Fricknits

Nuttin, Honey

Especially For Megan:  Finally, I'm Fiberlicious!

Of course, then we had to spill some and run our fingers through it.  Don't worry, Adam!  No Yarn Nerd was stick-ied in the making of this photo!

We're off to the mountains, and I'm taking the denim log cabin blanket with me, as seems appropriate.  Wish me knitting time in the porch swing, and I hope you all have a fiberlicious and fabulous weekend!

On the Shoulders of Giants

I spent the weekend in girls-only bliss.  There was fantastic Malaysian food.  There was a whole disk of "Angel" and another of "Grey's Anatomy."  There was one late night (past midnight!) and one brunch at which I discovered the taste sensation that is walnuts and honey.  There was minimal knitting, but there was monumental finishing.  As in, one of my UFOs from Hell was transformed into a thing of, "if not a beauty, at least it's still Rowan."  Check her out!

I'm folded up so you can't see my bedraggled behind.

Yes, she crocheted.  Poorly.  But an edging nonetheless.  Still, Ann, you've not got me convinced I can follow in your footsteps.  Yet!

I am large, and stretchy.  A baby will love, abuse, and ruin me.  That is my fate.
Technically, though, this isn't a true FO.  It is an AFO, because I myself have farmed out the actual Effing to Doris, a good friend's mother who is a master seamstress.  She will back this monster so that no one but the two of us will ever have to know what lurks beneath the "right side."  The woman is a giant of stitch-witchery. 

Yarn Nerd Merino Sock in Dallas and Raspberry Sherbet.

If you've been reading for a little while, you might know that I self-identify as a member of the Nerd Herd.  The Smarty Party.  The Poindexter Patrol.  So it makes my pocket protector bounce up and down that I'm now the proud owner of some of Adam's yarn!  I bought the yellow-brown Dallas for myself as an early birthday present (watch for this to become a theme), and Adam, lovely Adam, sent me the other as a birthday gift.  Giant of generosity!

I am wee!  I am wonderful!  I totally go with the Fricklet's decor!

Like I always say, surround yourself with craftsy people and then start dropping hints.  Doris, Adam, and now my sweet Adri have all fallen into this trap.  I gifted Adri, who sews, the Wee Wonderfuls pattern book to make this little guy a while back.  How could she not then churn one out for the Fricklet?  And she's got another in the works for the Biscuit, as she knows all too well the already-very-real stress of managing sibling rivalry.  Giant kisses, Adri!

And to round out the perfect weekend, did you see j a r e d's Interweave pattern?  Hot-not-yet-off-the-press, and enticing enough to encourage me to employ some knitterly logic and buy myself another birthday present- the requisite Skye Tweed- in order to make this for Mr. Frick.  I need not remind you all what a giant  j a r e d is.

I am two presents in one!

Like I said, surround yourself with your giants of choice.  You never know when they'll offer a shoulder.  The view is AWESOME from up here!

I Love Rock 'N Roll

We are the Elvis Fish.  Check our bedroom eyes and pompadours!

No time to blog.  Mr. Frick and the Biscuit left five minutes ago, and Girls Only Weekend II is officially underway.  Joan Jett on the stereo*, fridge stocked with Izzie Clementine, mozzarella balls, and farm tomatoes, good also-knocked-up-with-baby -two girlfriend on the way, the first season of "Angel" waiting on top of the tube, and two monster projects on deck- Fricklet's baby blanket and Biscuit's baby book.  It's a pressure cooker up in here, albeit with good snacks.

I was remarkably easy to seam, once she quit her bitching.

My tail is a tale of errata.  Blue Sky Alpacas calls it an "update."  Seems they've been taking semantics lessons from our President.

Also, as this aerial view would prove, we are clearly not fish.  But we don't expect ichthyology degrees from our pattern designers, now do we?

(While writing this post, the mix on the stereo, a leftover from when I was official DJ at my MFA program's dance party, has sailed through: 1. Todd Rundgren, 2. J. Giles Band, and 3. The Ramones, which has made me think of the following:

1. Crap, I should also spend some of this weekend working on sub notes for my maternity leave. ("Bang on the Drum All Day")

2.  Crap, don't forget to send them over here to Rich's recap of Rock of Love, which I will never watch but instead read every recap Rich writes.  ("Centerfold")

3.  Crap, maybe I should also work on the Birth Plan.  ("I Wanna Be Sedated") 

Just kidding on that last one.  My plan is to have a baby.  Period.  Now I'm going to turn off the music, because nothing else is fitting on this list of to-do's.  See you on the flip!

JulieFrick and the Terrible Timesuck

I've been thinking a lot about time lately, what with the irony of planning each day's outings around a nap that's over before it's begun, the frequent nighttime up-and-down to the bathroom and the alarm clock's relentless digital stare, and all those to-do-before-Fricklet items written in heavy black Sharpie in my Book of Lists.  Thinking about all the time already spent in my life that I wish I could go back and gather up and use now.  Such as:

*  Time I spent in grade school watching the television show "Saved by the Bell," which would likely net me enough time to finish both the Biscuit's baby book AND my wedding/honeymoon album, both languishing, both losing content each day as memories are sloughed from my brain.

*  Time I wasted worrying about whether my college boyfriend was cheating on me.  He was.  And if you add up all four and a half years I stuck it out, I could scrape and paint our house, install carpet in the basement, and fix that pesky leak in the playroom.  Ratbastard.

*  Time frittered away trying to please my high school field hockey and soccer coach, who was really, when you get down to it, a bitch on wheels.  Oh, Marsha.  You may have cost me a novel.

But then there's all this time you'd think I'd want back, that really I don't.  Like:

*  The hour or so I spent lying on my bed while my dad, with tweezers and a knife, worked the Mother of All Splinters out of my heel when I was about 7 years old.  There was pain, there was fear (a knife!), but weirdly, it's one of my most vivid memories of my dad's love and care for me as a child.

*  The utterly terrifying overnight train trip from Nice to Rome that I took with my sister.  We were in a sleeping compartment that turned into a makeshift Panic Room when the train stopped in some tiny Italian town and picked up a wolfpack of drunken soccer fans who tried all frickin' night to bust into our compartment.  I had to A-Team the door closed with some of the straps from our luggage, as there was no lock.  We were lucky, and now it's just a good story, featuring me as B.A. Baracus.

* Hours upon hours pacing, patting, pleading, and sacking out in weird and uncomfortable positions over the last three years as we helped the Biscuit learn that most essential of lessons- how to sleep.  I've been cramped, resentful, and frustrated to tears, but I've already reached the point of thinking I'd give a finger for one more night of knowing him as a newborn. 

Oh, and then there's this little number.  Given my feelings about Harry Potter, which category do you think this falls into?  I knit this in-the-round monster for our school's auction to benefit financial aid,  and it took me over a year.  However, I can congratulate myself on perfect timing for the delivery and cross this one off of the UFO list. 

(I loved this article, by the way.  Check it out here.  I absolutely envy how the writer's 10 year-old daughter was the one to finally say, "Do we have to keep reading this?"  If I'd had her moxie in early life, I'd be a published author with gorgeous memory books and a tip-top house by now.  Sigh.  No go read some Philip Pullman or Susanna Clarke, stat!  I promise you won't regret the time it takes.)

Glory Days*

Here are some things I have done this week:

*  Nearly knelt down and praised the Kraft Mac and Cheese gods who, in their infinite wisdom, made the cheese packet somewhat water resistant so that a mother who might be losing her mind listening to her son scream, "But I want to burn my little hands on the stove!" and who therefore dumps the entire box into the boiling water and then needs about five minutes to locate the correct tool for extracting said packet still ends up with perfectly usable cheese powder product.

* Laid my seven months pregnant self on the floor next to the newly assembled big boy bed droning, "Nap.  Please.  Close.  Your.  Eyes.  It's.  Time.  For.  A.  Nice.  Rest."  over and over until I myself have fallen asleep, only to be awakened moments later by a sticky finger in the eye.

*  Googled "toddler obsessed with ceiling fans," "scrambled eggs in microwave," and "big boy bed transition help."  (For an incredibly funny blog entry on that first topic, visit here.  The Biscuit and this kid could start a cult together.)

*  Worn a pig-shaped name tag with my son's name on it all around town for approximately 3 and a half hours without realizing it.

*  Ruined my windshield wipers by using them on a scorchingly sunny day when I finally gave in to the backseat mantra, "Yes it IS raining!"  See, windshield wipers, according to the Biscuit, are a type of fan.  As is his new favorite toy, the salad spinner.  And this water feature at our local playground:

Check out how he hangs out by the button that gets the water going.  All the other kids are frolicking in the spray, but not my little guy.  Uh, uh.  No rest for the fan-atic.

Ah, the summer transition to stay-at-home mom.  It's never a smooth one for anyone.  I think he's still wondering what I'm doing all up in his business all the time.  This weekend he was so perfectly horrible that at one point Mr. Frick up and said, "Well, maybe he's just an asshole."  I think he was trying to make me feel better, as he followed up by saying that most of his best friends are assholes.  (Hi, guys!)

Here are some things I have not done this week:

*  Any knitting of significance.

*  Any blogging of significance.

*  Any photography of significance.  (The lens is smudged and I have to wait for the Mr. to get home to take them, so the lighting's all off.  Oh, the shame.  Please forgive me.)

*  Any personal grooming of significance.

I can report that there are two WIPs proceeding slowly but surely.  One is what I've dubbed the "playground socks" for obvious reasons, and if they survive the Goldfish crumbs, wet bathing suits, and all-natural sunscreen that inhabits their bag, it'll be a miracle.  Good thing Tofutsies is machine washable, and apparently antimicrobial, thanks to the chitin content.  (Check it out, Meg.  Anti-pooling queen no more!  No naps will do it to you- you just don't give a good goddamn anymore.)

And progress has been made on the decor item for the Fricklet's room, which we've decided, due to a complete lack of desire to paint, will be yellow and blue:

(* Title of this post of course from the Springsteen song which came on the radio during the above-mentioned windshield wiper Armageddon incident.  I remember being a kid and listening to my dad express his disappointment upon finding out that the lyric was "He could throw that speed ball by you/ Make you look like a fool, boy" instead of "Makin' love like a fool, boy."  I thought Dad was nuts.  Because even if you really, really liked "Bull Durham," you'd be crazy to think baseball, with its scratching, spitting, and guts spilling over tops of weird knicker-pants = sex.)

Size Matters Not

Or so says the science dropped in Dagoba by one diminutive, green, and pointy-eared Jedi master. And part of the reason I love knitting for babies, and this sweater in particular.  I get to scoff at gauge for the most part, because generally, unless the neck or hat brim is too tightly knit, the item will fit the baby at some point.  And this sweater , with its wraparound construction, promises to fit for a nice span of time.  Here are a few specs, for those interested:

*  I knit this on size 6's as called for in the pattern.  This meant I didn't quite get gauge (see Cari's warning about needle size here), but I liked the way the fabric looked.

*  Having never converted a pattern to the round, or in this case to the "long-and-flat," I worked the sleeves in the round first, which allowed me to figure out where to divide for armholes.  Worked like a charm!

* Again, I only did i-cord ties for the outside, and will use ribbon for the inside, for less bulk.  Babies are seriously bulky as is.  At least, the kind I seem to be able to make are.

The color is very Yoda.  A real pea green, not well represented in the photo.  And when Pamela pointed me here, well, I knew what my newest little guy would be sporting come October 31.  Maybe the absolute hilarity of that costume will distract grandma from the rockin' debauchery of the other.  But probably not.  Sigh. 

Speaking of advice rendered by wise ones, it occurred to me recently while reading Real Simple's "Summer Guide" (How to get into and out of a hammock!  How to catch fireflies!  Because you're not having summer fun unless you're doing it by the numbers!) and then again while mopping Biscuit's barf off of his carseat by the side of the highway, that there's advice, and then there's advice. 

My parents were pretty good with the advice.  My dad's Big Three are:  Never pass up an opportunity to take a leak, you only regret the things you didn't do, and don't trust women who drink whiskey.  (Nice weird misogynist touch on that last one, right?  I may have to take up the Jack Black.)  But the first one really is good, and though I disagree with the second in some cases (boy, do I), it does help remind me to think twice before passing up an opportunity.  So I thought I'd share my three (current) favorite pieces of wisdom received from my parents.

1.  Quality always trumps quantity.  (Thanks, Mom.  Should have remembered this one before buying those two pairs of Target maternity pants.)

2.  Never force anything mechanical.  There's a reason it's resisting, and forcing will break it.  (Thanks, Dad.  And also for the handyman help when I forget.)

3.  Do not exit a fast food establishment without a hand full of paper napkins for your glove box.  (Thanks to both of you from the Biscuit, who did not have to finish the ride sitting in his own barf.)

Screw Real Simple and their "how to properly dress a hot dog"!  Let me hear your best life advice- whatever the source.  Post in the comments or on your blog and let me know.  And may all your glove boxes be well-stocked.

What a Difference...

...a day makes.  Reentry?  You know the feeling.  There's nothing in the fridge, the thermostat is all out of whack, the cat's pissed off at you, and the careful repacking job?  Well, the under-strata is lovely, folded, and orderly,  but the top layers are a treacherous, shifting rubble pile of all that you found in your "last sweep" of the place- miscellaneous Legos from under the couch, that final sippy cup in the drying rack, the shampoo and conditioner from the outside shower, and that Baby Einstein DVD you almost (phew) left in the DVD player.  And half of that is now all over the trunk of the car, because even though you didn't acquire anything on this trip (okay, a little smidge of yarn, but that is still in its original bag or otn), you wish you'd brought twice the suitcases.  Oh, yeah, and your plants are dead.  Your creditors are not.

But if you're lucky, if you click your heels together three times and say, "There's no place like Black Dog Knits!  There's no place like Black Dog Knits!" well, then, you might just get to come home to this:

Two packages from my new favorite Australian cultural export.  You send me a cashmere/wool project bag, gemstone, freshwater pearl, vintage and crystal stitch markers, and two skeins of merino 4ply from The Knittery (colorways Earth and Passionfruit), and I'm one step away from having the Biscuit dress up as you for Halloween, instead.  (Just kidding, Nora.  Angus it is.)

And, from the files of "what a difference a gauge makes," we have these two numbers, my most recent FO's:

This is Cari Luna's Baby Yoda sweater, knit up in Manos Cotton Stria.  It looks kind of lovely in the photo, and it is very soft, but despite the worsted/aran description, this yarn knits up kind of icky on size 6's.  Like runny pantyhose.  I made a few modifications to the sweater, mostly because after photographing Beth's for her, and falling in love with the pattern because of her lovely purple version, I also listened to her warning about the amount of seaming that goes into this relatively small sweater.  I did the sleeves in the round and a three-needle bind-off for the shoulders.  I also omitted the two 6" lengths of i-cord for the inner ties, opting instead for less bulky ribbons.  Now I'm almost finished with version #2, which I did in the round to the armholes, and in a very Yoda color (photos in next post, promise).  Because you know I can't knit anything just once, right?  (Cough *Wallaby* *BSJ* cough.)  I had plenty of the Cotton Stria left over, so I also whipped up another of Adrian's bonnets on size 3's:

Aaaah.  Now that's how Cotton Stria should be knit.  Anyone know how to do some good bear ears?