A Pouf of Ponchos?

I make one for my daughter.

It looks delightful.

I knit one for myself, they're so quick and easy.

I knit one for my older daughter, sludge coloured so that she can blend in with her beloved trees. Since my mother-in-law’s birthday is only a day or two away, I knit another one.

I have quite a bit of wool left over.

At the weekend, when everyone is home, I sort though my wool basket to the delight of small people who frequently believe that playing with balls of yarn makes them every bit as irresistible as kittens.

“You are knit me?”
“Pardon?”
“I need?”
“What do you need?”
“I am needing a pouf too,” he wheedles.

It certainly would be a good way to use up all the scraps and leftovers. It might help reduce global warming. It would fit in well with the recycling plan. It would be bound to come in handy when the summer days wane and everyone complains of chilliness.

“Ah! Waste not want not! Which would you prefer, greeny, purply, pink, or sludge, or red, or lemon or stripes?”

He pauses, deep in thought, “I am be have golden!” he announces with glee, as yellow is still his current favourite but his father is quicker off the mark as he pounces, “not on your nelly Sunny Jim, you'll look like a complete………” I lop him on his politically incorrect loaf.


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Developmental challenges, for parents

 

Unexpectedly, he leaps to my defense, “do not be disturb him! Cant you see he is be nit!”
“Yes I can see your mother's knitting…..she's a she remember, not a him.”
“Oh yes, I am beed forgetting dat.” I still find myself tripped up by the correct use of some vocabulary and the complete absence of other parts of speech.
“You can see it beed grow longer, look!” he beams at his father. How we love that joint attention.
“What's all this business with the knitting all of a sudden?”
“Don't ask me? He wants me to sit with him. He wants me to knit. You'll find no complaints from me.”
“What's with this sudden fascination?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I've yet to find a parental manual that provides guidance on the subject.”
“Why doesn't that surprise me?”
“The knit one, purl one stage of development.”
“I just don't get it.”
“Neither do I.”
“We shouldn't really do that should we.”
“Do what?”
“Talk about him whilst he's……here.”
“You're right. We shouldn't.”
“You are talk about me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We'd like to know why you like knitting so much?”
“Because it is nitty, nitty, nitty andddddddd it be growed.”
“?”
“Do you mean 'clicky, clicky, clicky,' er…..the sound of the needles? That clickety noise drives me wild. Perhaps you should try plastic needles instead.”
“Maybe it is the sound. Is it the sound dear?”
“Nitty, nitty, nitty!” he guffaws unable to contain his hilarity.
“Your nose is so close to the tips though. I'm surprised you haven't poked his eye out with a needle.” He screams as he covers both eyes to run blindfolded from the room at high speed.
“Ah…..that was a mistake.”
“Indeed.”
“Do you think he'll be alright?”
“Lets give him a few minutes. He has stopped screaming.”
“Do you think he hurt himself with that clunk?”
“No screaming…….so presumably not.”
“Well that's jolly annoying!”
“What is?”
“Well now……. …….we'll never know?”
“The end of another era.”

New post up on “Alien.”

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