What To Knit When You're Expecting

Kalen Sweater

2013-05-22T06:18:00.000-07:00

My cousin’s son Kalen will sleep through anything, is happy to be held by anyone, and is generally the most easy-going child I’ve ever met. You know, precisely not like Willow. But Kalen is Irish for warrior, so this cable-knit is for him, even if he is an entirely peaceful soul.

And anyway I had so much fun with this one. It made me want to knit cables, cables all the time, cables in a much smaller gauge than this so there could be more cables! Cables Cables Cables!

As you can see, it's a raglan knit in pieces and then sewn up. I probably could have made it so it was all in one piece, but nobody likes bottom-up raglans because the sleeve join is such a pain, and top-down the cables would have braided in the wrong direction and that bothered me and I really wanted braided cables. Plus, with so many cables the sweater is pretty heavy, and the seams give it a little more stability (that was the real reason, I swear. The braided cables weren't that important to me. Honestly).

This yarn, Hikoo Simpliworsted by Skacel, is a real find for kid knits. I'd originally envisioned this sweater in a DK-weight cotton (I love cotton and cables. I know they don't hang as well, and as you see I resisted the impulse, but I can't help it), but the Simpliworsted is pretty great. It has some acrylic, but enough merino to keep it feeling like yarn instead of plastic, plus a little nylon, and it's just a nice, squishy yarn. I used a US 10 needle, as the yarn calls for, expecting it to be too drapey for this sweater, but it wasn't at all.

But that DK cotton cabled sweater is going to happen someday. I swear.

Eli Vest

2013-05-14T06:13:00.000-07:00

I had a high bar to reach for the Eli Vest. Eli's mother is a knitter/seamstress/crafter extraordinaire, and I couldn't help getting really ambitious when designing a sweater for Eli.

So despite all my intentions (which consisted of a simple drop-shoulder v-neck cardigan, maybe with some pockets for storing Eli's ever-present cars and trains) I ended up with a dapper herringbone shawl-collar vest. What can you do.

I wanted something with a smallish gauge that could handle the tight weave of the herringbone, and so I settled on Rowan Handknit Cotton. And lo and behold, everyone, that yarn is a gift from the gods! Remember Rowan Calmer, that magical yarn that disappeared suddenly though we all loved it so? Well, this seems to be Rowan's replacement yarn. It is not quite as magical; it doesn't have that weird oily sheen, nor is it quite as stretchy. But the gauge is a bit more forgiving, and frankly I'll take what I can get.

It stood up to the herringbone, though I had to go up to size 8 needles to make sure it had enough give (and even then, this is a tight and not particularly stretchy weave. Hence the wide rib edging).

The herringbone is tough to work with, and to those who will knit this design when it comes out, I say: don't worry about keeping everything perfectly in pattern. The decreases will come, and they will screw things up. It'll all work out in the end.

Pluck

2013-05-07T07:07:00.002-07:00

Willow has been working on overcoming her fears. Being Willow, of course, she does this in a very idiosyncratic way:

Willow: I don't like sweet foods. I like really spicy foods!
Mommy: Really?
Willow: Yes! I'm brave about eating spicy foods.

Willow: I just love Red Pufferfish Man!
Mommy: The guy you had a nightmare about four months ago?
Willow: Yes! Red Pufferfish Man is my friend! I have a lot of pluck!

Willow: You skipped a story. You skipped the ghost story.
Mommy: Yes, I skipped the story about the ghosts because it's bedtime. I thought we'd read the story about flying a kite instead.
Willow: No! Read the ghost story! You have to! I'm very plucky* about ghost stories!

And so forth. It's awesome, except that she freaked herself out with the ghost story and I had to sit in the room with her until she fell asleep. But I have tried to take her as my inspiration, and overcome some of my fears. Not fears of snakes, or of talking to people I don't know, because lord knows those aren't going anywhere, but more practical fears that really need to be handled, like stepping out of my routine and trying crazy things because they seem like they'd be fun, even if they might be disastrous. I am trying to embrace that small side of me that is spontaneous.

Therefore, last weekend, Dave and I followed through on a plan we'd had back when I was pregnant, of driving down to Seaside Park during the off-season, spending the day at Island Beach, staying at a cheap motel, spending the next day at the beach, and then driving home. Just a quick getaway, something inexpensive and still wildly different from what we normally do. Great idea! Let's do it!

It was beautiful. It was also really freaking cold. Like, huddled from the wind in a fleece and a vest and under a towel and still shivering. Shockingly, not many people were on the beach with us.

But Willow had a blast--she dug in the sand and poured ice cold water everywhere, and Dave and I were happy as very cold clams watching her play and chatting.

Eventually, though, it got a little too freezing, and we packed up to head to the motel. Which is where we really needed our pluck.

On the phone with my parents telling them this story, I was reminded of all the places we stayed when I was a kid. Places where the light fixtures fell down from the ceiling, places where slugs crawled across the bathroom floor, places that, in my childhood memory, had no electricity and moldy walls. But even with that hardy upbringing, I had a hard time with this place. For one thing, it was literally fleabitten. I have flea bites. It was also, for a non-smoking room, so rank with smoke that everything we brought needed to be laundered as soon as we got home. There was a small nail sticking out of the couch. I was able to report that the people next door were watching The Goonies.

And both Dave and I, separately, were having internal arguments. "Don't be so snotty. It's fine. You're imagining the germs. Of course it's clean. Of course nobody died here in a horrible and violent way. Quit being such a drama queen." Willow, of course, thought it was the most awesome place ever, and ran around and jumped and hid her toys in drawers we really didn't want to go poking around in, and was generally a maniac. We spent about 20 minutes in there before hauling her out to go get some dinner.

At dinner, we went back to ignoring the motel, and had a blast--Willow marched up to the hostess and demanded to be served crab and fish and birds for dinner. Which is, of course, so charming. Dave and I took turns dodging the linguine worms they actually gave her (and Daddy pretended his dinner was a goldfinch, so she ate that too) and laughed and felt relaxed and carefree, a feeling we almost didn't recognize.

But then, of course, we had to eventually leave the restaurant, and we went back to the motel. Where we got everything settled for sleeping before I finally confessed to Dave that I was having uncharacteristic germophobia issues. Dave said, "Thank God, me too." And we discussed leaving, and just driving home...and we really considered it, but it just seemed so cowardly. It was one night. We tightened our stomach muscles, and decided to stay. I put Willow down to sleep in the bedroom and went out to sit with Dave and we drank tequila to sterilize and played Gin Rummy and actually had a blast. We didn't do much of anything differently than we do at home, but for some reason, it was so much more fun.

And when, the next morning, it dawned even colder than the previous day, we drove home and took crazy hot showers and scrubbed everything and decided that it was great! But we would never do it again.

*I don't really know what to do about the overuse/misuse of the word "pluck." She really likes it. She also misunderstood my explaining to her that physics meant that she'd fall out of her swing if she leaned way back like that, and so now when she's crazy in the swing and giving her mother a panic attack, she claims she's doing physics.

Tell Me A Story

2013-04-30T06:24:00.002-07:00

One of Willow's more notable foibles since she learned to talk has been her insistence on narrating the world around her.

Willow: "'The wind blew the leaves sideways,' she exclaimed!"

Mommy: "Yes, honey, the wind did blow the leaves sideways."

Willow: "Her mommy replied."

Dave and I joke that the world is her novel, we just live in it. It's a very charming and endearing trait, and I have never had cause to complain about it, and instead spend a lot of time patting myself on the back, thinking what a wonderful mother I am, that I read to her so often she sees the world as a book, and hey maybe one day she'll be a famous writer, and we'll live off her proceeds and she will thank me on every acknowledgements page and be so very very grateful that she'll buy me a house on some secluded mountain and send me boxes of books and chocolate.

But there has been an unanticipated, well, I hate to say flaw, because that would indicate that my plan isn't going to happen, and I'm not ready to give it up yet. But certainly....annoyance. I'm having to work a little harder for my boxes of chocolate than I thought, because now it's not just a matter of reading a lot of stories and explaining to confused children and adults that she's simply narrating what just happened...now I have to tell the stories instead of just reading them.

Which, fine. I can tell a decent story. I've read really a lot of fairy tales in my day, and I can concoct a well-plotted but simple and not overly wordy tale and invent it as I speak it. This can be tiring, but it's not so much to ask. Except that's not what's being asked.

Instead, Willow concocts the story. (And I hate to sound all judgmental, but mine are way better. They have a plot, more than one character, and something actually happens in them). And then she asks me to re-tell it. This may not sound annoying, but allow me to demonstrate:

Willow: Tell me a story about how there was an owl named Peep who was a snowy owl and she was a girl owl and she flew all around Honeysuckle Hollow and through the trees and above the leaves and across the branches and down the colored road and all around. Tell me that story. Tell me a long story!

Mommy: Okay. Once upon a time there was a little owl named Peep. She was a beautiful snowy owl. She lived in Honeysuckle Hollow. She loved to fly all around her hollow--she would fly through the trees and land on the branches and her wings would brush through the leaves and she would fly over the colored road. It made her very happy to fly so far and so fast. The end.

Willow: No, tell me a long story about how there was an owl named Peep who was a snowy owl and she was a girl owl and she flew all around Honeysuckle Hollow and through the trees and above the leaves and across the branches and down the colored road and all around. Tell me that story. Tell me a long story!

Mommy: Okay. (Thinks for a moment. Hits upon The Ugly Duckling). Once upon a time there was a little owl named Peep. She was just a baby owl living with a family of great horned owls, but as she got older her mommy and daddy owl realized that she wasn't a great horned owl after all--she was a snowy owl. They were so surprised to learn that they had a snowy owl living with them, but they loved Peep so much that of course they wanted her to stay with them always...

Willow: No! Tell me a story about how there was an owl named Peep who was a snowy owl and she was a girl owl and she flew all around Honeysuckle Hollow and through the trees and above the leaves and across the branches and down the colored road and all around. Tell me that story. Tell me a long story! It's a very long story!

Mommy: Uh. A long story just about that? Okay. Once upon a time there was an owl named Peep. She was a snowy owl, and she was so glad to be a snowy owl. Her feathers were white and speckled with brown spots and she had such a funny call for an owl. She would say, kackackackack screech! kackackackack, and her call would echo all over Honeysuckle Hollow, which was where she lived. It was a very warm place for a snowy owl to live, but she liked it there. She loved to fly through the trees, because there aren't any trees in the tundra, where snowy owls normally live. She loved the way the leaves would hit her wings, and she loved being able to land on a branch and see all of Honeysuckle Hollow from so high up. Then she would swoop down and fly along the colored road--because the road in Honeysuckle Hollow has lots of different colors. Red, and blue, and green, and yellow, and she would fly all down that road and then zoom up into the trees again. She would fly and fly and fly and fly. The end. Did you like that story?

Willow: Yes. Tell me that story again.

And again. For an hour.

How many times can you knit a hemline?

2013-04-25T10:10:00.001-07:00

This took me a few tries. Also I couldn't get it to hang on the hanger without looking crooked, though I swear the sweater itself is straight.

This is the Leni Sweater, it's knit in Spud & Chloe Sweater, on US 7 needles, so it's very, very cozy, and I love it and it's beautiful, but I have a confession to make--I hate designing with stripes. I really like stripes, and this sweater, with a great deal of finagling, came out just how I wanted it to, but the problem with stripes is that unless you're making just one size, the stripe pattern is just not going to be your friend.

My solution is to make narrower stripes per size, because despite how I purchase sweaters in stores, when I'm knitting them it really, really bothers me to interrupt the stripe and just finish it off right there. You know what I mean? You can see I gritted my teeth and did it anyway on the sleeves, because sleeve length is just not forgiving enough, whereas I can say "It was meant to be a tunic for 3T! It's a little less of a tunic for 4T, but totally a tunic again for 2T!") because I think the sweater looks good either way.

But. Stripes are persnickety. And they're not very nice about it. They say, "you only have so many rows to work with, lady, so if you don't want to put a buttonhole in the middle of a color change, you'd better make your stripe reeeaaallly wide there, or give up a buttonhole. Your choice."

But the stripes weren't even my biggest problem, by the end. My biggest problem was the notched hem, and I absolutely positively was going to put in a notched hem, it was all I wanted in the world, a notched hem and a button or two at the collar. Doesn't seem like that much to ask, right? But getting that hem to stay notched once I knit on the garter edging, and not smooth itself out into a gentle little anthill instead, was in fact something of a challenge. And I apologize to anyone who will knit this sweater someday, as it has seemingly random increases and decreases tucked all in that garter edging, but I assure you they are not random and are in fact the result of careful knitting and reknitting and cursing and reknitting again.

It worked, by the end. It was just a very long road to a very simple (looking) sweater.

Eggs

2013-04-22T10:51:00.000-07:00

I had a migraine this weekend, and so Dave found himself in the position I find myself almost every day: what does one do with a child for hours and hours on end?

The answer: eggs!

You have no idea how entertaining eggs can be.

You can read books about Easter Bunnies and their eggs. You can act out some of the things in this book. And then, with a flash of inspiration, you can remember that we have plastic eggs somewhere in the basement, and then the eggs will really take over.

We have had, by my count, about thirty-five Easter Egg hunts since those plastic eggs made their appearance the day before yesterday. Most have taken place in my house, but as my head improved we ventured out to Liberty State Park and had free-range egg hunts (yes, more than one) which did earn us some strange looks, but who cared. We tricycled around the park with eggs in the back bucket. When Willow hides the eggs, she hides them all in one place and tells me where they are. We have sorted the eggs by color, pretended to cook with them, pretended to sit on them.

And then this morning, when the more traditional uses for eggs began to finally lose their savor, we used them as currency. I suppose it was more of a barter system, but when we played grocery shopping, we used eggs to trade for fruit. Three pink eggs got you two lemons, and so on.

I'm tempted to color Easter Eggs this afternoon since we skipped that this year, and this egg thing doesn't look like it's going anywhere anytime soon. But we already ate eggs for breakfast and even though every year I make deviled eggs (and I do dearly love deviled eggs) that still makes a whole lot of eggs and I'm not sure I feel up to consuming all those eggs, since it's not like anybody else is experiencing the joys of Easter a month late.

Owls & Monkeys

2013-04-18T06:26:00.002-07:00

So for What To Knit When You're Expecting, I made some Owl & Monkey pillows. And since they were by far Willow's favorite thing in the entire world, I decided to try for a little continuity. Here we have Owl & Monkey hats:

They're knit in SweetGeorgia Superwash Worsted, using US 6 needles, and I will never, ever get over my love for that yarn. It's just so soft and silky, an absolute joy to knit with. These hats are knit flat and then seamed (it was the easiest way to get that fake intarsia thing happening). I had the hardest time wrapping my head around it--was a flat hat really going to be round??

But it is, and seaming it was much easier than I thought, and my Little Owl absolutely loves her hats. Even if the owl hat is just another for the collection.

Easy To Love

2013-04-15T06:43:00.000-07:00

It's easy to talk about how hard it is. I have a bad day--or a bad bunch of days--and I run to Facebook or the blog and vent. But when there's a stretch of easy we (or I, at least) tend not to talk about it. Who wants to hear about how awesome your kid is? Dave gets a lot of text messages exclaiming about how beautiful Willow is, what she said, how smart she is, how funny she is, while the internet is left thinking she's annoying and possibly insane.

Not so. Most of the time, I think she's amazing. And it's the details that make her so. Yesterday we went to The Great Swamp Wildlife Refuge where, well, we didn't see many birds, but we saw snakes and turtles, and Willow refused to put down the taxidermied meadow vole, and even if we didn't see birds, we pretended to be birds, with such consistency that Willow asked for a wing ride instead of a shoulder ride, and ate seeds and said everything in tweets.

This morning we read about penguins, and so we pretended to be penguins for hours, eating pear-shaped squid, hiding from orcas, and jumping on and off icebergs. We even buried ourselves in snow and sat on our eggs to keep them warm.

And then Willow told me a story about a tree who wanted to walk, and so he lifted his roots from the ground and walked up the side of the apartment building across the street, and then jumped down with his roots spread wide and landed with a thud.

Is any of this as amazing and fascinating to anyone who isn't her parent? I have no idea. I think probably not. But to me, she's a show that I could just keep watching, because it is comfortingly sweet and yet wildly unpredictable.

Overalls, Hot Mitts, and an excuse to put an owl in a picture

2013-04-09T06:32:00.000-07:00

Man. Rowan Denim. I'd been curious about that yarn forever and so when I was all, "oooh, how about overalls! Everybody loves overalls!"* I saw it as an opportunity--nay, an imperative--to use Rowan Denim.

And then, about six rounds into leg one, my fingers turned blue. So did my wooden needles. Even after washing, I had a little blue wedding ring that stayed for days and days. Funny, Rowan didn't mention that in the yarn description.

Were they worth it? You tell me. I tried to make them as homey and miner-overalls as possible--hence all the garter and wooden buttons. They're a little baggy around the waist, but rather than work in any elastic, I decided to keep in with the homespun theme and wove in a drawstring, to be tied behind the bib.**

And here's a gratuitous owl photo. Well, not really, since those hot mitts are hanging in Willow's toy kitchen and are a new pattern too, but the owl is gratuitous.

*Excepting, of course, my own child and any potty-training child, but never mind that.

**You know, to make it extra challenging for potty-training children.

Easter Makes My Daughter Go CRAZY.

2013-04-04T06:30:00.001-07:00

I'm not sure what happened. It started in the days leading up to the morning of, and we didn't even make a big thing--frankly, it was so early this year and so in the middle of everything still so freaking cold out that we had kind of forgotten about it. But Easter made Willow insane.

First of all, her love for lamb has always been profound. And by that I mean love of the meat, not the animal. The animal is cool, she'll snuggle with a stuffed animal if its offered, but as far as Willow is concerned, the cuteness of a little lamb is far outweighed by its taste. Specifically, the meat next to the bone, and the marrow. She asked for a lamb bone for breakfast. Not having spare lamb bones lying about, she had to make do with cereal.

We drove up to Massachusetts on Good Friday to visit with family and see if we could score Willow some more lamb. We went to see children's performer Jeremy Lyons with Francie and Charlie, and Willow was, again, insane. Before the show even started, she's up there at the front of the stage asking where the mosh pit is and dancing all by herself. Francie got seduced into joining this madness, and the two of them danced with absolutely no awareness of the beat or whether anybody else was dancing or whether they were about to kick somebody in the face. And sometimes they would run over to sit on my lap. I have to say, I thought that part was pretty nice.

We had Easter dinner on Saturday night since we needed to drive back on Sunday (and score! More lamb!) And on Sunday morning we devoured only the smallest amount of the chocolate the Easter Bunny hauled all the way up to Massachusetts--very restrained, really--and went a-hunting for Easter Eggs in Francie's back yard.

Willow's strategy may perhaps not have been the most successful--believing, I assume, that since this was Francie's territory and she knew it best, Willow just kind of followed Francie all over the yard and picked up the few Francie missed. On the other hand, poor Charlie was left mostly mystified by the whole thing, and when he did miraculously find an egg he needed to defend it with his life. Luckily, Willow left her basket lying on the ground in favor of rolling around shouting "Poor Samuel was completely buried" over and over again for half an hour (don't ask), so Charlie got to eat all her treats.

So yes. We did a lot in three days. Except sleep. We didn't do any of that. Willow was waaaaay to excited for that.

Hudson Pullover

2013-03-25T09:40:00.002-07:00

I have to confess, I don't enjoy designing the "boy" sweaters that much. Unless you get really kind of cutesy and way into the gentlemanly department (see the upcoming Eli Vest) I find myself making either hoodies or baseball sweaters. Unisex is better, so despite my categorization of this sweater as a boy sweater in my mental tally, the Hudson Pullover is totally unisex. I mean, over leggings? I'd wear that in a hot minute. Or a cold minute, I guess.

Knit in Berroco Remix on US 8 needles, that basketweave there is super easy, and involves way more stockinette than it appears to. This sweater is huge, a nice and roomy 4T, and it still only took me about a week. It's a drop shoulder that I kind of cheated on--instead of knitting the sleeves flat and then seaming them on, I picked up a generous number of sts around the armhole, and then knit in the round on the way down.

Admittedly, I don't knit a lot of drop-shoulder sweaters, but I've never seen it done that way, and so I hesitated, but I couldn't think of a single reason not to. The sleeves ended up plenty roomy, as you can see. Am I breaking some kind of drop-shoulder rule, and there really is a good reason not to do this?

Being Present

2013-03-21T09:43:00.000-07:00

Just last night I was talking about how much I love what I do every day, and how important it is to me, and how I think it is absolutely the right thing and I can't imagine doing anything else.

And yet I spent all day yesterday complaining about it. The truth is that it's always hard, even if it's always wonderful, but it's been harder lately. Our friends have all been sick, and while we've mercifully gotten away with mere colds, we still haven't seen anybody but ourselves for quite along while. And it's cold outside, so with the exception of desperate trips to the mall or the science center, we've been stuck in the house.

This is compounded by Willow's severe case of the mommies (so severe I have to get out of the shower to help her go potty, because Daddy can't possibly be allowed to do that. So severe I have to spend fifteen minutes comforting her for the ten minutes I was in the shower, and then again after I have left to hang up my towel) which, unfortunately, serves only to make me say "AAAAAHHH I NEED MY SPACE!" internally, and externally say "That's wonderful sweetie, I'd love to help with you that, just give me one moment to go do anything else surely there are dishes to be washed." And I know this is a vicious circle, that my pulling away (to go in another room! For three minutes! I'm here ALL DAY! How you can possibly have separation anxiety from somebody you're never separate from?) is only increasing her desire to be near me and reassured that I want to be with her (I do. I do, sweetie.) and I know that I need to suck it up and just glue myself to her if that's what she needs.

And what am I doing right now? Taking advantage of a moment's distraction and typing a blog post while my beloved daughter makes a monkey catcher, whatever that may be, until she calls for me.

Yesterday, after a very short nap, I just didn't have much in me. It wasn't that I couldn't watch her or play with her, I just reeeaaalllly didn't want to. I had absolutely no interest in reading that book for the fifth time. I could not muster up enthusiasm for an outfit that looks like something she'll wear to a Rocky Horror screening in ten years. I did not want to pretend my name was Eeyore, or Muddle, or Raggedy Ann, or I'iwi. I didn't even want my name to be Mommy. Willow wasn't even being particularly difficult; I just wished she would be interested in something other than me.

I resolved this morning to do better. And so far I have--instead of being driven mentally insane by the boredom and repetition of tucking in this doll or that doll or reading that book again, I came up with an activity. I did my best to stay off Facebook and to come when I was called (not "in a minute") and to applaud and squeeze and just be present.

And I gave myself permission to go do something else if I genuinely wasn't needed at that moment. I'm not allowed to run away, but if she is happily playing in a room, I don't have to go sit in there with her, unless she asks me to. And so I'm typing as fast as I can until I hear that sweet little grating voice call "Mooooo--oom!"

I am Eeyore. I am Muddle, and more than anything, I am Mommy. And I am so glad to be. Most of the time.

Tricycler!

2013-03-19T05:59:00.001-07:00

What with all our friends quarantined because they have the plague, and what with all the snow (which, you know, I thought I made clear I didn't want any more of? Hello?) Willow and I have been a little hard up for entertainment. So much so that a chance to go down into the basement--to do some laundry! And to go into her old exersaucer that is somehow now scary and exciting!--seems like an adventure worth savoring.

Okay, not really. But I'm trying, here. And that basement visit, against all odds, did in fact produce an adventure that I will remember for years (and took up a whole hour and a half, folks). While sitting in her exersaucer and warily avoiding the buttons that make animal sounds, Willow spotted her tricycle. The same tricycle that had belonged to Willow's uncle, and had been sitting in our foyer for a year, trotted out unsuccessfully several times, and eventually banished to the basement. Willow demanded to ride it. I figured it would go about as well as it ever had, so who cared that the basement is full of dangerous obstacles and dead water bugs, she wasn't going to go anywhere anyway, and hey, maybe it would take up a little more of our endless day.

You know--you know--that the moment you don't want a toddler to do something you had been wanting him or her to do is the precise moment it will happen. And so, given that, I was surprised but not overly shocked when Willow suddenly grasped that you have to push on the pedals to make them move, and not only did she understand this, but she really, really liked it too.

And so did I. I happily chased her around the basement, helping her swerve to avoid pipes, water heaters, boilers, drains, gravel pits, and probably dead bodies. And in the course of that hour and a half, she learned to push herself out of some of those gravel pits, to steer herself through doorways and around drains. Dave came home, peered down in the basement, and let out a startled shout when Willow just zoomed right past him all on her own.

Lest you think that I am some lazy, rest on my laurels, self-congratulatory-type mother, I will tell you that I worked my butt off to seal the deal. Round and round the basement we went, but that wasn't enough--oh no. I bundled Willow up and trotted us out to the park in 37 degrees for a real taste of tricycling. Fewer obstacles traded for steeper hills and way farther to go.

And she tricycled like a maniac. Probably about a half a mile, some of it uphill (the uphill bits needed some encouragement, as she'd discovered coasting on the way downhill, and couldn't understand why it wasn't working anymore).

I was so proud of her, I was shivering with excitement. I don't have photographic or video evidence yet. Give me time. And warmer weather.

Avery Pullover

2013-03-14T09:38:00.000-07:00

I think this one might be my favorite. It's certainly one I want to make for myself one of these days. (Like you could see how it could be kinda off-shoulder sexy on a grownup, right? Whereas here it's just pulling a little because it's a bit small for M--she's wearing a 2T.)

The 6-stitch cabling at the shoulders, much like the lace pattern on the Maile Sweater, is worked between the raglan increases, and then it branches out into a 12-stitch looping cable at the sides.

The needles are US 6, the yarn is the beautiful Sweet Georgia Superwash DK, and part of me kind of wishes I never had to knit with anything else.

Bored Now

2013-03-07T06:21:00.000-08:00

I would say that having a toddler means you're never bored, but that's not quite true. Certainly, you're never still, but that doesn't mean that even the most crazypants and energetic activity doesn't get mind-numbing once you've done it five hundred times. Running around the house singing Christmas songs in Hooos, by March, is no longer all that interesting. Neither is, say, discussing for the seventh time in ten minutes that my name is Eeyore if her name is Piglet. And being reminded to say it in depressed Eeyore voice. "I'm so very excited," says Eeyore.

Even Willow's interest can't be held for long, by now. In desperation, I set up an obstacle course across our living room, complete with squares for jumping across like stones in a river, a mattress I hauled over for her to jump on, and a blanket to spin on until her legs get twisted up in it and she falls down (SO FUN!) With some drum-heavy Rhythm of the Saints on, that should be good for at least 45 minutes right?

Yeah, no. We need to get Out of our House, we need it to be Warm Outside, and to go to Interesting Places. On an Expotition to the North Pole, even.

I've been very patient. Usually I'm writing this post by about February 17th. I've been very well-behaved. So could we please get some Spring headed this way?

Labor of Love

2013-03-05T06:46:00.004-08:00

This is a project to be made only if you really, really love your child. If your child ever annoys you, don't undertake this one, because you will forever resent the time you spent on these blocks and the blood, sweat, and tears that went into them.

Just kidding! But they do take a while.

Part of it is because I just can't help myself--I love that start-the-middle, work-in-the-round-to-make-a-square technique, and I use it all the time, whenever I can. So instead of just knitting a square in the normal, side-to-side fashion, this one goes round and round. It does keep things more interesting, but it takes a bit longer (it shouldn't, but it does somehow). And six sides is a lot of sides.

But none of that would be a real problem if I hadn't decided to MAKE MY OWN FOAM BLOCKS instead of just buying some or making rounded blocks stuffed with stuffing like normal people do. Oh, no. I needed to buy foam, shape it into cubes and then sew it together, proving that anything can be DIY! Even bleeding fingers!

I put together a photo essay, so I can do a tutorial if anybody else wants to try it. Come on, it'll be fun! BYO Thimbles!

But I do love these blocks. Maybe it's the amount of effort, maybe it's the fact that I went to the trouble to make something that can be procured pretty easily--like making your own breadcrumbs or your own cheese. Yo. I did this. I didn't have to, and I totally did. 'Sup. Just try knockin' me down.

Photos!

2013-03-01T10:13:00.000-08:00

No, there are no photos in this post, because the photos I'm referring to are the first shots I've received from the publisher of What To Knit For Tots or whatever it shall be called. And they are beautiful! Oh my. I wish I could post them all right here, I'm so excited. I'll just have to make poor Dave admire them for an hour or two tonight.

The mood of this book is slightly different from the also-amazingly-gorgeous What To Knit. Since the kiddos being knit for are able to, you know, get up and walk around and generally create mayhem, the amazing folks over at Kyle Books are trying to document mayhem. Just the kind of beautiful and picturesque and sweet and funny mayhem that we all wish we had on our best days.

My beautiful and mayhem-producing toddler has just woken up waaaaay before she was ready so our house is not so picturesque. I think I'll go make her a sandwich and sow her some pretty pictures.

"Willow, my love, these delightful children always nap for at least two hours..."

Pinafore

2013-02-26T05:44:00.000-08:00

The old-fashioned name is somewhat deceiving. Instead, like Brooklyn, this dress has designs on being old-fashioned, but has a decidedly modern flair. Knit in Dream in Color Classy (for if ever there's a worsted yarn with the yardage you need for this, it's Dream in Color) on US 8 needles, this takes a while, like most dresses, but it's not going to take you the rest of your life.

The eyelets are pushed out by purl rows just a bit, and are worked along the straps as well, so you can use whichever eyelet you wish as a buttonhole, allowing for endless adjustment without any button-moving.

The pockets at the sides pooch out--I used to see that on sweaters and liked the idea of it here. The dress flares not at the sides, but throughout--if you look closely you can see tiny little holes from increases in this shot. It's not enough to make the dress truly flared, but enough so a toddler can run and play in it.

Disappearing Act

2013-02-23T12:41:00.001-08:00

Sorry for vanishing, all...we had a scheduled vacation that I was pretending didn't exist. Why? Because it involved skiing. Not me skiing, mind you. Not even Willow skiing. But Dave and RockNoodle and Toaster and their cousins and uncle and aunt and grandfather were skiing, and the trip was a prelude to next year's trip, wherein Willow will be skiing. And therefore so will I.

Not good. Oh no.

But honestly, that's next year's problem, and you'll hear about it plenty then, I'm sure, and there was absolutely no earthly reason for me to be worrying about skiing and entire year in advance, just because we were going to be in a snowy location where some skiing might be taking place. After all, there was plenty for Willow and me to do.

Like admire the dogsledding dogs (from afar. I'm sure they were very, very nice, but even RockNoodle pointed out that they looked like wolves, and even in such a winter resort-y feeling setting, the whole thing had kind of a wild feeling.

Not so much the horse-drawn sleigh-ride, though those horseys were huge! And not much of an eerie feeling there, as all eleven of us spent the sleigh-ride tormenting the other passengers with Christmas Carols and hooting owl sounds. (Willow's cousin is a fellow bird-lover. They exchanged notes on the precise sound of barred owl calls).

Daddy tasted snow. Therefore Willow tasted snow. Actually I had trouble getting Willow to stop tasting the yellow and brown and salted snow. Seriously.

We tried to drown Toaster. That was hilarious.

But mostly we just admired the scenery. Because.

Maybe I can get into skiing if it's got views like this.

Look What I Finished!

2013-02-15T11:19:00.003-08:00

It only took me a year! But look how nice it looks! Paper Dolls, by Kate Davies, blogged previously here, here, and oh here. Because it took just that long.

The dolls pull together a little more than I would have liked--I don't know if I need to be more aggressive in my stretching, though places where I did that, the stitches seem to be a bit loose.

But I loooooved knitting it, or the colorwork part anyway, and it's all I want to knit now! Or maybe really complicated lace.

Glutton for punishment, that's me.

Night-Training

2013-02-12T06:50:00.001-08:00

Just like I had all these plans in place for potty-training (and, you know, they all fell through and went crazy and Willow decided that her plans were better), so too did I have plans in place for night-training. And so too did those plans get kicked out the window.

About a week and a half in to our toilet-training smackdown, Willow woke up in the night moaning "I have to go." Dave went in, was negotiating with her, and I (half asleep, and not even noticing he was in there because it's usually me she's calling--not this time, which should tell you something) wandered in, and told her "Oh, sweetie, it's okay, you can just go in your diaper."

Yep. Parent of the year, that's me.

In my defense, according to my plans and research, waiting a good long while for potty-training to set in is the way to go, and it's either just going to work on its own, with no getting up in the night to pee, just magically waking up dry someday, or it's going to be waiting until it's really time, and then stripping off the diaper and letting them wet the bed and feel how uncomfortable it is and that'll do it. Obviously I was hoping for the magical waking up dry one. But the third option, the getting up in the night to pee, I wasn't really willing to consider as a possibility, because yo, this girl pees every three hours, and won't stripping her down out of her footie pjs really wake her up, and doesn't that basically put us right back in the days of waking every two or three hours to nurse, for crying out loud, and I'm so not ready to do that again.

Of course, come morning, Dave confronted me about my ranking selfish need for sleep over my daughter's really very impressive self-directed potty-training the in the night, and how perhaps my approach was not the best, from a parenting standpoint. And I agreed grudgingly that if she really, really wanted to pee in the night, he could take her, but I wasn't getting up with her. All of you other moms out there, just give up the competition for Mom of the Year, because I have got it locked down.

(Honestly, I was exhausted from the potty-training. This seemed like trying to take the SATs just after learning to read).

Of course, the next night, we both got up with her, because getting a child in and out of footie pjs and the stool set up and diapers put on and off is a job for more than one parent when at least one of said parents is incapable of letting somebody else handle things even when she says she wants him to.

And so began a pattern of getting up at one or two a.m. (just me, after that first night) and thankfully, it wasn't that big a deal. Willow went right back to sleep each time, and if I didn't, well, at least I wasn't sitting up rubbing her back or singing songs or something. And then that pattern changed to getting up at 5 am, and then to 6 am, and then to 6 am but not needing to go until 7:30, and anyway we've gotten rid of all our diapers now.

I am beyond proud of my kid, and more than a little ashamed of myself. I can take no credit for this one, in fact I was as obstructive as possible, but Willow did it anyway. Rock on, kiddo.

Ladybug

2013-02-05T06:13:00.002-08:00

One of Willow's many nicknames is "Ladybug" (proving, once and for all, that you certainly can give yourself a nickname if you really really insist on it), and so I loved these buttons so much that I designed a sweater around them, and then went so far as to name the sweater after the buttons.

It's a raglan with two button flaps, to get as many ladybugs on the sweater as is humanly possible. And whoa look how crooked that pocket is in the photo (I've since fixed it, I swear).

I looooooved knitting this sweater. I bought the yarn (Madelinetosh Tosh Chunky) without a real plan for the sweater, and swatched and knew I wanted lots of garter because it's oh so squishy, but wasn't sure what else to do. And then I found the buttons and it all became clear.

I'm trying not to give in too much to unreasonable Madelinetosh love (though the thousands of colorways! The machine-washableness! The pretty names of the colorways!) but this yarn made me swoon. It has just the right amount of twist, is very soft while feeling very durable, and is thick enough to feel substantial without feeling bulky. I want to make matching Owls for Willow and me with it when I'm all done with the book (you can tell I'm looking forward to the end when I start queueing projects).

Applications

2013-01-31T13:05:00.001-08:00

I took this sooooooo seriously, and yet filling out a preschool application is an exercise in keeping a straight face. For instance:

What is presently your child's strongest interest?
Willow loves birds. And pretending her food is bugs. And pretending to take off people's heads.

What activities does your child enjoy most?
I would say that Willow enjoys role play, particularly when it involves pretending to be a bird. Who is eating bugs. And, um, she likes music? And climbing on the furniture?

What types of activities does your child find most challenging?
She feels a certain frustration with her lack of fine motor control--her drawing isn't what she wants it to be, and she can't dress her dolls. Her attempts frequently end in the doll getting thrown across the room and a request for help.

What adults influence your child's life?
Well, uh, there's me. And my husband is obviously a strong influence...

Is your child fully toilet-trained?
YES! BOO-YAH! ACED THAT ONE!

Please describe your child's general health including allergies, etc.
No allergies that we know of yet but I am afraid she will end up being allergic to bees since I am so please don't ever let a bee near her I'm not kidding.

And so forth. If I claimed she loved to have War & Peace read aloud and that we listen only to classical music and that we take her to art galleries all the time do you think it would have gone better?

Preschool

2013-01-29T06:48:00.000-08:00

So. After my anti-preschool self-indulgent listen-to-me-convince-myself-of-what-I-want-whether-it's-right-for-Willow-or-not post, I've applied to a preschool.

Because I think it is the right thing. Not full-time, not yet, because I don't think Willow could handle it, and I really don't think I could handle it, but there are (ahem!) some skills that Willow could stand to acquire. Like the ability to see beyond her nose. Like the ability to do what the group is doing. Like the many, many skills that will enable her to get along happily and successfully in the world we live in, not just the one she has ordered to her liking.

But ohhhhhhh my that was a hard decision to accept. Because here's the thing--even though I know that Willow has to find a way to bend with the wind a bit, the fact is that despite how tough it is sometimes, I really love her and want her to stay just the way she is. Willow is a tricky kid, there's no question--she's so stubborn it's comical, she's so imaginative she often won't accept what's real, and she's so smart it's virtually impossible to get around her stubbornness. This makes her, frankly, a real pain the neck, and I can't even imagine what her teachers will have to go through to get her to do what they want, or even just to accept that not all thirty kids in her class can remember (or care to remember) that her name in this five minute period is Flora, not Ladybug, as it was five minutes ago. And I don't want her to go through life being the problem kid, the kid that can't settle down in class, that is disruptive and generally makes her teachers' lives hell. That will do her no kind of good.

But at the same time...her stubbornness, her trust of her own understanding and abilities, her intelligence, and her creativity are all wonderful. I am proud to have a child who not only can think for herself, but absolutely cannot be dissuaded from doing so. I have done my very best to encourage all of these very annoying but very valuable qualities, because I think the traits in my child that are the most challenging are at the same time, in fact, the best ones. And I am so afraid of seeing them disappear.

Let me say that I know--I know--that my fears are likely unfounded, that Willow is unlikely to be the most difficult child ever to walk through preschool doors, and that while she probably will learn to be a little less stubborn, and that she probably will spend a little less time creating new worlds for us all to live in, she has such a strong personality that it is doubtful that anything could change her substantially.

But I cried the day I decided preschool was the right thing to do. Because no one can promise me that nothing bad will happen, no one can promise me that every teacher will love her as I do, and all I could think about was sending my beautiful child away from me to where someone would hurt her, not in any dramatic way, but just not valuing her as she should be valued, so that day after day of this, she would be diminished.

I can't keep her with me all the time. That is, I could, but it wouldn't be good for her. And so at some point, she has to go be with people who love her less--or even not at all. Because that is just what happens in the world. But oh, I'm just not ready for it to happen yet.

Love of the Loveless

2013-01-24T10:02:00.000-08:00

It's pretty fun, this time around, posting things on Ravelry and on the blog--it gives me a bit of a sense as to which patterns are going to be beloved and which, er, aren't. And I'm not very good at predicting it at all! These two patterns have been on Ravelry for a bit, and they are some of my favorites, and they are getting no kinda love.

Part of the problem, I think, is that my photography skills are, ahem, a bit lacking, because seriously, y'all, this Elfin Hat looked so freaking cute on Miss Willow I didn't think I was ever going to be able to make myself take it off her and ship it off to be photographed properly.

It's worked in Manos Del Uruguay Cornucopia, and the earflaps are essentially leaf stems that grow and grow up into the hat itself, and then they taper off at the top into a little pointy top. I know this hat, being super whimsical and all, is totally outside of my usually pretty traditional and modern designs, but I looooove this hat. It's my nod to Tiny Owl Knits, and as soon as I have time, I'm making Willow one of her very own.

Similarly unloved is this Russell Sweater, which I admit looks like a big drapey nothing there on the hanger. But if I owned this sweater, I would wear it every day. It's a simple, long-waisted hooded raglan, with a front pocket, and i-cord edging. But I love the neckline. That button has been switched out for a toggle, which works better.

It's knit in supersoft and washable Berrocco Vintage Chunky, and I love how three-dimensional it is. And when I have time, I'm making this one for me.