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Posts Tagged ‘babies’

Honestly, I never really wanted to crochet, I wanted to knit.  I love the way knitted things look.  I really wanted to knit a Waldorf doll.  Alas, my friend Michelle taught herself to crochet and handed the book down to me.  It was a  teach yourself to crochet in 5 minutes book.  She had taught herself to crochet in 5 minutes.  It took me something like 5 hours and nothing I made was terribly pretty.  I just couldn’t figure it out.  My aunt came to visit and showed me the basics.  As soon as she left though, I was back to square one.  Eventually, I turned to youtube and watched the same videos over and over until I had figured out how to do a single crochet.  5 minutes, 5 months.  Basically the same thing.

I enjoy crocheting for a few reasons.

For the most parts its monotonous work.   Once I get a pattern down I can crochet by feel.  I can  crochet and watch tv, baseball, even read.  I joke with Dave that if I ever go blind I can still crochet. He’ll just have to read me the pattern and color coordinate the yarn.   I don’t know why I have a fear of going blind, maybe it’s this whole getting older thing and having to wear my glasses more consistently rather than sporadically at night.  Regardless, I find myself tucking small tidbits of things away in the dark recess of my brain in case I do go blind.  Crocheting happens to be one of them.

Also, I read somewhere that crocheting is one of the few handcrafts which can not be replicated by a machine.   There aren’t too many things left that can’t be replicated.  It makes me feel rather superior.  Unfortunately, not being able to be replicated by a machine tends to make all things crocheted look terribly homemade in my opinion.  I don’t think I would ever wear a crochet sweater or dress.  Since, I personally, don’t love crochet things, I make them and give them away.

And, it keeps me warm.  I start crocheting a blanket and eventually the blanket gets larger and larger and consumes more and more of my lap.  This is important here in the arctic tundra, especially with children who want me to watch every single minute of every game and practice.

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If you have something I made, you are welcome.

To increase the personal enjoyment factor, I make a ton of hideous things and then give them away to friends and family impressing upon them how many hours of labor I spent making them the crochet monstrosity because I love them.  Hence, pretty much obligating them to love said monstrosity forever and forever and never give it away.  Of course, unless it’s the Smithsonian, then that would be okay.

Case 1:

Lots and lots of little stuffed animals.  My favorite are probably Mario and Luigi:  Which are cute, but honestly, what is anyone going to do with these other than put them on a shelf and look at them because I’m not sure that their heads will make it through any actually play.

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Case  2:

Hats.  They are so easy.  i’ve made beanies, crowns, not to mention tons of characters.  I gave everyone I knew a hat for Christmas, mostly Ninja turtles and star wars characters.

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Case 3:

My poor sister who has received Harry Potter scarves, the largest afghan ever in a beautiful purple chevron pattern (which was just a jab because I  heard she was going without heat because she couldn’t figure out how to turn the heater on in her new apartment and was huddling around votive candles from ikea.) She also was gifted with an R2D2 beanie and a princess lea beanie. She has the geekiest coiffed head in LA.  Not to mention Doby.

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Dave:  What is your poor sister going to do with all this stuff?” 

Me:  I don’t know, be surrounded by my love.

Case 4:

I make lots of things for the church bazaar.  Mostly baby things because I don’t have a baby to make them for.  I’ve made Baby blankets and baby hats and baby shoes.   Hopefully the church can make some moolah off this rearrangement of yarn.

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Case 5:

My favorite though is probably this crowning jewel of my afghan making.

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When Dave was traveling to China I started watching Roseanne on Netflix.  I enjoyed it because I had already seen every episode before so I didn’t have to concentrate too hard on it.  I could crochet or peruse the Internet and never truly feel distracted.  Somehow I hooked my friend Renee on it.  I gave up around season 2 because I couldn’t stand Roseanne Barr’s screechy voice any longer.  She watched the whole show, all 87 seasons.

I did what any best friend would do.  I made her the Granny square afghan that was on the back of Roseanne’s couch for the whole show.  I tried very hard to make it as ghastly ugly as possible.  I used all of my left over yarn, which included a surprisingly large amount of neon colors.

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For months I told her that I had completed number 42 of 120 of her Birthmas present , because this was too awesome to be given just as a birthday or Christmas gift.  Then once each of the million squares was finally finished the real work of crocheting them together began.  To be followed by crocheting a boarder all around.

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Me:  I am going to embroider “This took me for freaking ever” on this present.  You may never give this away.

Her:  I know it’s because you love me.

Me:  If I find this in a thrift store, I may actually kill you.  Of course I will bury you with it after I kill you.  Which I will find hilarious for ever.

Her:  I’m kinda scared about this present now.

Me:  You will love it.  And even if you don’t that’s okay.  Every time I work on this I chuckle to myself.  I expect this to have a prime spot in your living room and I will find it hilariously funny for the rest of my life.   Except you can’t let the kids touch it or the dog near it because I’m not sure it’s washable.  It might completely fall apart.

And after months and months, I finally finished it.  It had layed around my house providing lots of color during the long winter and when I packed it up to be shipped, I found that I did miss it terribly.

Marshall:  You know what would be awesome?

Me:  What?

Marshall:  If we infested this with lice before we sent it to Renee.

Me:  That wouldn’t be funny.

Marshall:  She’d flip.  It would be hilarious.  (Chuckling to himself).  How do you get lice?

Me:  By washing your hair.  Go wash your hair.

No louse was sent intentionally, or unintentionally….

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Today my heart grieves.  It sits in my chest like huge blubbering lump of an organ, kinda like my ovaries.  In two days, my twins will turn 5.  They will no longer be babies.  They won’t be anywhere near babyhood.  Every day they say, “Please, don’t call us babies.  We’re big boys”.

Logically, I know it’s ridiculous, to be so upset about a fifth birthday.  I’m expecting these kids to live to be 100.  They’ll see things I can’t even dream of.  They’ll crest a new century.  They will probably get to go to the moon on vacation.  It’ll be amazing lives these kids lead. If we round this birthday up or down compared to 100 years, they are closer to babies than wrinkly old men.

But lately, every time I see an older person I think about how they were once small helpless babies.  Once, they were precocious toddlers who delighted their parents with their views of the world. Once they were little.  They were new.

And when I see a baby, a little piece of my heart shatters knowing that I will never again have a baby.  Never again grow little hands and feet in my womb and feeling little legs and arms stretch within the safe confines on my body.  Never again, will I rock a sleeping infant in the dark of night.  Never again, will I nurse my baby, wear them on my hip, stand over their sleeping shapes in the dark and listen for the sweet sound of their breath.

I think of all of the lasts that happen every day.  The things that I didn’t even know where the lasts.  The things that I didn’t even know I would one day miss.  Things like onesies under feety pajamas, rocking little ones to sleep, and playing this little piggy on small toddler toes.

There should be mother books for things like this.  This way we could keep an exact record of it.  We could cherish all those things we rush through every day to get to the next thing.  The last time I nursed you.  The last time I needed to hold your hand while you walked.  The last time you feel asleep on my chest.  The last time I played the Tooth Fairy.  The last time you called for me in the middle of the night to kiss your head and tuck you in.  Sometimes they are small things we can’t wait to get past.  The last diaper change.  The last time I had to tie your shoes.  The last time I brushed your teeth.  The last time you cried for your pacifier.  The last time they wore those small tiny training pants on their little tiny hineys.

This is just the beginning of the lasts.  There isn’t anyone behind these little two to rock and hold and baby.  This is the beginning of the end of this phase of my life.

It just breaks my heart.  It breaks it into a million pieces.

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