nothing to complain about

I had been planning on posting about the knitting paralysis I've been experiencing.

It's knitting paralysis for a dumb reason, though. I don't even have a good excuse, like pregnancy-related carpal tunnel syndrome.

As you can see, I'm about 3" away from finishing these pants for Baby Shamrock, who is due in a just a few weeks. I could finish these tonight if I wanted to.

But I don't. Because the knitting needles smell awful. They are made of brass (Addi Lace). They are nice needles. I like them. I spent a lot of money on them.

The smell of the brass being warmed by my hands is more than I can deal with right now. I took these pants out a few nights ago to try and finish them and could not.

I've tried cleaning the needles with rubbing alcohol. What else can I do? Thoughts? Has anyone else ever had pregnancy nose and been unable to stomach the smell of warm brass?

But this post is really quite silly now, in the wake of what happened yesterday. My stinky needles are nothing compared to this:

Or this:

Or this:

We had a very dry winter with little snow. But we've had a wet spring. Normally, this is good, it helps make up for the drought conditions and lowers the risk of forest fires.

This spring, however, instead of gentle rains, we got pummeled with several weeks of near-daily thunderstorms.

On Tuesday, forecasters warned us of the potential for flash flooding. I don't think many people paid attention. Duluth is built into the side of a hill, without much room for standing water. The elevation climbs more than 700 feet in a short distance, which is a lot for the mountain-peak-lacking Midwest.

I grew up in this city, and can only remember one time when something was flooded, and that was a few streets after a tornado nearly touched down. It was gone within a few hours. Flooding is not something we commonly worry about here. We have a lot of trees and vegetation that can absorb moisture, and dozens of rivers and streams inside the city limits for the water to flow through.

We repeatedly checked the sump pump in our basement on Tuesday, hoping it would do its job of keeping water out of our 106-year-old house with a stone foundation. We noticed water slowly seeping in, just enough to dampen the floor, but not enough to be considered a trickle. We moved anything of value off the floor, just in case.

The storms -- and I do mean full-on, wake-the-dead thunderstorms -- continued all night. As pregnant women are wont to do, I was up several times during the night, and each time, I went to the top of the basement stairs, flipped on the lights, and peered down to see if we had 6" of standing water down there. We never did.

At 6:30 am, I got a phone call from an employee asking what our plans were for the day -- he lived across the bridge from the studio, and didn't know if he would even be able to get across safely.

"Is it that bad out?" I wondered. Flipping on the news, I saw that it was, in fact, that bad.

These used to be roads:

Trains used to cross here:

This was someone's home.

The rain continued throughout the day Wednesday. A state emergency was declared and federal disaster money applied for.  All told, we got 10" of rain in 24 hours -- the equivalent of 80" of snow. Our aging storm drains and infrastructure could not withstand the river overflows, and the resulting clogs caused the water to rise at alarming rates.

Many of my friends had significant water damage to their homes -- some said that at the height of the flood, it looked as though their house was set down in the middle of a rushing river. One of those people lives only blocks from me. Somehow, my home was spared. We never had more than a bit of dampness in the basement -- it looked as though we'd just finished mopping. The studio stayed snug as a bug. We are very thankful.

Today, Lake Superior looks like this. I've never seen the lake muddy before, it's disconcerting.

The flood waters have receded. And now we have about $80 million worth of public infrastructure cleanup -- that's not to mention the damage done to private property.

So yes, my stupid knitting needle problem pales in comparison. My child will be clothed even if I don't finish the pants. I have somewhere warm and dry to live, despite the storms that swirl.

Keep Duluth in your thoughts and prayers this week, if you wouldn't mind.

oh, goodness.

It's been much too long, hasn't it?

Would you like to hear my excuses?

Ready?

No, I see that face you're making. Stop it.

I have excuses, good ones. At least give me a chance before choosing not to believe me.

1. The biggest one, and perhaps I've mentioned this before, is the fact that I am one month away from having a new baby. This is exciting, terrifying, and also relatively painful. Having a job that is lovely and wonderful but also physical in nature kicks the "discomfort," and by "discomfort," I mean "bad discomfort of the pain variety" up a couple of notches.

All that to say, I go home at the end of the day and fall asleep at 7:00 pm.  Which cuts way down on my blogging time. If it makes you feel any better, I do often lie awake from 2:00 am to 3:47 am contemplating why I haven't gotten my act together enough to finish a post or a knitting project in a long time. During this contemplation period, I slowly chew 12 Tums to prevent my chest from spontaneously combusting from the flames of heartburn.

I didn't say this was going to humorous, did I? Because it's not funny.

Don't make the face.

Stop laughing.

2. My second excuse is that there are exactly zero, and I know it's zero because I have a stopwatch function on my iPhone that I have calibrated to Greenwich Mean Time via the Atomic Clock, zero seconds in the day, in which there is any quiet.

I need quiet to write something other than what I hear people around me saying. I am an auditory learner. If I try and write something, like a card, a blog post, a check, and there is someone standing near me talking, I will automatically start writing what they're saying.

I have actually -- no lie -- written out a check to "I have a quick question for you" when someone came up to ask me a question at the exact moment I was filling out the "To" line.

The lack of quiet stems from the very nature of the studio -- one in which we listen to robot laser battles on Pandora cleverly disguised under the word Dubstep.

For the uninitiated, here you go. 

The robot laser battle non-music finally got to be too much. I put a note on the computer that says, "Turn on robot music and watch me throw a [Dairy Queen] Blizzard at your face." That's just how we roll here in Northern Minnesota. We threaten each other with delicious ice cream.

And before I start getting hate mail about my maligning the artistic brilliance and prodigious talent of Skrillex and the London nightclub Dubstep movement, let me just remind you: Yarnista is old, she's a foot taller than you, she outweighs you by about 100 lbs, it's 7,000 degrees in her workplace, she gets no peace and quiet, and she's eight months pregnant. This is not a fight you can win.

Go ahead with your ironic hipster self and listen to Skrillex until your sideburns really fill in nicely. I'll just be the cranky lady over here with my feet stuck in Lake Superior.

Oh, and also? I have three children and two giant horsedogs already, and a doorbell that rings nonstep with neighborhood children wondering if there's anyone here who would like to play dodgeball. Lest you think my home is a haven of quietude.

Which I'm sure you did, until I just let you in on the secret, right?

3. This is related to my second excuse. But it's different because it is far, far more infuriating.

The kettlebell people are still at it. No change.

But now, in addition, we have construction.

This is more of a mental picture than an actual picture. This is what I feel like my studio looks like. Actually, I'm sure it's considerably better, but this is the level of noise and hassle we hear on a daily basis.

The new(ish) owner of my building has decided to build a nightclub in the space immediately above me. I'm sure --cough-- that the nightclub --cough-- will be a huge --cough-- success.

And stuff.

I mean, what could possibly go wrong with a second floor location on an avenue without much foot traffic and absolutely no parking? Nothing, nothing at all.

All this construction means an endless intrusion into not only my auditory space, but my physical space. Here are just a few lovely items I've heard from construction workers recently.

Them: We will be moving all of your sinks and washing machines so we can rip out the basement stairs, move them back four feet, put in an elevator, and install a new fire door at the top of the new basement stairs.

Me: No you won't.

Them: That's what the building owner told us to do.

Me. That's nice. I have a lease, which give me the legal right to this space. I also own those sinks, and those washing machines, and personally paid for the plumbing that they run off of.

Them: Sharon, you look really chipper today. Is that a new dress? I like the color blue on you. Let's see what we can work out, shall we?

And then, over the weekend, they were granted access to the space to complete the work without my permission.

Them: We need you to move this whole photography studio you have set up here. The lights, the backdrops, the carefully placed and metered and calibrated and weighted and balanced expensive thing, so we can get a ladder in here and check out that junction box on the ceiling, And then we will do some drilling and attach some pipes to your ceiling so you have dust everywhere and can't even use your own telephone because of the deafening sound. When we're finished, we'll be sure to break some of your equipment, leave a bunch of wires hanging from the ceiling, and then run up and down the stairs immediately behind your desk 900 times.

Me: No. No you will not. Touch anything and watch Dubstep music shoot out of my eyes.

Guess how this story ends. Over the weekend, they were granted access to the space to complete the work without my permission. And then they left the front door unlocked.

This story just keeps getting better, doesn't it?

I could go on here for another 63 blog posts. But suffice it to say that I now get to spend a nice chunk of my blogging time putting out construction fires and listening to drilling, sawing, stair running, smelling cigarette smoke outside my door, watching able-bodied construction workers take over my parking lot and block off every street parking space with their obviously unneeded handicapped parking placards while the pregnant girl walks from far away. And doesn't get to blog.

Excuses: yeah, I got 'em.

But I'm not bitter.  Despite my frustration, this is all temporary.  Shamrock will be born, and I will put one foot in front of the other while trying to figure out how to take care of four children. I will eventually suffer sufficient hearing loss that Dubstep will sound like pleasant department store elevator music. And eventually -- dear God, please -- the construction will end. My building does not appear to be owned by Sarah Winchester, so I am holding out hope.

I am pleased that I managed to stay awake until 9:40 pm on a Tuesday to share my excuses with you! Go me!

Nine things I know to be true.

1. There is no such thing as too much yarn. Only not enough time. Perhaps someone needs to make this as one of those trendy subway signs and sell them on etsy. If you do, let me know. I know a few people who'd like to have one.

2. It's time to stop knitting faces into sweaters.

Repeat after me: NO.

3. Starting too many projects is a great way to never finish anything. Then you just end up with a house full of works-in-progress (WIPs) that you look at and feel guilty about. The guilt makes you avoid knitting altogether, and then nothing ever happens with the projects.

You crave a fix, so you get more yarn and needles and start something, which is exciting, but contributes to the vicious cycle of WIP-itis. If you have more than three WIPs, make a decision: finish one of them, or rip it out and make a commitment to no longer work on that project.

If this is you, GET OFF THE WIP train.

4. Cookies are quite possibly the world's most perfect food.

Also, parmesan cheese.

But the parmesan is unrelated to the cookies.

I mean, parmesan is delicious. But not in cookies.

I don't think, at least.

Further investigation is required.

5. James Taylor has always had it, always will.

6. This is too much plastic surgery. And not enough bathing.

7. Add this to your Things I Do Not Ever Want To Knit list.

8. This is still not a cool art project.

9. Absolute not. Under no circumstances.

What do you know to be true this fine day in May?

time-space continuum warp

Hello. I am writing to you from the time-space continuum warp known as late pregnancy.

Have you been here? The place where you feel like sleeping all the time but cannot sleep?

The place where you look at pictures of yourself, and the only words that come to mind are, "dear GOD."

The place where each hour feels like six days?

There are 55 days, give or take, until Shamrock is scheduled to make her arrival, and though I tried valiantly, I was unable to avoid this stopover. I'm told my visit will last 55 more days, give or take.

At least I have one of these to look forward to.

Do you recognize Baby Ceci? She's almost five months old. I told Heather that she is the cutest baby in the world, until mine arrives.

Even though I'm stuck here in the time-space continuum warp, I did get to attend the most beautiful baby shower on Saturday. It was for me, if you can believe it.  A group of friends conspired to throw it for me, and I'm still reliving how lovely and thoughtful it was.

It was full of amazing flowers, thanks to my sister, who is a talented floral designer, and who knows the special spot in my heart occupied by the pairing of magenta and aqua.

Baby's breath has a bad rap as being very low brow, very supermarket. And when you pair it with a red rose and a fern frond, it does smack of 1987. But massed together, it's ethereal.

We had amazing food, starting with a brunch filled with quiche, strata, scones, fruit salad, spinach salad, punch, and mimosas. After the (fun, not gross) games and present opening, we had coffee and dessert.  The lemon squares, brownies, coconut macaroons, and berry trifle were... well, let's say you didn't have to twist my arm to have seconds.

This is me not stealing Ceci from her rightful home.  I feel proud of my efforts. They were Herculean.

If you've ever been to a baby shower, then you know the sound 20 women make when someone holds up one of these.

 It's a cross between a gasp and an "AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW." But louder and higher pitched.

Which brings me to my In Threes Sweater, which I just finished last night. Thanks for choosing this pattern. I liked it. It was fun to knit, and I love the way it turned out.

I made the 12-18 month size, but I didn't carefully check my gauge. That's one of the beauties of knitting for a baby who has yet to make their debut. Chances are quite good the garment will fit sometime. Even if it's a little bigger or smaller than you originally intended.

The yarn is Glenhaven Cashmerino Worsted, the colorway is Candyland.

All this needs now are three little buttons.

This evening I'll be starting a pair of pants using the Object of My Affection pattern. I think I'll make one without the skirt first. I'm going to use Petit Fours, because what's the point of polling your readers if you disregard their advice?

I'm excited to see how they turn out.

But I'm more excited to see how Baby Shamrock herself turns out.

whew.

I have finally finished this adorable, but labor intensive, sweater for baby Shamrock.

I do love the way it looks.

But I did not love knitting it, on size 2 needles with sock yarn. I found the pattern...lacking. I made many changes as I knit.

The pattern called for applied I-cord around the entire perimeter. I would sooner stab out my eyeballs. So I picked up and knit a garter border.

When I finished it, my husband examined the underarms, looking to squeeze in a friendly jab of some kind.

Instead, he quietly looked the sweater over and said, "This turned out really nicely."

So there. Mr. Yarnista approved. He loves to be called that. Be sure to do it if you ever meet him.

I was so happy to finish it that I wasted no time at all starting my next project, which y'all helped me choose.

I bought In Threes and scavenged the studio for some yarn. I located some Glenhaven Cashmerino Worsted in Candyland.

It is really just awful to scavenge for cashmere. Pity me.

Thankfully, this pattern is much more artfully engineered, and here's what I accomplished in an evening of reality TV:

I can see why so many of you have made this pattern -- it's highly satisfying to make such efficient progress.

A few more projects like this, and I might get back on track with my goal of making 25 baby things before Shamrock arrives.

I have less than 60 days left.

My next project will be some baby pants, most likely a pair of Wonder Pants:

So now I need help selecting the perfect colorway.

I've narrowed it down to Petit Fours:

Titania:

Rosewood:

Or Forest Primeval:

Weigh in!