Lusty Me!

Hummana hummana hummana
Having a child, among other parts of becoming a 'grownup', means that you have someone else you really wish to indulge in. I don't acquire new knitting goodies very often anymore, since I'm more likely to be caught browsing the sale rack at Baby Gap rather than my beloved LYS. (With the exception of some Debbie Bliss yarn and some gorgeous patterns that have been donated by Blogless Sharon, since she needs more room in her house for her own fleece and homespun! Thanks Mom!!) So I just wanted to share the lusty, hungry eyes I was sportin' a few weeks ago, when my cable dictionary, the Vogue Stitionary, finally arrived. It was pure yarnasm, I swear. Seconds after this photo was taken, I had delved into an enclosed cable pattern for my little croppy vest. (Still in progress, since I am in the throes of holiday shopping and decorating.)
Me likey.
By the way, me also likey Etsy. Positively addicted to handmade stuff. Someone PLEASE take my credit card away!

Time Flies

Something no one told me before LBB was born: time FLIES when you have a child. I swear that on Monday before I went to work he was gurgling, drooling, and banging his toys against his big head. Just seconds later, or maybe a few days, he's teaching me dance moves, clapping his hands to get our attention, and rearranging the furniture to his liking.
So its normal I suppose that since we can't prolong the adorable babyhood, I find myself wishing for another one. I know. What the deuce am I thinking? Anyhow, I was just informed that one of my buds who also has a little one under a year old is expecting again! Sooooo jealous. Well, that won't be me again for a little while, but I am truly excited for her.
Also excited for little Phil to wear the yummy red cardigan Blogless Sharon made for him-mom, want to let us know what that cool yarn is? I absolutely love it, especially the rolled collar.
I also finished his Oz vest, (from Natural Knits for Babies and Moms) just something whipped up from good old Lion Brand wool, and a bit too late I must say. It fits him pretty snug, so we'll only get a few weeks of use out of it...Note to self: knit several sizes larger!!!

But Can She Wear Boots?

I am still designing off the top of my head the croppy vest that was begun several weeks ago. It’s filling the time while I deliberate over which floppy hat pattern to use-there are just so many cute ones out there. I am so torn, but I think I may go with Gretel
In the meantime, I have begun the back of my vest, deciding finally on a rounded band over the neck and shoulders that dips lower in the front. On order is Vogue’s Stitionary, Vol. 2 so I can pick out a gorgeous cable pattern that will stretch well over the shoulders and bust. We’ll see how it goes-even if it is relegated to my collection of never-to-be-worn FO’s I will share my pattern. But you must keep in mind that I am designing it for my figure, which I am sorry to say resembles that of a 12-year old girl lately. Optimistically speaking, it might turn out to be perfect for your teenage sister. Ha.

But the feminine musing of the day involves boots. Boots. My passion for fashion has been dulled this year since nothing looks good on me lately, no matter how carefully I search. However, the lust for shoes is never affected by weight gain or loss. My lust for boots though, has tormented me for ages. Seven years ago I had a pair of stacked knee-high black boots that I wore proudly, until being hollered at crudely by some scumbag in a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot. Since I really value the elements of class and dignity, it mortified me. To think that I might look sleazy! Words could not express my shame, and the boots were tossed. I dreaded ever attracting that sort of attention, and took steps to avoid any manner of dress that may directly OR inadvertently send the wrong message.
It’s been a long time, and though I envy the girls who pull off boots, I have been ever so fearful of wearing them myself. So it was with all the courage I could muster that I grabbed those shiny knee-high boots off the shelf this week, paid out the dough, and prayed they would get more than a few wearings before I get mortified again. Tentatively, they have survived a day at the office (but I confess I have a backup pair of heels in the car) and no one yet has screamed, “Oh my gawd!” or whispered in my vicinity enough to make me self-conscious. Maybe the curse of the crude DD van man is finally broken.