My dad died a year ago. We were not close, and disagreed about most stuff. I don’t recall him ever calling me by my name, and he certainly didn’t know where I lived – not just that he couldn’t remember my address off the top of his head: he didn’t know what country I was in, let alone what city. He only began to warm up a bit when my son was born, the image of him as a child. There was no broken home or damaged relationship to explain this. He simply wasn’t interested in his daughters. We were the waste product of having real children – sons. My sister lived nearby and was able to force some recognition out of him. In many ways I regarded him as a rather eccentric relative that I didn’t see much. I was fond of him and recognised his good qualities, even though I knew they would never be applied in my direction. He was a good man, loyal to a fault, kind, tolerant and good with children. I wasn’t terribly upset, just shocked when he died. Now mostly I’m angry at him for dying at only 69 and denying my son the chance to get to know him.
Mum is lonely since he’s gone. She has a lot of support in her church, and always had a life apart from him, so she is bearing up well. But she doesn’t have to run around after him any more – checking that he’s taken his pills, has his wallet, isn’t eating junk (he was a diabetic), etc. – and is a bit lost. They spent a lot of time together and they talked about everything under the sun. Except food. Dad could get her to stay off the subject of food for hours – I wish I knew his secret. She was on the phone daily over the anniversary weekend of his death, even though my brothers and sister were there for her. Not to talk about him – she didn’t mention his name once, even when she phoned minutes before the actual time of his death. I can’t have been much comfort, I just let her blather on.
Tiny Husband is in a poor way atm. He fell over in the car park at work a fortnight ago and wrenched every joint in his body and a handful of ribs. He had spectacular bruises from wrist to elbow on both arms but otherwise was okay (!). Then his calf muscle began to hurt. It bruised and swoll up about twice its size. He went to the Haemophilia Unit several times and was sent away because it was clearly a bruise, not a bleed. Finally they gave him Factor, crutches and 3 different painkillers including codeine phosphate, and an appointment for physiotherapy. It looked like it was working, but over the weekend it swoll up again: he spent Sunday at the unit, and had to go back the following morning. They didn’t keep him in then on condition he went home and rested. So he lied to them and went to work anyway.
Today at work, he had Disability Awareness training on blindness – how not to be patronising towards disabled people. Though come to think of it, One is not sure how he can tell people are blind over the phone. The chap had the grace to look embarrassed as he delivered his spiel to the guy on crutches…
It’s been a knackering few weeks. Emotional turmoil, and the bulk of the housework, shopping and childcare to do as well – TH is very useful about the place, deffo no Elektra complex in this marriage. However, I’ve managed to do quite a bit recently.
I’m just finishing a third pair of socks for Ickle Baby Cthulhu. They’re just quick acrylic knits. His feet are very broad but not big, so it’s a struggle getting his (shop-bought) socks on. I’ve been using DK yarn, but that’s a bit bulky. I’ve some 2-ply pure wool I might try next.
I also made a Bloody Stupid Johnson hat for TH for our wedding anniversary. The pattern’s not 100% clear here and there, and I goofed a bit on the crown. Also, the head band is supposed to be grafted but with the cabling that’s just as messy as sewing it. So I did. It turned out fine, a bit better if anything as it’s longer to the crown than it should be. Just like TH.
I really ought to have finished the Drops Hooded Cardigan from the Bullring mystery cotton blend for my niece, but decided it really needed to be lined. And that, as we know too well peeps, means sewing (~shudder~).
More specifically it means finding something to line it with, which translated into a couple of weekends bombing round the Rag Market. Then a few more weeks umming and ahhing as I tried to figure out the best way to line it – before or after assembling the pieces? during, whilst sewing it into the seams? and when should I knit (and line) the hood – before or after or…? Oh the dilemma. Trilemma? – there are 3 options. See how I suffer for my art? Oh the PAIN!!!!!!!!
Cillian’s Trellis Cardi is also finished, apart from tidying up the ends from sewing on the buttons. As he’s now 15 months, this may have to become Adam’s Trellis Cardi – depends on which size I made. Durned if I can remember. I also have a crocheted knitting-needle roll (OH! the irony…) almost done, just a closure to do. I also found this very, very old (well, from just after I restarted crafting) project lurking in plain sight on the Baba’s bedroom floor: a rug crocheted from old sweatpants*!! My sister sends me these things even though she knows I don’t wear them (?!?!). So I cut off the cuffs and waistband, slit them up the inside leg and one side-seam, then cut them up into a single strip about 1″ thick, which I crocheted up with the thickest crochet hook I had – an 8mm I think. It would have looked neater if I’d rolled the strips so only the ‘knit’ outer was visible, not the fleecy lining, but PATIENCE IS NOT MY VIRTUE DAMMIT!!!!!!! The Ba used to lie on it for his kicky sessions before he was mobile – more comfy than the hardwood floors. Now he uses it to slide along the same floors, wheee!
What else? Plans for making a bunny from a swatch. Oh yes, and I’m now a Proper Ol Designer, Ravelry-accredited n evrathang! My totally amazing scrunchie pattern has been downloaded loads! LOADS! more than I thought it would be… both from my Ravelry Designer shop and from the linky on the sidebar here. Well, shucks. Thanks to all the lovely people who thought it worth the bandwidth. Srsly! Now I’ll have to put some more up. TH has been on at me to write up the pattern for my Corset Cosy, and there’s the neck-warmer thingy, maybe the toddler gloves…
More pics to add later!
* aka fleece-lined track suit trousers. Aka Fat Couture. Aka Oxfam-bin fashion for the woman who’s given up the struggle with weight, pregnancy, baby puke, personal hygiene…