Tag Archives: knitting

Clothed In Righteousness

19 Dec

Dear Stacy, and Mom, and every other Mom I talked to today,

Thank you.  Thank you a thousand times over.

As you know, today I suffered from a severe case of Irrational Mommy Guilt.  It began at approximately 12:07 this morning when my head finally hit the pillow after an evening of rehearsals, church, more rehearsal, cutting pineapple into stars, transforming strawberries into santa hats, assembling snowman heads out of styrofoam cups, and frantically finishing last-minute gift knitting.

At that fateful minute I realized two things, 1)  I never finished knitting Peter’s Christmas sweater and 2) my daughter didn’t own a beautiful, sparkly, preschool-program-worthy Christmas dress.

The tears, phone calls, and monopolized conversations you all endured are precious to me.  I thank you, because despite the materialist, covetous, prideful nature of my problem, you gently forgave my weakness, shored me up with your words of encouragement and offers to help, and met me with your own parental misgivings.

You are dear women.  Models of motherhood.  Sisters in Christ.

So with you, I share my joy.

Preschool Program

The dress is more beautiful than I ever could have hoped for.  Sleeves.  It has sleeves.

Cele

And I promise, there are sparkles on there.  Cele wasn’t going to leave the store without sparkles.  Talking her down from the glittery, taffeta, rhinestoned purple number was a chore, though.

Pete and Cele

I didn’t photoshop this with some “soft” filter. That blur is just powdered sugar residue left over from my Mommy Guilt about holiday candy.

And although the sweater is not technically finished (I’m going to uncharacteristically not point out it’s raw edges to you, though.) (The armholes.  I totally haven’t put the ribbing on the armholes yet.  I can’t help myself.) he was thrilled to finally be able to wear his “brown.”

Pete

And the tie, “like Daddy does,” was the real star on top of the tree.

The best part of the evening wasn’t their clothing, though.  And it wasn’t my fleeting sense of Mommy accomplishment.  It wasn’t even three-year-old giddiness at new duds.  It was hearing my children remind me that the Maker of everything came as an itsy-bitsy baby, held in his own mother’s arms, which probably rocked a little less violently than preschool hand-motions might lead you to believe.  And that his coming as a man was for the purpose of forgiving my sins.  My sins of worrying about tomorrow and fretting over clothing.

And that’s the Joy I want to share with you, too.

In the Love of His Incarnation,
=Christina=

Cele and me

As soon as I pulled this photo up I realized that I lost one of my earrings. So, if you see it hanging around school . . . but I’m not worried about my clothing. No, not at all.

Tying Knots with Sticks

20 Jan

So here’s something you may or may not know about me:  I’m a knitter.  Well, right now I might be better known as a person who knits, but here’s a little proof that I once was a knitter.

Yup, that’s my super cute sister wearing a sweater vest I KNIT FOR HER!  See those cables?  See that ribbing?  See the fitted shape?  That is the work of of a knitter.

Here’s another example.

Fair Isle in fingering weight.  This mitten dates back to 2009.  His partner in crime, is, well, suffering from a severe case of SSS.  That’s Second Sock Syndrome for those of you nonknitterly types.  That’s when finishing the first sock (or mitten) is thrilling, and yet the very idea of starting all over again and knitting virtually the exact same thing is a total drag that you can’t face.

This is a severe case.  Although I’m happy to report that over Christmas break I did pull the 1/4 inch of left hand out of storage and extended it so that at least my lower palm is covered.

I didn’t invent SSS.  It’s been around for hundreds of years.  But I’m not even the one who came up with the first diagnosis.  That honor is bestowed upon Stephanie Pearl-McPhee.  You might know her as the Yarn Harlot.  Or you might not know her at all, and that would be a shame.  Go read her blog, she’s a fantastic writer and clever knitter.  Or visa versa.  The adjectives are interchangable.

But it’s not her blog or the frost bite on my left pinky that has me picking up the needles again these days.  Nope, it’s a book.  Her book.  Her latest book  (she has other equally entertaining, educational, and enjoyable reads.)

It’s super cute, isn’t it?  Even if you aren’t a knitter, doesn’t it just look like a pleasant, cozy, not-at-all scratchy read?  Listen to what the Library Journal has to say about Pearl-McPhee.

. . . a sort of David Sedaris-like take on knitting – laugh-out-loud funny most of the time and poignantly reflective when it’s not cracking you up.

That’s the kind of stuff I want people, not to mention librarian people, saying about me, so it’s certainly the stuff I’m going to read when I have a spare moment or two.

And that is when I’m reading this, in my spare moments.  It’s my current “toothbrush book.”   You know, the book that you read while you brush your teeth, or put your socks on, or wait for the gas tank to be filled.

That is, unless I’m knitting.

In case you’re worried, the book isn’t all chock-full of *k1, p2, k2tog, YO, k1* that will make your head spin fast enough to whip up a skein of 3-ply merino.  Sure, it is centered around knitting, and knitters, but there are whole stories that we can all relate to, like the death of her beloved washing machine.  Now come on, that’s a timeless tale.

Plus, it might inspire you to learn to knit.  Face it, you know you want to.

And if you already love knitting, or even love a knitter, this book will make you make sense to yourself, or make sense of that knitter you love.  Promise.

So what have we learned today?

1) You should probably learn to knit.

and

2) If knitting is too fiddly for you then you should at least throw on a sweater, pick up some chopsticks and click them together serenely while reading the Yarn Harlot’s book.

* I’m sorry, those aren’t asterisks directing you down here, just more knitting jargon.  Please carry on.

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