For The Love Of Fridays

So For the Love of Fridays is another of those themed daily blogging things. You just say what you're loving that week. Bonus points if you include pictures. Turns out I really might need the structure of someone telling me what to write in order to actually get myself to sit down and write.

So here's what I'm loving.

The new diet coke cans.

I've determined that Sweet Pea is on a mission to suck all the joy from my life. Part of Operation Joyless Mommy includes an uncanny ability to cry whenever I manage to steal a few minutes alone with The Greatest, the refusal to eat anything unless she herself has put it in her mouth (seriously, I can put food in her mouth and she will spit it in her hand then put it back in her mouth), and an intolerance for caffeine. As I'm still nursing Sweet Pea this means I must resist all caffeine temptation. Well, I can drink an occasional Diet Coke, but I do so only when I'm prepared to spend the next sixteen hours entertaining Sweet Pea. It's such a little pleasure, and she is STEALING MY JOY! I refuse to be completely deprived. Caffeine-free diet coke in a glass with crushed ice and a shot of lime juice is not a bad alternative. If God is in fact anti-caffeine I'm fairly certain this is what will be served in heaven. But to bring this all around to my original thought: I'm loving the snowflake can. It makes me smile every time I pull one out of the pantry.

I'm loving the baby gate.

I know we've got four children, but believe it or not, this is the first year we've ever gated off the tree. And it is genius. GENIUS! The amount of time I spend chasing children out of the tree has dropped substantially. I haven't found a single ornament in the fridge. No random bulbs in the couch cushions. The tree has been up almost a week and I haven't had to put the beads back on it once. In fact Sweet Pea hasn't really noticed the tree past the first magical lighting. I can't count the hours I've gained not having to re-trim the tree every few days. Words can not express how happy this makes me. I cry every time I think about it.

Speaking of random things in random places, I'm loving living with children. How else can I explain going to wash my hands and discovering this on the faucet?

I'd love to know the thought process that led to that.

And I'm loving the Holidays! We've got a houseful of friends and loved ones coming on Wednesday for Thanksgiving. I'm so looking forward to it. Yes, I know Thanksgiving is Thursday, but when your Husband is cop, and his friends are all cops and firefighters you celebrate when you can. I'm loving Holiday decorating, and pouring over recipes to make a menu, and mentally Christmas shopping. I'm truly enjoying this time of year for the first time in a long time. And I'm loving that.

WIP Wednesday

WIP = Work In Progress. In other words:

Wanna see what's on my needles?

I don't usually participate in the weekly themed blog posts. But I'm trying to blog with more regularity, so I thought I'd jump on this particular bandwagon today. I might not participate every Wednesday but for today it sounded like a good place to start. After the children went to bed and I could be reasonably sure of typing a few sentences uninterrupted I grabbed my camera. Like a good blogger I checked to be sure the battery was charged. Cause that's me...always thinkin'.

Fail.

I hadn't even begun and I was already at fail. Undaunted I soldiered on. I was not going to be undone by a dead battery. I plugged that puppy in and watched some TV, rotated a load of laundry, and double checked that The Greatest had started the dishwasher before he left for work(He did!). I know, riveting stuff here. Once I was fully armed and ready I opened my drawer where I shove my knitting when company comes over (or when I catch the baby contemplating pulling out the needles and using them as a weapon against the cat). I was all set to document my latest work for my avid fans and future posterity.

Fail.

The drawer was mysteriously empty. Lying all lonely looking in the bottom of the drawer without even a skein of sock yarn to keep it company was my favorite pair of sock needles.

Huh.

This is odd. So I opened the drawer beside it. It is after all possible that the last time I was cleaning up I shoved my knitting in the first drawer I reached instead of the proper drawer.

Fail.

Inside the second drawer I found a pair of baby pants, a candle catalog, two finished shawls that need blogged, and two pairs of swim goggles. But nary a WIP to be found.

Double huh.

So I started searching in earnest. I looked in every cubby I have ever utilized to stash a knitting bag, yarn ball, or stolen Halloween candy.

I found my favorite lace needles.

Fail.

My favorite hat needles.

More Fail.

The more places I searched the more needles I found, but no yarn was to be seen.

Epic Fail!

Finally I found a needles with yarn on it, but this wasn't what I had in mind.

Those are the needles I used to knit Willa, and they're holding what's left of the yarn to be used to knit the button band. They MUST be stored together, lest I forget what size I was using (for what its worth, they're size 5).

Now I KNOW I have a side bar full of stuff I'm in the middle of knitting right? I mean, it is an ever growing out of control list right? So what if I can't name anything off that list at the moment. And the fact that I sat and watched TV but DID NOT KNIT doesn't mean a thing right? I decided to break down and go online. I looked at my own blog to see what was listed. The rational had something to do with maybe knowing what I was looking for would allow me to find what I was looking for. That makes sense right? And it isn't at all pathetic that I had to look at MY OWN BLOG to find out information ABOUT MYSELF? Mental crisis aside, I went online and was shocked by what I found.

Have you seen my side bar?

Four items. Just four items.

And none of them are on the needles.

In some knitting circles I would be shamed. There would be taunting and pointing and mocking. I'm almost happy I don't have a knitting circle anymore. They would make me cry. That mean old imaginary knitting circle. I didn't want to knit with them anyways.

Here's the status of my knit:

Peace Baby, all knit and seamed, waiting for a button.

Willa, still waiting to be blocked.

Darling, all knit, seamed, and waiting for some embroidery.

Dad's aran sweater, waiting for the dismantling to be complete, and some fancy math to be done so the armscye can be reworked.

And none of this is anything I feel like working on (like I've got the brain cells right now to do complicated math, the thought alone makes me laugh).

For the moment I'm not even going to dwell on the fact that while I was digging around I didn't run across any of these projects (hence no pictures). If I think to deeply about that I might not be able to sleep tonight until I rip the house apart, box by half unpacked box. I could really drive myself insane making sure my work is in fact still here somewhere and was not "accidentally" lost in the move.

What a mess.

I need to go cast on for something to calm my nerves. I need the flow of yarn and click of the needles to assure myself that all is right with the universe. But where to begin. I've got all my favorite needles. Now to find some yarn....

GOTCHA!

So you like totally thought I was going to start being a reliable blogger and post often and stuff didn't you? Guess I fooled you! And myself.

I fully intend to blog often and be interesting and witty and well-written. But you know, same old same old, life gets in the way.

There were meals to cook, and a mountain of laundry to conquer. And a sick baby to rock and cuddle and obsessively check for signs of a deadly penicillin allergy (so far so good). There were phone calls to make, bills to pay, homework to check, kids to tuck in and a husband to cherish, love and yell at (not necessarily in that order). There's a Thanksgiving menu to plan, and Christmas gifts to buy, and general Holiday decorating to do. Life is busy. And life is good. And the blog? It gets neglected.

But in the midst of all the insanity I finished my socks.

Pattern: Eclipse Socks

Yarn: Knit Picks Essential, 1 skein black, 1 skein burgundy

Needles: Knitpicks Harmony Circular Needles, size 1

Modifications: After three failed attempts at an after thought heel I ripped it all out and knit a short row heel.

Review: What's not to love about these socks? They were super easy to knit. Fun brainless knitting for a tired Mommy sneaking in rows when the baby isn't looking. The ribbon of red on one sock is supposed to mimic the cover of the Stephanie Meyer book Eclispe. And the other sock boldly declared my love of Jasper. And no, Jasper is not my husband. Funny how I've showed the socks to The Greatest and he has yet to ask me who Jasper is and why his name is on my socks. He says he pays attention, but I really doubt it.

So my socks are done just in time for the premier of Twilight! I asked The Greatest if he would go with me. If I got a sitter, and made all the arrangements would he go? Bear in mind that we haven't been on a date in 20 months (not that I'm counting or anything, or desparate to go out with my beloved or anything). He agreed to go, but only if he can make fun of it.

Sometimes he really isn't the greatest.

So I guess he will be babysitting the children while I find someone else to go see it with. Anyone wanna see a cheesy teenage vampire romance movie with me?

My life is just one big carnival!

So I was just zipping along blogging and feeling all good about myself. I felt like a Blogger with a capital B again. I felt like my old self. I've been feeling like my old self a lot lately. I like that feeling. I've missed me. Then *BAM* I got waylaid by a sick baby.

Poor Sweet Pea got a cold. It was just a normal cold. No cause for alarm, but it did include lots of whining and the annual attempt all my children make: to create her own weight in snot. Only she upped the ante by trying to see exactly how much snot she would wipe on my couch. Big fun around here I'm telling you.

On Friday things were looking up. Having achieved her goals in snot creation her production was drastically down and the smiles quotient was rising. We were over the hump. And despite the fact that Meaty and I appeared to be coming down with her cold and I was also teetering on the edge of a migraine life was looking good.

Then she woke up Saturday crying.

Now Saturday was already destined to be a hard day. It is just one of those things that happens. All life's bad parts converge in a horrible mess. Due to work schedules I hadn't really seen The Greatest since Wednesday. I missed him and was feeling like a tired single Mom coming down with Sweet Pea's cold. The Greatest was pulling a 24 hour shift so I still wasn't going to see him until Saturday night. It was payday weekend which meant we had minimal groceries in the house, but until The Greatest returned with our only mode of transportation we were just going to have to survive the day on cheese, cold cereal, and carrot cake. Because I was tired and gave the children carrot cake for dinner on Friday night I accidentally pushed myself over the edge of the migraine into full blown migraine. Poor nutrition can push me over the edge, and sugary cream cheese frosting was not a good call. That was my own fault, just sheer stupidity on my part. I deserved this migraine. Then Meaty was extra whiny and snotty with Sweet Pea's cold. Good times I'm telling you. Behold the glory of motherhood!

And Sweet Pea cried.

And she cried.

And she cried.

This was different than she had been all week. She didn't cuddle. She didn't sleep. She didn't want to be held, but for the love of all that's good don't put her down. Sometime around noon I decided that I was going to take her to urgent care as soon as The Greatest came home.

And she cried.

And she cried.

And she cried.

Sometime around three I contemplated walking fifteen miles to Urgent Care.

And she cried.

And she cried.

And she cried.

Sometime around six I decided to simply run away, find a dark corner by a cactus in the desert and sleep.

And she cried.

And she cried.

And she cried a bit more.

The Greatest picked up an extra hour on his shift and didn't come home until almost eight o'clock. The poor man was dead on his feet. He was so tired. I don't know who was in worse shape, poor tired police officer, or poor sick migraine wife with crying baby. But being the good man he is he wasn't about to send his sick wife and sick baby out in the dark to the less than stellar part of town where the urgent care clinic was. He changed his clothes and all six of us departed in search of a doctor.

As I feared, it was so late the urgent care clinic was closed. But I had looked up an all night pediatrics clinic and map quested it. Only I didn't have the precise address with me, just a general idea of where it was from the map. Hey, I knew the city block, just not which side of the street. This had ugly written all over it.

The Greatest asked me repeatedly what the name was. I told him what I thought it was, but since my memory is the consistency of swiss cheese he did not believe that was the actual name, so he kept asking me hoping for a different answer. He ask me half a dozen times if I had the address, and it took all my will power not to snap at him that for the love of all that's good I did not have the address and if he asked me again I was going to smack him. I knew we were both sick, tired, and on edge. And did I mention that the entire time we were endlessly driving around Sweet Pea was crying. She did not fall asleep in the dark car like she usually would, she was crying.

We finally spied a dark parking lot with one lit corner packed with cars. It was indeed the pediatrics clinic, and oh yeah, the name was the one I had been saying all along. The clinic was PACKED. And wouldn't you know it. We walked in, and it was just busy and new and interesting enough to distract Sweet Pea, and she stopped crying. The entire time we waited she crawled around. She played. She giggled. She rarely cried, and always stopped crying the second I picked her up.

I wanted to leave her there.

And I might have if the front desk hadn't taken my drivers license when I checked in. If I had left her there they would have found me quite easily. It hardly seemed worth the effort.

I explained to the triage nurse how awful Sweet Pea had been that day. All the while Sweet Pea was sitting on the scale being charming. She giggled. She tried to pull her jammie shirt up and play peek-a-boo. She was endearing. The triage nurse looked at me like I was wasting her time. The baby sitting on the scale in embarrassingly dirty jammies (from crawling on the waiting room floor) was the opposite of sick. She was the picture of sweet healthy chubby babyhood. (and possibly the poster child for neglect in the now filthy jammies)

I again contemplated just leaving Sweet Pea there.

We were taken to an exam room. And once we were alone Sweet Pea resumed crying. Without any witnesses she began to once again torment me. I was so tired from walking and rocking her all day. I picked her up. I walked the room. I closed my eyes because my head hurt so much. I cried too. When the Dr entered we must have looked quite the site, crying baby, crying Mamma. At least she took me seriously. We discovered Sweet Pea has an ear infection. I was so relieved that something was actually wrong, and it was something we could fix I burst into tears anew. I was really tired. The Dr asked me if Sweet Pea had any allergies. Nope, lets drug this kid up.

The Dr returned with a script for amoxicillin and once again inquired about allergies. I told her that Sweet Pea doesn't have any, but Meaty is allergic to penicillin. Her eyes glazed over the way Dr's eyes tend to do when a patient is saying something they find unimportant. So I pressed on "He gets serum sickness!" I saw her eyes widen. She paused. "So he's actually allergic to it" she responded. That's what I'm telling you lady! He's A-L-L-E-R-G-I-C! It will K-I-L-L H-I-M. She looked at the script in her hand and seemed to be thinking. She gave it to me with the admonition to watch Sweet Pea for any sign of hives. NO KIDDING!

I found The Greatest asleep in a hard plastic chair in the waiting room while the other three children were watching noggin. Poor family. We left and went in search of an open pharmacy. There was nary a one to be found, and we were so tired. We gave up.

Home we went. It was eleven. Poor The Greatest. He had to get up at four a.m. this morning to return to work. I will not see him until nine tonight. Which leaves me at home with no car, minimal groceries, a baby with an ear infection and an unfilled prescription for potential poison. (We've lectured Meaty not to touch Sweet Pea's medicine, not to smell it, taste it, or even look at it. I made him practice saying "I can not take penicillin or cephalosporins or I will die." It's cute to hear him say cephalosporins) Good times people! Good times.

And through all this, Shiloh, I finished a sock.

Don't be hating my mad skillz!

(In the interest of full disclosure I must add I finished it Friday before the baby broke)

(and I might have stitched the design on upside-down)

(and my inner teenage geek girl is totally showing)

(but I love it anyways)

I will show no fear!

This is my pile of things waiting to be blocked.

Or at least this is the pile I found in my hutch. I did not check my craft closet, or my knitting corner in my bedroom. Nor did I grab the piece I think is on a shelf in my closet. This is just a pile of the unblocked knitting that was closest to the computer.

That is just sad.

I have a real mental block about blocking. I love the results of blocking. It simply transforms the knitting. I think it is magic. And it isn't even complicated magic. You soak the knit in soapy water, you lay it flat to dry. The actual labor is minimal. I know it takes a bit of time for the knit to soak, but you don't have to do anything while it is soaking. You can even wander off and knit something else if you'd like. And it takes even longer for the yarn to dry, but again, you don't have to actually DO anything to the yarn while it is drying, just leave it alone. This should be a preferred activity for a lazy knitter like myself. Honestly, my four year old can do this.

So why do I resist?

I've been working on a theory.

I think it has to do with laundry.

I hate laundry.

Again, this should be a preferred activity for a lazy housekeeper like myself. You throw the laundry in the washer and go knit. You throw the laundry in the dryer and go knit. Minimal effort with maximum results. In go dirty clothes, out come clean clothes. But there are all these steps you have to go through before you can put the laundry in the washing machine. You have to gather it all together in one place, and sort it, then throw it in the washer.

Or at least that is how laundry was before I had children.

Now I have to ask the children to bring me their laundry. Then, once they have thrown their laundry over the banister, I have to go into their rooms and claim the pieces of laundry they left behind, the sock peeking out from under the dresser, the underwear behind the bed, or my favorite, the jammies behind the toilet. Having treasure hunted for their laundry I must then sort it. But while I sort I must examine each piece for stains. And trust me, every piece has stains. I am consistently amazed at their inability to eat something without creating a souvenir to mark the occasion on their shirt. And did I mention that each article of clothing is also inside out? So I must turn the clothing right side out, examine it, spray it, then toss it into the appropriate pile. Once this is all done I can FINALLY begin with the actual washing of the laundry.

It used to be I tossed the laundry in the washer, I toss it in the dryer.

But that was before I had children.

Now, once the washer has done its thing, I must take each piece of wet laundry out one at a time. Each piece must be examined to be sure the stain remover did its thing. If not the clothing must be re-sprayed and returned to the pile for additional washing.

Then the clothes can be dried.

Once dried they must be folded and put away. Another chore that was simpler before I had children.

Now, in my efforts to have my children grow up to be reasonably responsible adults with functioning life skills, I fold them and have the children "help" me put them away. With Pork Chop I can just put her clothes on her dresser and she does the rest (I L.O.V.E. that kid). But with Meaty and Bird I have to take the clothes to their rooms and stay there with them, "helping" them sort the clean clothes and put them away. There is a lot of re-folding that happens during this point as they grab and drop and basically abuse the laundry. And did I mention that this job takes three times as long with help as it would if I just did it myself?

I hate laundry.

And blocking, with the soaking, and the wet, and the laying flat to dry? Well, it feels a lot like laundry to me.

But I will not fear the blocking!

Because I now come armed with pointy sticks!

My dear friend Shiloh must have gotten sick of my whining about blocking, and my coveting of blocking wires. Because she sent me a set of my very own for my birthday. They're so shiny and pretty. How can I fear blocking when I'm armed with dangerous pointy things? I will show no fear. And I will show no mercy! I shall conquer this pile of unblocked knits, and any other rogue camps of unblocked knitting I find hiding throughout the house. Every job is easier when you have the proper weapon right?

In fact, I speared a lace shawl on my wires this morning.

(why yes, my knitting is blocking on garbage bags, is that a problem for you?)

Unfortunately, when I said my four year old can block knitting, I was speaking from experience.

She absolutely loves putting pins in the knits. Aren't I lucky to have such a cute little helper block my knits with me. She just chatters the entire time and puts pins willy-nilly through my knits. Once it was done she spent twenty minutes watching the yarn dry. It's cute, and sweet, and endearing. And did I mention how much longer any job takes when she "helps"? *le sigh* Despite my super cool blocking pins, it felt like I was doing laundry.

Not pants, but close

So after I knit the majority of the blue sweater, then decided to abandon it when it was nearly finished (check my side bar, there's an alarming trend going on there) I had to find something new to do to keep myself occupied.

I appeared to be out of crack (or I've forgotten where I left it with my crack-induced memory loss) so I had to find a new obsession.

I'm dreaming of little red baby pants for this coming holiday season. Can't you see Sweet Pea sitting by the perfectly decorated tree all lit with white lights, playing quietly with a toy, wearing little red hand knit baby pants? Yes, I know playing quietly by the tree is a pipe dream, the reality will be a screaming child playing with the tree, but this is my dream, so don't spoil it! She will wear a white onesie with her pants, and have a white headband with a big red ribbon on it. Or maybe a flower on the headband, a poinsettia perhaps? (fake of course, the real ones are poison, and despite her continued assault on my beauty sleep I still like the kid) Can't you just see it?

But I seem easily distracted these days (a side effect from the crack?), and before I could cast on for these tiny dream pants I was seduced by a side project.

My friend's daughter is taking ballet. And my friend needed help finding a pattern for legwarmer for her tiny ballerina. RAVELRY TO THE RESCUE!

In a matter of minutes I found a dozen suitable patterns just right for a prima ballerina in the making. And I was seduced by all the pictures of baby's in leg warmers. They called them baby legs to make them seem less 80's, but I wasn't fooled. They were leg warmers. And I was smitten. All those chunky baby legs in little sleeves of knit. I had to make some of my very own!

So I did.

Project: Legwarmies

Yarn: Lorna's Laces, Swirl DK in Berry, 1 skein

Needles: Two size 3 Addi Turbos

Modifications: I knit with two circular needles instead of dpns.

And it was so totally worth it.

Now getting a picture of these baby legs (yes I drank the Kool-Aid, they're baby legs, not leg warmers, thank you very much) proved to be a bit more difficult than knitting them.

I tried sitting her in a chair. But she wouldn't hold her leg still

And what use is it trying to show off baby legs if the leg is all blurry. So she took to waving her arm.

What can she say, she's a busy girl. She's got things to do. She can't wait around all day while I take pictures. Is it her fault if her arm is faster than my shutter speed? Then she decided she would rather stand on the chair

Then she just gave up and left.

But you get the idea. Cute baby, cute baby legs. Life is good!

Fearless or Foolhardy?

So we've established that I did not in fact spend the last few weeks sewing Pork Chop a Dorothy Halloween costume. So how did I keep myself off the streets and out of trouble? I'm going to level with you.

I took up smoking crack.

Now, I don't recall buying crack. Or obtaining tools to smoke the crack (in fact I'm not sure what tools one uses to smoke crack). And I really don't remember actually smoking the crack. But it's the only possible explanation for what happened. I'm going to consider the absence of any memory of using crack to be crack-induced memory loss. Just don't tell The Greatest. I'd hate to have him arrest me in front of the children.

Here's what happened.

Feeling slightly guilty about not sewing on Pork Chop's Halloween costume I decided that I would knit her something instead. Months ago, when Sweet Peas was but a tiny baby keeping me up at night (as opposed to her current status as the big baby keeping me up all night), I purchased the Willa Pattern to knit for Pork Chop. I knit a swatch one night after a particularly long day where Sweet Pea refused to sleep more than 10 minutes at a time, and had slept maybe 50 minutes total that day. I swatched while attempting to let Sweet Pea cry it out, but the yarn was unsuitable, I abandoned the project, and rescued Sweet Pea her crib. The evening was an all around failure. I tried to block the entire event from my mind, which included the sweater.

But my renewed guilt over not doing enough for my oldest called this memory to mind. Out came the Willa pattern once again. At first glance there was nothing really suitable on hand in my quickly dwindling yarn stash. But I was undaunted. I remember when I was once a fearless knitter, creating sweaters and lingerie from acrylic yarn I purchased at Wal-Mart. I wanted to be a fearless knitter once again.

I spied some blue yarn in a basket in the bottom of my yarn cabinet. I had purchased it years and years ago to knit a sweater for me. But alas. I liked the color in the catalog much better than I did in person. So it sat waiting it's turn. Eventually inspiration would strike and I would find the perfect use for it right? I had purchased 10 balls of the yarn, but I had swatched it for so many different potential projects I was down to nine balls. This yarn simply could not decide what it wanted to be. It was entirely too thin, but maybe held double????

So holding the yarn doubled I swatched it. Kinda. I knit a gauge swatch, but I didn't wash it (bad knitter, no cookie). I measured the swatch and my gauge was close. I decided close was close enough(again, bad knitter, no diet coke). And if it came out a little large? Well, we'll just call that room to grow.

I had nine balls of yarn. Was that going to be enough? I didn't even do the math to check. It sounded like enough for sweater for a little girl. After all, I had ordered ten balls for a sweater for me. Surely nine would be enough to clothe tiny Pork Chop.

The universe sent me signals. It tried to make me stop.

Meaty spilled soda all over my pattern. The Greatest save a few pages, but threw most of them away. No biggie. The original was on the computer.

But wait. My computer crashed. We had to re image the hard drive. We lost all our programs and cools stuff. I'm still trying to find my favorite blogs. I managed to save all the pictures before the reboot. But The Greatest was put in charge of transferring all our documents on disk, including my file of Knitting Patterns. I opened the disk he made, only to find the folder was empty. The disk contained a single lonely empty folder. All our documents were gone. This pattern...gone. All my electronic knitting patterns? Gone. My entire collection of Marie Grace's patterns? G.O.N.E. This might be ground for a divorce. I'm telling you, sometimes he's not that great.

But there was still hope. I had the main portions of the pattern still. I lost the first two pages, but one was informational, and I'd already knit the second page. And I lost the schematic, but I only needed that for blocking, I can wing that I decided (I know, what's wrong with me, it's like I'm trying to fail on purpose). So I soldiered on. And I knit a back, a right front, a left front, and two sleeves.

Aren't they purty?

Now I need to block the pieces (which I am avoiding) and sew them together so I can knit the button band and collar. It's a simple band, only a few rows of garter stitch. Then sew on the buttons and I'm done. Easy-peasy. What can go wrong?

Weeelllll, where do I start.

Remember when I figured it could be a little big? Well the sleeves look REALLY big. And those nine balls I thought would be more than enough?

This is what I have left. The car is in there for scale. I'm not quite sure there's enough there to knit the button band. And oh yeah I almost forgot

WHY DO I KEEP KNITTING CARDIGANS WHEN I CAN NEVER FIND BUTTONS I LIKE TO GO ON THEM?

So assuming I block everything and it fits and the sleeves aren't as ginormous as they look. And assuming I have enough yarn to knit the button band and collar. Then I'm still left with the task of choosing buttons, which I really ought to do before I knit the button band so I can be sure my button holes are going in the right place. Only payday is a week away, and I hate to spend the gas money driving all over the valley looking for decent buttons. *insert aggravated scream here* After I photographed the sweater pieces I stuffed them in the bottom of a cabinet where I'm sure they'll stay until sometime in January after Meaty's birthday, once the holiday high is gone and the guilt once again sets in.

You'd think I'd learn. But no. I wanted to be all fearless. I'm blaming it on the crack.

What's a picture worth?

Whew, I was feeling wordy the other day. To rest my brain as I come down from the chocolate high I'll just let these speak for themselves.