Well, I'm pretty sure I just bought fifty dollars' worth of yarn on the Internet.* I talked myself into it by considering my absolute lack of a life outside of the house; for real, having some pretty knitting about gives me something meaningful to do with my seven minutes** of squirreled-away free time per diem, and that's the truth. And it is meaningful to me, because making something lovely takes time, skill, patience, and -- most challenging for me -- the willingness to learn new things: in my case, a tricky new knitting move now and then. Because I'm basically lazy, I'm naturally inclined to choose patterns requiring me to learn absolutely no new techniques (and it doesn't help that my sleep-deprived brain is a bowl of banana pudding -- instant banana pudding -- these days). When I do so at all, the way I strong-arm myself into learning new knitting skills is by plunging headlong into a project requiring some crazy new expertise, beginning with the easy part, if there is one, and then having no choice but to figure out the new technique(s) by whatever means necessary. Sometimes involving swearing and woman-tantrums. That's how I made this, and it's how I plan to do this glorious thing. Anyway, the point is that learning new things is good for me (especially now that my life is a tunnel of parenting), and it's easy to count breath-taking, first-rate yarn as a necessary bit of the learning process.
Look, here's one of Bee's future sweaters. Homigod, prettiness!
* Having set out to buy yarn to knit a scrumptious little sweater for a friend's forthcoming baby, I of course ended up impulsively also buying materials for making two sweaters for Bee, who already has more hand-knit things than any infant needs. The adage about the shoemaker's children going barefoot apparently does not apply to my family.
** Seven nonconsecutive minutes.
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