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.