I don't know what makes me think that I'm special, but I can't believe it: I lied to myself about gauge. Totally LIED. "Yes," I said, "I can make that sweater at a smaller gauge, but in a larger size, and it will totally fit". "And you know what else?" I dissembled, "There's no such thing as ROW gauge to worry about, either!" I nodded my wool fume-addled head and cast on. Boy, was that knitting fast. Boy, did I notice that it was really really small, too. But my inner liar had me so hoodwinked that I actually got all the way to the bottom of a top-down raglan before summoning the guts to try it on. Sucker.
I mean, negative ease is one thing, but this is ferociously wrong. It's 50 items in the 10-or-less lane wrong. It's asking a Priest on a date wrong. Get a load of where those poor bust darts landed.
It's comforting, in a way, to be reminded that I still get to screw up. Man, what a rookie move. And then, of course, I had to decide whether to finish the thing and give it to Lindsay, or whether I should just gut it and start over. The thought of being taunted by this yarn that I love so much every time my adorable 14-year-old prances by was more than I could bear (I know: Mother Of The Year), so in the end, I hitched the whole thing to my ball winder and let-er-rip. Cathartic, that. I've started over, this time using a little trick I call "Math", and working from the bottom up, as God intended. And it's going to be a circular yoke, too, which I like better than raglans, for no good reason at all.
While I was distracted by string (i.e.,"conscious"), my youngest child started to grow up. Campbell received his Arrow Of Light last weekend:
For those who don't know, the Arrow is the highest honor a Cub Scout can receive. Earning one is known to Cubbies as "Crossing Over", because after achieving it, a Cub becomes a Boy Scout, and joins a whole new troop. For some reason, I was emotionally unprepared to see my smally publicly make this transition. He's been working toward it since he was six years old, so more than half of his life has been spent thinking about what this day would be like for him. I (Mother Of The Year) failed to anticipate the flood of tears that crashed over me once that arrow was finally his. I do not remember authorizing any of this "growing up" nonsense, and I'd like to state for the record that I'll be putting a stop to it, henceforth.
In unrelated news, I'm pleased to announce that Dicentra Designs has exactly three (3) unclaimed Thistle Stole Kits for sale to the public. The first three requests received by firstname.lastname@example.org will be their happy recipients! Kits are $85 each, plus shipping. Let the bloodbath commence.