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As I spin up the camel and gold wool I have a growing concern that there might not be enough of this batch to make the hat. Then I filled up the second bobbin, there might just be enough. I was planning on doing contrasting bands in the natural color. I did dye some uncarded wool in a similar color, so I may have to card it up and spin that as well.

Can I just say now how cranky hand carding makes me without a drum carder? The mere thought of it makes me extremely cranky.

The first week of high school has gone swimmingly for Josey. His school is amazing, and I was informed yesterday that he wants to play bass guitar. Bass. Rhythm is genetic, I’m sure I read that somewhere (or just made it up) so obviously he got all his good genes from me. Of course, general awesomeness is also genetic (citation needed) so that was from my side of the family too– I knew my baby was too smart to be a drummer.

Deb from Come Yarn Over left a message for me asking if I could make my little sheep with tape measures inside as customers were asking for some. I haven’t called her back yet. First because I wanted to get a tape measure and see if it was possible (it is) and second because I wanted to blog about it.

This is the difference between men and women. Women think it’s a super cute idea and want to know if it’s doable, and if it is what kind of variations are possible. I’m going to paint with a broad brush here but in general crafty women get cerebral about design and want to help troubleshoot.

Men on the other hand (crafty or otherwise) overwhelmingly turn into immature little boys that think all things potentially butt-hole  related are fascinating and immediately suggest that the fob for the tape measure should come out of the sheep’s butt. This idea is generally hilarious to the men folk, and they think it awesome and good. I have no idea why but every single man that has heard about (prior to my prototype) or seen (post prototype) the sheep tape measure project has insisted that the tape should come out the sheep’s ass.

Here’s the deal fellows, if you want a tape measure to come out a sheep’s ass then you can order one ($9 + shipping) from me special. Email me. Otherwise they are going to be nice and not have anything come out the ass.

I did dye some of the same stuff, a lovely golden camel-ish color meant for a friend’s surprise hat. Since I asked said friend for head measurements getting a hat in general will probably not at all surprise my friend. The kind of hat might come as a mild amusement. Shh! Top Secret.

While dyeing and drying though I spun up a skein of just plain old 2-ply sock yarn, which I now need to finish plying the scraps left on the bobbins so I can get to spinning the colored stuff.

I’m going stir crazy. Resting is easy, unless I’m absolutely supposed to do it because it’s good for me– then it becomes a huge inconvenience. Suddenly all those books I was looking forward to reading become too pedant and dull to actually describe with words. I start resenting everything, I know it’s irrational but it totally makes sense in the moment.

I decided I absolutely hate it when people tell me to “Take it easy.” Really? Can I please have detailed instructions on how to take it easy? I have no idea, I’ve been taking it hard with chocolate sprinkles– is that not the right way? I’m so confused.

Also, I can’t tell if my camera is taking crap pictures, or if I’m just unable to focus my eyes clearly because I’m in pain. I tried putting my reading glasses on but that didn’t help. I can’t tell if their smudged if I just can’t focus my eyes. I’m not even sure what I’m typing right now.

I don’t actually have a problem plying, except when I’m actually plying. I love the magical way it makes uneven bits disappear, I love balanced yarn, I even love the tweedy effect with blends like this one. I just do not love doing it.

For some reason the task is much more tolerable when I have something else I could be, or should be, doing. In this case I probably should clean out my car, do some laundry and plan dinner.

Oh how I love plying!

Itchy has some anger management issues. I guess it’s common for Bettas to be aggressive, but Itchy takes it to a whole new level.

I fed him this morning and although he likes the little freeze dried bloodworms he told me (and I quote) “I’m so sick of these motherf*cking flakes in this motherf*cking tank.”

Lots of attitude, movie aficionado, lean mean meme machine. Itchy is my kind of fish.

In addition to Itchy I also put in a fiber order with Little Barn again. This is the first time in practically forever that I’ve been able to buy a significant amount of spinning fiber and I’m pretty antsy because it’s being shipped UPS ground from Alabama to Oregon.

I have plowed through the last of the white BFL making a three ply worsted weight on my wheel.

It’s a frustrating balance, I sold my drum carder on the cheap to a lady taking up felting so that I wouldn’t be tempted to put off purchasing a new better drum carder and to clear out enough space to house a new better drum carder. Of course, things happened and the money for the new better drum carder never magically appeared. (Well, sorta– it did actually but I spent it on bills and food for the children and practical things.) So the things I normally look forward to doing when I get new and unusual (at least to me) fibers are off the table at the moment.

Oh yeah, I could totally blend fibers with my hand cards– except that would require me to actually try to match rolags, and then there’s that whole using hand cards. It’s one of those labor equations that comes down to investing money or suffering, I’m one of those people that prefers to invest the money and skip the suffering.

Now I lay me down to nap,

a finished sock upon my lap.

If I die before I wake;

that second sock I won’t have to make.