Oh, right. Suckage.
I'm still on a quest to find a knit-on edge for the Pinwheel Jacket. (In case you can't tell, the laptop in that photo is running a charting program. I gave up on the graph paper method.)
Along about, uh, Tuesday, I was happily scratching away at charting the Chinese edging (all these edges I mention are in the second Barbara Walker treasury), when I got to row twelve, maybe, and it started talking about short rows. I re-read it about five times, and yes indeed, it was true. Short rows in lace.
No. Fucking. Way.
I'm sure I could do it, but it's definitely over the line into the "Too Much Bother" territory we were all talking about when we discussed what makes a pattern difficult.
So now I'm back to the drawing board, trying to find an edging that is wide enough, and the right degree of difficulty (basically the easiest two-row lace I can find), and goes into 480 (the number of stitches on the edge of the Pinwheel) an even number of times. I've been looking at pictures and half-assedly charting and knitting swatches for three days.
Last night I gave up and created my own edging; it was a godmother's edge with some zig-zags added on to make it wide enough. And then I knit a gauge swatch (the crumple of yarn in the photo), and it looked like ass too.
Now I'm charting Great-Grandmother's Edge, in the hopes it will work. It might be TOO wide, but at the moment I'm willing to accept that. I'm hoping the name brings my luck; my great-grandmothers all sounded like women who'd approve of knitting. (Or did knit. As the case may be.)
Ass. Sucks ass.
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Lately, the Baby has been doing this tantrum deal where she throws herself on the floor and does these screaming, gagging, howling fits. It's tiresome as all hell (unlike the Drama Queen imitations, which are hilarious) and gets her thrown in her crib, and she's been doing it since Monday, and I really want to start drinking heavily when she starts it. I've been calling her Zool the Destroyer.
But at the moment, she's wearing pasta on her fingers. The cuteness keeps her alive.
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There was a question in the comments about my bent-wire book-holder-opener thingie that you can see on my book in the previous "Sekhmet you fucker" photo. Yes. It was made by the husbeast. I previously posted details of it, you can find them here.
I'll mention a tutorial to the husbeast, but I'm not sure he'll take me seriously.
10 comments:
Julie, maybe you need to get The Baby this shirt.
Do NOT click on this link if you're easily offended.
http://www.tshirthell.com/store/product.php?productid=557
Of course if you're reading Julie's blog that's kind of a moot point. :)
"Oozing rat ass" is nearly as good as "syphilitic rat dick", which my own mother claimed as her standard of true suckiness.
Good luck with the edging, it sounds like a headache and a half.
Sorry about the rat ass suckage. It really sucks when knitting creates stress.
Yeah, the cuteness keeps them ALL alive. That, and just wait until she's old enough to spontaneously throw her arms around your neck and say, "I YUV you, Mama."
and oh my god, april, some of those baby hell t-shirts are shockingly funny...
Zool the Destroyer--that's too damned funny--we call our kids "Gozers"--same damned movie!!! And about the rat-ass suckage--uhm, husbeast is way to squeamish, it's freaking hilarious, but I'm sorry about that...yeah, Barbara Walker always says, "Easier than it looks" and then you look and your "Why bother flags" start waving in the wind left by your lack of time... short-rows? With a kid in the house? Mmmmmnnno.... Good luck on what you have planed, though!!!
Elder Son did that "throw yourself on the floor and howl" thing. We soon discovered that anything with red dye #40 in it would start the whole process. Did you know MandMs are full of the stuff? And "health" store stuff is not the same. Good luck.
Boneless Baby!! I can't wait until Baby Bird (the grandbaby) starts it.
Good luck with the edging.
"Sucks the pus" is my saying of choice (or non-choice as the case may be) when it comes to the highest level of suckiness.
There's an ad in Australia where a child is throwing a tantrum (as per Zool) in the supermarket. The child stops pretty quickly when the mother joins in - heh!
Go edging!
The joy, truly, the joy in all of the baby tantrums is when the darling hits 13 and you get to tell the stories.
Or, as my husband likes to do, when our now 13 year old wants to go into a specific restaurant or store, he'll look at the front, look at me, and say "isn't this the place ????" and I nod yes and he looks at her and explains that this is yet, another establishment where they have her picture on the wall, barring her from every entering. EVER. In fact, there is a vacation area in our state where we are convinced that not only can she not ever go into any of the restaurants, she is also banned from the local grocery store. AND RIGHTLY SO.
I just ignore my monsters when they do the fit thing, walk away, don't pick her up unless she is going to harm herself and she will soon realize mom doesnt give a shit for tantrums they get her no attention
Good luck with the knitting.
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