When my girls were little (and when they were bigger too) we always had a Gingerbread Party. It used to be that we’d fill up the house with people, and food, and music, and I’d bake a couple hundred gingerbread cookies, and make a few pounds of royal icing (that kind that gets hard when it dries) and then we’d just make merry all over the place while my gingerbread cookies got decorated by littles and big ones alike. It’s been a few years since we did it now. With no real littles around, the tradition seemed silly to the big kids I think, and I’d invite them and we’d try to make it happen and they’d say no, because it was gingerbread and what self respecting young person trying to assert themselves as an adult shows up for a gingerbread party? It undermines your adulthood.
In my secret heart through, I really, truly believed that I wasn’t the only one who missed the gingerbread party. I brought it up a few years, but nobody seemed to want to – but I thought they were lying. I had rented kids over to scratch my itch (the neighbours, and Jen provided a few) but this year I took a different tack. I invited the family for dinner. A regular family dinner, like we do all the time, and then – I ambushed them.
When everyone arrived, the gingerbread was laid out, icing was made and put into ziplocks to be makeshift piping bags (they actually work really, really well) and from there, instinct took over.
It was a wonderful evening. Music was made, dumb reindeer songs were sung, Lou decorated his first gingerbread, and everyone got into it. I’d go into the kitchen to lay out more food (the food – holy cats they demolished it all) and come back out to find someone else had sidled up to the table and was having a go. People came and went from the table, but the die hards -the ones who decorated the most and had the biggest fun, were the young men. Exactly the ones who shrink back in horror when you suggest such a thing.
The older men didn’t have a terrible time either, and my mum and Joe’s were happier than I can tell you. It reeked of good, clean fun. When the night was over, and the last gingerbread decorated, and the house tidied, I sat on the chesterfield and had a good, long smirk.
I knew they would love it. Sneak attack gingerbread party. One of my better plans, and worth the sacrifice of the knitting time. They’ll remember this more than whether or not I finished their mittens.
What did Luis hang today?
El jersey. (That’s an easy one to learn in Spanish, isn’t it?)
I knit this one almost to the pattern (although I admit to changing the shoulder shaping, and the pattern on the yoke, so it would match the hat. WHAT. I thought it should be a set) and Joe used a paperclip to make a tiny little hanger.
I know that a sweater isn’t something that would thrill Lou (and that likely explains it’s late arrival on the tree) but it was intended as a little homage to the many sweaters I’ve knit him. I am the sweater Auntie, and when he’s bigger, maybe he’ll think of the sweaters I’ve made him over the years, keeping him warm and cozy. (More likely he’ll remember that Sam let him squirt icing straight into his mouth at the party, but I can’t compete with that.)
Gifts for knitters, Day 20
This one’s quick and dirty, easy and fast. Personalized labels for your knitter to sew into the things they make. There’s great ones here, and charming ones here, and if labels aren’t quite your kntiter’s style, think about some personalized tags. They all say “I’m proud of the things you make” and that’s a great message to send your knitter.