Fricknits

An Inconvenient Knit*

If you're like me, you'll have a whole afternoon to finally clean out the garage and you'll become so hyper-focused on one toolbox that you'll polish each of the nails in it before moving on to anything else, and you'll run out of time for the big job.  Or you'll have the entire summer to prepare materials for your maternity sub, and instead you'll create a color-coded calendar of school events that he could have made himself and probably won't want, anyway.  Or maybe you'll be about-to-pop pregnant with a disassembled crib, nursery full of stash yarn clutter, no hospital bag packed, and a long list of to-knit-for-Biscuit-and-baby items, but instead you've become obsessed with that knit that, second only to the afghan, is the knitting equivalent of the Black Hole...the man's sweater. 

Doubly inconvenient as the heat index here is 110 degrees today.  Anyone for a woolen blanket across their knees in the playground sun?  Didn't think so.  Nevertheless, Cobblestone it is, and Cobblestone it shall remain.  I mean, check out that rockin' garter stitch!  And I know I'm not the only one who heeds the pied piper of tweed's call.  I console myself with the fact that I overbought on yarn and therefore, when I'm finished with this, I can make the Biscuit a matching Tomten.  Does it bug the heck out of anyone else that Interweave publishes yarn amounts in their previews but NOT the corresponding sizes?

Inconvenient it may be, but it's been a while since my last woolen love letter to Mr. Frick, and it's time for another. 

*  I watched "An Inconvenient Truth" last night.  I know- late to the party.  If you haven't seen it, hie ye to your Netflix queue and visit climatecrisis.net's "take action" link to find out what you can do to, among many other things, keep our beloved wool from becoming obsolete... 

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!

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.)

Take-Home Lesson, v.2

a.k.a. "Sand Hole Philosopher"
a.k.a. "Further Evidence that I Overthink Everything"

1.  Why do we dig holes in the sand?  It's a futile gesture.  Our hopeless battle with the sea.  Our sand holes fill in in a night, if not a mid-day tide, just as our handknit socks begin to lose their lustre, not to mention the integrity of their stitches, with the first wear.  And that sweet baby sweater?  The one we imagine will be worn again and again, loved to distraction for its handmade heirloom quality, photographed and carefully wrapped in tissue for future generations?  More likely will languish in the "handwash" basket, finally reach peak fit in the dog days of summer, be thrown into the wash on "scalding hot" only to emerge a perfect potholder.

2.  Why do we dig holes in the sand?  Because it connects us to a time when our work was more physical, more raw, more essential.  No virtuality to it, no ephemeral words, no bytes representing our hours.  We hunted, gathered, hauled, dug, wove, spun, knit...  Something in us wants to go back to those hardworking days.  I know my triceps feel the burn.

3.  Why do we dig holes in the sand?  Because just like knitting that very doomed-to-potholderdom sweater, it's fun, damnit.  Take that, Nietzsche.

I've added the details on the socks and baby cap in the Knits '07 album.  Here's sand in your suit!

Back in (the) Black

No, I wasn't waiting until the Big Wool sold.  And in fact, I've decided to keep the Chunky Print, as Margaux may have inspired me to make the Lace Leaf Pullover of it.  Thank you so much to everyone who shopped and commented and wished me well in the sale.  I think we might pull through...if our air conditioner, which is currently on the fritz, cooperates to a cheaper tune than I fear it might.  Hell's bells.

It's been a horribly busy couple of weeks, most notably measured (by our Fricky way of noting the passage of time) by the fact that I have only finished one book (Chabon's newest noir) while Mr. Frick, who reads at the speed of a traveling glacier, has read, like, five.  Chief among them, in his estimation, was a biography of the band AC/DC, who he believes (Nora, please let me know your thoughts on this one) is Australia's "Greatest Cultural Export."  I admit I kind of enjoyed sitting down with my cereal in the morning and opening the book randomly to see what little pearls of wisdom might lie in wait.  For instance, did you know that it's quite possible that the reason the band is so short is that they grew up drinking lead-laden water?  And that the official and nicey-nice way of saying "he died by choking on his own vomit" is "death by misadventure"?  And my personal favorite: that the band ordered thousands of t-shirts for their comeback tour for the Back in Black album after said misadventure caused them to have to find a new frontman, and when the t-shirts arrived, they read "Back And Black" and had to all be discarded?

Thanks be that I didn't have the same experience with these, right?  I mean, there's a reason I teach under my maiden name- we all know what 12 year-olds could do to my married one.  I followed Caro's example and bought these from Namemaker.  They were my Mother's Day gift to myself!  Now if only everyone would please send back the knitted items I've made them in the past so that they might be properly labelled, I'd be most grateful.

But there has been knitting, even if there hasn't been reading.  Our Netflix queue has served up all sorts of knittable fare lately, though I must say I was bored to tears by Danielson: a Family Movie (story arc, people!), and found myself wishing someone had seen fit to film the antics of the Thunder from Down Under instead.  (Oh, wait.  They did. And it was awe-inspiring.)  Megan is hoping I've joined her single sock revolution, but instead I'm just doing this my usual weird magic number way- 3 singles before I make the 3 to match.   

These two were made with Wendy Johnson's new pattern, which I highly recommend.  I'll give further details when I finish the pairs, but on the left you have Socks that Rock Lightweight in G-Rocks, and the right is Cherry Tree Hill Supersock in Earth (I just added a 2x2 rib to the pattern- no biggie).  And then, because I like to do everything Ashley does, I made this one:

That's Minty's Anastasia sock in Socks that Rock Lightweight, Peaseblossom, which worked out abso-smurfly perfectly.  No pooling, no flashing.  It's like, how much more perfect can this be, and the answer is none.  None more perfect.  Unless it was my exact inner structure, done in a sock.  (Oh,  just see the movie!)

We're off to the beach tomorrow night, and I'll do my very best to blog from there.  The six hour ride while the Biscuit sleeps (fingers, toes, eyeballs crossed on this one) will give Mr. Frick and me plenty of time to begin the planning for Biscuit's Halloween costume this year.  What can I say?  We're inspired.  Because when it comes to AC/DC, Mr. Frick's love goes to eleven.  And a girl with American thighs a yarn stash like mine gets very little room to argue.

(What the hell are "American thighs" anyway?  Anyone?  Anyone?  Angus?)

7, Bottom to Top

I've been both specifically and generally tagged for the Seven R-Word Things meme.  Under more productive writing circumstances I might have dodged this particular blogging bullet, but dammit, I need a swift kick in the keyboard.  I blame Ravelry.  I blame report cards.  I blame the fact that I've made the end-of-year shift to teaching gender studies and have had to re-adjust my curriculum.  (See past gender studies highlight here.  Today's highlight- a female black belt in Tae Kwon Do broke some boards for my kids.  Jaws dropped.  Splinters flew.  Stereotypes were challenged.  A good time was had by all.)  In order to avoid total R-wordness, I had to choose a theme for these.  Enter my knits to do the work for me!  Top-down, toe-up, we're all about tops and bottoms here.  But mostly bottoms.

1.  Bottoms up!  I told you I was going to do this, right?  Here it is- my first-ever toe-up sock in STR Lightweight in the color G-Rocks.  I used Wendy's newest pattern to guide me into the toe-up world and it couldn't have been a more pleasant experience.  Now that I've finished one, I've started another in different yarn before I do the second.  Even so, I'm not feeling any second-sock-syndrome coming on at all.  Maybe it's those colors.  Toe-up is so darn satisfying. I just hate those leftover beautiful bits of sock yarn that you know could have added precious length if you had only known. 

2.  Once when I was eight I saw my sister across the pool, dove in, and swam underwater until I came up right beneath her and pinched her, with the kind of ferocity only a big sister can deliver, on the ass.  You know the end of this story.  I surfaced triumphant, gasping, inches from the sputtering, incredulous face of a total stranger.  Suffice it to say I was underwater again in a flash an didn't surface until maximum distance between me and my victim had been achieved.  Clearly, though, 24 years is not enough distance to keep my face from turning red when I think of it.

3.  The Biscuit has 8 toes.  That's because his second and third toes, on both feet, are fused.  A few hours after he was born, a nurse came in and said she needed all visitors to leave the room because she "needed to talk to the parents alone."  Can you imagine?  When we discovered that the cloak and dagger was about his freakin' toes, I didn't know  whether to hit her or hug her.  I think I would have chosen the former had I not been somewhat mobility-challenged at that moment.

4.  In sixth grade I plopped down on the beanbag chairs in our classroom's reading corner with the latest Choose Your Own Adventure (enter the spooky cave or dive into shark-infested waters?) and my rear encountered a newly sharpened pencil.  I think the lead's still in there.

5.  I have had two obgyns and one midwife tell me that, despite what every book and every website and every other person on this earth says, it's fine to have an occasional drink during pregnancy.   I do not subscribe to the Precious Vessel theory of motherhood.  I believe that there's a lot of anti-female stuff going on in the world of pregnancy and childbirth that masquerades as empowerment.  But that's for a longer post.  I'm just saying that if this summer at the beach, there's a lime and a Corona and a fish sandwich with grilled pineapple in front of me, I won't necessarily say no, and I definitely won't feel like less of a mother.  Bottoms up, indeed.

6.  And while we're on the topic of things that could get me flamed out of blogland, I might as well go for broke.  In addition to beliving in the occasional glass of wine during pregnancy, I do not (gulp) love Harry Potter.  In fact, the item at the very bottom of my knitting basket- the Davy Jones's Locker, be-barnacled knit of my nightmares, is a House Colors Scarf that I promised to knit for my school auction in, of course, Gryffindor colors (I was really hoping for Slytherin).  I do appreciate what Rowling's books have done for kids- encouraging so many of them to read and to feel that sense of accomplishment that comes from scaling the peak of a 700-odd page (cough*overlong*cough) book.  However, despite her stupendous imagination and inspiring personal story, I just think...I don't know...maybe she needs a better editor?  The adverbs.  Good lord, the adverbs. 

7.  And here's one from the top, to go with my Hello Yarn Top-Down bonnet.  On Saturday, May 12, my cousin graduated first in his class from Virginia Tech with a degree in Aerospace Engineering.  I couldn't be more proud, T-Man.

As usual, details on FO's can be found in the Knits '07 album in the sidebar!

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

I think this photo adequately sums up the past four days, but of course I can't help but share some more.

Three of my grandparents grew up in the country.  Their parents owned general stores, planted tobacco, sent them running to the well for water.  One was a city girl.  Two married and lived throughout the world: in the shadow of Mt. Fuji, on the beaches of Bermuda, in the officer's clubs of Pretoria.  Two married and settled in the suburbs, raising three daughters just a few miles from where I sit now.  Suburbs, wild places, foreign soil- I think these are all a part of who I am.  And as I checked in on the blog from the farm (farm Internet- enough for email, but for blogging, forget it), I found comments and emails from friends remarking that my posts had either given them the impression that I am a hipster, crunchy granola type, fox (okay, that was my slightly biased dad), or mousy suburban schoolteacher.  After a few giggles, those comments did make me wonder about my Internet presence and how I come across.  I'm always forgetting that people I know in "real life" read this blog.  (Sorry about that pregnancy announcement snafu, guys.)  I want to be straightforward and true to myself here, but of course on a blog you get to edit and shape and frame your life in certain ways that might just polish things up a bit.  Okay, so yes, I am mousy.  That's really the bottom line.

This week I'm celebrating that hippy/crunchy side of me.  The side that would rather be at the farmer's market than anywhere else on the weekend.  The side that buys organic and recycles and doesn't mind the dirt (but has never and will never wear Birkenstocks, no matter how comfy).  But there's also a healthy helping of hipster in Charlottesville.  Hipster crunchy?

I've returned to the suburbs to drop off the Biscuit, but I'm returning today for No Boys Allowed Weekend.  There will be knitting on a project long overdue, and pie, and gardening, and one very fancy dinner for two due-in-September gals who deserve the break.  And maybe we'll just dance naked in the light of the Louisa moon.  Who knows?  There'll only be the deer and bears to know. 

Lemony Fricknits

I've been going about with pursed lips lately.  The world just keeps serving up lemons (and not sweet little limes of the sort Babycenter says I'm hosting these days- this after the grape and kumquat.  Why all the fruit comparisons??  Why??)  After slogging my way through 51 research papers on ancient Rome* (Aqueducts!  Gladiators!  Run-on sentences!), I still had to write my report cards.  Then I got the bad news that the daycare center here at school will close every day at 4:00 next year, leaving me zero time for planning, grading, blogging, and the like.  Oh, and they're going to make me pay for the four months the Fricklet (no bakery-themed name yet) won't be there, just to "save the spot."  That's over four grand of Hard Pill to Swallow.  Is there any sort of yarn filter I can put on this machine?  Because I sense a serious Fiber Fast coming on...

But just so that you know that my life isn't all a Series of Unfortunate Events these days, here's some news of lemony goodness, I've gone and made Fricklet's First Booties!  I was totally inspired by Ashley to make these, and it was a great way to break up the monotony of the Chevron Scarf.  Another reason to love yarn cakes- you can take a wee break from one project and work another with the same yarn, just by using the other end!  I used the Stay-Put pattern from Knitting for Baby by Melanie Falick and Kristen Nicholas.  I haven't yet done the i-cord ties, as they weigh about 26 grams already, which means I'm biting into my scarf yarn. If Luck is a lady, I'll have enough of the blue Koigu for another pair.  Cute!  Boxy!  Booties!

* Best fact learned about ancient Rome this year: "The roman weapons were very powerful and were a lot more advanced then there enemas."  [sic, sic, sick]

Miss Nomer

Last night I dreamt I gave birth to a baby boy.  Well, the whole giving-birth part happened conviniently off-stage, but there he was- with dark curly hair and angelic demeanor.  I felt a bit bad about giving my father the news- he is really hoping for a granddaughter.  So I named the baby John, after him.

Of course names have been on our minds a lot these days.  Mr. Frick and I have very different approaches to naming- so much so that there's a rule in our house that I name babies and he names pets and inanimate objects.  Thus we have a prairie dog puppet named Ernestina, a stuffed monkey named Fraulein Bitterbaum, and the fridge is the "ovenmerator" and the oven is the "fridgemerator." You can see why I fear for the children, no?  Actually, the deal with children is that I make a list of my favorite names and he chooses the name from the list.  This is actually how his parents chose his name, and we still have the scrap of paper with the list his mother wrote.

Speaking of names, I know some of you are wondering if I ever did figure out the name of my sister's baby boy, due in late April.  Indeed I did.  I will say her clues were misleading.  Yes, the name is one you might see in the news...during the Winter Olympics.  And yes, there is a landmark with this name...but you have to be up on your Cape Hatteras lighthouses.  Any guesses?

I do seem to be coming out of the first trimester haze.  For the past couple of nights I've been able to stay up past 8:00, which has allowed me to make some progress on the Chevron Scarf.  (Not that I've been able to stomach dinner yet, though.  My so-named "morning sickness" is hemispherically challenged.)  It's funny that this project caught my attention around the time knitting slowed to a crawl.  It's not for the baby.  It's not quick and easy.  I think it's the thrill of the colors that drew me to it.  Plus, as every pregnant lady knows, lovely bright accessories draw the eye away from your bulging belly toward your glowing face, right?  Or is this the Big Bow fallacy all over again?

And speaking of names: a word to Joelle.  This scarf is from the "More Than 24-Hour Gifts" section of Last Minute Knitted Gifts.  Joelle, here are some things that are also More Than 24-Hour: The gestation period of an elephant.  The Presidency of George W. Bush.  The stomach bug currently circulating amongst all my friends and family.  Do you see the range there, Joelle?  It's a mighty large one.  I realize you had a few patterns you wanted to include in your book that really didn't fit the "Last-Minute" theme.  I understand the temptation to group a whole mess of things together even if you can't really find the umbrella they all fit under.  (Yes, loyal readers, I do.)   Still- "More Than 24-Hour"?  Give a knitter a break.

The Good, the Bad, and the Nightmares

The Good:

Flickr.  Flickr.  Flickr.  If you've been wondering where I've been, wonder no more.  I've been here, on my nascent, newborn, busy-watchin'-its-Baby Einstein-developmental-videos, still-in-diapers Flickr site.  (And yes, I saw that movie, and yes, I actually thought it was funny, sometimes.)  I've been adding contacts and tagging photos and trying to avoid feeling overwhelmed by the sheer bigness of it and the talent represented therein.  Also, I have been setting up a new group with the lovely Nikki for those who would like to post photos of Wonderful Wallabies.  If you don't know the Wallaby, you should, and Nikki's photographs will definitely push you over the edge.  It's a super-versatile knit- the handknit version of the hooded sweatshirt.  I've finished my first (KnitPicks Swish), I'm working on my second (Peace Fleece) and planning my third (Blue Sky Organic Cotton).  I got into Flickr because I wanted a place to store my Project 365 set, and the above photo is yesterday's entry.  It has an interesting (if brief) story behind it.  Go check it out!  Also on Flickr, for those of you who feel the snack love, I have one word for you: CUPCAKES (thanks, Walt).

The Bad:

Big Pre-Bad Disclaimer: The pattern, the author, the whole "vibe" of this hat (yes, I also liked that movie) are fantastic, laudable, worthy-of-many-many-cupcakes. 

I am so afraid of failing at this hat.  So much so that I delayed beginning it.  So much so that I almost let the yarn talk me out of it. So much so that I think I have lost all perspective and I have no idea, currently, whether it is working out or not.  This hat is for someone very special, see.  And also, it requires that I learn a new technique, which is something I sometimes avoid for fear of failure (are you reading, Mom?).  But as you can see, I have started it, and I'm doing okay with the two-handed thingy, but I'm really, really hoping that the whole severe blocking thing works out.  Really, really hoping.   Oh, and I knit past the place where I should have joined the lining.  Am I ripping back?  Hells, no.  I'm thinking of doing this instead. If you have done this and have clear directions for me, I'll be your best friend.

The Nightmares:

You'd think these would be the bad, but they are actually the Truly Awful.  If this were the SSAT, the analogies section might look like this:

Bad: Julie's Nightmares

a)  irritant : Rush Limbaugh

b)  weird : David Lynch

c)  vast right-wing conspiracy : the resurgence of "preppy"

d) plump and delicious : these cupcakes

Now if you remember from your Kaplan SSAT books, the correct way to approach analogies is to make a phrase that connects the two words.  In this case, that phrase would be "..does not even begin to describe.." So now you clearly see that the answer is "all of the above," which of course does not exist because we're talking nightmares here, people, and in nightmares, the correct test answers are invisible.  Or the test itself is blank.  Or you forgot to ever attend the class in the first place, but still must take the test, which is blank, which you notice at the same time that you realize that you are, of course, naked as a jaybird.

All kidding aside, I have had some truly awful nightmares lately.  This is only natural, of course, as events of the past few months have brought into focus some terrible things- death, loss, grief, finality, how fragile we all are.  But these dreams.  Where I can't save my child or myself.  They have to stop.

I remember once Mr. Frick was trying to develop more patience with a particularly irritating (in the above sense) co-worker, and he decided to visualize handing the man a red balloon.  "You can't stay pissed off at someone when you're picturing yourself handing them the string to a red balloon," he said.  And it seemed to work.  Maybe tonight before I go to sleep I'll check out Flickr.  Your world just can't come crashing down when there are cupcakes to be had...right?