Do you know that feeling of ineffectiveness? The one where your whole day is busy, busy, rushing but nothing at all has been accomplished? I'm so there. I've tidied the living room, it's still a disaster, I've mopped the kitchen floor, it's still sticky. I do laundry, there's more. I write, I don't have a chapter. I knit, nothing is bigger.
I'm getting about as much done as a fifteen year old girl with a fully charged phone and a new boy in the neighbourhood.
It disturbs me most when it happens to the writing, (that may be because I have to write successfully for this family to keep having those little luxuries, like bread.) but when it happens to my knitting it practically sucks the will to go on right out of me. Knitting is supposed to be respite from all of that. Knitting is supposed to be the one thing in my life where there is tangible progress. Knitting is CONCRETE. You can count the stitches and the rows and you can have some stinking proof that your life is moving forward.
Sure, sure, you can't really tell over the course of a day that your kids are maturing. (As a matter of fact, I find it better to look at their growth over months or years. Some of the individual days are pretty discouraging. How is it possible that the girls are becoming women this quickly but are still capable of having an outrageously piercing dispute about sparkle body lotion at 7:15am? There is a secondary question here, one about how it is possible that any children raised on oatmeal and homemade yoghurt by a braless woman could possibly care about sparkle body lotion enough to fight over it, but that's likely just the fates laughing at me again.) There's no way to feel like a book is really going to come together over a day, books are too long. These things you just have to accept are slow and organic, but knitting? You're supposed to be able to get that done.
This is all, naturally, just a very long winded way of saying that Summer in Kansas kicked my arse last night and I'm not on to the edging.
Worse than that, I didn't read the instructions very well (try to hide your shock) and I thought that all I had left to do was knit on the edging, but it turns out that I'm really screwed there is an elegant picot edging that gets knit onto the long top edge when I'm done the bottom. You pick up stitches all of the way across, then throttle yourself with the circular needle cable work an edge that has you cast on two stitches for every one that you would like to cast off. (You do the math. It makes me want to shred something.)
There was something about sitting in the living room (that is resisting being cleaned) taking a break from the book (which was resisting being written) wearing my last clean tee-shirt (because the laundry is multiplying every-time I leave the house.) realizing that I couldn't even make progress on my stinking knitting that just about put me over the edge.
I know that freaking out about ineffective time management and accomplishment is...er...ineffective, and furthermore, I know myself and realize that aforementioned freaking out only makes me flail and rage about the house, moving fast and accomplishing nothing, as that sort of tantrum only makes what time I do have completely unfocussed and impotent. What is needed here is to take the stinking shawl and all it symbolizes out to the barbecue and cackle like a madwoman while the sick smell of charring wool/silk drifts across the locust tree is to settle down, pick a goal and make today about efficient, calm work, directed in a meaningful way. That or eat nine pounds of chocolate. Hard to tell really.
To distract you from the absolute lack of interesting progress of any sort, I present...Twins wearing hand knit hats.
Lily in her watermelon. (Lily needs to grow her head and maybe wake up a little for maximum effect in hat pictures.)
Parker in his tangerine. Parker's hat fits a little better, but he would improve his hat pictures by gaining motor control of his eyes and tongue. Little dude's expressions are still pretty random. I feel bad about lighting him from one side and making him look crooked, but I bet he preferred it to the flash.
The sweater modeling will have to wait. The size 0-3 months are a little big.Posted by Stephanie at June 6, 2006 11:25 AM