Maybe it's my hormones. Or the weather. Or the phase of the moon. Or something. It seems I am powerless to resist the siren call of the yarn goddess, and today I pulled yet more yarn from the stash for another project.
I haven't cast on yet, but that's only because I've been busy feeding a baby, trying to ensure most people in the house have clean pants to wear tomorrow, and make something dinner-like from the dregs left in the fridge. How is it, that a fridge that was respectably full only yesterday now looks as though it belongs to an impoverished student, close to the end of term?
I digress. The new project is going to be something small, and pink, for a small girl I know who recently had her first birthday. I failed to make her anything when she was born, and I owe her and her big sister BIG time. The blue sparkly Phoebe (which is not quite finished) is for her sister, and I have an idea about making her a bigger and pinker version of the Charles which I made for little bean, and which is proving to be even nicer on a baby than it was on the needles.
In other news, the crochet blanket is starting to look a bit less like a very long brown wolly bookmark. After two blocks of colour (each block = one small ball of yarn) I've devised a stripe pattern for the next part of the blanket. This is partly because I like stripes, and partly to keep life interesting. There is something more-ish and manageable about knitting just one more stripe, in a project that is likely (if I think about it logically) to take a Very Long Time. It could be a never ending blanket...
As well as the blanket, there is poor old Phoebe to finish off (really, there is not much left to do...) and those man socks which, it turns out, aren't for my husband at all, but for my dad. The Regia jazz stripes are, apparently, well outside the acceptable sock comfort zone for my husband. He was fairly diplomatic about it and while we were talking about the colour thing, he also let me know about some of the fit issues he has with the other socks I have made him. These have all been noted, and no doubt as a result of my wisdom, maturity and age, I managed not to take these comments to heart or run from the room beating my breast and gnashing my teeth. I took it, as knitters do, with grace and good humour (ha). Its hard to say whether he will be getting any more handknit socks in the near future...
Happy Fathers Day, Dad. There are some socks coming your way.
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