sweaters made and destroyed

I'll just pile these all up right here.

Nothing makes a winter chill feel chillier than a fever. Except a sub-zero ice storm, maybe. We only have the viruses, though, so it's sweater season.

I have been opting out of pink as a general principal, but this first project doesn't count because I made it out of materials on hand. Pink isn't the problem, as I have said - pink is just a color, and plenty of kids like pink, and that's great. The problem is not being given any other goddamn options, and drawing a deep, treacherous line between boys and girls. Every girls' clothing and toy section is a sea of pink and trademarked characters. At my kids' school, every girl marches to the lunch line in their uniform of pink top, pink leggings, pink shoes, punctuated by Dora purple. All of them. I count. When the history books illustrate children's fashions of the early 21st century, it will be head-to-toe Princess Pink stretch cotton for the lower classes. The children who's parents can afford it can wear fancy brands in designer palettes; the crafty backlash has people buying vintage patterns and sewing clothes in earthy hues and vibrant fabrics. But if you shop at a mall or a box store, our culture is clear on this: Girls Wear Pink, Tough Shit. 

I have some feelings on this matter.

So here is the pink cardigan I knitted. I made up the pattern and didn't make a chart, so that's lost to posterity. Sorry, posterity.

And then there is this, in dishwater beige. I didn't even sew buttons on it, because I can't decide how I feel about it.

In a feat of spectacularly shitty sewing, I carved up one of my old moth-eaten slub-knit cardigans and made a little shirt for Zenny. The original cardigan had raw edges, so I left the hems unfinished. It's comfortable and airy, even if it looks like it was sewn together by a drunk person on the inside. Stretchy knit is really hard to handle, and I was just cutting the pieces as I went, with no pattern. She's not naked. I win.

Now, one might look at that last picture and ask, after all my ranting, PINK VALENTINES? And yes, they are kitten tattoo cards, which my 11 year-old son chose. My kids are into Legos, Minecraft, Invader Zim, and KITTENS OMG. Pink isn't the problem. It's choice.

Interview with the porcelain

My first interview went about as well as could be expected. I arrived too early, got wrinkled and covered in crumbs while waiting in the car, said some words backwards, and realized afterward that my skirt still had red thread holding the back shut. Then, as soon as I got home to mentally anguish over all the answers I could have answered more intelligently, my insides suddenly wadded up and I spent the entire night barfing. Mostly into the bathtub. Which I then had to wash at 2am.

So that is not how I would like my next interviews to go. Luckily, one of the librarians asked me to bring a kiddie book to read from. I should be able to manage that without major mishap.

Preshus snoflake sweater - with mod notes!

People don't believe that we get weather in Hawaii, but in deep winter the winds and rain come in, and the temperature drops to an autumnal chill that drives us all into socks and sweaters. I base my kid knitting on what size my offspring will be during January and February of the following year. Finally, FINALLY, I can cram Zenny's little hams into these things that have been hanging in the closet since last year.

This is a baby sweater based on the intertwined cable pattern from Cables Untangled. 

The book is worth buying for all the cable motifs and swatches, but an intrepid knitter can probably figure this one out just by studying the pictures; it's all based on 4x4 ribbing.

The arms are too long, because she is the puniest of my offspring. Except for her head, which her doctor says is huuuuge.

I made saddle shoulders so I wouldn't have to decrease neck stitches into the cable pattern.

HERE THERE BE NOTES

size 12-18 mo, on #7 needles, with knit picks comfy worsted.

Back

CO 66 stitches. Work chart up to armpits (about 8 inches), BO 4 stitches, work for 4 inches in chart. BO all stitches.

Front

Same as for back. 

Sleeves

CO 40 stitches. Work 2 rows 2x4 rib. Row 3 (RS), increase 1 stitch into each purl rib, cabling knit rib according to chart (45 stitches). Work one row even, repeat increases on next row, keeping in chart. 50 stitches. Follow chart, increasing 1 stitch on either side every 6 rows 3 times - 56 stitches. Work evenly in charted pattern until sleeve measures about 9 inches. BO 19 stitches, work to end, BO 19 stitches, leaving only 18 stitches in the center (one repeat of chart cables). Work 18 stitches in chart for 3 inches, BO.

Seam shoulder flaps onto front and back, seam armpits. Seam down sleeves and sides.

Collar

Pick up stitches around neck, work in k1p1 rib for 1 inch, or about 8 rows. BO.

Weave in ends.

Burns Night '14

And so I did not finish the hose in time for the annual Hawaii Scottish Association dinner for Robbie Burns.

But I found a gown with a Madam X neckline and sweeping train, which allowed me to sneak my bosom out to nurse the baby and run around barefoot with my feet hidden. Finery is just a disguise. A lot of my Scottish ancestors were in prison.

The haggis was pasty and bland. The steak was perfect and bloody. The madrigal singers made us cringe into our desserts. My cousin's husband was an idiot and I wanted to stab my fork into his arm, except that she hadn't seen me in years, so it wouldn't have been polite. If she ever wants to divorce him, I will be there if she needs me, with a fork.

We had chucked the boys off with their cousins for a sleepover, and arrived early at the country club ("no tight shorts permitted") for dance rehearsal. The man bought a cocktail ticket. When we got to the bar, Mike looked at the shelves and asked about the gin. "Now, I see you looking at those shelves," said the bartender, "and I'm going to stop you right there. That's the good stuff, and what we have for you folks is the house liquor under the counter here, which isn't expensive, and isn't good." He hoisted a bottle of Gordons like a dead rat, and we recoiled with a hiss. "I know." Mike chose bourbon, and the bartender filled a tumbler to the brim sympathetically.

Luckily, there was 18-year Macallans on the table for the toasts. Which my cousin-in-law insulted, and then bolted down 6 shots of. I polished my fork.

All in all, much better than last year, when I had to wear a giant sparkly tee-shirt stretched over my belly and stop the small cousins from dueling with cutlery (MY JOB) and stealing shortbread.

Throwback Thirsty

That's autocorrect, and I'm going to leave it.

Every week, my feed clogs with old pictures of people. After some consideration, I have decided that I kind of like it. The internet is a time machine. Maybe I can alter the past yet, using the most traditional method: lying with historical documents. In the meantime, here are some things.

1984? My mother coerces university photographer into making me a student ID.

1990. Drawing something. Probably a lady with a sword for a comic book I am still failing to make.

Because of course I was. Too self-conscious to smile, but ok with wearing L. L. Bean loons with a katana.

That sword was treasure. I slept with that sword. I made a belt for it out of bandanas and wore it to breakfast until I sat on it and stabbed myself in the leg. This went on until my mother bought me an archery set and a bale of hay to attack outside, which was great until the wild horses ate it (the hay, not the archery set).

THESE GUYS. I tell you.

My son runs around the yard slashing sticks and roaring sound effects at invisible adversaries. I flap my arms and yell, "WHY DO YOU JUST TRY TO KILL EVERYTHING?" Well, because he's my kid, obviously.

If I were a cat I would have buried it

Being a good Scot and general inhabitor-of-rural-and-hungry-regions, I am not a picky eater. In Newfoundland we ate moose meat pie, and as a decent Newfie kid, I was always delighted to find an egg sack in my fried capelin. On Black Mesa, we stopped at the trading post on snowy days and wolfed down hot grilled mutton wrapped in fry bread, which was only dodgy when you paused to consider you didn't know if it was sheep or goat, or who killed it and under what conditions. Doesn't matter. Greasy and delicious. Here in Hawaii, I've eaten every plate of shredded jelly fish, dried cuttlefish, smoked meat, unidentifiable fish, and pungent produce put in front of me. So I thought I would be adventurous at the Japanese BBQ joint this weekend, and order the liver. Because I have never tried a piece of proper liver, but pate is pretty great, and haggis is the food of the burliest beer-loving gods.

And so I discovered why people grind it up and hide it in other food.

If I didn't even know that creatures had organs, I would have known it intuitively after biting into this. And I would realize, with deep and primal certainty, that this were something that should still be in the animal, and never seen or smelled outside the body.

It should have been a clue when the waitress asked, "Do you want the liver with miso or garlic?" and when I asked, "Which do you recommend?" she sort of bared her teeth in desperation for a long moment before saying, "People usually go with the miso." And then take it home for their dogs, she did not add.

Gavin, who has never seen me not eat something, had to nab it off my plate and nibble a corner. 

We tried lightly searing it, cooking it through, and scorching it into spongy leather. Verdict: liver is for people who are dying of anemia or starvation, and who have somehow gotten to a liver without encountering any meat along the way. 

steps

The winter rain is here. Zenny has started walking. "Good luck keeping up now!" people always, always joke. Don't worry, I have the longer legs. The real problem is Xebo. It's like living with a tiny, arthritic, mostly-toothless and very cranky vampire. He stalks the baby in tightening circles until I pick him up and set him down to wobble in front of his old-man cat paté. The mobile baby makes it more exciting, but I'm mostly just worried she will snap him in two when he finally goes for her throat and she falls on him.

Let down

The boy ordered a sonic screwdriver with his Christmas money. For three days, he wagged his wrists in excitement and stalked the postal carrier. Today, he skidded in out of the downpour, clutching a box to his chest. Since he had ordered it with his grandmother, her name was on the label, and I suggested he wait until she came home to open it, just in case. He worked on his homework, feet drumming and eyes drawn to the little amazon package. My mother came roaring up through the rain on the motorcycle with a garbage bag tied around her with yellow danger tape. As she unwrapped herself, Gavin bobbed eagerly on the chair - "It came! It came! Can I mess with it for a bit and then finish my homework? Pleeeeease?" She took the box and said, "Well, let's see." He hovered, vibrating with excitement, as she ripped the tape off, threw the box open, and revealed... a package of  ladies' underwear. "Sure, you can mess with those all you want!" I said generously. 

"MY SONIC SCREWDRIVER IS GRANNY PANTIES."

Well, neither can open a wood door. Close enough.

doldrums

My aunt came to visit yesterday. While the boys ran around the back yard trying to break their new Christmas toys, she bounced the baby on her knee and said, "My co-worker is looking for childcare for his baby, is that something you'd be interested in?" 

No. When I went to Burns Night last year, enormously pregnant, Father Ruby surveyed my belly and said, generously, "Well, motherhood is a calling. You're following your calling in life, and doing God's work." And I almost punched him in his adorable tiny Irish face. Motherhood is wonderful. Drinking margaritas and falling asleep next to a lake under a good book is also wonderful, and nobody ever offers that up as my calling. Because you can't subsist on these things. 

No. I need adult human interaction - old ladies in book clubs, slavering homeless people, irritable co-workers. I need books and tea breaks and a pile of work to go through while listening to music. I need a fucking PAYCHECK, which is mine miney mine, to spend on bills and travel and fancy yarn without asking permission. 

No. If I'm going to trade in my degrees for unskilled labor, I'm going to go with something more interesting than wiping butts and being screamed at by other people's preshus snoflakes. Like digging graves. Or wrangling chickens at the feed store. Or bounty hunting.

"No," I said, and managed not to yell it.

the annual questions

1. What did you do in 2013 that you’d never done before? I had a daughter, and ate a lobster hot dog.

2. Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year? The theme was "lighten up", and that seemed to go well. I lost 30lbs, and only sent one snarky email - which was undermined by autocorrect changing "more" to "meow" without my noticing. This year, the theme is, "I am supportive of your endeavor!" Because I have found myself saying this a lot lately, and it usually ends in something interesting - homebrew competitions, dodgy car transactions, pie, crafting with underwear. When you've lost all control over your life, be a sidekick.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth? ME. Some internet friends, too, but nobody knows if they are really real. Except them and their babies, probably.

4. Did anyone close to you die? No. Every year, nobody dies, and I feel grateful and somehow smug, then I fill with dread because it means we're in for a lot of it when it does start to happen. Even so, I think the family is very smart to save them up instead of spreading them out.

5. What places did you visit? Bellows Air Force Base - but just the beachy part with bbq grills. Also Maui, to meet the bio-Texans.

6. What would you like to have in 2014 that you lacked in 2013? My career.

7. What dates from 2013 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? Giving birth is hard to forget. And my actual father was in attendance, and saw me do terrible things - but he works with old people and sees that kind of thing all the time, usually with much less adorable endings.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year? I published another book. And kept the kids alive. And didn't send any sentimental emails. 

9. What was your biggest failure? Asking for help. In that I didn't, and I should have, because I was desolate and alone a lot.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury? My right wrist won't support weight, and I haven't gotten around to finding out why for, oh, three months now. Probably vestiges of postpartum hand numbness/shoulder locking/knee failure. And my heart has been doing that mis-beating thing a bit more.

11. What was the best thing you bought?  Jeans that fit.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration? Gavin's, for arriving at the year of voracious independent reading. He spent long days in bed with Harry Potter (leave it), curled up with his cat, and casting spells at his brother. And Leif learned to read in, like, 3 days. They are fantastic.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? Mine. 

14. Where did most of your money go? Into another employee's bank account, because I'm not getting any.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about? The new baby. Even that was more of an intense love, not really excitement. I don't know if I still feel that kind of thing anymore.

16. What song will always remind you of 2010? That damn fox song. And this one:



17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
a) happier or sadder? Happier 
b) thinner or fatter? Much thinner.
c) richer or poorer? Neither.

18. What do you wish you’d done more of? Sleeping. Jogging. Wearing socks.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?  Having that recurring dream about gathering cats and losing everything I own. Burying birds.

20. How did you spend Christmas last year? Pregnant and full of egg nog. People talk shit about egg nog, but anyone with a desperate body knows what it's about.

21. Did you fall in love in 2013? Oh, yes. 

No, I didn't fall in love with a man. Grow up, quiz.

22. What was your favorite TV program? I caved and watched Breaking Bad. Fine, I get it now.

23. What did you do for your birthday in 2013? Bbq and Hunger Games at the mall. I was the victor.

24. What was the best book you read? Spent most of the year reading the Game of Thrones series. Enjoyed it, even though George R. R. Martin doesn't know how vaginas and albinos work.

25. What did you want and get? A daughter. A visit from my father. Pants with buttons instead of elastic. Sock yarn. I tried not to want much, after the healthy baby, for fear of being smited.

26. What did you want and not get? Showers. The better question is, what did you NOT want and get? A murdered bird, a large dentist bill, and lots of vomit/poo on my person.

27. What was your favorite film of this year? Frozen? Oh, dear.

28. Did you make some new friends this year? Nope. Made notable acquaintances, at least.

29. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? I'm going with "fist fight" again. They know who they are. 

30. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2013? "My mom's old pants". Postpartum fashion is not so great.

31. What kept you sane? Routine and reading. It didn't work all the time. 

32. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? I didn't feel fancy at all. Am a withered husk. I did like Jamie and Brienne, though.

33. What political issue stirred you the most? Sexism. Particularly in the baby clothes aisles and toy sections. There isn't anything wrong with pink, but everything wrong with having no other goddamn choices.  

34. Who did you miss? Oh, the very same. Just as much. 

35. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2013. Don't go out of your way to be fair to particular people, just try not to be unfair as they make themselves involved.