I've only got a few minutes since I set Sebastian up about a half hour ago with a Thomas video on the ipod (for some reason it's so much cooler to him that way) so I could make the dough for soft pretzels and I think it's about over.
Does that sentence even make sense?
Sebastian's likes to see me knit for him and I've been working on a pair of socks for him for a month or two, my own pattern. Now normally it wouldn't take that long since his feet are much smaller than my giant, Peggy Hill (as my husband lovingly calls them ... asshole) feet.
But I'm scatterbrained.
I finished one sock then left the bag of yarn and the just-started second sock in a friend's car. A friend who I didn't see for about a month afterward.
Sebastian kept putting on his one finished sock and walking around with it, asking "Are you going to yarn me another sock?"
I thought about just saying no, that that's how you wear handmade socks. But figured he'd probably be made fun of enough throughout the years when I force him to wear handknit clothing and I didn't want to damage him too early.
Parenting is awesome.
So when my friend brought me the yarn back I breezed through the second sock.
Maybe I've redeemed myself for starting one sock for him last winter and him refusing to put it on because someone measured his feet wrong and so had knit the sock so small that it wouldn't even go on his toes.
I think he likes them.
Or maybe I just slipped them on him when he was distracted.
(He likes them.)