Comments.

Lady, I know you're reading. You TELL me that you read what I write on my blog.
So leave a comment already, alright? Or should I just turn them off and do away with the pesky obligation often felt to comment on yet another knitting blog? You tell me... in the comments ;)

Tam Lin

Sadly, I got a second chance to photograph these beauties, which are the socks I knitted for the Tam Lin KAL on ravelry back in the autumn. Royal Mail ripped open a swap parcel (a magic ball for MDC, actually), threw the yarn and socks around a bit and then left them in Swindon sorting office for a few months to go nice and mouldy, and I only found out recently. I'm feeling pretty bad about this.
So, the pattern is Brigid and the yarn is Loveage DK wool/silk blend from New Lanark. It seems quite appropriate, as New Lanark isn't a million miles away from Carterheugh. The recipient is pregnant, as well. She's also getting the goodies below. as displayed so beautifully on our new scrumptious double sheepskin rug. Isn't it pretty? And yes, I dyed that.



I found this telling of Tam Lin when poking around youtube the other day, and I love it. What do you think?

This weeks obsessions (aka How to Keep the Kids Off Runescape)

My adorable brood are obsessed with Runescape, AdventureQuest and the Disneys Fairies website respectively. Should you dare to wish to spend some quality screentime with your offspring and actually spend some time with them*, may I recommend:

Making your own kaleidoscope

Classic childrens literature

Basic physics

Is it superman? No, but it's a spiffy kind of plane

Domestic Bliss

So, what are your kids up to these days?

*Obviously, it is possible to just unplug the computer and talk to one another instead, but that has never been a popular viewpoint in this house, smacking as it does of radical idealism and values and backbones and all that jazz. Your mileage, as ever, may vary.

Marilyn, I love you.

There are places in the world where you just feel immediately welcome- you get met with a smile, a friendly word, a verbal reminder of the last time you saw them. My local charity shop is one of those places, and it's largely because of one volunteer, a fantastic lady called Marilyn with a huge heart.

Today, Marilyn sold me this lot, plus a bit more. She and I have come to an understanding- that I find stuff I want, she adds it up, I look at her, tell her she's got to be joking and she's undercharging me, she laughs and tells me she'll get me next time. She never has, and I always round the total up to the nearest fiver and leave feeling like I've got the most outstanding bargain in the world.

This is how the haul above came to be in my possession, for the princely sum of three hundred and thirty pennies (plus rounding up because I always do. ) There's more- some flannels for the kids faces and a couple of board games, but that's the basics. I can't believe it. I am an exceptionally happy bunny right now.

Oh, and it's the Salvation Army in Gorse Hill, Swindon, if you're curious. It's also just round the corner from me, so feel free to drop in for a cuppa any time.

On literature and sibling rivalry.

My 8yo, Isaac, is having a stonkingly awful time of it recently- and as kids do, he's dishing it out in return. In particular, he would really quite like it if he didn't have an older brother, but I don't see an easy way of making that happen.
What's struck me, though, is the way that the universe seems to be handing me messages. The last two books I've read (Anansi boys by Gaiman and Atwood's Blind Assassin)have both had messages about sibling relationships, and how what we see in them is often part of ourselves. In Charlie's case, Spider is quite literally part of himself, the gifts he inherited from his father, and in the case of the Chase girls one uses her sister's identity to allow part of herself to be known, to be seen, to be accepted. I didn't read the back before I bought but above all else what struck me was the strong emotional response I had- I really wanted to put both books down and run away at times, which is unusual for me. Neither was easy reading.
All of this is making me wonder what the reality is for Isaac, having a sibling so close in age to himself, being slightly younger and feeling (as I suspect he does) that he is always in Alex's shadow. We've been making a conscious effort for some time now to encourage him to have relationships and interests utterly unrelated to his brother and we've never consciously compared them- it's not possible. It's like wool and cotton. I've literally just ordered Faber/Mazlish's book on sibling rivalry from amazon, but any other ideas would be welcomed too.

The hat

I cast off my to-be-gifted article for the UK swap at the weekend, and it has to be said, I'm loving it- the pattern, anyhow. It's Rose Red by Ysolda Teague, available through ravelry, and an extremely fun knit. I think I'm going to cast on for one myself before next winter. Knit in Debbie Bliss cashmerino, smallest size, knitted from the top down and I used a sewn bind-off. There are going to be other handmade goodies to go with it, but probably this is it for knitting.

Oh, and my beloved Salvation Army came up trumps yet again with a vintage copy of Mary Poppins to use as a blocking tool. They've been very good to me recently- I sit here surrounded by someone else's half-finished crocheted doilies and some exceptionally vintage pillowcases for the princely sum of 50p. No teapot yet, but you can't have everything, can you?

It snowed!

Christmas may be over, but it is getting incredibly cold here. We even got a few flurries of snow this afternoon which is unheard of here in Sunny Swindon- we mostly just get (acid) rain. The frost didn't lift from the rosehips lingering on in the garden for three whole days this week, and as all the kids have been poorly with a cold, it's been a quiet week here. Lots of hot toddies.

I'm knitting merrily on for the UKswap- this week Delle is talking about blankets, and frankly I have nothing to add. A cursory glimpse at the blog will show an awful lot of Lizard Ridge and nothing else blanket-related, because my sofa is currently occupied by a small girl and a bright pink fleece blanket with hearts on it that came from Tesco. I'm very close to casting off for my project, though, and being able to post a parcel out to my swappee.

The good news, however, is that I just found a pair of sheepskin boots in TK Maxx at half their original price, so at least my feet will be warm. I won't even need socks. I'm happy.

Feet-first into the swap

Roo asked:
What is your favourite way of keeping your feet warm?Do you have a favourite pair of socks you reach for to keep your toes toasty?Is there a pair of socks/slippers you have been wanting to make for ages but haven't got around to?What is your favourite finished object that warms your feet?What is your favourite yarn to use for socks/slippers?

I have no effective way of keeping my feet warm :( Since we got the new flooring put down, they are always cold and I would love socks, or slippers, or anything along those lines. I do own a few pairs of handknit socks, but none of them are perfect.
I've had a pair of beaded felted mary janes in my rav queue forever, but they were recently joined by the prairie boots. Erm, would like to add more but the poo is quite literally hitting the fan here. Got to go.

Look, ma, one needle!

This is the starting point of the quilt that was going to be for Skye, is now destined for mum for mothers day, and is fundamentally just me trying to see what I can do with this machine. I'm really enjoying using it, actually (it's a Brother 2220NT, if that means anything to anyone) and I'm actually finding it a lot easier to use than my wonky old Singer. It goes slower, and the tension isn't mullered, and that makes a big difference. It's loosely based upon a pattern in Sew Hip, but I tidied the magazine so from now on I'm winging it. It'll be fine. Honest.

In other news, I frogged my article for the Winter Warmers swap because I decided I hated my left-leaning decreases and it looked ginormous. I'm nearly back to the point where I gave up, but I can't honestly say I like this lot of decreases any better. Ho hum.

Christmas looked like this

The spinner-in-training thought he was in heaven when we erected a lump of plastic in the middle of the living room and decorated it in beads and baubles, tinsel and tat and even candy canes and biscuits. It was almost, but not quite, enough to distract him from my knitting.

It's been plague season here at the biscuit barrel, as both Skye and River have been down with colds- nasty ones at that. Skye's been running a bit of a temperature and was feeling poorly enough that she went back to bed for most of Christmas day, and River hasn't been sleeping- but then, what else is new?

Without intending to, this has turned out to be a bit of a handmade Christmas- I gave Steve a camera of his very own and one of every different selection pack on the market, and he, bless him, trashed the budget totally and gave me a sewing machine AND the Celtic Collection by Alice Starmore AND a beautiful pair of ebony needles from the lovely Doreen at Scottish Fibres AND

an itunes gift card. The boys got what they wanted- Alex wants money for a bike and Isaac wanted lego- and Skye slept through most of it. River got the aforementioned destructatree and was very happy with it, thankyou very much, but we also bought him a rocking horse.

We all got lashings and lashings of glitter and paint, thanks to Alex, who crafted all of his presents to people but also bought me a truly beautiful little ceramic mirror from the brewery arts centre in Cirencester: the perfect colour to go with our newly decorated living room, which is an intensely unfashionable warm violet and I love it. My father-in-law and I are both in recovery from 20+ years of smoke-dyed white anaglypta and DH just goes with it- after all, he and I met as a result of a hot pink and purple living room, so there's some sentimental memories there for us.

Appropriately enough, the question on the UKSwap blog this week is about neck warmers, and at the moment I'm working on Wabenschal in 2-ply cashmere from Plum Knits that I got in a magic ball swap on MDC. I'm knitting the goodies out of it (because I just couldn't be bothered to unwind and rewind that kind of yardage of laceweight and I've lost my ball winder somewhere) and I'm just getting to the good bit now- I'm literally about 10 rows away from a pot of handcream and trying hard not to cheat. Unfortunately, River loves this a lot and is obsessed with breaking the yarn (and this is exceptionally fragile stuff) or pulling my needles out, which is making it slow going. The colourway is called peacock, but I'd describe it more as a bottle green, if I'm honest. It's very pretty, and definitely one of my colours. Oh, and in the absence of a finished lacy cashmere scarf I've been wearing my clapotis wrapped around my neck a few times, which was knitted in hipknits silk in their pixies colourway.

Cold hands, warm heart?

Last night, I sat and watched mindless TV whilst seaming the first quarter of Lizard Ridge together, my mindful mindless knitting blanket, the blanket I knit when I need to let go and allow the universe to sort itself out. I say quarter, but as I believe I seamed my squares in the wrong order it might well end up being bigger or smaller or something... but that's OK by me. At the moment it all seems like very small stuff.

I love it. I really do. I love the way that the colours are blending into each other and I love the short row bumps and the symbolism they have in my life as a whole. It's a small thing, but it really does make me happy, or as happy as anything does these days.

And in order to let me get some sewing done, I needed some heavy duty distraction for my Spinner-In-Training. Therefore, we erected a Christmas tree, complete with sweeties, baubles, bells and crackers. Oh yes, oh very yes. My knitting is safe for a while.

On the UKswap blog, Roo asked

So, what is your favourite winter warmer for your hands?
Do you have a favourite pattern or finished object?
What is your favourite yarn for gloves/mittens/handwarmers?
Are there any patterns out there you would love to own?
Or do you already have a winter warmer and you would like some mittens/gloves/handwarmers to match?

At this point, I have to confess that the only winter warmer for my hands I really actually like are mugs of steaming hot chocolate, or eggnog latte (oh, how I miss the eggnog latte) sipped slowly whilst watching the kids go insane at the park. I'm actually the kind of fruitcake who takes a mug of tea on the afternoon school run tucked away in an insulated mug because they take so long to come out of school. It's partly a legacy of the dermatitis on my hands that made my life a misery growing up, and partly just the fact that I don't like things flapping around my wrists. The only jewellery I ever wear on my hands are my wedding and engagement rings.

For this reason, I have yet to knit myself a pair of anything. I have thrummed mittens in my queue, ready for that mythical day when I get to take my two youngest out to make snowmen: given that Skye is three now and has yet to make her first snowman, we may be waiting a while longer, and some fingerless mittens too- but I honestly don't know if I'd ever commit to making them. Would I wear them? Well, yes... I think.

Winter Warmers (UK Swap Questionnaire)

It's been a lovely frosty day here: we went orienteering this morning in Lydiard Park with the North Wilts Orienteerererereres and then for hot chocolate to warm ourselves up. We did OK, but are still very much just beginners.

I signed up for the Winter Warmers round of the UK Swap, and I'm ashamed to say that I got my partner before I got my questionnaire up. I know what I'm knitting her, though ;) Here's my answers...

Handmade Item Swap
What kind of items are you interested in receiving?
I'd really love anything that someone else made for me (heehee), but I'd love some woolly socks, a shawl or something else to snuggle up in, or maybe a pair of fingerless mittens or gloves? I don't like wearing wool on my wrists, though. Ooh, or a hat, one with earflaps- that could be fun...

Do you knit, crochet, or both?
I knit and spin, I can crochet but I'm really not very good at it. I love the way it looks, though, and I adore the textures of scrumbling and freeform crochet.

What is your favourite colour?
I like warm greens and blues- peacock and teal. I'm currently watching warm violet paint dry in our living room (Dulux Starlit Night, in case you were wondering.) If it's a deep and complex colour, I'm sure to like it.

What is your least favourite colour?
I'm not terribly keen on yellows or oranges, or very sickly pinks.

What’s your style? (elegant, traditional, glamourous, girly, natural, sporty, outgoing, etc.)
You know how some people look effortlessly put together? Well, I'm not one of them. I'm an extremely eclectic dresser- I tend to live in jeans, Dr Martens and ... except for the days when I'm in a long flowing skirt and DMs, of course.

Do you have a favourite type of fiber or brand of yarn?
Nope, sheep is good, plant fluff is good, it's all good. I really do prefer natural fibres though, I'm a bit of a snob that way.

Do you have a least favourite type of yarn?
Pure virginal handspun acrylic doesn't do it for me...I don't mind blends, but see previous comments about natural fibres.

Do you do any other crafts?
I do some feltmaking, am teaching myself (badly) to sew, and I do a lot of random glue-and-stick stuff with the kids.
Are there any knitting accessories you are interested in receiving?
Ooh- erm, stitch markers are always nice.

What do you like to eat?
Everything! Except coconut, that is.

Any allergies/preferences (fiber-wise or treat-wise)?Anything we missed that you’d like your partner to know? No allergies. No preferences- we're locavores, shop local and eat locally produced foods, but I'm not expecting anyone to change their way of life just for me.

I'm really very easy...

My beautiful daughters and violence against women.

A combination of too many sad posts on too many message boards about violence against women has got me thinking. Too many people are saying that if a woman doesn't go to the police, then it wasn't really rape. If she wore a short skirt or drank alcohol, it wasn't rape. If she shouted at him, then it wasn't really domestic violence (and men get abused too, dontcha know?) and of course, domestic violence doesn't really kill anybody. Not any more, not these days. There's all these womens refuges and divorce is so easy to get, then there's really no reason to stay, is there?
I called my daughter a young lady in my last post, and this is how I want her to grow up. I want her to grow up believing that she will be treated with honour and respect in every aspect of her life, in her public life and her most intimate relationships, and that the inherent good in people will respond to the inherent good in her. I want to believe that in another decade, this battle is over: my boys won't be called pussies or girls as an insult, my girl will never be teased as her body grows from child to woman, never be sexually harassed, never be assaulted for no other reason than her sex. I know that the chances are that even if she is lucky, she's going to know the pain of sitting with a close friend after a lover hits her, the dull numbness of sitting in the police station waiting room after a friend gets raped, those long nights of talking. My friends carried me through, and whilst I love them for it I know it cost them dearly. It cost them their innocence.
A rape cost me my firstborn daughter's life. It cost me my marriage, my ex-husband his sanity. It took my confidence, my belief in myself, in strangers. It left me afraid of enclosed spaces. Those brief hours at knifepoint turned my world upside down, and for what? Was his life really significantly improved by his experience of that time? I'd love to know. What I do know, the article of faith that I have to cling to, is that is was not my fault. It was bad luck. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. HE, not I, was to blame.

The Women's Institute has commissioned a survey into people's perception of and experiences of violence against women. Please, take a minute of your time and fill it in.

Birthday blessings

Ten years ago on Monday, Alexander was born, a strapping (stroppy) bouncing boy, into everything, refusing sleep . Today, he is a great hefty lump of a lad, with size 4 1/2 feet, up to my ears and despite the best efforts of his father generally growing up quite nicely. He has the biggest heart of anybody I know, tells the worst jokes, and will be the first one on the scene with a hug for a child or an animal.
Eight years ago on Wednesday, my daughter Skye was born, and has brought an inestimable amount of joy to our family. She and River are the bond that unite my sons from my first marriage, Alex and Isaac, to my husband, that made us a family, but we love her for her own sweet self- she's bright, unsuppressable, the queen of the mud castle and flatly refuses to take no for an answer in any given situation, and has gone from being a very shy toddler to really quite a confident young lady. It's wonderful to see.

I'll leave you with one of Alex's finest:

The absentminded professor asked
"have you seen my coat?"
"you're wearing it, sir."
"thankyou for reminding me, or I might have left without it."

Marie-Therese Gown GIVEAWAY !!!!!!!

Marie-Therese Gown GIVEAWAY !!!!!!!

Isn't this just- well, breathtaking? Skye saw the picture on a friend's blog, and is jumping up and down shouting PRINCESS at the screen, as one does when nearly three and obsessed with dressups. I love it. And right now I am feeling really meh because I can't sew like that, and I truly wish I could.

Like iggle-piggle's boat.

The good news is that my replacement mooncup arrived and I am extremely not-pregnant. Kittykins also very kindly sent River a few additional nappy wraps, for which I am extremely grateful.

The even better news is that we know where the camera is- unfortunately, it is locked in the safe at a National Trust office that is only open Monday-Friday, 9-5. Embarrassingly, I described it to her, and told her that if she checked back through the pictures she'd see pictures of four gorgeous kids who looked alike enough to be siblings, and far too many pictures of yarn. A second or two later, I heard an embarrassed "oops" I'm left wondering what I should have deleted and hadn't, but I suspect it's a picture of my boobs. I hope. After fiftysix months of breastfeeding, I doubt there's many people on the planet who haven't already seen them, so I'm hoping that that's all it was. Pictures of swaps, magic balls et al will be up as soon as my camera gets back into my hands.

The good news is that Alex is finally confident riding his bike without stabilisers- the bad news is that he rang into a group of the local kids his first time out solo and they got extremely aggressive with him, took his bike and rode it, the works. It stinks. They also punched and kicked Isaac in the chest and body, and right now neither child feels safe going out by themselves. On the same field was the body of a tortured cat, weighed down with bricks and with eyes out- we've reported it to the police and the RSPCA, but this is reinforcing the fact that we need to get our family out of Swindon (or at least this area) as soon as possible. The whole logic behind the move here was to improve our quality of life, and this is diminishing it. At the same time, Alex's newfound status as a cyclist will give him an escape route and hopefully enable him to socialise with his schoolfriends, rather than being stuck at home or with me all the time. 

DD, DS, Dear universe

Dear Daughter,

If you remove the piece of silicone from your mouth, it will aid you in talking and speech and all that guff, which will enable effective communication between us. If we can communicate, then you will not need to lie on the kitchen floor for half an hour screaming and sobbing in a heartbroken fashion because you want to eat a whole toffee cake and don't want to share and I want to take your brothers to school. We can find a win-win situation. It's OK, we can try this.

Oh, and please put the poo in the potty. I KNOW you can do this, so please try it. The house is full of toys and sweeties and stickers as bribes and rewards, so no more dirty knickers, huh?

Dear son the first,

I realise it looks untidy having the tail of the letter g hanging below the line, but that's just the way it is. If you write your letter g hanging in mid-air, unrelated to anything then your teacher is going to ask you to change it and so am I. Similarly, I know that the letter b looks a bit odd sometimes, but you can't just turn it round the other way and substitute d for it. That gets really confusing for people who want to read your handwriting , like me. I appreciate that you could just use D all the time for d, but that also gets confusing and Disorientating. Please Desist.

Oh, and please also refrain from storming up the stairs with much slamming of doors when we suggest making changes of this nature. I'm quite happy for you to just shout no at me. Kevin the teenager is not a Desirable role model, though Kathy Burke (aka Perry) is a genius.

Dear son the second,

Please wear your own school trousers, and not your brothers, even if you don't actually remember where you left yours. Please do not lose your socks, or your underpants. Sleeping in socks and underpants so you don't lose them is not a strategy for success in the long run, but if you will do this, then why do you insist on taking your jumper and coat off at school and forgetting where you put them????

I love your new glasses, by the way, and I think they're going to look great on you. It just really bugs me that I got the phone call telling me that you'd broken another pair, please come and get you from school just after I'd spent an hour on the bus taking Skye to see her friends and I hadn't even had time to have a cup of tea yet.

Dear son the third,

Eight months old is far too young to play on the wii. Thirty-one is far too old to be up all night whilst you party on down. Calpol is a pain killer, and it was meant to aid your sleep. Please let me nap, and not during the school run.

Dear universe,

Please get the psychobitch who is having a go at my husband to back off, the dotty old neighbour to stop writing us horrible letters and sticking things in our car tyres, and please help me find my missing digital camera. I realise that having poured water over it, I don't really deserve it back but right now, I'd value being given a break. 

Oh shit. Was so busy moaning on blogger that I've just boiled a hole in my mooncup, and I'm extremely premenstrual right now. Frankly, I think I made the wrong decision with the emergency coil last month. Pregnancy is far easier. 

A brief update

Life continues apace here. I broke the camera, thought I'd fixed it, spent a few days at my mothers in the north-east- this trip included a visit to the inspiring Seven Stories gallery of childrens literature. Everyone who has ever been a child should go there- and spend lots of time on the top floor with the dress-up box and the books. We also went to the "best park in Britain" (aka Saltwell, in Gateshead) which was good, but not exceptional, IMO.  Isaac and River's sweaters are both finished bar the buttons, which is good. Everything else is generally dull and boring, which is even better, as long as you don't count deaths, psycho neighbours, money stresses and eccentrics. 

Hopefully, I will be back soon with a vast collection of photos for delight and delectation. Oh, and just to add insult to injury we're having a pregnancy scare (a bit of an oops the day before I ovulated.) If you (anyone) could keep meditating firmly on empty vessels, that would be a help. 

Sweet dreams are made of these

On Monday, we tried to take the children to @bristol, the museum where I had my "children are miracles" revelation back in May 2007, which I promised myself I'd take the kids back to when I got pregnant again. Well, I did- and soon, but didn't take the children back there. They had been warned that if they didn't behave, we'd go straight home. I redirected (sometimes really quite loudly and with a degree of bad temper) three times between the car and the entrance. We went home.
BUT we actually took a scenic detour via Stroud, which is one of the Cotswold woollen towns, and it's a nice place to visit. That is, of course, if you can find it because the signposts are impossible- driving you round and round in an ever-decreasing spiral until you're finally there. As Steve puts it, we should take my mum there. The architecture is nothing special, and it's built on a bloody big hill that slopes in every which direction, but it has an independent bookshop, AND a childrens bookshop, no less than three branches of the independent health food store (I have no idea why a health food store requires three shops, but I didn't like to ask) and a very cool boutiquey type place called Moonflower which again, has an obscene number of premises considering its a small business based in a single town. All the teenagers were distinctly alternative but were wearing bright colours and smiled lots, which struck me as unusual, and the walls were fly-posted by stroudwater textiles trust with poetry about wool and weaving and knitting. 
The soundtrack was provided by a brightly coloured teen with a guitar, sitting there singing Sweet Dreams (are made of this). Well. Very well, in fact, and I'm extremely judgemental of buskers.  (He got two quid from me, but was worth far more.)  It set my mind wandering to how strong a musical memory can be. When the Eurythmics wrote it, I was just a child, stil bopping along at school discos without a care in the world. When Manson covered it, it was the theme song to the end of my bitter, twisted abusive relationship, and I still can't hear it without shuddering. It brought back so many memories hearing it again: but at the same time, listening to it in the sunlight sung by a bonny young lad with absolutely no idea how dark and twisted human relationships can get felt good. It felt cleansing, and wholesome.
More importantly, perhaps, I've been thinking about the role music plays in our life as a family. None of my children play a musical instrument- Alex asked to take a break from violin lessons when we moved here, and Isaac was really too young at that time. We have my beloved  piano, which is desperately in need of tuning, and my saxophone mostly lives under the bed gathering dust and beetles. Nothing exceptional there, right? The thing is, during my teenage years music was THE most important part of my life, the defining facet to my personality, who I was and what I did. I sang with the school choir, the local choral society, conducted the school wind band and performed with various orchestras and bands, and it was a huge part of my life. It was also a bond with my parents, who loved me but found it hard to show it: my dad was a music teacher (like me, a solid musician but nothing outstanding- his talent lay in sharing his love of music with others) and mum is a talented amateur. These days, she's conducting choirs for fun- back then, she was just singing. I I broke my wrist badly when I was 17, which made everything more difficult- I have both strength and flexibility in that hand now, but not together, not the way it was. I have difficulty in taking the weight of my saxophone and keying with my right hand, for instance, and similar problems with the piano. What I do have is my voice.
My children have always had lullabies to calm and soothe them, just like my mum sang me to sleep when I was little, but for some reason I haven't done it as much with River. What I've found, though, is that the sound of my voice singing him the songs I love: the songs my mother sang to me, that her mother sang to her: will help him stay asleep. They ease his transition between sleep states, when he will often wake and call out for me, and they give him a greater gift as well. They're giving him a sense of continuity and of history, and of connection with his grandparents and the generations before. He won't understand this now, because he's a tiny baby boy lying on the floor chewing my feet, but one day he will.

And in her first event...

she takes the bronze. Isaac's sweater is done,  and I am sitting here duplicate stitching soft toys onto the front because it seemed like a good idea at the time. Pictures will be up after blocking, or when I buy new batteries for the camera, whichever comes soonest.
He seems distinctly underwhelmed, if I'm honest, but that's more positive than the reaction of most of my family when faced with handknits. Hopefully, if I apply said bear to the front, that will get him excited.