(I’m sure experienced knitter’s have already “been there, done that” with the events I’m about to relate, but I haven’t. So I’m going to yack about it. Just saying.)
Rather than post any pictures tonight, may I refer you to two pictures of a certain Jaywalker sock from yesterday’s post? A particular sock with 1/3 of the heel stitches completed, and a close-up picture of said pretty, tiny, uniform stockinette heel stitches?
Riiiiiight. This is what I get for being a sock yarn ho. Anyone who thinks I suck for buying all that yarn… well, tonight, I got spanked by the Knitting Goddess, who caused an optical illusion on my copy of the Jaywalker pattern so that I ended up having to rip back the whole heel, which I had diligently finished tonight. The stupid thing? I should have known it was wrong, since I’ve already made one correctly, and since it just looked wrong. Pretty, but pretty wrong. Unfortunately, the Knitting Goddess had already decided to screw me over as punishment for my yarn gluttony, so I went ahead and did all 36 rows in stockinette even though I kept thinking that something seemed off. Only after I was done did I look at the pattern and wonder, “Where are all those slipped stitch rows that I’m supposed to do?”
Oh. Whooops. Good thing I’m a teacher and know how to read and follow simple directions [insert forehead slap]. So, where it says something like “*S1, K1, repeat from *”, I read “S1, K across.” Knitting Goddess, I may be a yarnaholic, but you are a bitch.
I was a little
too chickenshit scared to rip back rows and rows of those itsy stitches, so I thought I would just tink back 36 rows of 42 stitches each. Good tinking practice – I’ve seen some people say on message boards that they can tink back as quickly as they knit!
After tinking back about 10 stitches, I realized that I would cause severe damage to my mental health if I pursued this. Since I want to be a good mommy, I decided not to. So, I counted as I slowly ripped back 36 rows of tiny pretty stitches instead – if it’s possible to count while holding your breath, anyway. Next, I found my tiny steel crochet hook between the sofa cushions where I’d left it (because I totally meant to), and started trying to pick up the stitches all patient-like. Not an easy task with a toddler who has suddenly decided that this is the perfect moment to jump up and down on the couch, trampoline style, right next to you, then head-butt you, and finally, shower you with spit as he amuses himself by blowing large raspberries your way – and the “No! Stop!” you keep repeating like a mantra only serves to encourage him and make him laugh. And of course, waiting until he’s in bed is unthinkable, because this is a problem that you want solved now. Now. Now.
Somehow, I did it. I came out a little wet and spitty, but otherwise, I think I will be okay. Whatever doesn’t kill us gives us something to talk about on our blogs, right?