lollipopyarn

Archive for the tag “knit”

05 Dec 2011

What’s Up With Knitting Patterns that Make you Look Like a Cow?

Moo.  Once again, my latest knitted sweater makes me resemble a Guernsey.  Is it me?  Maybe.  For the record, my BMI is well within the acceptable range, and no, I’m not going to post a picture in order to protect the innocent (pattern designer, that is).

But here’s a big shout out to all you designers – quit making me look like the side of a barn!  I’m not expert enough to adjust the pattern as I go, and  really don’t want to have to knit the damn thing twice.  No one, unless they’re another fiber obsessed designer, is going to tell you that you look nice.  Your husband will tell you like it is:  “You look like Porky Pig.”

So please….I’m begging you….longer, leaner, slimming, flattering.  More Angelina.  Less Roseanne.  Oink.

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19 Aug 2011

Run Eat Knit

Let me just say this right from the start – I wish the title said Eat Knit Run in that order.  But it doesn’t.  For good reason.  But let me back up for a minute.  Let’s talk about knitting.  What is it about yarn and 2 (or 5) sticks that brings so much happiness, such joie de vivre, such – je ne sias quoi?  And what’s up with all the French lingo?

Whatever your pleasure – socks, scarves, sweaters, dishcloths, geegaws - there isn’t anything better than a weekend filled with fiber and needles.   Except maybe football, fiber, and needles.  Except maybe FOOD, football, fiber, and needles.  However, nothing makes me fatter faster than sitting on my ass all day, snarfing Cheeze Whiz and Ritz, and wielding nothing heavier than a Size 1 DPN.

So – I run.  I’ve been a runner for over 25 years, which tells you I am no longer (and never was) in the Elite group.   And while my pace is not jackrabbit speed, I’m considered reasonably fast and don’t completely embarrass myself in a 5K.  I’ve been known to win a medal or 2 in my age group.   It’s not too hard if you know what you are doing.  It’s pretty easy to identify and take out all the other old chicks in the race.  An ”accidental” kick to the Achilles, or elbow to the kidneys should do it.   If she looks the least bit wrinkly, her saggy ass is mine.

Anyhoo, I run.  Alot.  I run because I love it.  But I also run to support my weekly Dunkin’ Donuts Vanilla Kreme Filled habit without blowing up like the Michelin Man. 

And best of all, I can plant my butt on the couch for some Monday Night Football, a beer, and my yarn o’ the month.   Run.  Eat.  Knit.

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16 Aug 2011
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How To Look Like a Knitting Genius (When You’re Really a Knitting Idiot)

So I’m sitting at a weekend long peewee baseball tournament (read-excruciating boredom) trying to work up some enthusiasm for the next midget up to bat.   With identical uniforms, it’s embarrassingly difficult to figure out which little unit shares your DNA.  The only way I can tell my progeny from the rest is the fact that he has absolutely no ass (can’t say he inherited that from me).

A combination of sun and nachos & cheese (size large) threaten to induce a coma.  Besides, the score is a 109- 0, us being the o.  I’m only conscious due to a terrible case of bleacher butt (ass-ache).

So, to pass the time, I am knitting.  Yes, knitting.  In public.   Yes, I am getting a few odd looks (from other son’s pubescently, pimply, numbskulled friends) but I’m also getting looks of – could it be – AWE?

 Bleacher Baseball Mom: “Oh, I’d love to be able to knit like that.  It would be sooo nice to have something to do during the games.  (Hmm, maybe instead of cussing out the ref?) “What kinds of things do you make?”

I show her my pink & red felted tote, which is ridiculously easy to make.  Get the pattern by Half Assed Housewife   here -  Felt Me Up  .    

BBM: “OMG, you must be one of them experts!”

Me?  Expert?  Hardly.  It’s the felting baby.  Makes your messed up stitches look like little soldiers and your half-baked handbag look like Coach.  You too can look like a knitting genius.  Just felt.

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20 Jul 2011

Knitagoraphobia: fear of knitting in public

         Where do you knit?  On the train, at lunch, in pick up line, at soccer games?  Or do you confine your passion (obsession) to home and hearth, or maybe a knitting club? 

         Remember when knitting was something your mother, grandmother, or spinster aunt did?  Back then, knitting was a necessity, not a hobby.   Without it, you would be hatless and mittenless, and your numb fingers would be unable to pelt your brother with snowballs.  Or maybe your couch needed that granny square afghan to add a dash of pizzazz to the gold and avocado living room decor.

    

      Fast forward  a few decades, and knitting and crocheting are in again.  Of course, a few things have changed.  Grandma used to head down to the nearest Ben Franklin and always came home with the ugliest, scratchiest, cheapest yarn she could find in the sale bin.  These days, yarn tastes have graduated from Maxwell House to Starbucks, and the advent of the internet has given a yarnaholic a veritable smorgasbord of choices in fiber, not to mention patterns, and chats rooms.

     Still, I can’t seem to come out of the closet with my knitting/dyeing obsession.  Fear of the “old biddy” label forces me to keep my addiction private.  But it’s past time to fess up.                                                                                                                                                                                                              

         So starting today, I am putting myself in a 5 step program to conquer my Knitagoraphobia. Are you with me?

 Step 1)  You will announce your secret to the world (or at least to anyone who cares):  “I am a knitter.  I am powerless over sock yarn!” 

 Step 2) You will knit at your child’s football/soccer/dance/piano activity.

 Step 3)  You will actually wear said knitting projects in public when completed.  (Leaving projects half-baked is not an excuse.)

 Step 4)  You will own up to being the creator of said project.

 Step 5)  You will preach the gospel of all things fiber to the unenlightened.         Amen.

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25 May 2011

Just Say No to Running Barefoot

So, the new trend in running shoes appears to be, uh, no shoes.  As in running barefoot.  Hmm, can you say tetanus shot?

The barefoot running movement has been around awhile, thanks to the Kenyans and Ethiopians who have made running at 80 lbs soaking wet an art form.  Who needs shoes when you have 1% body fat and 0% stress on your knees and ankles?  Besides, who wants to make the financial decision between a pair of Reeboks and a bowl of rice?

Of course, Nike, Adidas, Asics, Saucony, et al couldn’t possibly jump on the no shoe bandwagon.  (I’m guessing their shareholders might object to the lack of a dividend.)  Enter Nike Free and Vibram Five Fingers.  These are basically shoes where they take out all the fancy, high-tech cushioning, and still charge you up the wazoo.  Free they ain’t.

Supposedly we’ve all been doing it wrong for decades and have hip, knee and ankle problems due to our pathetically overcushioned over indulged fat American feet. Except for one thing:  I do not have 1%, (or even 20%) body fat, and I can afford a buck or two for some pillow soft trainers.  And I’ve never had a running injury.  Not in 20+ years (unless you count the time I tripped and fell on my 6 month pregnant belly and skinned my nose).  Plus, I refuse to wear something that makes me look like Curious George.     So I’ll stick with my clumsy, clunky, divinely motion-controlled size 8 Asics, thank you.  Run on.

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14 May 2011

Dear Youngest, Please don’t grow up.

Remember when you were young and couldn’t wait for your next birthday?  It seemed like life passed by slower than your Aunt Agnes at a flea market.  Then all of a sudden you’re in your 30′s and you’re wishing you could put yourself in one of those foodsaver vacuum sealer thingies.  A decade later,  you could pull your young, fresh, self out for additional enjoyment.

Well, I have begun to feel the same way about my kids.  When they were really young and attached like leeches, time seemed excruciatingly slow.  My oldest was a prolific pooper, and I was convinced that the smell of toddler poo would forever be ingrained in my nasal cavity.  But time passes.   The youngest is now 8, and unless I stop feeding him and put a brick on his head, he is growing up and away from me faster than you can say my beautiful balloon.

So what’s to be done?  Other than strapping him in a car seat until he’s 16, probably not much.  But I’m determined to hold onto the little kid moments I have left.  One of which is the teddy bear.  My 8 year old son, who is already cooler than cool since he tries to emulate his older brother whenever possible, still carries The Ted around and won’t go to sleep without him.  I, of course, don’t discourage the practice, and in fact have knitted Mr. Ted a sweater, pants, mittens, and ski toboggan for when the little dude hits the slopes of the 2nd story staircase.                                                                                                                                    

Did I cry at his kindergarten graduation?  No.  When he snapped his arm in half falling off the McDonald’s playland?  Nope.  But I will boohoo pitifully the day Teddy is relegated to a box under the bed  like Woody in Toy Story.  My only hope is that I”ll be waving goodbye to that stuffed bear  as he and my baby load up the car for college.   For now, I am holding on…as hard as he’ll let me.

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12 Apr 2011

Does Mom = ADHD?

Upload photos, clean mud off baseball cleats, schedule marketing club meeting, write thank you to Aunt Edith, buy toilet paper, kiss hubby.  Those random thoughts ran through my head in the span of time it took to tinkle yesterday.  About 30 seconds.  30 seconds of thinking about everything and nothing, and forgetting all but the need for Angel Soft.  Not such a bad thing I suppose, as I consider Angel Soft a vital ingredient in maintaining life’s happiness.  Unless, of course, you are Sheryl Crow, which means you would have a stack of leaves next to the privvy and would add leaf collecting to your list of things-to-do.  But I digress. Alot.

  Does this sound like you? Since you’ve added kids, do you feel like your life is one long twitter feed of to do’s, interrupted by Urchin #1, Moppet #2, and for those of you who don’t know anything about birth control, Nipper and Anklebiter #3 and #4.  Do you long for the time when you were completely focused on one project at a time?  Do you even know how anymore?

My focus is long gone, and I’m not sure I’ll ever find it underneath the pile of laundry.  Cause here’s the truth:  Sometimes the kids are gone, the media is off (sort of) and if I really paid attention, there just might be a block of time in which to accomplish an important something.  Not dusting, not updating your calendar with kids’ games, lessons, meetings, appointments, not picking up shoes, skis, legos, (insert irritating item of your choice.)  Something important. Something big.  Like finding a cure for gray hair.

A couple of years BC (before children) I might get involved in a project (work or otherwise) that would be all-consuming. Nothing got in the way; sleep, exercise, fun, even food.  Yes, food!  Now I believe my slightly kid-addled brain is so afraid of being interrupted that it’s hesitant to even begin.

Unfortunately there is no solution other than time.  One day, silence will reign over the house, and freedom will once again be mine.  (It will be the worst day of my life!)    Until then, sock knitting saves the day.   Self-striping yarn practically begs for a Plain Old Vanilla Sock Pattern which I can now do in my sleep. It survives multiple interruptions,  gives my ADHD hands something to keep them occupied, and doesn’t require the concentration of Yoda.   Cast on.

Cherry Fling Socks

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