Socks, Kant, and Child Labor

Last night I picked up a random notebook laying around by my bed and wrote something for this post, because I was to tired to get out of bed:

“I knew I wouldn’t be ab;e to go to sleep before I solved The Mystery of the Partridge Eye Heel (sounds like a Sherlock Holmes story to me).

So I took the sock, took the book, and started to troubleshoot. Close inspection of the heel revealed faint texturing, as if it was trying to follow the pattern, but not quite succeeding. Close inspection of the book revealed that I had been trying to follow the pattern, but not quite succeeding.

Suffice it to say I had been consistently performing an act of silliness every fourth row, and thus preventing my heel from living up to its glorious potential.

Now, had I bothered to look up a picture of the pattern before I started, I would have realized my mistake as soon as I considered making it, because I would have figured out that it wasn’t going to give me the desired result.

So I also learned the importance of consulting with visual aids before obeying a pattern.

Kant would say that my synthetical understanding of the pattern was flawed and would have stood to gain from analytical examination of visual input, aided by my a priori knowledge of what a knit stitch versus a slipped stitch should look like. Instead, I ended up falling back on a posteriori realization that I botched the heel.

Hark, ’tis the sound of a German philosopher spinning madly in his grave. Sorry, dude.

That was last night. After writing, I ripped out the heel so I could start afresh today.

On Tuesday, Tal informed me that Neta’s Passover vacation is starting a day earlier that we were originally notified. That is, today. I’m stranded at home alone with both kids. Whoopee!

I decided to be Creative Supermom. Last night I skeined some yarn, so I could dye it today with Neta. Tal let me sleep in a bit later than usual today, to give my patience a welcome boost. Before he left, I put a load of laundry in the machine, and then I sent him off. One setback was that the house was a total mess. Games and toys all over the place, dirty dishes strewn across the kitchen counter. Fun stuff.

But I’m in control. I sat us all down for breakfast, then put Yiftah down for his morning nap. Then, I made myself a cup of coffee and got Neta to work. We picked up the toys, took a heap of paper out to the recycling bin, soaked the yarn, took the clean dishes out of the dishwasher and loaded it, then heated a pot and started mixing up Kool-Aid to dye the yarn.

I let Neta pick the colors, stir them up, and pour them into the pot. Between colors, she had gone all the way to the toilet, and stood next to it as she wet her pants, but I was not going to let that spoil the fun, so I cleaned up the mess and moved on.

After we finished, Neta wanted to do more, so I had her help me skein yarn. Yiftah woke up in the middle of the second skein, so I fed him, and then we continued with the yarn.

After soaking the yarn, Neta once again went all the way to the toilet and wet her pants. This irked me somewhat. I took off the wet pants, socks and shoes and shooed her out of the bathroom, and she took the liberty of completing the stripdown, until she was completely naked.

I had to keep telling her to wait with opening the Kool Aid, so she turned to mess around with other things on the counter, and when the pot was finally warm enough, and I was ready to let her stir the color for this batch, I noticed that she had spilled a full liter of cooking oil on the counter. Good times. Things were getting slightly psychotic. I was stirring Kool Aid with nudist Neta while simultaneously scolding her for making the big mess, telling her she could not have cheerios until after lunch and making mad dashes to keep Yiftah from crawling up the stairs.

At noon I did the sensible thing and placed an order for a delivery from an Asian restaurant, and forgave myself for coming off as a little stupid on the phone, seeing as both kids were climbing on me and whining for various reasons (Neta was out of juice and Yiftah is cutting a tooth). Somehow I managed to pull through until our noodles arrived, and I distributed noodles amongst the kids and let myself go into a brief catatonic state as they munched away.

When I came to, I saw the hellish mess that had become of the just-freshly-tidied-up house, and I sorta wanted to cry. Now what do Supermoms like myself do when faced with a mess of such magnitude, along with the prospect of getting both kids to sleep for their afternoon naps, and about another hour’s worth of work on a patent application that should really be getting on its way? We call our husbands and let them know that they have an hour to come home from work, clean up the mess, and bring us a bottle of Coke while they’re at it. I love that I’m so smart.

The yarn we dyed came out quite lovely, if you ask me. I am going to knit Neta a pair or two of socks of it so she gets to enjoy the process even more.

As for my own socks? I’ve restarted the heel, all the while singing to myself: “It’s the eye of the partridge, hope I’m doing it right, knitting up with philosophy and courage, If I mess up again I will be knitting all night, ’cause I’m not giving up on the eye of the partridge”… (duh, duh-duh-duh, duh-duh-duh, duh-duh-duhhhhhhh).



Filed under Crafting Under Fire, Dare I Say Philosophy, La Familia

2 responses to “Socks, Kant, and Child Labor

  1. Loved this post. You have a great sense of humour. Looks like the child labour was worth it… 🙂



  2. ok first of all, you are hilarious! Second of all, that kid is cute! The yarn looks great, and now I have Eye of the Tiger stuck in my head. Boy am I glad I discovered your blog from Ravelry!

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