Read from the beginning, here.
I'd like to say that things with Three Irish Girls soared with wings of eagles high above the treetops of adversity. But that wouldn't be the truth.
I loved yarn and knitting. And I loved teaching. And I loved my (soon-to-be three) kids. And I loved my husband and my friends and my book club and my family, and because I loved all of these things, time was sorely lacking.
I started another venture with a dyeing friend. Yarn Love. We went about sourcing custom yarns and building a brand identity.
I also went about filling my never-ending quest for deliciousness with colorways like Turtle Cheesecake:
Strawberry Shortcake:
And I won't bore you with others like Daffodil Buttercream, Chilled Cantaloupe, Cucumber Watercress, and Bayfield Apple. Suffice it to say that food speaks to me on many levels.
I started a blog and began fielding many questions from knitters about dyeing yarn, so I created a series of tutorials that covered everything from how to twist yarn
to how to create gradient-dyed skeins.
As I got pregnanter and pregnanter, I still had yarn to dye, but I had less time and energy to fill orders. The dyeing equipment began to just stay up in the kitchen between dyeing sessions.
We ate take out and Whole Foods deli food more and mama's chicken less. Something had to give, and I picked cooking.
And here you go, honey, an official, public, atta-boy, for the nine months of trips to Dairy Queen, no matter the weather. And the foot rubs. And the pizza delivery.
True story: I broke out the window in our back door with an ax when I was seven months pregnant, in a moment of sheer desperation. You can read about it here. You can see the photographic evidence below.
Our third baby finally made her arrival in the middle of a snowstorm, two weeks later than her siblings, and two pounds heavier than her older sister.
I'm still waiting for the Congratulations, you delivered a 10-1/2 pound baby without drugs in the middle of a snowstorm!!!! award to arrive. It's been four years already, where is it?
This sweetie pie was very pleased to become a big sister.
And this dude got it in his mind that babies need to eat yogurt and play with shiny, fancy toys right away. As in, you're two hours old, I've brought you some Yoplait Light and an Etch-a-Sketch.
We moved when baby #3 was three months old. My boy started kindergarten, and I got a new studio in the basement. I was so excited that I was going to be able to simultaneously simmer soup and stripe skeins.
We hired an electrician to put in a hookup for an electric stove. I bought work tables, strung up clothesline, and listened to the crickets chirp.
No, really. We had crickets in the house. And they drove me nine kinds of crazy. If you've lived in a warmer climate, you already know what I'm talking about when I bring up the crickets. If you haven't, here's news for you: CRICKETS LIVE IN PEOPLE'S HOUSES, AND THEY MAKE LOUD, LOUD, CHIRPY CRICKET SOUNDS TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY FOR FIFTY YEARS WITHOUT STOPPING.
When I first encountered the crickets in my basement problem (and let's be fair here, we're not talking about Pharaoh, let my people go, or I shall smite you with a plague of locusts kind of infestation. More like a, where the heck is that incessant chirping coming from?????????? kind of haunting), I called a friend who lived around the corner.
"Why are there crickets in my house?" I asked her.
"Because this is Maryland, and we have crickets here," she answered.
"I don't want the crickets in my house," I replied.
"They don't bite or eat your food," she said. "And it's bad luck to kill them."
I will not say whether I killed any or not, that would be in poor taste. But the sound they make when you step on them is very crunchy.
By mid-2007, I had two business ventures, a teaching job, three children, a husband who traveled a lot for work, and no family nearby.
My wholesale orders, clubs, and retail orders were keeping me busier than ever.
This is Nora, one of my favorite colorways. Boxed up and ready for her jaunt to a local yarn shop.
And Bayfield Apple, which I said I wasn't going to bore you with, but I've changed my mind.
Let's talk about my schedule for a moment.
2:00 am: Wake up. Hit Snooze.
2:06 am: Turn off other alarm clock across the room so I actually had to get out of bed.
2:08 am: Make coffee. Head to basement to turn on dye pots.
2:11 am: Put my head on the kitchen table and whimper softly to myself.
2:15 am: Bring thermal carafe of coffee to the basement, put on headphones pumping out high-energy music.
2:16 am - 6:00 am: Work in the studio dyeing, rinsing, winding, twisting, and labeling yarn.
6:00 am: Shower, get children dressed and fed, get myself dressed and fed, leave for school.
7:30 am: Arrive at school. Copy papers. Plan, grade, teach, eat lunch
12:00 pm: Leave school (I was able to configure my schedule so I only taught three classes, all in a row. This meant I spent less time at school, but also had less time to grade and plan at school.)
12:30 pm: Pick up younger children from babysitter's house, drive home, lay children down for nap.
1:30 pm: Answer business emails. Get packages ready to ship.
3:25 pm: Get children up from nap, pick up son from kindergarten, drive to post office to ship packages.
5:00 pm: Answer more business emails, take pictures and list products, get yarn prepped for the following day.
6:00 pm: Throw something together for dinner, grade papers, plan lessons.
7:00 pm: Eat dinner, get children ready for bed, wave at husband across the kitchen.
8:00 pm: Fall asleep on the couch.
10:00 pm: Stumble, bleary-eyed, up to bed.
2:00 am: Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
Weekends involved being able to sleep until 5:00 am, and then working until at least 5:00 pm.
Do not underestimate the power of consistent sleep deprivation on the human psyche. I still had a young baby who woke at least once during the night to eat during this time. I subsisted on less than six -- and often, it was closer to five -- hours of sleep each night for a year.
I think it's telling that I did not take one single picture -- not one -- of my basement studio. Was it because I didn't have time? I don't remember.
This is the lone picture I have of evidence of the studio, my middle daughter standing in front of the closed basement door.
When I wasn't at school trying to pass as a competent professional, I looked an awful lot like this, with my lank hair and my stained clothing.
Fortunately, my babies were beautiful and healthy, and made the sleep deprivation tolerable.
Number three was chubby and cheeky.
Middle Girl was graceful and ethereal.
Oldest boy was boisterous and funny:
Mama was tired.
During this time, I made two important decisions. One was that I really needed to improve my photography. So I started reading everything I could in my vast quantities of spare time, and taking as many pictures as I could, even of seemingly mundane objects.
And the second was that I need to hire some help.
To be continued...