I work on the theory that to knit in a frenzy should occupy hands and instill a quiet mind.
Thus far the theory proves less than satisfactory.
The boys lie on their tummies on the carpet creating Pokemon figures. My youngest daughter lounges on the sofa next to me with her feet in my lap and frequent warnings, “jus don't poke me with those needles.” I'm almost sure I hear a whisper from those on the carpet, “don wanna spend dah afternoon in dah emergency room!” but maybe I'm mistaken?
My eldest daughter wanders in, “glad to see you with your feet up!” she beams as I adjust my “ice-pack.” “What are you knitting? It looks like a…………bone!”
“Looks lika bone, looks lika bone, looks lika bone,” whispers the carpet.
“Does it? I hadn't noticed the shape.”
“I'm not surprised. What is that vile colour?”
“Er………I think they call it 'simply sage.'”
“Simply sage, simply sage, simply sage.”
“More like putrid neon vomit!”
“Putrid neon vomit! Putrid neon vomit! Putrid neon vomit!”
“Oh do be careful what you say dear!”
Three small pairs of eyes look up at their big sister.
“What will it be when it's finished?”
“Really? Who for?”
“For whom? For me actually. I think they call it a 'snug' out here.”
“A snug? Are you sure? I don't think I've ever heard of a snug before. Are you sure it's not just a shawl? How will you wear something that's shaped like a bone?”
“Well I'm not sure yet but the pattern is very intriguing.”
I nod in it's direction. She picks it up to study.
“That is probably the most ugly garment I have ever seen.”
“Oh don't say that. I just love this soft wool and this was the only pattern that wasn't too ghastly.”
“I dread to think what the other choices were in that case.”
“What's so special about this wool anyway?”
“Feel it! It's so soft, like down and snuggly and…”
“Enough with the mush mother.”
She grabs a handful anyway, “ooo it is lovely and soft.”
“It will be perfect for Spring.”
“I think you've sort of already missed Spring, we're already right into fry time.”
The girls swan off to do something more interesting as I sew up the side seams and tie off the ends. I slip it on just to try it out.
“What do you think boys?”
No-one looks in my direction. I plonk myself down on the carpet, keeping my “neck” as long as possible and my “head” even further away.
“What do you think of my new green cardigan?”
They shuffle over a bit, slow moving lizards with tummy friction. Little fingers explore the wool, closely followed by the thump of two medicine ball heads, one on each hip.
“I am like yur smug.”