Third Time's The Charm?

So I knit and I knit and I knit and I knit, and I cross my fingers and I hope for the best and

Yeah.  No.

Hagrid is still to big to be allowed.

I'm going to try this one more time, and then if it still doesn't fit I'm simply going to light the yarn on fire.

It really is the only logical thing to do.

Either way we're gonna create something right?

We've got a purple sweater on one hand, and a pile of melted ick residue on the other.    For the love of all that's holy, we'll tansform this yarn one way or another.

Part of me is kinda rooting for the fire scenario.  I have a feeling watching this hateful ache-inducing yarn burn would be very satisfying.  More satisfying than cuddling my four year old in an oh-so-cuddly hand knit fuzzy purple sweater.

We'll just have to see how this plays out.

Vegas odds are 50/50 at this point.

Closer to 70/30 if you factor in my desire for the sweet sweet vengeance of fire.

In the mean time, how cute is this picture?

I returned home from a very hard afternoon of knitting group (cause knitting and eating cookies and laughing really takes a lot out of a girl) to find my sweet Bird sitting on the couch crocheting.

She loves crocheting.  It is one of her favorite things to do, right behind making bracelets and drawing pictures of animals with really big eyes.

Maybe someday I can talk her into doing more than simply chaining the yarn.

Rambling On A Friday Night

Last week I was all set to post a triumphant post about how I'd finally stopped the yarn molestation, and how happy I was.

Then I found this

I was so depressed I couldn't blog for an entire week.

But I am now proud to say that it has been 8 days without a yarn incident.  I am cautiously optimistic?

That punctuation is not a mistake.  I deliberately posed that thought as a question.  I am still in the process of sorting out how I feel about the entire affair.  It is quite the traumatic thing to have your yarn violated with the viciousness, and frequency I was subjected to.  If this was the end I think I will be able to put the entire unpleasantness behind me.  But if the attacks continue then I will need therapy.  Lots of therapy.  Possibly Eureka style therapy.

And I will require twenty-four hour police protection for my yarn.  Thank goodness I know just the hot cop to tackle the job.

Dang, that man is good looking. Can you see it in his eyes?  That look that says "I'm humoring you, letting you take my picture, because I love you hon."  Is it any wonder he is my favorite person in the whole entire universe?

I have been very industrious over the past few weeks.  I have completed three of the Weasly sweaters.

They all need a good wash and blocking.  The two white sweaters are from the same yarn, but the small one was knitted with the molested yarn, and I can see how dirty the yarn got. Especially at the top of the sweater.

Ewwwwwwww.

Maybe I'll wash that one twice.

I should be working on Meaty's Weasly sweater, but I'm weak.  I lack knitting discipline.  Instead I've been knitting another sweater for Sweet Pea.  I'm using this fuzzy purple yarn from a recycled sweater.  I love the fabric it creates, but I can no express enough how much I loathe working with it.  It makes my hands ache.  Knitting should never ever hurt.  And I can not see my stitches no matter how hard I try.  I just have to knit and hope for the best.  Because I can not see my stitches I can not check the gauge.  So I ended up knitting this

Yeah.  No.  Just look at those arm holes

*side note - Is arm holes even a thing?*

Holy Hugeness Batman.  There is no way I am not frogging that thing.  It is simply too big to be allowed.  (and henceforth and forever more this sweater will be known as her Hagrid sweater.  Why yes I do have a lot of Harry Potter in my life.  Is that a problem?)

Sweet Pea might just be the most joyous human being I have ever met.  Look how much she loves her sweater.

I must try, and re-knit, and hurt my hands until she is adorned in purple fun fur.  I have already frogged and gone up a needle size, and re-cast on for this project.

Here's hoping size 6 needles + a size 24 month cast on = a sweater for Sweet Pea.

 *fingers crossed*

They May Have Gone Too Far This Time

I had it all figured out.

The dogs keep attacking that same skein of white recycled yarn.

So I was going to take away the object of their obsession.   No longer would it be pretty balls of pristine soft yarny goodness.  No, I was going to make it more than just yarn.  I spent the evening knitting it into the beginning of Sweet Pea's Weasley Sweater.

Look how pretty.  I'm loving this pattern.  I keep having Sweet Pea try it on to check the fit.  She asked if the sweater was for her.  I told her no, it was for me.  Mournfully she said "I want it to be my sweater."  If only she realized.

I had misgivings with my plan to turn the yarn into something more than yarn.  Would transforming it from yarn to a WIP (work in progress for you muggles) be enough to curb their desire for destruction?  Or would I find myself tomorrow, weeping over the remains of my fledgling sweater?

Only time would tell.

And it didn't take long to find an answer.

At lunch today I sent the dogs into their crates.   They like to take food from Sweet Pea.  They are not to be trusted when there are plates on the counters.  So into their crates for an afternoon nap they go.  Wednesday is early release from school, so they were still napping when the older children burst through the door full of stories, and homework, and report cards (two are doing great, one needs a little work, but they are all trying hard, so what more can a parent ask for?)

As Bird waited for me to check her math home work I heard a gasp followed by "Mom you've got to look in small dog's crate.  It is full of something."

*heart stops*  "Is it full of yarn?"

Reluctant to be the bearer of bad news I hear her take a breath for courage and then a small "I think so."

Of course it was yarn.

Small dog had stashed a skein of yarn in her crate earlier that morning, and she had been industrious with it during her nap.

And of course, with the white yarn being all gone she had moved on to a new skein of yarn.  An upgraded skein of yarn.  She had moved onto my precious handspun yarn.

Not handspun by me.  I'm currently ignoring my impulse to create my own yarn.  This was handspun and gifted to me by a dear friend mine.  And it is gorgeous.  This yarn gives me talent envy.  This yarn makes me want to spin and create something so pretty I can't find a way to improve on it by knitting it into something.

Just look at the way the colors twist around one another.

I'm sure there is a fancy term for that, but since I'm not a spinner I don't know the proper jargon.  But I love the twisty colors.

After two hours of careful untangling amid checking homework and starting dinner I was able to turn my tangled mess into this.

It is so lover-ly.

Take a moment to admire it.

Frankly I'm surprised small dog is still alive..  I must really love The Greatest to be sparing the life of his dog like this.

I have moved the two remaining hanks of white yarn, and the two lover-ly yarn cakes of handspun into the yarn protection program.  Unless the dogs learn to use a ladder I *don't think* they can reach where they are.  But I fear for the safety of the skeins still in my yarn cabinet.

I'm thinking of investing in shock collars.

Seriously?

Last night I went upstairs to tuck the children in bed.  Kisses, hugs, tickles, reprimands about messy rooms, I was gone about ten minutes tops.

I came downstairs to discover this

Three balls from that same molested skein of yarn.

I'd really like to know what that skein of yarn did to deserve this.

You Do Not Want to Incur the Wrath of my Dogs

Friday night, after the children went to bed, I was having a perfectly peaceful evening.  The Greatest was working.  All four children were safely snuggled in their beds.  I was enjoying the quiet.  Resting.  Knitting.  It was good for my soul.

Then the wild rumpus began.

Small dog and boy dog are rambunctious dogs.  They like to run and play with one another.  They love to throw themselves at the windows to get at the birds outside.  And don't get me started on the cat that loves to come and lay in our front yard every evening flicking his tail while my dogs whine and howl at the injustice of life.  How dare I make them stay in doors while that cat is defiling our front yard with his very existence.  But by eleven o'clock the dogs can usually be found snoring at my feet.  I love to sit and knit with the snoring dogs.

Only Friday night the dogs were not peacefully snoring at my feet.  They were both in small dog's crate.  I wasn't precisely sure what they were doing in small dog's crate, but it involved some snarling and growling and rocking the entire crate side to side, inching it across the floor.

I moved to break it up, and at the sound of my voice the dogs scattered.  Small dog ran into the laundry room.  Boy dog ran into his own crate.  I was going to go sit back down on the couch.  I actually turned to go, but then I spun back around to look in small dog's crate to see what they had.

Oh the carnage.

Oh the horror.

They had a skein of my white yarn.  They had taken a skein of yarn right out of the yarn cabinet.  An irreplaceable skein of yarn that I unraveled from a yard sale sweater.  I needed every yard of that yarn for this year's batch of Weasley Sweaters (Christmas sweaters if you're new around here.)

My previously pristine hank now looked like this.

I wanted to cry.

Can you see all the dog hair?

Gross.

But I need every yard of that yarn.

So Saturday I patiently untangled that entire skein.  I carefully picked out every stupid piece of dog hair.  It went from being one pretty ball to four, but four is better than nothing right?  It is better than throwing the entire thing out right?

All is well that ends well right?

Yeah.  No.

On Sunday I took a morning nap.  I woke up to find this on my counter.

The dogs had gotten in the yarn cabinet again and taken another hank precious, priceless white yarn and destroyed it with extreme prejudice.

Frankly, I'm surprised they are still alive.

I looked in the yarn cabinet to see if there were any other casualties and I discovered three of the four balls I had wound the day before were gone.

Frantically we searched the house for the missing balls.  We searched high and low. behind furniture, underneath couches, to no avail.  The balls were not to be found.

I feared small dog was just dumb enough to have eaten them.

Then I realized it.  Take a closer look at this picture.

My missing balls of yarn were on the kitchen counter the entire time.  They didn't get a new hank out.  They attacked the same dismember hank of yarn.

I don't know what the yarn did to them to deserve this, but they were out for vengeance.

Today I sat down, and my three balls of yarn are now wound into six.

I guess six small balls are better than nothing right?

Just to be on the safe side I'm going to store them on a tall shelf.  Maybe hidden behind some books?  My own little witness protection program for my yarn.

Or maybe I should just make them the yarn apologize to the dogs?  That always works with the kids right?

Just the Ususal

It must be Friday night because the children are snuggled on the couch with a big bowl of popcorn watching Dr. Who.  My little budding Whovians were completely blindsided by the *really old spoiler* loss of Rose.  I thought they might abandon The Dr, so deep was their sadness.  But they couldn't simply quit The Dr.  They had to know what happens next.  My Whovian junkies.

They've been extra cute lately.  Sweet Pea got a hold of Pork Chop's glasses.

Ridiculously cute isn't it.  I wanna buy her a pair of glasses just because.  Last year Bird was so disappointed that she didn't need glasses that we ended up buying her a pair of frames with plastic lenses just to ease her pain.  So it wouldn't be the first pair we'd bought a pair of decorative lenware.

Speaking of Bird, this morning Bird informed me that her shoes were boyfriend and girlfriend.  In fact all her shoes had boyfriends and girlfriends.  I asked her which one was the boy.  She told me the left one was the boy.  I asked which one was the girl.  She informed me that the right one was the girl because "girls are always right."  I'm such a proud Mamma.  Reminds me of that thing I've seen on pinterest.

So very true.

Ummmmmm, what else?

Monsoon are making my head hurt so I've done a ton of sitting on my butt and knitting.   I've escaped from sleeve island, and I am now in seaming hell.

I don't understand what I have against finishing work but I really don't love it the way I love knitting.  Now that the individual pieces are being sewn together it is starting to resemble a sweater.  It is starting to resemble a 12 year old girl size sweater.  I don't think I can continue working on it in front of the children.  So I've cast on for Meaty's Weasley "yarn shirt".

I wanted to use maroon for the contrasting color, but I couldn't find my ball of maroon yarn.  So it is brown and darker brown.  I kinda love it.  Hope he does too.

That's about it for today.  Tomorrow I've got an action packed day of laundry planned.  And to add in extra fun I'll be deep cleaning the kitchen.  Be still my beating heart.  I don't know how I'll take the excitement.  I know I've said this before, but it bears repeating, being in charge is so over rated.

Happy Birthday To Me!

And I've got BIRTHDAY FLOWERS!

I have been blessed with the very best friend.  They really are amazing.  One in particular should be feeling extra love vibes from me right now.

I'm going to relax, and knit, and have dinner from my favorite Mexican Restaurant.  It's a great Birthday.

September Post-Summer Shovel Out

It seems like every fall I look around my house and go "Ew."  And a marathon session of cleaning commences.

Rather like Spring Cleaning.

Only in September.

My friends ask me why I do this in the Fall instead of Spring, and I've never had an answer for it.  Fall is just when my house feels dirty.

But the other day, as I was scrubbing muddy base boards I realized why I must decontaminate my house in the fall.

Because that's when the kids go away!

All summer long the children are home all day, every day.

Don't get me wrong.  I adore having them home all day, every day.  And I miss them when they're at school. And I'm not saying the house doesn't get cleaned all summer long.  It gets cleaned every day.  This year I took full advantage of the readily available slave labor.  The house was vacuumed and dusted every single day. But I didn't dust or vacuum every single day.  Slave labor is the best labor.  It is why I had kids in the first place.  That and the fact that my kids are so darn cute.  So the house was cleaned ever day this summer.   But it was kid clean.  Good enough clean.  Not Mommy clean.  Not sparkly clean.

Which is perfectly fine.  Preferable even.

We had other things to do.  We had an entire list of fun things to get done this summer, and while we put a sizable dent in our list we did not finish it.  We have way more playing to do this fall.  My house was kid friendly all summer long.  Keeping it sparkly clean would have meant either a) the children could not do anything in the house at all ever.  or b) Mommy went crazy following the kids around and fixing things as soon as they touched anything.  Neither one would have been a nice place to grow up.  I want my children to have a nice childhood.  I also want to prepare them to be fully functioning adults some day.  I don't think these two goals are incompatible.  Nice childhoods can lead to fully functioning adults.

I think I'm rambling.  Back to my epiphany.

I realized as I scrubbed my baseboards (and silently cursed my dogs for making muddy baseboards) that Fall is when the children go back to school.  It is when I finally have a quiet moment to breath.  It is when I get to sit down and really look around.  And it is when I actually see the dirty baseboards, and the unsweapt corners, and all the little details that add up to things being a bit messy around here.  It is also when I realize the children and I have wildly different ideas as to what "go clean your room" means.

My son isn't too bad.

but he NEVER makes his bed.

My daughters?

Their room is an entirely different matter.

When the kids go to school  I finally have time to realize how dirty the house it.  Add in the fact that since the children are gone when I clean something it actually has half a chance of staying clean for more than an hour and Fall really is the perfect time to recover from the Summer and make our house a tidy home again.

So the marathon cleaning begins.  I'm limiting myself to one room a day so I don't over do it too much.  I started with the living room.  It is probably the least used room in the house so it wasn't too bad a chore.  I got to organize my yarn cabinet which was almost as bad as my daughters' room.  I forgot to get a good before picture, but this one shelf should give you the idea.

and TA-DA...

After!

Now that I can find all my yarn I'm going to go sit and play with it for a bit.

I'm stuck on second sleeve island with Pork Chop's Weasley Sweater.

I need a rescue boat!  Maybe I'll find one tucked in the kitchen cabinets tomorrow.