48 hours



Dragon mittens (or what we hope will be interpreted as dragon mittens by a five year old buddy of Lene’s) The knitted eyes are cracking me up.



Latvian mittens

Sigh. These are so pretty that the only think keeping me from stuffing them into my own coat pockets and giving the intended recipient something impersonal and sucky from the drugstore is the fact that they are too big for me.

An extra shot for the Latvian mitten junkies:





One pair down, one pair to go. In case you haven’t played this game before, my foot is included for scale. The magic trick of felting just never gets old. (Rest assured that these will be felted inside a tied up pillowcase to protect Mr. Washie’s innards. I only have to replace a $300 pump once to learn my lesson.)

Sam is shovelling up that white Christmas I ordered.


(You know what? I can’t be the only one who worries when it all starts coming together, right? I start thinking that maybe I do run the world….)

Joe is at the store buying underpants for the girls. (I ignored his pleas for release from this task. I care nothing for his discomfort in the underpants department. He is a parent. He will buy teenager underpants and he will survive. I have no pity, for I am a knittter at Christmas and my only hope is delegation.

Answers to questions.

– Four (How many hours of sleep I got last night)

-Two and Six. (The number of glasses of wine I drank last night and how much coffee so far today. It’s entirely possible that all the tofu I eat the rest of the year is only in preparation for this week.)

-One (How many crappy movies I watched last night. It was “Anacondas”. It was truly crappy.)

-Three. (The number of times I noticed that Joe was not working on Christmas.)

-Two. (The number of times that I managed to let that go because he was asleep)

-One. (The number of times that I woke him up to discuss my failure to let it go)

-Five. (The number of times that I’ve thought “There is no possible way to finish all this. In the name of all things holy would somebody please lock me in a closet with a bottle of scotch and a fruitcake until Christmas morning so that I can stop trying.” )

-Four (The number of times the previous thought has been immediately followed by “Oh, c’mon. Keep trying. You can do it. You’ve been in rough spots before, look to the schedule and fear not the coming of the morning. Rise above. Wrap something, eat a cookie and knit.”

-One. (The number of times that I needed a little scotch to believe that).