There's No Place Like Home

Happy Halloween!

You Probably Knit Too Much If...

I dyed my hair to match my Clapotis.

Don't look at me like that. It wasn't all vanity. I was looking at all those gorgeous Noro Silk Garden colors today. Amethyst purples, cobalt blues and emerald greens melting into one another and realized that I had knit this for the old me. I was a redhead as a child and had a love-hate relationship with my hair. It got me quite a bit of attention, not all of it positive, but at least folks knew who I was. When random people talked about our meeting later they could say to each other, "You know, the redhead." or "I forgot the name of the redhead." or, more often than not "The cute blonde says she'll go out with me if I find a blind date for her friend, the redhead."

Well nature plays a cruel joke on us redheads. Red fades with age, which means that just as you reach an age where you can laugh in the face of other peoples' perceptions, "redheaded stepchild" jokes et al, it starts to vanish. Now, when I could finally stare down the bozo who asks, "You gotta temper to match that hair?" it starts to fade to a dishwater blonde.

So today as I looked at Clapotis I realized that my draw to those shades of violet and green stemmed from the fact that they used to be the only shades I could wear that wouldn't clash with my hair. Suddenly I got so homesick for myself, and I did it. I drove to the drugstore and bought some L'oreal Excellence Creme 6R and dyed my hair to match my Clapotis!

Now I once again have that hair that says, "I'm probably descended from Vikings, so while we're having a polite conversation now, you'd best stay on my good side lest my genetic predisposition for burning and pillaging kicks in."

For the first time in a long time I looked in the mirror and recognized myself. I could have used this hair yesterday. We were invited to a birthday party at Chuckie Cheese. For those of you unfamiliar with this establishment, Chuckie Cheese is like Mickey Mouse's out of control, nakedly exploitive and opportunistic younger sibling. Or for all you SAT lovers out there...

Chuckie is to Mickey
As Paris is to Nicky

The only good to come out of this experience is that I can now report with confidence that none of my children have previously undiagnosed epilepsy. Chuckie Cheese is Vegas for children. Bad dinner theater, tokens, gambling,smoke and mirrors. The only thing missing was free cocktails for high stakes gamblers. To which I say, "Ha! you lock me in this building with flashing lights and a 7 foot animatronic mouse, you better make it worth my while."

One interesting side note of the event was watching the interaction between parents. The crowd was made up of women clothed in full Burkas - face covering, the whole nine yards (of fabric) and women in painted on jeans and lingerie as outer wear who were there to spend some quality time with their "baby's daddy" which afforded my children the opportunity to witness the Madonna/Whore Complex in action. Still I felt the need to find some common ground and considered gathering all the women together to hold hands in a circle and sing the Whitney Houston hit I'm Every Woman, but by this point my two year old had gone into electronic overstimulation shock (EOS) and was staring at the mini-carousel screaming "Horsey, Help me! Horsey Help meeeeee!!!!!!!!!" I looked at my husband with that desperate "I know this is your family, but you have to get me out of here before my head implodes." look on my face. Fortunately he felt the same way and together we convinced the children that a three hour wait at the prize counter to redeem 120 points worth of tickets which would earn them a "Let's Go To Chuckie Cheese!" bumper sticker, really wasn't worth it.

And my childrens' only complaint after the fact? They didn't get to spend any quality time with their cousin, the birthday girl.

Rampant consumerism- 1
Human relations- 0

Swing Low Sweet Chariot...

There is progress on the Clapotis pictured above. It's wrapped around my lovely Irish dancing assistant. This same assistant has not had a very good day. I know this because she sang about it between sobs after she had locked herself in the bathroom. She sang an epic lament about the pain and torment of having me for a mother. I am REALLY looking forward to puberty.

She woke up sad. I know I've had days like that. After a fight with her older sister she came to me for breakfast. I gave her the list of options and nothing sounded good to her. She asked me for the menu twice more and I curtly told her that she had to select from what was available or go hungry. She ran to the bathroom and locked herself in. After a gut wrenching crying jag the (rather loud) pleas to heaven began. "Please God, help me. This is the meanest she's ever been to me. Why does it have to be this way? I do EVERYTHING around here!" This is what comes of watching Cinderella one too many times. And then the singing..." a very bad day, a very bad day, I remember good days so long ago."

This doesn't happen very often, but she has done it before, because it works. There's something about being bad-mouthed to The Almighty by a 6 year old that stops me in my frazzled tracks. I eventually coaxed her out and she later boasted to me "I took a bad day and turned it upside down!" But I secretly fear she's ready to interview new mothers.
I'd like to take this opportunity to beat her to the punch,

Dear Angelina,
If you're reading this, maybe looking for knitting info so you can knit something up for little Zahara? Please adopt me. I'm potty trained, I do dishes, and I have no qualms about calling Brad "Daddy" (insert Soon Yi joke here.) Heck you can even give me the same mohawk as Maddox and change my name to Tonya, but spell it Dhanja, thereby condemming me to a life of having to spell it for every underpaid, overworked office worker that comes my way. I won't write a tell all book and I don't require designer clothes. Just keep me in quality yarn and nobody gets hurt.

Sincerely,
Aimee

Friday Foolishness

I saw this over at Lickety Knit and a few other blogs. Google “[Your Name] needs” and see what kind of sentences come up.

Here are mine:

Aimee needs more cheese.
Aimee needs to spend a few months training in the ring!
Aimee needs a new t-shirt designer.
Aimee needs some retraining.
Aimee needs a caring family to cherish and pamper her for the rest of her life.
Aimee needs wet milling service in Europe.
Aimee needs to stand on a box the next time we take a photo.

pass it on.

The Constant Knitter

I have serious blogger's guilt. It's been too long since I've posted, but I have two settings right now. Full speed ahead and full stop! I wake up every morning with the frantic sense that I'm supposed to be somewhere and about 70% of the time I'm right. The other 30% is spent not wanting to do anything at all in protest.
Except knit of course.
I'm knitting like mad to shut out the noise. I have so many projects on the needles right now I've stopped trying to update my WIP bar, at least for the time being.

I have 2 current favorites though that occupy most of my time. First is the Marilyn's Not-So-Shrunken cardi from Wendy at Knit & Tonic which I'm knitting up in Merino Style from KnitPicks. I love this yarn with a passion that knows no depths. It's Dk weight, soft, spongy merino goodness for a little over $2. Plus I love this pattern. It's the first time I've knit a sweater from the top down and I love it. I'm not the biggest fan of finishing, so this project is just what I needed right now. I'm already day dreaming of all the ways I could adapt this pattern in myriad shapes and colors.

The other project is my, at long last, Clapotis. The Clapotis had taken on mythical proportions for me. I've been loathe to blog about this, but we're in the process of attempting to buy a house in a market that's not very accomodating. When we placed our first bid I had visions of myself knitting in front of the fireplace draped in a lovely Clapotis. I decided to cast on with some Noro Silk Garden in a desperate act of wishful knitting. Before I could even get it on the needles we were outbid. Now we've bid on another place and I've been knitting that Clapotis like I could knit the future together just the way I see it. I don't know what's coming or where we're going, but I know that I have to knit into the front and back of every stitch before the markers and I know that Silk Garden drapes lovely and I know that dropped stitches take some coaxing when you actually want them to drop for a change.

In reference to the title of the post, If you haven't been to see The Constant Gardner yet, do your self a favor and see it. Fantastic!

Wonder of Wonders

One of my lovely assistants is shown here modeling Glampyre's One Skein Wonder. I modified the pattern to fit her and knit it up in a maroon yarn called Touch Me and some Manos del Uruguay wool in the color Butane. It came out perfect. I had very little to do with that. Pattern adjustments mean math and math and I don't usually mix in the context of relaxing hobbies. Not only was I downsizing the pattern, but these yarns knit up at a bulkier gauge than the pattern called for. Instead of grabbing my calculator, I cast on and eye balled the work as I went. If my intuition told me to stop the increases and move on to the edge stitches then that's what I did. Lo and behold it all worked out just right, which is well and fitting since it was a gift for this particular lovely assistant.

Since the day she was born she has had an inner focus that locks onto an objective and never looks back. There's no contemplating the pros and cons, no questioning her own abilities. Just a laser beam straight ahead. As a toddler we would take her to the beach and she would run straight for the water, as high as she could go before we snatched her back to the safety of our sandy blanket. Never mind that she couldn't swim, she just wanted to be there in the waves and I would be franticly pulling her back over and over. In retrospect, if I had let her go, she would have just set about the business of successfully growing fins.

Now she wants to dance. It's all she thinks about. All she does in her free time when she thinks no one's looking. She fell in love with the movie The Secret of Roan Inish and the music captivated her. She began to speak to us with an Irish accent. We brought her to our local pub where a friend was playing his fiddle and she was so thrilled. "It's Roan Inish music!" she said. And then some girls got up to dance and the rhythm of the song was the rhythm of their feet and she dove in.

I made the One Skein Wonder so she would have something special to wear on a special night. For her birthday we surprised her with tickets to Riverdance. She wasn't told where we were going until we arrived at the Theater and she saw the poster. "It's Roan Inish Dancing." she whispered. Beyond ecstatic, she danced in the lobby waiting for the show to start, she sat on the edge of her seat from curtain up to curtain down.

Since the producers of Riverdance failed to notice her remarkable talent as she danced through the lobby, she realized she might have to pay some dues and began dance classes today. The parents aren't allowed to watch class, but my husband later confessed that he peeked in. "All they were doing was hopping around in a line with one leg out." he said. Now I have to confess, I have a nasty trait that I've passed on to the majority of my children. If I can't do something really fantastic from the get go, I lose steam fairly quickly. I remember being in awe of figure skaters as a child until my parents actually signed me up for lessons. I spent class after class just skating in circles, holding on to the waist of the girl in front of me like some conga line in purgatory, thinking, "Hey! When do I get to do a triple toe loop?" So I was sure my daughter would come home with her enthusiasm dampened. Not a chance. She set the dining room chairs up like traffic cones so she could perfect her one leg out hopping on a precise rectangular path. Full steam ahead.

Je Ne Sais Quoi

What is it about the French? When I was about 11 or 12 my uncle had a French girlfriend, Fabian. She would arrive from New York for a weekend visit with just the shoes on her feet and an overnight bag the size of my wallet, but out of it she would pull the makings of a stylish ensemble for every possible situation. She was a fashion "MacGyver"! And I would study her like a science project making mental notes to myself when she arrived at the breakfast table each morning. Nothing fussy. Understated, but undeniably fashion forward, yet never trendy. I wanted to be Fabian when I grew up.

Alas, I was doomed. I grew up in the age of Madonna's Like A Virgin phase. Big hair, parachute pants, linebacker shoulder pads and stirrup pants. Plus, besides Fabian, my other fashion icon was Barbie. I didn't stand a chance. To this day I start out at my closet door with the best of intentions and end up in whatever's clean and comfy (T-shirt & Jeans, T-shirt & Jeans, T-shirt & jeans.) Or the other extreme. I don't know which is worse.

Even with my knitting I always plan on opting for a yarn that's as high quality as my budget allows, in a shade that compliments the stitch pattern and design, but then I actually see the yarn display and ooooohhh that hot pink really catches my eye and wouldn't it look great with some purple metalic lurex at the edge and maybe some rhinestone buttons or beading? Yes, perfect!

So today as I was killing time waiting for the 110th load of laundry to finish in the dryer which is now making an exhausted squeaking noise and I decided to go see how Francoise's vacation went over at Knitwise. She posted pictures of her newest cast on, the Valenciennes cardigan, which is exquisite and naturally from a French pattern. From her site I linked to Le Blog de Caro, which I had never visited before and decided to check out her gallery of finished projects. All of a sudden I was 12 years old again, sitting at the breakfast table with Fabian, feeling utterly inferior in my neon plastic bracelets with an oversized lace bow in my permed hair. Caro's work was all clean lines, rich, but muted hues and delicate edging. *sigh*

So now I want to be Caro when I grow up.
For now I've installed a Babel Fish translator on my sidebar. We can just click on the French flag to translate this page and make believe I'm French. My description of scabies is Much more romantic that way, trust me.

Are We Having Fun Yet?

Let me preface this post by stating that I love my life and I realize that there are many families who have had far, far worse weeks than I've had. However, it's my blog and I'll cry if I want to.

We homeschool and we have six children. This time of year is naturally very busy. Now add to that the fact that my 4 year old is going through a serious "mommy phase". ie: everything has to be done by Mom (aka- me). Dad won't do, brother won't do, grandma won't do. It has to be mom. As a result, this is my view all day...

So my darling husband has a job he loves very much. He helps care for the injured and elderly sisters at our local convent. Usually it's a wonderful blessing. The children love to go visit and it's like having 200 grandmothers all fighting to fill you up with cookies, cakes and juice and I have 200 sisters praying for me everyday, which believe me I NEED.

Well, this week one of the sisters came down with Scabies. What's Scabies you ask? I'd do a search and post a link with some graphic pictures and grotesque descriptions, but frankly I don't want to see them myself. Suffice it to say they're microscopic bugs that nest in the skin and they're highly contagious. I prefer to call them kooties. A much nicer image than the alternative. Anyways, because hubby was caring for her and then coming home to us we all have been exposed and must be treated. The treatment itself isn't too bad. Just a topical lotion applied before bed and then washed off in the morning. The hubby tried to make it fun (?) for the children. I applied the lotion while he rounded them up one by one and played emcee- "Congratulations! You're the next contestant on name that itch."

My problem is the laundry. UGH! The laundry. We normally have quite a bit of laundry each week anyways, but this morning all the beds had to be stripped and all the clothes, towels, blankets, etc that have been used lately have to be washed. Just between you and me, a large bonfire in the backyard actually sounds like a reasonable option right now. Minus any handknits of course.

But all is not lost. I actually finished the IK retro rib socks for my mom, plus one of the Glampyre One Skein Wonders for myself in TLC Cotton Plus. I love this little shrug and made myself a second one in pale yellow Lamb's Pride Cotton Fleece which is presently at the bottom of that laundry pile.
A top secret sweater I've been knitting for my FIL for his birthday on Saturday was also completed in the knick of time. I was going for a slouchy, v-neck sweatshirt feel with the sweater and it's my first project from Ann Budd's Handy Book of Sweater Patterns, which I love. I used Knit Picks Wool of the Andes. Here it is,

All gifts will be washed before giving. No one really wants some kooties with their knitwear.

Back to the laundry I go.

S O S

The American Red Cross

Give A Little - for charity minded knitters

Show & Tell

Look what I made!

Life's been a little crazy lately, so I took a break from reality and played with yarn and dye all day. I've been experimenting and finally came up with a technique I like. I took some leftover aran weight wool and some fingering weight merino wool that I had dyed previously solid colors and I overdyed them with 2 shades each and created this effect.

I love them both and just knitted up this test swatch with a few different stitches to make sure I didn't end up with some crazy splotches of pooling. So far so good.

My big knitting lessons of the week....give me some natural fibers and dyes and I'm like a pig in mud. Happy, Happy! Ask me to do some lace knitting and you'll find me later in a puddle of tears and knotted yarn.

Dear Santa,
If you're reading this, I'd like 2 bags of Henry's Attic Andromeda from Discount Yarns that I can dye myself and knit up a lovely Clapotis. (I prefer to see myself as not so much a knitting lemming, but rather a woman who knows a good thing when she sees it.) I promise I'll be a very good girl for the rest of the year.
Love,
Me

Star Crossed Lovers

You know how sometimes you see a pattern and think, "That's pretty cute and I have that yarn in my stash. Sure, I'll cast on."
and then sometimes you see a pattern and your little knitter's heart starts to race and you HAVE to make it? That's what happened to me when I stumbled across this shawl pattern from Karabella in an old Patternworks catalog. After picking myself up off the floor I read on to find that it's actually a crochet pattern and I haven't crocheted, with the exception of some decorative edging, for over a decade.

No problem. It's like riding a bike, right?

Then I saw the suggested yarn was Karabella LW Supercashmere which costs roughly an arm and a leg.

No problem. I have some heathered lace weight super soft alpaca from Knit Picks that would probably work.

Then I tried to order the pattern from the Patternworks site only to find they no longer carry it.

No problem. A quick Google search and I tracked it down at Knit Pixie.

Now I will sit by my window everyday and wait for the mail man with my crochet hook in one hand and a ball of lace weight alpaca in the other, because although the odds are clearly against us, with God as my witness, I will do whatever I need to do to make this work and we will live happily ever after.

Li'l Miss Crumpet

I've been wrapping up a flourish of finishing. Here's the completed Crumpets babydoll top in KnitPicks' Shine, green apple. Doesn't she look sweet & adorable. You should know I had to delay this post to call Poison Control because I found my little darling eating craft glitter shortly after this picture was taken. This is the same child who had to go to the ER a few weeks ago when she shoved plastic beads up her nose. (If you ever need to know how to extract beads from the nose of a toddler just drop me a line. I can spare you a trip.) Not content with just sticking one up there, she managed to insert 3 before she realized they weren't at all comfortable. The next day I also discovered that she had eaten 2. I'll spare you the details as to how I know this, but let's just say it came out alright in the end.

Awww...I Think She Takes After Me

Here are my completed baby gifts. Now let's just hope the ultrasound tech was correct and it's a girl. I tried to make everything big enough so it'll fit in the cooler weather and I certainly hope for the expectant mother's sake she's not born with a head big enough to wear that hat home from the hospital. Ouch!

The hat is Miss Dashwood from Knitty. I used cream colored Andean Silk from KnitPicks. The Mittens are from Zoe Mellor's Nursery Knits, the socks are the ruffle rib Better Than Booties socks from Interweave (PDF file) and all of those were done with KnitPicks Sock Memories in Paperdoll.

God Save The Queen

My regal assistant is modeling the recently completed Elizabeth ruff from Kate Gilbert, the evil genius who loosed Clapotis on an unsuspecting knitting public. I love this design. Not only was it a quick, fun knit which let me use up odds and ends of Rowan Kidsilk Haze left over from my Maggie sweater, but it's a great option for moms who don't want their little ones running around the playground wearing long scarves.

Also on the needles is a variety of baby booties, mittens, hats, etc. for friends having babies. I'm using knit picks self striping sock yarn in the Paper Doll colorway right now and LOVE it. The colors are more vibrant than they appeared on my computer screen, but still softer than the other shades they offer and the merino is nice and soft and very easy to knit with. I ordered a few extra skeins in a dark purple colorway (the name of which escapes me now) that I'll use to knit up the Erte Cloche from Marnie MacLean as soon as all my gift knitting is done.

Comic Relief

Sorry blogging's been light. With everything that's happened in London writing about knitting seemed a little ridiculous. But here I am, so I mine as well offer the ultimate in ridiculous knitting for a little comic relief. Go check out You Knit What? and have a good laugh.

Sock & Crumpets

I've been a busy girl this holiday weekend, knitting away when I wasn't yelling at the TV screen during Live8.

Warning: Non-Knitting Side Rant. Could the MTV coverage have been any worse?!

V.J.: "Scissor Sisters is really tearing it up here live, but let's go now to some pre-recorded footage of Jay-Z and Lincoln Park for the umpteenth time."

And how sad is the state of the modern music industry that Pink Floyd walked out on stage and mopped up the floor with every "artist" who apparently put more thought into their wardrobe than their music.

OK, rant over.

Anyways, I finished the first Retro-Rib sock and cast on Crumpets from Chiagu in the leftover Green Apple Shine from KnitPicks. I'm taking a cue from Wendy over at Knit & Tonic and knitting it as a little baby doll tank for my daughter. So far I really love how the pattern is knitting up. Unfortunately I had originally started on larger needles, but the gauge was way too loose and looked so sloppy I frogged the whole thing and started over on smaller needles. All better now. I found a Crumpets Knit Along and I think I may join. It'll be my first Knit-Along.

I Am The Champion My Friends!

Behold the domesticated monster. I was in such a funk this week I knew there was only one project that could pull me through. I had to tackle that fuzzy sweater from Rowan Magazine #31 that's been sitting in the box under my nightstand for over a year and show it who's boss.

Once I pulled it all out and figured where I left off, I was stunned at how quickly it came together. Not only did I finish it, but it's actually my favorite finished piece yet! It's a true testament to the beauty of Kidsilk Haze that I'm still eager to knit with it again after all this and the sweater has a flirty Donna Reed feel that makes me want to greet my family with fresh baked muffins in the morning and vacume in high heels and pearls.

Never again will I be intimidated by two sticks and some yarn. I will knit intarsia. I will knit fair isle. I will knit lace. Who knows, maybe I'll even knit enterlac and NO ONE CAN STOP ME! except maybe my husband when he gets the yarn bill.

Speaking of yarn. Here's a great mystery of the knitting universe to ponder, if KnitPixie receives a new supply of Vesper Sock Yarn every week, why is it always out of stock??? I obsessively check everyday and it's never there. Has anyone tried it? Is my adoration from afar well founded? Will I ultimately be disappointed when I finally get my hands on some? And how does Knitterly Things dye a self striping sock yarn with so many shades of Kool-Aid anyways? The worlds biggest microwave?

5...4...3...2....

It's time for the Inspirations Yarn Womb Watch! Margaret's due for an induction any time now. Watch her blog for the big announcement.

Good News, Bad News

The good news is, I'm no longer the only knitter in the house.

The bad news is, I'm no longer the only knitter in the house and she'll soon learn where I stash the good yarn.

Melancholy Baby

My best friend is being abducted.

Ok, maybe I'm exagerating just a little.

Jenn has been my best friend since 7th grade. She was in 8th grade, but we both were scheduled for Mr. Vail's quiet study at Danvers High School right after lunch period. On the first day of school I arrived in the classroom and sat in the very front row. Suddenly I heard a voice from the back of the room saying, "Psst.... Hey ding dong, Nobody sits in the front row for Study Hall! Sit back here by me." She's been saving me from my innate dorkiness ever since.

Well now she's gone and married a hockey coach whose job requires them to move all the way to Switzerland. I cannot hop on the "T" and go to Switzerland. This is causing an unexpected amount of angst. The fact is, for the past few years we've both been busy with our own young families and haven't seen each other as much as I would have liked, but at least I always knew where she was. If I wanted to talk to her I didn't have to calculate time zone changes and deal with overseas phone service.

I am in serious danger of being thrown into some nostalgic gloom where I will be found wearing my old baton squad uniform, drinking Zima and listening to Michael Bolton sing "How Am I supposed To Live Without You" over and over again. The only cure for this is Sushi. Whenever life gets crazy Jenn and I leave the kids with our respective hubbies and meet for Sushi. Does Sushi go well with Zima?