January

In January I got a case of "finish-it-itis." As you know, when that hits, it is important to run with it. My goal was to finish some ufos (unfinished objects).

As such, I tackled and completed:

a hat for my daughter

She pointed to a picture she liked and chose her colors and I knit it.

a self-designed, Latvian-inspired hat (begun 4 years ago)

a basic baby hat

a thread crochet cellphone case (at least one year old - no good photo)

a hand-quilted lap quilt (5 years along?)

a baby sweater

Elizabeth Zimmerman's February Baby Sweater pattern

a knitted baby dress (begun 2 years ago?)

And last weekend, I attended a spin retreat and spun up 8 ounces of Frabjous Fibers Polwarth roving.

Ralph the dinosaur

This one is for Rebecca.

My youngest still likes my knitting, stuffed animals and dinosaurs. As such, he deserves to be rewarded.

I cast on this ankylosauras in December during a long car ride (I was a passenger), intending it as his Christmas present. We did not give many presents this year, so I wanted them to be things the kids actually liked. Guess what? He did!

The pattern is from the book Knitted Dinosaurs. The writing is a bit wonky, as the instructions for putting on the legs seem to be opposite of what the pictures indicate. The finishing of it was definitely the tricky part, but I got it all together before the 25th.

He immediately named it Ralph after "Wreck it Ralph." Haven't seen it, yet. Hope it's a compliment.

Here he is, in all his glory.

For those of you keeping track, the hat still is not lost.

This is the way it's supposed to be

My last post was about a knit of indeterminable length, and most of it painfully tedious. Today, I post a picture of The Way It's Supposed To Be.

This hat took four days of non-intensive knitting. It would have been much shorter, but it is double thick. That means, it is basically two hats, joined at the brim, and fully reversible. For interested parties, the yarn is Ewe Ewe Yarns: Ewe So Sporty and the pattern is of my own making.

The dark side

It was given to a child who was eagerly excited to receive it. He asked each of the four days, "Is it done, yet?!" He has worn it ever since I gave it to him and hasn't lost it yet (it's been about 12 hours and he hasn't left the house).

It was knit for him, because he rejoiced over the knitted dinosaur I gave him for Christmas. Really.  Told outside sources it was his favorite present.

I fully realize, this must be the peak of my knitting career in my family. Never before have two knitted projects in a row been eagerly received AND worn. Always before my children have melted away from the room, discarding items while muttering phrases like, "it itches." But, I'll enjoy this 12 hours while it's happening. And, you know? It's nice up here on the mountaintop!

New Years' Eve

Last night, as the clock ticked toward midnight I was casting off a pair of socks.

The socks that would not be cast off.

I feel like I've been knitting them my whole life. If I believed in reincarnation, I might think I had been knitting them even longer. In actuality, it has been a project I've bopped to on and off all year, but, my! That year felt long.

Last November, when I was in Iowa, I bought this adorable yarn, dyed on yarn blanks, and rolled into yarn cakes. The color was "Middle earth" -- a perfect gift for my Tolkein loving husband. I gifted it to him on Christmas.

It turns out, a more perfect gift would have been to knit them. (They weren't the self-knitting variety.) This year, I cast on and set off on the grand adventure.

I have knit plenty of pairs of socks before, but, for some reason, the ones I knit for my husband Just. Take. Forever. Maybe it is his annoying need for tight socks. In order for them to be acceptable, I have to have him try them on many, many times. The only thing worse than spending a lifetime knitting a pair of socks is for them not to be worn after completion.

Maybe it is his need that they be thigh high. On a normal person. On him, these tight suckers end up widening out quite a bit and gripping his calf.

Maybe it is his need for inches and inches of ribbing. Inches and inches. Yards, I believe.

In any case, knitting these socks reminds me of the old Vermont story I heard years ago: a man was given 6 months to live and promptly moved to remote Vermont, saying, "I may have only 6 months to live, but -- here -- it will feel like forever!" This is the recommended pair of socks for such a life sentence!