Friday, September 29, 2006

The Saga of Two Crummy Centimeters

Here is Boo Bug’s sweater as of this morning:


When it is 36 centimeters from the fold line (right where my fingers are – the folding will make it quit that infernal rolling thing and give it a cute little picot edging), I will shape the front and back necks and then be sort of kind of almost done.

Except for, you know, two sleeves, steeking, sewing, placket and neckband knitting, running in loose ends and attaching the clasps. Other than that – I’ll be almost done.

It is currently 34 centimeters.

Four days ago? It was 31 centimeters.

Last night, when I began knitting, it was, I swear to God, 34 centimeters. I knit for about half an hour and then, when I measured it?

34 centimeters.

I take comfort in the fact that this is a well-documented phenomenon. The Yarn Harlot wrote of it both on her blog and in her books. This is the point in the project where “yarn goes in, but no sweater comes out.”

On the one hand, I suppose I should be happy about it. I knit because it is fun, right? Pleasurable, right? It is more about the journey than the destination, RIGHT?!?!

On the other hand…dog-dang, folks. They may just have to bury me with this still-unfinished sweater clutched in my aged hands.

And meanwhile, the siren song of all the other yarn is playing in the background. While cleaning out the closet (yes, again…just…hush!) I found my alpaca stash. Several small skeins in powdery-soft colors; two huge hanks in jet black from Lisa Souza (where was that when the Harlot was in town?!?!); three hanks of a delicious smoky ‘San Francisco’ gray; and a bunch of miscellaneous balls left over from when I did the Irish Diamond shawl last year.

Have you ever tried to stay faithful to Knit Picks Merino when ‘artisan’ yarns are in your closet?

I am resolving that I will spend a great deal of time knitting today and over the weekend. I know that this is a foolish resolution, because I have four children in this house. All four of whom are going to be home all weekend. The chances that I will get to knit at all are slim to nil.

And Captain Adventure has decided that knitting ranks right up there with Daddy in terms of Challenges to His Ownership of The Woman. When he sees me sit down and pick up my knitting, he charges right over and insists on climbing into my lap. He will snatch the knitting right out of my hands and shove it back in the bag, sing-songing, “Tha’go! Tha’go!!”

Then he looks up at me and goes, “Ha ha ha ha! Ha!” and snuggles in for long-term cuddling.

How something can be so annoying and so adorable at the same time is beyond me.

If anybody but my Lord and Master tried that? FLAMING DEATH!


It's just {sob} two...crummy...centimeters!...

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