O, That Way Madness Lies

Okay, so King Lear had child-rearing issues, not crafting ones.

I realize that.

But knitting and crocheting have become my Regan and Goneril. The little ingrates are taking over my life and plotting to use it to further their own agendas.

It started randomly. Little things that were spaced far and few between. Tactical maneuvers that at first made it seem like they were on my side, supporting me.

Examples you ask? I have them aplenty.

After a huge, emotionally-charged move halfway across the continent, leaving what had become home for what used to be home, a friend said that he hoped the move had gone well. This was part of my reply:

Discovered something nifty though. If one takes refuge in a corner with knitting, no one comes near. I think it was because I had strategically tossed the skeins of yarn about me on the floor (four colors) and people were afraid to come too close lest they become entangled in the yarn and fall helplessly onto my double pointed needles (which are very, well, pointy and numerous--four at once to be exact). It was then that I realized my needles had a heretofore unrealized tactical advantage. And, of course, I achieved a nice little eddy of peace in the swirling waters of relations.

Supportive little needles and yarn, weren't they? To help out like that. But they had other views in mind.

My little Regan and Goneril have convinced everyone else that all I do will be yarn impacted and that all my responses will be yarn-related ones. You require proof? Here are some recent offspring comments.

Don't talk to mom for another couple of rows. She hasn't had enough of her morning knitting to be coherent yet. (Thing Two, who has just read the blog, insists that I inform all and sundry that it was she who came up with this--cough--witty observation. There. You happy, kid?)

I can too wear this shirt to school, mom. Just knit me a button quick. (Thing Four's response to being unable to wear his most favorite in the world shirt due to a gaping, button-loss hole on the front of him.)

Mom! Look up from your knitting before you cross the street! (Thing Four can walk to school on his own if this is the way he's going to be. Seriously.)

Er, mom, was part of your crochet project supposed be embedded in our dinner? What have we told you about crocheting near the stove?! (Another note from the increasingly editoral Thing Two. She insists this one should be labeled: All Things Implied, because they've all said it. Har. Har. Har.)

See? Little R & G have made everyone assume that I do these projects so much that I cannot function without yarn and some form of stick, be it pointy or hooked, in my hand.

But worst of all, they're convincing me of it as well. They've infiltrated my mind and distracted my attention.

Again, it was little things at first. Things such as, upon seeing Tony Robbins' 6'7", size-16-shod, ginormously-handed self in Shallow Hal, causing me to have the immediate reaction of, "For the love of everything alpaca, I am so glad I do not have to knit for that man!"

But they weren't content with that little victory. Oh no. They've upped the ante. They've made it seem perfectly logical to knit or crochet not only in lines, but also during morning walks to school (see son comment above), while participating in non-yarn related meetings and in a kayak in the middle of a lake.

They've made it seem normal that with each job posting I consider, I immediately do a web search to see how many, if any, yarn shops are in that area.

They've convinced me to go ahead with the baby blanket after receiving notice that the mommy-to-be was already buried under baby blankets from the last kid (she's getting an EZ Baby Surprise Jacket with matching hat and booties instead) because I simply cannot pass up learning Tunisian crochet, nor could I ever, ever return yarn that I really quite like.

But worst? They've even managed to make me purl without noticing. I mean, knit stitch without paying much attention I can understand. But purling? Since when have I been able to purl every other row as called for without looking down or even noticing that I had switched from knit to purl?

Since never, that's when.

I think the coup is about to occur. Somebody dial up Cordelia for me, would you? She's got to deal with with Regan and Goneril for me, because clearly, I can't.