Dogs Steal Yarn

blank canvas

I took a long, hard look at that little robot vest, and though it doesn’t match up to the perfect robot head vest that lives in my head, I’m not inclined to tinker with it further or knit it again. The inspiration has already moved on to another idea and to knit it again would just be drudgery. And I don’t get nearly enough knitting time to accept drudgery in my knitting.

What I do love about the vest is the vest itself, intarsia aside. I love that thing on Thumper. It’s one of those great basic shapes that I know I’ll knit many times in the future, for Thumper and as gifts for other kids. I can see it in a solid color, or with contrasting trim. I can see it with any number of varieties of stripe. With some simple fair isle. Maybe even with intarsia in one form or another. Quick to knit, practical as a layering piece, great for the in-between weather… Thumper could use a few sweater vests. And then I thought about the fact that a number of you expressed interest in the vest minus the robot, and some of you expressed interest in the vest WITH the robot and so I thought…

Blank Canvas Baby Vest.

I’m going to offer the vest pattern in a wide range of baby and child sizes. I’ll write it for a plain vest in worsted weight yarn, but I’ll also include the robot head chart for those who want to knit that, either as is or with your own modifications. (I’ll only be providing one chart, though, rather than a separate chart for each size, since it’s not all about the robot anymore.) Knit it off-center. Outline it in black. Change the mouth shape. Whatever you want. There were many great suggestions in the comments on the previous post. Or leave off the robot entirely and just knit a nice, simple vest. Or a stripy vest. Have fun with it. I provide the shape and you take it from there.

And then I thought… I want a good basic sweater vest too. But I’m me, so I want stripes, for sure. And so I’m going to write up a pattern in adult sizes too, but with waist shaping, etc, and probably a lighter-weight yarn for a less bulky look. Coming soon to a blog near you, Blank Canvas Women’s Vest.

So yeah, coming up soon, two patterns for good, useful basics to be adapted however you choose. I hope you like them. I can’t wait to see what variations you come up with.

Dr. Robot Head or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Intarsia

But the intarsia, she doesn’t love me.

I had the best of intentions for this little sweater vest. The sweater that lived in my head looked so damn cute on Thumper and all of you were going to want to buy the pattern and knit one, too. See, look at the sketch:

Cute.

And then I knit it up, and it wasn’t so cute. But I thought that a good blocking would smooth things out and produce some kind of blocking miracle… You know the one we hope for… That somehow a mediocre knit will be magically transformed by the addition of water? Yeah, not so much:

Okay, what has she dressed me in now?

If I turn sideways and play with this toy, maybe no one will notice the lame robot head on my vest.

Quick! Save yourselves! Run, before she intarsias again!

The full-frontal, complete with baby drool spots.

I mean, it’s cute. Kind of cute. But the robot head doesn’t really read as a robot head, does it? The sketch just didn’t translate well into stitches. It doesn’t look as crisp as it would need to. Maybe if I’d knit it in a much smaller gauge yarn… Except that I’m not in favor of intarsia on teensy tiny needles for someone who’s growing as fast as babies and toddlers insist on growing.

I was going to offer the pattern in a wide range of sizes, from 6 months to 4 years and provide a separate chart for each size. If you’re going to pay me for a pattern, I want you to get a well-written one, you know? But that’s an awful lot of work for something that I don’t think was entirely successful.

I don’t know… I think I’ll be chalking this one up to experience. It’s cute enough for Thumper to wear but not really cute enough to sell.

I love these colors together, so I have something else planned in this same yarn that I think will come together much more successfully. Meaning, no intarsia.

I had such high hopes for this little vest. I was insanely pleased with the little sketch. I think I tried to get a little too clever with it, though.

Ah well. It’s the process, yeah?

The sweet sound of someone else cleaning my house

Ah...and the lemony scent of Pledge wafting up the stairs as well...

We're trying to have the house ready to go on the market April 7th, and there is still much much work to be done. Yesterday I had a mini freakout about how much is left to be done and Billy rode to the rescue and called in a cleaning service. Not really in the budget, but you have to spend some money to make money, right? And if I'm going to do all of this decluttering and sorting through of stuff and organizing what gets donated (big pile of donation stuff already accumulating in the basement now) and what gets packed and saved and what gets tossed, while taking care of Thumper, I've realized I can't also clean the house to the degree it needs to be cleaned for the open house planned for the seventh. So two lovely young women are here now cleaning, and will come again the day before the open house.

Ahhh....

Yes, I'll try not to get used to it.

My mother just left. She came for a few hours to help me get the front garden into shape. It looks great now, all weeded and with fresh mulch. The daffodils are blooming, the grape hyacinth are poking their beady little coneheads up, and the forsythia is budding. Now to plant the windowboxes with winter pansy and I think the front of the house is ready to show. Wouldn't it be nice if I showed you a picture of the front garden? I'd love to, but I can't. I've got very few blogging policies in place to protect our family's privacy, and one of them is never showing photos of the front of the house or our immediate block. Sorry! How about I take the photos now and show them to you after we move?

No, no...it's not YOU I don't trust, darling. It's those random folk who surf in after a Google search for "pregnant breasts" or "how to kill my sister's dog" or somesuch. Yes, those are real searches that lead folks here. Charming, yeah?

Ugh...this getting the house ready to show, it's the very worst part of moving for me. I love searching for new houses. Hate selling the old one. But it's exciting, too. This getting ready to move and start our new life in a new city. I can't wait. I wish we were already there.

What I found on the camera today

I'm not sure which one of them took this photo (though I do suspect it was the one with better command of his opposable thumbs). Doesn't it look like they're whipping around some kind of vortex? Apparently when I leave them unattended and think they're playing with toys they're actually mucking about with the time-space continuum.

Need more proof? Take a look at this one:

Thumper's guided tour of the ducks of Brooklyn

Hello, dear people. Thumper Dogsstealyarn, Esq. here.

I heard a rumor that a certain nomadic knitter was in town today, but alas my mother decided that it would be too much excitement for me. Too much excitement! As if such a thing were possible?! Am I not a wonder baby, after all? Do I not win hearts and minds each time I ride the Q train? Surely I'm capable of winning the hearts and minds of an auditorium full of knitters! But my mother thought otherwise. Do you know what she said? She said, "Sweet Thumper, I know you really wanted to go drool on Stephanie some more, but we're really much better off staying home this evening. How about a walk in the park instead?"

As if a walk in Prospect Park could possibly measure up to an evening with my beloved birthday twin? I think not. But I didn't want to hurt Mommy's feelings, so I went to the park with her. And I thought, if we're going to the park, we might as well make it an educational experience for you dear readers.

And so, I, Thumper, humbly present to you:

How to Find Ducks in Brooklyn

Step 1: Get dressed up in your outside-going gear.

Step 2: Go outside and have the mommy or whoever is carrying you walk toward the park

Step 3: Follow the duckprints

Step 4: Go through the spooky tunnel and make hooting noises to hear the echo.

Step 5: See ducks

And that's really all there is to it. It's tiring work, sure, but not very complicated.

On the way home we saw some New York snow. Mommy says she won't miss it.

I still think we should have gone to see the Harlot. I love the Harlot.

The Portuguese widow moves house

In describing his decorating sense vs his husband's, MC once told me, "He's a Zen monk and I'm a Portuguese widow." Meaning that, like me, Michael has a tendency to collect things and like layers and what other people might call clutter, whereas Ken prefers sparse, clean lines. You can see this tension between their styles in their apartment, and it works well there. (Though I have long suspected MC's SoHo studio is not nearly so restrained a place.)

That's stayed with me, his offhand comment on his tendency to accumulate stuff because, well...me too. (yeah, I'm Buddhist. We all have things we need to work on.)

I got an early start at it, frequenting garage sales and flea markets and auctions with my mother, a collector herself. Old horse bits and bridles, candlestick holders, Depression glass, vintage clothes and jewelry, old books with crumbling covers, Cookie Monster paraphernalia--ESPECIALLY Cookie Monster paraphernalia... By the time I left for college I owned way more stuff than any 18-year-old has call to own. The stuff mostly stayed behind at my parents' house in my very full bedroom. When my father died and my mom moved to a smaller house, most of that stuff went into storage. Meanwhile, I was away at college collecting more stuff. I went Madrid for my junior year and came back loaded down with yet more stuff—none of which I can now recall. I spent nearly every Sunday morning combing through the stalls at the Rastro in Madrid. My dad had died three months before I went to Spain and with him our family’s income. I didn’t have the money to be at the flea market every weekend, but I went anyway because that was what I would have done before he died. Garage sales, flea markets, auctions…hunting for that perfect collectible or antique…it was what my family did together. So there I was, across the ocean and on my own, my father dead and me sifting through piles of old silverware spread out on a blanket in a corner of Madrid.

And so I came home and graduated, moved way too many boxes of stuff and way too many pieces of cool garage sale furniture into my 250 sq foot studio in the East Village. I lived in that tiny space for nearly five years, and by the end of that time my stuff was crowding me out.

And then on to 975 square feet in Brooklyn. A real living room and a real bedroom meant one thing—I had room for more stuff! Soon that place was filled to overflowing too. All good stuff, mind you, and all previously owned, so,…you know…reuse, recycle, all that. It didn’t FEEL like too much consumption.

When we moved from the one-bedroom apartment to this house, everything I had crammed into that apartment or kept in storage with my mom or in the basement of our building filled the house. It didn’t overfill the house—it was just right. Which meant that I’d had enough furniture and books and chotchkes in the apartment to furnish a four-bedroom house. I liked the fact that the house felt uncluttered and stopped acquiring things for the most part. That felt good, the realizing I had enough stuff. That finding a great piece of Depression glass at a stoop sale didn’t mean I was obligated to buy said piece. Etc. I had grown. I was terribly impressed with myself.

Now we’re preparing to move across the country. (Oh yeah. PS: We’re definitely moving to Portland.) I’m taking stock of what we have—what I have, really, because Billy isn’t into the material possessions thing like I have been. What I’m finding is that while it’s great that I stopped acquiring things just for the sake of having them a few years back, I really did build tremendous stores of crap before that point. I could furnish a large apartment just with what we’ve got in our basement storage area. Including art for the walls and way too many knick knacks. Billy and I each have three bikes (two beaters that can get locked up on the street and if they get stolen, so be it, and one good road bike for real rides each). Ask me when we last road the bikes. Go on. Ask. Here’s a hint—I wasn’t allowed to ride a bike while pregnant and I sure haven’t gotten on one since. We’ll keep our good bikes and sell the others.

I’ve never thrown out a book and never sold any to used bookstores or donated them or even given books away to friends. I’ve hoarded every book that’s come into my life since high school. Why? Yesterday I filled five boxes with books I don’t need to live with anymore. We’ll sell them to a used bookstore, and when it’s time to move I’ll go through the shelves and hopefully weed out another box or two’s worth.

I have bags full of size 4 clothes. I haven’t worn a size 4 since 2000 and if I ever do wear that size again (Yeah right.) the clothes will not likely fit the person I’ve become in the intervening years. So why do I still have them? And how many pairs of shoes does one person need, anyway? And does a family of three need twenty mugs?

Don’t get me started on the piles of papers. I may hoard collectibles and antiques. Billy hangs on to every piece of paper he’s ever come across and they pile up in his office like snowdrifts.

You see where I’m going with this…

I’m taking this move as an opportunity to lighten the load a bit. Family pieces either go with us or back to my mother or brother, but with everything else I need to truly love it or truly need it, or it goes. I have only begun to purge. It feels good. I hope I can curb my packrat ways in the new house.

PS: There will be a stash sale soon

9 months

Nine months in:

Nine months out:

Happy nine months, my sweet baby boy!

Quality control

I had a weird dream Friday night. (I know, I know...no one actually wants to hear about anyone else's dreams. No, this one won't be different. It's not interesting enough to share, really, but I'm sharing anyway, because I'm going somewhere with this.) Thumper and I were in Portland, Oregon, at an outdoor cafe on the side of a grassy hill, surrounded by old-growth trees. I hung the baby sling--with the baby in it--on the back of a chair (this was perfectly normal in the dream) while I went to order coffee and a cookie from the very friendly woman at the counter, which was more like a wooden plank balanced on two saw horses. As I turned back toward the table with my coffee, I saw the baby start to reach for something and tip out of his sling. He was promptly caught by Paul McCartney.

Paul was very nice about having had to catch my falling baby, and we chatted about babies and Italian greyhounds (suddenly the dogs were there with me too) and then he drove off in an unremarkable car. Then I met up with Billy and told him that Paul McCartney was a nice guy and his car wasn't as fancy as one would expect, and what a shame that I met him in Portland because now he thinks I live there. But I don't, so he won't be able to find me if he wants to...I don't know...talk about Italian greyhounds some more.

And that was the dream. And then Billy and I spent a very intense weekend in the real wide-awake world, talking about quality of life, and what kind of family life we want and what kind of experiences we'd like Thumper to have, and what kind of public school experience we'd like him to have etc etc and it all came down to this:

There is an excellent chance that we will be moving to Portland. Sooner rather than later. I'm excited and terrified and all that. Anyone from the Portland area who can offer advice as to good school districts where we'd want to look for houses, our ears are wide open.

So I guess Paul will know where to find me after all. Funny thing is, he was always my least favorite Beatle.

Yeah...um...not food poisoning

Ah, the joys of a stomach virus. Remember when I said I was feeling better? That didn't last long.

And that is all I'll say about that.

My symptoms are now gone, apart from generally feeling like I've been through the ringer and a lingering stomach-crampy feeling that I think may just be my abs crying for mercy. It's Friday, which means my mom is here playing with Thumper to give me time to work. Except that rather than working, I'm lying in bed, unable to nap and thinking about how a nap would really really do me some good right about now.

Want to know how much Billy rocks? Billy really really rocks. I was too sick to take care of Thumper on my own yesterday, and so he took a sick day to stay home and take care of the kiddo. Just as I was composing a blog post in my head titled "Moms Don't Get Sick Days," he came through and called in to work and I did indeed get a sick day. He never calls out of work, because it means cancelling patients' appointments at the last minute. Not as simple as calling out from a desk job. Sorry to any of his patients who might be reading this, but I needed him more than you did yesterday. Yes, I know your shoulder hurts. I still needed him more.

Meanwhile, my mom and Thumper are playing downstairs. I love listening to my mom play with him, that voice she uses when she talks to him. It sounds like my childhood.

It's damn cold and snowy here today. That combined with food poisoning (the morning wasn't pretty but I'm feeling better now, thanks, though rather tired) led to the declaration of an unexpected pajama day. I have no idea where the camera is, but picture me in sock monkey-themed flannel pajamas and Thumper in footie pajamas with dinosaurs on 'em and both of us crashed out in bed (with both dogs under the covers) and one of us napping (the one who isn't typing) and you've got a decent idea of what today looks like around here.

Valentina and Squeeky paid us a visit yesterday and a lovely time was had by all. The kids played happily near each other, though not actually with each other at their ages, and Valentina and I caught up and ate cookies. Damn, I miss that girl. I'm still holding out hope that they'll move back to NYC one day.

Thanks to everyone for the kind comments about the acorn hat. And extra special thanks to everyone who ordered it! If you're on the fence about it, do bear in mind that it's still baby-hat weather for quite some time to come and it's a very quick knit. (Great for boys and girls! Superterrific shower gift! Does not imply that the baby is nuts! Okay. I'll stop now.)

And while I'm here, may I present to you a little boy who refuses to wear his socks:

First pattern for sale!

Okay, folks, here it is. The first pattern offered for sale here. I hope you like it! There are several more already in the works--sweaters, sweater vests, and more accessories. I'd love to have your feedback on this pattern, as well as hear what you'd like to see for future patterns. What's missing from the babyknits world?

I want to offer patterns that are cute and functional. In my house and with my baby, this means choosing machine washable yarns whenever possible. Because it's also important to me to dress him in natural fibers as much as possible, I used Knit Picks Swish for this pattern. It was my first time using Swish and I absolutely loved it. It's my new default baby yarn.

Buttons on babies make me a bit nervous, so you won't be seeing too many of them here. I've opted for a Velcro solution for this pattern that works really well.

And now, without further ado, I offer you the Acorn Hat.

A baby hat has to be cute, sure. But cute only goes so far with baby hats. They also need to keep little cheeks and ears warm and—above all—STAY ON.

The Acorn Hat is a fast, easy knit that covers ears and cheeks, and fastens with a simple sew-on Velcro coin as a safer alternative to swallowable buttons. It’s knit in a super-soft, machine-washable 100% wool yarn. Because even people who drool all over their knitwear and chew bits of sweet potato puree into the stitches deserve natural fibers.

The pattern includes four sizes: 0-3 months [6 months, 12 months, 24 months]

$5.00 US

Family Tiger Sock Update

One baby sock completed.
One daddy sock completed.
One totally barefoot mama.

And then the sun came out...

...and I wrote one really good paragraph before Thumper would not be happy without his mama, which wasn't nearly enough writing but at least it was something.

And then the other bridesmaid hunted down a perfect two-piece solution from David's Bridal of all places and sent the link and fingers crossed that the bride goes for it. (The other bridesmaid has post-partum bod desire for two-piece as well.)

And then--get this-- the mail carrier delivered a box, and in that box was a whole lot of chocolate, sent by my beloved Norma. (Yes, I know she's your beloved Norma too. Certainly we can share the Norma love.) I've already had three truffles and a dark chocolate kiss. I'm totally stoned. (Having cut back on the sugar intake somewhat makes me a cheap date, chocolate-wise.)

So now I just need a bag of money or a book deal to fall from the sky and it'll be a pretty damn perfect turnaround of a day.

Ugh

Rainy gray Friday. My mom is downstairs entertaining Thumper for a few hours while I work on novel revisions. You may notice that I am blogging, and therefore not working on revisions. I'll give it another go in a few minutes, but my head isn't in the right place today. (Though with my writing time as limited as it is, I don't have the luxury of cutting myself any slack. I will work on revisions today. I have to.)

There's some money stress, not unusual in a freelance household as tax-time approaches. There's the stress of the revisions themselves and stress from the fact that I'm still doing revisions on this novel while the next one languishes, its first hundred pages waiting around on the back burner for over a year now. There's bridesmaid stress. Yes, I'm to be a bridesmaid for the first and probably last time this summer, and my dear friend has threatened me (not meaning to threaten, but still) with a dress that's about as unflattering on my shape as one could possibly choose. So that's something to look forward to. I've emailed her about the realities of my post-partum shape and I hope she listens rather than dooming me to several hours of embarrassment in a dress that makes me look like a refrigerator. I'm on the small side, but I'm a small rectangle. Rectangles don't look so great in little dresses with cinched waists. Mainly because I don't have a waist. There's a reason I wore a two-piece outfit for my own wedding.

I know. Let this be my biggest problem, right? Would that it were. Though mostly I'm exceedingly fortunate and all is mostly well and good. But still...rainy gray day, money woes, art angst, thick waists.

And now this. Do you know what your sippy cups are made of?