Winter solstice, darker days,
stormy skies and dreary greys
cloud the mind, stifle the soul.
Wind blows cold and colds run wild
wrapped in seasonal chill.
Stitches of warmth a solace of sorts
Shall I be excited or horrified. My daughter is a jumper thief. Oh the shame of it. I thought I had brought her up to have high values and morals, to know right from wrong. Somewhere along the way I failed. I'm not sure where. Maybe it was not taking long enough to transfer my skills and love of knitting to her more than able fingers, maybe it was a lack of woolly things when younger. Maybe it's being too quick to knit and therefore I have built unrealistic expectations. I do blame myself for her behaviour.
I knitted her a jumper, a beautiful red jumper with scooped neckline and delicate lace and cable pattern, three quarter length sleeves and the right size for her. It was a surprise. A surprise that almost left me a broken woman when she asked in that way only teenagers can, conveying both derision and scorn concurrently "is that for me?' before I could answer, she, again with that condescension only teenagers can quite manage, answered her own question "can't be for me, you wouldn't knit me that colour, I don't wear red, and you don't know my size.' Oh ye of little faith. Plus she was wearing red.
I love my daughter which is why she didn't end up with a needle through her side, or anywhere else. I did a Mona Lisa and smiled enigmatically. When she had trundled off to do teenagery things of which for my sanity I'd rather not know about, I put the offending article in a safe place, only slightly soggy and salty.
I then cast on in blue for the other daughter.
Two jumpers finished. The red for the oldest, blue for the middle. Red given to eldest who is far too young for amnesia but appeared to have no recollection of previous scorn and immediately threw the jumper on and hasn't removed it since.
Then with super sleuth radar she spied the blue. In vain I explained it was not for her, it was a size smaller, it wouldn't fit her, but she was not to be deterred and the jumper slid over her head like a waterfall down a mountain side. It was a perfect fit and off the jumper went with her. So she has two and the middle has none. I think I might be in woolly trouble here.
Also she took off so fast there was no time to photograph the evidence. Perhaps I could deny knitting them.