Funky Scarf FO

Funky scarf is Finito. Hope my midwestern pal likes it. I think the green will be gorgeous on her with what I can see of her autumnish coloring from her blog.

Sisterhood of the knitted pants

I start my Mondays with the best of intentions. At the start of every week, I tell myself that:
I will manage to conjure up a home cooked dinner - or at the very least be home for one or two.
I will keep up all the frenzied weekend pseudo cleaning.
I will set out my clothes the night before AND iron them so I'm not running around at 7:48 am looking for the one of six green sweaters I know I own, and to use that as a excuse to buy yet one more green sweater on the way home from work.
I will pack something for breakfast and not spend $3.50 everyday on breakfast burritos from Yolanda the coffee lady.
I will pack my gym clothes so I have to make up a REALLY good excuse not to workout over lunch.

As you can imagine - actively blowing off all of these weekday goals takes a lot of time.

Therefore, most of my knitting gets done on the weekends, but by Wednesday, I'm going through a bit of withdrawl - and by Friday, I find myself trying to sneak in a row or two in the parking garage of my office building before I head up to face the day.

Today was one of those frantic mornings when I knew I didn't even have time to pet and say nice things to the hanks of 4-ply cashmere sitting in one of my stash baskets. But then- just before the top of the hour on NPR there was an interview on NPR with Tracey Ulman promoting her new book. It made me giddy. Not the book so much. (I've seen it and while its fun, I don't feel the need to knit aprons or pants for me, my husband or anyone else) Yet, hearing Tracey's love and passion for knitting and knowing that at that moment hundreds of thousands of other knitters were feeling giddy too - made me love the community as much as the craft.
(In celebration - I knit a few stitches at the long stop light on the way to work.)

Sticks and stones

In the spirit of the holiday weekend, I left work a bit early Friday and checked out, Fancy Tiger a new craft-i-nista store on Broadway. Their yarn selection was meager, but they did have packs of lovely vintage buttons...which found new life as this:

On other fronts - I have been joking with my husband that I will *never-ever-for-any reason* knit him a sweater. My brother, mother, son, daughter, friends, babies I know, babies I don't know, nephew, breast cancer survivors and Moi have all been beneficiaries of my needle-mania. But DH has not even gotten a dishcloth. So for our anniversary I knit him my very first sock ever. Just one. Red. Sock. Size 13.
See - when we got married, he lost just one, red, size 13 Chuck Taylor high top. They were his lucky shoes and there was angst. For our anniversary several years ago I gave him another red, size 13 Chuck Taylor high top. The story was that this year, he got a sock to go with it. Actually I had planned - two weeks ago - on knitting a complete pair, but damn fingering yarn, knit up slower than it takes to actually conceive and give birth to the sheep that it came from. So with three days left, I made a secret trip to LYS (aren't they all somewhat covert??) and bought thick chunky yarn and started new sock. Stayed up past midnight both nights to finish, despite his confusion in my sudden interest in "Extra, Extra" on late night TV. Presented the sock today and he was pleased. I think. After 13 years of marriage he knows me well enough not to hold his breath for the second one....

best creative streak ever...

There are times when you become painfully reminded of the private exquisite beauty of your children. When the some little detail about your kids makes your heart swells so that you feel that it will literally pop out through your eyelids, but you know that no one else can ever see them the way that you do.

It is one of those feelings that people try to tell you about when you are pregnant, but is really beyond words. Those who have kids understand what I mean...

I had one of those eyelid busting moments tonight at the tiny indoor pool at the Hampton Inn by the side of the turnpike. While chatting with my in-laws (who were staying at the Inn) - the kids swam. As I watched them, the talk about cattle prices, real estate, new cars faded - and I saw my kids long lean white bodies sliding through the water. They were (of course) completely unaware of us - but so goofy, so loud and in their own world. I know that as a mom of a 13 year old and a 9 year old, I am to the point when very very soon they will eat the apple and become self-conscious. But for at least tonight - they were still safe in the garden and I know that I am blessed.