Hank’s uber-macho stringless manly mittens are done. This is a good thing because I don’t believe he was going to be happy to wait for them. Last night when he saw that the balls of yarn were still balls of yarn he sort of lost his cool. Whipped one of the balls across the room and said “This is not a mitten!”. He’s normally a very nice guy, the strain of the loss of the mousie mitten has really worn on us all. Everyone copes with tragedy in their own way.
I think the mitts look pretty good, although the one looking away from you has wonky eyes. We won’t know for sure if they are ok until Hank sees them. If you’ve knit for a three year old then you understand. Just because he wanted pink dragon mittens, and I believe I have knit pink dragon mittens, is no reason to believe that he will believe that these are indeed pink dragon mittens. It’s a total crap shoot. Don’t knit for three year olds unless you are going to be pretty relaxed about rejection. Stick to the small stuff. Hank has rejected tons of stuff, hats are particularly dodgy. I spend a month knitting him the coolest hat, only to have Hank dedicate his life to stuffing it behind his car seat. Then I knit him this hoodie-acrylic-sweatshirt thing. I hated everything about it. The yarn, the pattern, the making up. With each moment and each stitch I cursed it. I swore on all I that I hold dear and all that I believe to be true that I would never, ever knit it’s monotonous miles of stocking stitch and its stupid, stupid pocket and hood again. Screw I-cord hood ties, just screw them.
He loves it. All I can hope is that he doesn’t ask me for another one. Three year olds are so charming that their cute little faces and tiny little voices should be considered some kind of hypnosis. I’d knit that kid anything if he asked. Maybe he won’t ask till he’s four.