get it, I failed.
Miserably really.
My last posting was in March.
Not for lack of time, nor lack of finished finished project but simply, lack of anything to say.
I know, most find that hard to believe so more precisely lack of anything worthwhile by my standards (which are painfully low) to say.
Not that I think I currently have some monumental words of wisdom you all need to copy and paste or bookmark for future reference, more or less I need to post these and move on to Summer!!
Finished my Eco-Vest the end of March, for some reason I still haven't gotten the lone button, but I love it none-the-less.

April I moved on to Dahlia, which I lovingly renamed Satan's Cardigan.
Two months of stockinette, in Sport, on 4's, enough said.
Oh, wait that's not completely why...
Tore out the first finished sleeve because my arms are not the circumference of my head.  Kitchnered sleeve opening tighter and re-finished, opting not to do the lace on the sleeves because I didn't think it would matter after I lit the entire thing on fire anyway.
After several breathing techniques, I blocked the beast only to  find an enormous gaping hole that had unraveled on the front (of course) and commenced mending the still wet, can't-hide-un-even-stitches-ain't-gunna-hide-mended-cotton, devil sweater.
Oddly, I love it.  So light I don't know I'm wearing it, perfect for Summer.

Today, the last day of silence before the house is filled with screaming, joyful children playing.  Trying to finish up this pair before I take on my next big venture of test knitting!!!  Yep, signed on to test knit for a designer I love.  I get a free pattern of a brand new ridiculously cute sweater and she gets, well me.
Wearing it.
After of course I give her all my expertise on stitch counts, ease of reading pattern and general rambling comments, Lord be with us both.
Summer begins.
61.7-degrees.
Perfect knitting weather.

Sigh.

Really?
That pretty much sums it up.
I can't say it was an indulgence, the price was very reasonable all things considered.  185 yards hand spun, hand dyed wool.  Color by my definition, amazing.  Deep, tonal shades of plum.  More Aran, than the worsted it's purported to be, bonus it'll knit up faster.  What I didn't count on, was the smell.  Vinegar, I'm sure used to set the dye.  Vinegar that I know will come out with the first blocking, but vinegar nevertheless.  A nice quick knit, just trying to plug away so I can plunge it all head long into a nice long soak, until I see it.  Two cables down it stares at me, twisting grotesquely to the left where it should be flowing gracefully to the right.  Really?  If I rip it out, I may never pick it up again.  If I keep going will it just stare unrelenting at me?  I can't gift it, because I know it's there.  Mocking me.  Am I foolish enough to believe this will be the last mistake?  Not really.  Procrastinating the inevitable.  I really should start vests for the boys.  I think the rain stopped, garden won't plant itself! Suck it up girl.  Infinitely more beauty found in doing it the hard way.

Unconditional.

She couldn't wait and admittedly neither could I.
Patience is not my virtue, Elaina is the recipient of yet another classic mom trait.
It's still her Easter dress but now it's also her Spring Picture Day Dress and possibly her "hey, it's sunny and I'm feeling oh so pretty today" dress.
Barring any massive growth spurts that would find us seeking medical attention, it should carry her through the Fall.
She'll be twirling in the leaves while wool and cashmere keep her toasty warm.

My girl.


Sugar and spice and everything nice along with a heaping dose of calculated good will and enough wile to put the Roadrunner on edge.
I love her beyond words, I guess that's what unconditional love is.  Unexplainable.
She can wear it as often as her whims lead.
Completely clothed in prayers.
I love you girl.

Eighty.

"The next time you turn 40 you'll be 80"

Words of wisdom spoken by my sister on a recent trip to Portland.

Four years ago, when I left the wine industry for small town living, we joked I was retiring at 36.  

Vowing to raise our three kids without the lights of police helicopters waking them from blissful slumber ever again.  Growing our own food, making from scratch what would normally find it's way into my cart, a new life emerged. 

Slower.  

Appreciative.

"What'd you do today?"

"Honestly?  I don't know."

Nice.

Simple meandering cables, soft lines. Grab a good book and snuggle in, uber soft merino and yes, camel.  Making our own clothes was certainly not my intention when we ventured here.   Being that I can only sew with the one brown bobbin my mom loaded on my sewing machine four years ago, I'm pretty sure it's not in my future either.  

But the extras.  

The special.  

That, I can do.  

Two inches of black angora extend sleeves of a green acrylic hoodie adorned with race car buttons.  Elijah not ready to give up on it.

Cashmere graces what will be an Easter dress for the girl. 

I will give her only my best.  

What's the next 40 hold?  

For one, finally listening to the call to start a knitting group at our church.
"I'm not 80!!!"
"They'll think I'm insane"
If I drop enough hints, surely someone else will...
My arguments and excuses falling on deaf ears, He persists, I yield.   

80 is starting to look pretty good.

Why.

I was warned as a new parent about the why phase.  The season when my precious bundle would bombard me with all the questions of the universe.
Why is the ocean blue?
Why did God make spiders?
Why do I have a belly button and what's this stored inside it?
With most, I smile patiently and think of some profound "otherwise the world would be over-run by flies" sort of answer or call on the powers of Google and as a family move on.  Some elicit the old "ask your father", owning up to the fact that I am not now, nor have I ever been a boy.  Thank you very much.
On the flip-side, I was never warned of the many why's I would have.  Laying Ethan as a newborn on the bed, staring at him and asking him through tears why he hated me so much when I loved him so dearly?
Why didn't anyone tell me to throw the baby/toddler books out sooner and go with my gut?
Why didn't I actually write down all their first's and funny moments.  Knowing how often they ask when they first... and I'm hard pressed to recall?
Why can't Elijah drink milk?  Trust me, I know why he shouldn't.  I want to know why he can't, when everyone else can!
Why does my 10 year old smell the same as our chicken coop?
A baby blanket soon to be in the mail for two parents vastly unaware of what questions lie behind those baby blues and what questions he will stir in them.  Snuggle him close, breathe in his scent.  Before long you too may be wondering why he's watching TV in a tote...with a belt taped to the side...

Mornings.

I realize as of late there has been an abundance of posts about my finished objects, while my un-finished objects have gotten the short end of the stick.  Ultimately, I started this whole blog thing for them.  Life, ideas, focus changes.  I look up expecting to see a familiar landmark, instead it's all new.  Again.  I watch my daughter put long sleeve shirt over short sleeve shirt tucked into jeans worn over tights capped off with a dress, my brain spins.  The oldest emerges ready for the day in whatever he decided to sleep in last night.  Chastising the claim of minty breath, he's sent back to try again.  Youngest's assignment to don shoes and socks evolves into a complete wardrobe change minus foot coverings.  Still.   Laughter, tears, tattling, whining, gripes under breath, eyes roll, hugs given.
"Will you come to lunch with me?"
"Don't come see me, I miss you too much when you leave"
"Don't come see me, it's embarrassing."
It's not even 7.
Coats, hats, mittens, door opens.
I pick up the trail leading to the still open door and the forgotten backpack.  I'll surprise him with it when I join him for lunch.

One Plus Six.

In all, it took an entire year to complete.  I bought the yarn last year for a project that had I read a bit closer I would've realized it would not work for.  So it sat.  An entire year staring at me waiting to be, what?  Truth be told, the yarn was ready.   A scarf, a hat or dog blanket for all it cared, I was the one that needed time.  Time to understand how to alter the chosen pattern to fit the amount I had.  Time to read enough into the pattern to know not to follow the size recommendations.  Time to trust in my own capabilities, knowing that honestly, what is the worst that can happen if I run out of yarn?  Country's will not collapse.  Banking systems will not freeze their accounts.  In the end it's yarn.  I can re-wind with the best of them.  Screw it up?  Rip it out and begin again.  Of course none of that happened.  It's oddly, perfect.  No wonky lace under the left shoulder blade, no un-aligned ribbing graces the waist.  One year in the basement, 6 days on needles.  Patience rewards yet again.  Now this next project just might be on needles for a year or so it would seem.  Teeny-tiny stitches in my current work in progress, for a teeny-tiny person which himself is a work in progress.  I pray I beat him to completion.

Night at the Improv.

Macgyver excluded, no one can improvise like a mom.  I take that back.  As women we start improvising early.  Hair gets in your way, invent a new style with twists, turns, pencils and a paper clip. A Sharpee is great for last minute 'shoe polish' and no one understands the power of duct tape and super glue better than a woman.  From fixing your hem to a broken nail, we know how to get it done no matter what our circumstances.  As moms we quickly discover how many McDonalds napkins stuffed in babies onesie will hold them till you get back home to your forgotten diaper bag and once again Duct Tape is great for keeping them there! 

Life in general is left open for chaos and any fix necessary to get the job done.  Recipes are a suggestion and even patterns can be altered to perfection, but starting from scratch?  A designer I am not.  Designers I love were former, physicists or engineers, very detailed, technically minded individuals that understand the science and reasoning behind every stitch.  I just wanted to keep my Kindle cozy and while I'm at it, my toes too. 

Two designs emerge from nothing. 

Complexity, zero.  

Oozing with functionality and just enough detailed bling. 

Turning what was once thought of impossible into reality, nice. 

Gifts.

That is not my gift.  Referring not to the curly topped package but the God given ability to perform a task. 
It's what I will tell you if you ask me to work in the nursery or any other child centered leadership role.  If that doesn't suffice I can relay how many kids choked on Cheerios on my watch.
Or tell you of the unruly preschooler that while stomping her feet in defiance didn't receive nearly the same grace from me that I myself would like. 
Stopping just short of dragging her by her pony tail back to class to read that day's scripture.  
Teaching kids, is not my gift. 
But this season I was able to share many gifts that I do have with those I love. 
From hats, to scarves, to slippers, to shawls. Throw in a couple sweaters a few jars of home made jellies and Christmas was complete. 
Each project unique. 
Each one I wanted to keep so badly for myself. 
Internal conversations about how she is surely allergic to alpaca, I can't give her something that would make her sneeze!

And, wool really is too warm for a hat, her head could over-heat and then how would I feel?! 

Just because red is her favorite color surely doesn't mean she needs this intricate red shawl, jelly is fine.  In the end they won.  They always do.

My personal version of pay it forward.  Ability,  possibly the greatest gift of all.

The Boy in the Brown Knit Pants...

By my clock, they took forever.  Little tiny stitches for long, lean legs.  By Ethan's clock, they took even longer.  He first requested his "soft pants he could wear to bed" last Christmas.  Realizing my time for petitions of hand-knits from my eldest is dwindling, I deemed them my December project.  Can't do wool lest he wake in a pool of sweat.  Cotton seemed obvious but that much work with no elasticity appeared even more daunting.  Finding a perfect blend since I have acrylic issues was key.  Skeins and pattern attained, cozy, softness finally emerged.  He loves them.  He wore them 2 days straight.  He told the parents of each of his friends dropped off for his Birthday party about them and requested to wear them today the first day back to school.  Internally, I blush.  He's 10.  Double digits.  Sleepover conversations ranged from the origins of creation to empathy for children of divorce to the strongest Pokeman strategy and culminating with a nearing disturbing conversation about suckling puppies.  He's 10.  Next year Elaina will be sent for her own sleepover, realizing his friends may be coming to see her as much as him.  Days of showers every other day left back in 2011, his own scent firmly established.  Whether after a day of lounging or a day of wrestling, neither matter.  I remember turning 10.  I felt so old mature.  No longer a child.  I felt the same thing when I turned 18.  I was correct both times.  I pray he knows I was thinking of him with each little stitch, my best guess is over 40,000 total stitches.  FORTY THOUSAND times I said how much I loved him.  40,000 times I prayed his name. 40,000 choked back tears for the man we're raising.  40,000 smiles of joy for the man he is becoming.  Happy Birthday Ethan, I can't imagine a better way to send my child off to sleep.

eta:  I was impressed when I thought it was 9000 stitches but after further research on how to actually figure it out I came up w/40,800.   May God be praised because I know without a doubt I could never do that many stitches on my own.  When I think of all the other projects and all the other little, tiny stitches that have been adding up over this time, Wow, He is awesome.  Thank you Lord for this gift, I pray I continue to re-gift it as You choose!!