Put your hand out and look at your palm. About four inches across? So was this:
As for blog fodder, again I find myself fodderless. Oh, yeah, sure. There are things I could tell you, but then I'd have to fake my own death and move to a small island. I know. Torture, right? I'm about to order some way darling patterns for the store, in hopes that all the stitchers in the hamlet of 'Frankonia' will begin sewing for their darling offspring and the town will be awash in beautifully clad tots. Or at least it'll make noisy, snot-nosed chirruns more tolerable. Mine are practicing for the obnoxious Olympics today... I think Joe is quickly taking the lead, but he's six, so he's kind of a natural.
Clapotis and I need to have a sit down discussion about how slowly the yarn seems to be getting used, with no apparent effect on the finished size of the piece. I voiced my concerns to the knitting last night and was told I am an impatient b*tch, with no respect for properly executed stitches. Clapotis also pointed out the nearness of the end of ball #2, and implied that my desire to knit all five balls of Malabrigo into the wrap was a grotesque folly, bordering on madness. I calmly and rationally informed Clapotis that I have thumbs and access to both matches and gasoline. The conversation ended quickly. More knitting will happen this evening, as a "Dead Like Me" disc came from netflix.
I just remembered... it's also chocolate cone day...yay! Latah, knittas. C