Birthday Socks

As opposed to Little Bear's famous Birthday Soup, I decided to knit Handyman a pair of birthday socks for his birthday present. Whenever I knit him socks, halfway through the project I start wondering at my sense of optimism and sanity, as the man has skis for feet. (Actually, I should be thankful, because BiL Tom has size 12's or something like that).

I decided to be extra-clever this year, and knit him some socks out of really horrible-looking yarn. Isn't that a hideous color? I knew that if he even noticed me knitting socks (which I highly doubt), he would never suspect me of being so heinous as to knit him such an awful pair of socks. I suppose that if these were knit for me, I wouldn't mind, but for my bland mid-western man, he'd sooner die than wear these ostentatious things.

However, with much fear and trepidation and one Rit dye bath later, a beautiful pair of dark brown dress socks emerged. The yarn I used is 100% merino wool, and is deliciously soft. However, as the Rit dye called for submerging this wool yarn into very hot water, I was extremely nervous that all my hard work would result in a felted pair of socks that would only fit Banna-boo. (Sorry for the poor picture quality. For some reason, I had the worst time capturing the right color.)

I'm so relieved that I got his socks done in time for his birthday on Friday! Now I just have to finish his scrapbook album, and I'll be project-guilt free!

Pattern: Dolomite Socks from Knitspot
Yarn: Clearanced fingering weight yarn from Knitpicks, 100% Merino Wool

I'm really getting bored with the whole knitting business, though, and I'm dying to start knitting a sweater for someone for Christmas. However, (and here I'm pointing a finger at all my guilty relatives), I can't do that because I still haven't gotten any measurements. ANY! I have beautiful yarn in my stash just longing to be used and petted, and it's sinking in relative obscurity because I can't get started on anything.

Just think of poor me, stranded at home with two kids and no escape, and now, no knitting to help me maintain my fragile hold on sanity *sob*. It's all your fault (and here, by "your" I mean relatives. The rest of you nice readers are completely blameless.)

(I should perhaps mention that the art of incurring an insurmountable load of guilt has been passed down from my Oma to my mother and then to me. I'm not quite as proficient in it as they are, but I'm still learning.)

If you should run across any of my family members, please poke them with your needles for me.