When I was pregnant with my daughter it was brought to my attention that I was a bit tense, much of the time (the tense part, not the brought to my attention part).
This was true. Why wouldn't it be? I had a 3 year old energetic son running around doing what 3+ year olds do, I was working and going to school, and I was pregnant. That combo will tense out even the most hormonally saturated happy-to-be-preggers among us.
My Grandma, who is very crafty and gifted in the whole sewing/crocheting/knitting arena in ways I clearly am not, suggested I try knitting in the evenings to relax. Sounded reasonable, sounded like a good healthy way to let the stress of the day ebb away, right?
In theory, yes. In practice, not really. See, what Grandma forgot was my perfectionist tendencies (which I'm proud to say have ebbed over time to a more manageable level..but don't ask Hubby because he might have a different opinbecause he calls things like he sees them because he's like that) kick in when I'm learning a new anything...and I obsess.
Knitting, I've heard, is a very rewarding and wholesome past time. The result is usually something lovely and handmade, a scarf or a hat or a sweater or something cool like that.
Unless I'm the knitter.
For two weeks I labored over a piece as wide as a knitting needle and about 3" long. Two weeks. One night Hubby noticed me hunching over this endeavor, focusing and working so.very.hard to create the perfect first knitting project that he felt he had to say something. 'Honey,' he said, 'it really doesn't look like you're relaxing with this whole knitting thing. You actually look kinda stressed, and not happy.'
Right. Really? And then he came over and rubbed a shoulder, then the other, and declared them a disaster. Rocks. Hard and tense and knotted up and really not the shoulders of a person who's enjoying what they're doing.
So, I heaved a pregnant sigh, tossed the needles and yarn into the cute bag Grandma had loaned me, and decided he might be right. Knitting might not be my forte or even a good idea right now. Who needs high blood pressure when you're pregnant, after all?
18 years have passed. And, for no apparent reason, I get a bug to just try it again. Clearly I was delusional. It may have been a moment of high hormones, low hormones, temporary insanity or just due to a shortage of good reading materials (I hadn't been to the library for awhile, if memory serves.)
This time my sweet neighborbecame unwittingly embroiled in my knitting plot decided she wanted to help me with this. She set me up. Needles, yarn, a How To book, the whole thing. She's really nice. In fact, she inspired me when she presented me with a lovely gift of kitchen towels to which she'd added functional and pretty knitted borders and a little loop with a button that hooks over my drawer handles. And little potholders. Really pretty knitted potholders. That match my kitchen colors perfectly.
That afternoon and into the evening I practiced. And eventually started to get the hang of the whole casting on thing. And then my daughter walked in and said, 'Hey, Mom, whatcha doing?' Then she saw and got a funny look on her face. 'Are you learning to knit so you have something to do when you get old?'
Sigh.
It's been three weeks now. And I've just successfully casted on a grand total of one knitting needle. One.
I'm beginning to think I might not be cut out for this.
This was true. Why wouldn't it be? I had a 3 year old energetic son running around doing what 3+ year olds do, I was working and going to school, and I was pregnant. That combo will tense out even the most hormonally saturated happy-to-be-preggers among us.
My Grandma, who is very crafty and gifted in the whole sewing/crocheting/knitting arena in ways I clearly am not, suggested I try knitting in the evenings to relax. Sounded reasonable, sounded like a good healthy way to let the stress of the day ebb away, right?
In theory, yes. In practice, not really. See, what Grandma forgot was my perfectionist tendencies (which I'm proud to say have ebbed over time to a more manageable level..but don't ask Hubby because he might have a different opin
Knitting, I've heard, is a very rewarding and wholesome past time. The result is usually something lovely and handmade, a scarf or a hat or a sweater or something cool like that.
Unless I'm the knitter.
For two weeks I labored over a piece as wide as a knitting needle and about 3" long. Two weeks. One night Hubby noticed me hunching over this endeavor, focusing and working so.very.hard to create the perfect first knitting project that he felt he had to say something. 'Honey,' he said, 'it really doesn't look like you're relaxing with this whole knitting thing. You actually look kinda stressed, and not happy.'
Right. Really? And then he came over and rubbed a shoulder, then the other, and declared them a disaster. Rocks. Hard and tense and knotted up and really not the shoulders of a person who's enjoying what they're doing.
So, I heaved a pregnant sigh, tossed the needles and yarn into the cute bag Grandma had loaned me, and decided he might be right. Knitting might not be my forte or even a good idea right now. Who needs high blood pressure when you're pregnant, after all?
18 years have passed. And, for no apparent reason, I get a bug to just try it again. Clearly I was delusional. It may have been a moment of high hormones, low hormones, temporary insanity or just due to a shortage of good reading materials (I hadn't been to the library for awhile, if memory serves.)
This time my sweet neighbor
That afternoon and into the evening I practiced. And eventually started to get the hang of the whole casting on thing. And then my daughter walked in and said, 'Hey, Mom, whatcha doing?' Then she saw and got a funny look on her face. 'Are you learning to knit so you have something to do when you get old?'
Sigh.
It's been three weeks now. And I've just successfully casted on a grand total of one knitting needle. One.
I'm beginning to think I might not be cut out for this.
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