Santa Almost Got Coal Instead Of Cookies

I'm going to try and play this off as an adventure in parenting, but it is a little heartbreaking.

The final Cubscout Pack Meeting (the monthly meeting with all the scouts from 1st -5th grade) of the year was Friday. The plan was to go caroling around the neighborhood and then come back to the school for hot chocolate. Come one! Come all! Bring your families!

After the delusion of caroling (one woman, living in a house gloriously festooned with Christmas lights, I-kid-you-not opened her door, slammed it in our singing faces, and walked as far from her door as she could, probably to call the cops...some of whom were with us.) we came back to the cafeteria for cocoa when who should come in but...Santa Claus.

Several of the younger children (you know, the ones who still really believe) ran over to him with eager faces because he's more famous to them than the Wiggles, Thomas the Train and Barack Obama and he told them:

"Sorry guys! I only have presents for Cub Scouts!"

And at least three of these little guys burst into tears. My Vish dejectedly walked back to me and told me he hated Santa.

He hated Santa.

I almost burst into tears with him.

In a flash of parental wisdom I pulled him aside, away from all the shrieks of the older kids who were getting their gifts, and told him that this was not the real Santa. He was an Imposter pretend Santa and the real Santa was far too busy to drink watery hot chocolate and give out pinewood derby kits.

After the meeting, the Packmaster personally apologized to me and, for me, the whole thing has blown over.

But I wonder if it was one of those moments that Vish will remember forever.

Pinecone Derby

Among the other Christmas niceties like buying gift cards, discovering people don't like Starbucks (I know, right?!), buying other gift cards and watching the first season of Tru Blood while wrapping presents and knitting, I found this pinecone ornament tutorial.

And I realized that despite my Christmas tree having 427 natural pinecones (actually 419 because the very top of our tree broke off while we were trying to tie it to the car--the children learned some new words that day) I must make these.

Attempt number one, which was the one I made while baking cookies, shopping online, cleaning the house and watching Sookie Stackhouse devasating her natural supply of vitamin B12 (okay I was only doing one of those), was by far the worst looking one of the lot.

For starters, the egg is upside down:



I also didn't like so much color contrast and the "organic" feel of the scale layout. So I let the nerdy, mathy side of me take over and produced more:







I fear I can't stop. Except I must stop so I can knit (more) slippers.

The Stockings are Hung

I decided everyone is getting socks for Christmas.

Next year.

This year my sock selection committee narrowed it down to three contendors:

Vish's teacher. Who is a knitter but is scared of socks.



Someone who occasionally reads this blog, So shall remain nameless (it's not you)(maybe next year).


(Yes they're that vivid)

Enlarged to show texture:



Someone who never wears socks, but has entirely too much sock yarn in her stash. She also likes green, has requested hair elastics from Santa, and hasn't blogged for over a month. She's also happy she decided to shave her legs this morning before an impromptu photo shoot.





What?

Basic sock pattern. Plymouth Yarn Sockotta; wool, cotton, nylon.
Ripple Weave Socks by Charlene Schurch. Brown Sheep Nature Spun Fingering; wool.
Lace Socks by Star Athena. Knit Picks Rissata, Cotton, wool, elastic.

I wish I Could Have A Winter Break

Sorry about the hiatus. Between class parties, birthdays, holidays, vacations, and that mom gig I took on over six years ago, I have had very little time for the computer. In fact I have so little time, I'm forcing my tushie back into the gym so I can utilize that energy boost exercise gives you.

Except I'm in the you-have-to-take-a-nap-because-I-have-to-take-a-nap-argument-with-my-3yo phase of exercise.

I haven't even knit anything noteworthy.

I'll be back when I'm back.

The Menehune Were Here

I'm back!


Muddy Mountain Mama's muddy arse doing muddy yoga in muddy hiking boots on the beach (which was not muddy)

True to form we only took about eleven pictures, and we aren't even in half of them.

These pics are from the cave at the Hanakapi'ai Beach off the Kalalau Trail along the Na Pali Coast.

We knew we had been reading too many Hawaiian words when we looked at a bar menu and wondered what AH-lay was. Spelled A - L - E.

We figured it out.

Over the next week or so, I'll be sharing stories about bad snorkeling, worse weather, Nazi Yoga, and the dead body we almost found (thank goodness we postponed our drive by three minutes for coffee--a local made the discovery instead of us). But overall...

...It was a great trip. It's just that the best parts of it are rather boring to write about.

The Iron Man Trimester

The last time I was in Hawaii, I was on the Big Island. It was a business trip for the Businessman and I was 7 1/2 months pregnant with Vicious.

On the plane, I noticed that there were a lot of bald men with shaved legs but I was more concerned about my getting up to pee every 30 minutes and wishing I could have a Mai Tai. When we got off the plane, there were about 50 bicycles in baggage claim. Still nothing clicked. When we boarded our shuttle the driver asked me the following question:

Are you here for the Iron Man?

Great. I'm surrounded by lean, stringy triathletes and I look like I've swallowed a whale and have ankles the size of Pacific Northwest tree stumps.

The day before the race, I went to a shave ice stand and got shave ice over ice cream. A lady glanced at my order, did a double take and asked me if I knew the carb-to-protein ratio of my snack. Because she wanted one but didn't want it to affect her race.

Needless to say, I didn't care about the carb-to-protein ratio. I was making up for my Mai Tai deficit.

And eating for two.

Adventures in Basketweaving

Once upon a time we took my nine month old son and his Oma, Mountain Mama's Mama, to Kauai.

And one night we decided to have an adventure.

I had fallen in love with the baskets woven out of palm fronds and I had just bought a book with instructions for said endeavor. My fingers were itching to give it a go. The only major problem we could see, was that we were staying in a well manicured area and all palm trees were on hotel property and in plain sight. Ergo, we needed to go into stealth mode to obtain a palm frond.

During our stealth maneuver we discovered a few things:

• Most promising palm trees in highly manicured areas are well lit even at night
• Palm fronds are remarkably tough. We had to go back to our condo for a knife.
• Palm fronds can be over 15 feet long, which is a little obvious when you're walking down the highway.
• Hiding behind palm fronds is not great camouflage if your mother-in-law bursts into laughter every time she looks at you.

But perhaps the saddest thing we learned:

• Palm fronds from the south side of the island are not ideal for basket weaving.

We ended up going to the north side and buying a basket. The weaver pretended to be impressed by my lopsided attempt...

...But he was truly impressed that the Businessman was able to harvest a palm frond from the Sheridan Poipu.

Hawaii Honeymoon

The first time I went to Hawaii I was on my horneymoon. It was as wonderful as any first vacation as a married couple should be. We were on Kauai where we rode in boats, helicopters, and a convertible. We chased geckos around our hotel (did you know they squeak like mice?). We ate in cheap local dives and snorkeled hours at a time. We did everything as a couple.

There was this one hike though...

Kauai is home to Waiamea Canyon, a grand canyon of sorts. The Businessman wanted to hike what he told me would be a quick little trek into the highest swamp in the world and then we could go back to the ocean. After driving all the way up the mountain to the trail head, we parked the car and started out.

We were halfway through our two year stint in Minneapolis so I wasn't yet conditioned to like rain. It was drizzling. I was dressed in a cotton jersey dress, which soaked through quickly, and flip flops. It was slimy and muddy, I kept slipping and I was getting more and more frustrated. TBM decided to run up ahead to see "if the clouds cleared up" and I waited by a tree for a few minutes. I got bored and started slogging my way up the trail and eventually found my new husband's shirt, jacket and our camera heaped in a pile by the tree. Fed up with the whole thing I grabbed his clothing and the camera and trudged my way back to the car. Whereupon I remembered he still had the keys.

I sat on the hood of the car for over an hour.

When he finally turned up, he was covered in mud from head to toe except for his teeth, which were quite prominent since he was wearing such a big smile.

"Oh, I'm glad you turned back. You wouldn't have made it. Did you grab my shirt?"

He kept telling me how amazing it was. So beautiful and he especially enjoyed sitting at the top of the mountain and watching the clouds form. It took the long drive down the canyon to calm me down enough to explain why he was such a jerk, abandoning me on our honeymoon. But I got over it.

When we flew back into Colorado, which was where the wedding was, we had a small luncheon at my parent's home where we unwrapped and cataloged wedding gifts. His mom, during the ritual debriefing I have since learned follows all travel, asked us what our favorite part of the trip was.*

I, being a newlywed, blushed. He said:

"Waiamea Canyon!"

I almost threw a blender at him.

His favorite part of Hawaii, his favorite part of our honeymoon, his favorite part of the trip that would start our marriage...

...The two hours he wasn't with me.

I'm back in Kauai now. I have no intention of climbing Waiamea Canyon.

*A word of advice: Never ask your children (or your parents) what their favorite part of the honeymoon, romantic weekend, or liaison was.

Answering Machine

Today is my blogaversary. It's also my birthday and the day I leave for Hawaii, a trip that was booked nine months ago, to celebrate my anniversary, which was over a month ago.

I am blissfully ignoring technological marvels like highspeed internet, cellphones and global climate change. I am also blissfully carefree of children, email, and indigenous snakes (of which Hawaii has none).

I'll be back next week.

Aloha!

The Bends

The Businessman is impossible to shop for.

Three years ago, I got him the perfect Christmas gift--Scuba diving lessons. He was thrilled. He was ecstatic. He has always wanted to learn to scuba dive.

He never took them.

A year and a half later, he decided he never took the lessons because there was no point in just him learning how to scuba dive, so he went and purchased a set of lessons for me too.

We never took them.

Now, he has decided it's pointless to learn to scuba when we never really go places where we could dive.

Like Hawaii.

Tired of knowing that we had $300.00 tied up at the scuba store (and very grateful the shop owner is lax about these things) we went on a mini shopping spree with our store credit and got gear we will use.



For snorkling. This Friday.

Which makes this story a round-about way of telling you I have no idea what to get him for Christmas

Mountain Mama's Costume Emporium

ETA: Why yes, I do sell the Mantis costume...with improvements!  Drop by my Etsy Store and contact me from there.  

The Businessman is a wonderful guy. But sometimes I wonder what, exactly, he's thinking.

Really. I mean, he knows I have a blog about my creative pursuits. He knows my skill, my desire to use my skill, and my speed with my desire to use my skill.

And when Yummy asked to be a praying mantis for Halloween, I gleefully obliged:



Because that's what I do. Bend over backwards to prove to my children nothing is impossible.

But when Vish decided he wanted to be a skeleton the Businessman went to Walmart and bought this:



And then had the nerve to say he did it for me, so I wouldn't have to be bogged down with making two costumes. Because that's the point.

I'm sure it would have been laborous to buy a cheap, black sweatsuit, felt, and fabric glue.

I'm sure my version wouldn't have fit nearly as well.



I'm sure Vish would have loved my version as much as he loves this cheap, junky skeleton.

But...I'm sure mine wouldn't have glowed in the dark.

Choirs of Angels

Even though the kids have no school today, the snow keeps them occupied with angelic thoughts.



I love that we got 15 inches of snow...a week before Hawaii. Perfect timing!

Socks Suck

A million years ago, I bought a pretty little sock yarn while on vacation. It looked a little like this in the skein:



Then I wound it into a ball and it looked like vomit.



Devastated, I tossed it into my black hole of sock yarn. More recently I purchased a basic little sock yarn and also tossed it into the blackhole, but to my amazement:



The basic little sock yarn and the vomitrocious sock yarn became friends.

So, I cast on:



My daylight is a little bit lacking, what with the 15 inches of snow expected.

And when I was done with the first sock, my hands seized up in terror because these socks used up a negligible bit of the puke-y sock yarn I needed to make a second sock. Because the very thought of knitting another sock was a bit repulsive.

Which is what you've all been waiting weeks for.

However, sock recipient (Vicious) looked at m with his darling, too long, blond curls and asked when his socks would be done. And I thought it would sound heartless to say "When you start losing all that great hair" (which I predict will be in his mid 20's).

So I finished the second sock. And now I'm done. I never want to knit another sock again.

At least not until after I knit this. Because it's the most useless thing in the world but so friggin awesome.

(Insert Super Mario Music Here)

The key to my freak speed knitting on socks is that they're not frilly, lacy, cable-ey patterns. Except for a few rows of rib at the top, and a slip stitch heel flap, the whole sock is stockinette stich. Which I can certainly do with my eyes closed and possibly with one hand tied behind my back (though that would slow me down).

It's a round about way of saying, I just finished another pair:



But even more pathetic. I did this (turns out I needed an 8-bit image):



In duplicate stitch with some spare embroidery floss I had lying around. Because Yummy asked me too.

I would never want my children to think anything was impossible.

Basic sock pattern from my head
8 bit mario image-Googled
Knit Picks Stroll Kettle Dyed in Soot, Superwash wool and nylon

Who Wants To Pay It Forward?

Last December, I received a gift certificate for $15.00 to Cold Stone. But I don't like Cold Stone.

I know. No normal person dislikes Cold Stone. You'll just have to love me regardless.

I took Yummy on a date. I let him order whatever he wanted and then I told the clerk to use the remainder of my gift card on any following customers. Four more people enjoyed a small break from their pre-Christmas frenzy and had smiles on their face to prove it.

It feels good to Pay It Forward. My friend TinkerFrog posted about a Pay It Forward challenge the other day and I jumped at the opportunity.

Here's the deal. She is making something fabulous for me. I don't know what but she's already asked me what my favorite color is. In return, I will make something fabulous for the first three bloggers* to comment on this post. Technically, I have a year to put out, but more likely you'll get it sooner than that.**

In return, you will make something for three other bloggers, yaddah, yaddah, yaddah.

And all this tremendous karmic blogging will create World Peace.

*If applicable, I'll make a fourth something for the first commenting non-blogger. Also, US bloggers only please.
**Hello, Fate? Consider yourself tempted.

Sock-tober Fest

First, I am pleased to announce that the recipient of the baby sweater has arrived. More importantly, he is small enough that the sweater is bound to fit him eventually. Unlike my ten-pound turkey who was too large for the hospital diapers, much less his hand-knit sweater.

Insert bad segue here.

Are we sick of socks yet? Anyone? Anyone?

Not me!



I bet you're shocked at the lengths I will go to so I don't have to knit on the Norwegian Sweater. If you feel an intervention is in order, please do it in the form of chocolate, coffee, or worsted weight yarn. Or cashmere in any weight. I could never knit a sock in cashmere.

I finished the first sock of this pair and showed it to Yummy, who put it on, marched around with it for a bit and then asked if I can make him socks with Mario on them.

Would you ask a woman holding five, FIVE, double pointed needles in her hands a question like that? Child, that is one sharp point for each or those toes I'm keeping warm.

ETA: The Businessman just told me the 16 bit Mario would work just fine. Like he knows anything.

What She Made Edition--A Little Halloween Bling

Last night was Boy's Night Out, which actually means Mom's Knitting Night but sounds more fun to the kids. When I got home, the Businessman was cleaning the remnants of a nuclear reaction AKA my kitchen. I gave him a kiss, ran upstairs to kiss my kiddos and did a quick email check. One little email so enchanted me, I was glued to my computer for the next ten minutes.

The Businessman came upstairs, a little miffed that I didn't come down to praise his cleaning skills chat with him so I showed him what had been occupying my final waking minutes. I was instantly forgiven.

My Personal Illustrator added a little Halloween bling to my header.

I heart my PI. Twice now I've given her a vague request--"I want green, and yarn" or "can you stick a couple spider webs in the corners?"--and she has provided the perfect little image. Essentially she reads my mind, processes what she finds, and makes it better.

Anyone who can take the Mountain Mama Head Tour without serious psychological consequences must be an amazing person. Especially when I ask her to draw images of her biggest phobia (spiders not yarn).

Oh, and KRI, remember that idea we had almost a year ago that we've had to put on the back burner because we both seem to have lives? The answer is tidepools.

More Socks

I am in a sock knitting frenzy. The only thing my hands want to knit is socks, on size 2 needles. For some reason size 2 makes the stretchiest, and fastest knitting sock.

These socks were knit on size 1s. Size 1 needles are 2.25 mm wide (about the width of pencil lead).



I used 2x2 ribbing the whole way, so they stretch wider than they look. The cuffs are 64 stitches around.

Yummy can't pull them over his heels. Someday I might post about the unfortunate foot genetics my (and the Businessman's) children have inherited, but not today. Vish (my younger, smaller heeled child) ended up with a new pair of socks.

These socks...



...use the same yarn but are knit on size 2s, which are 2.75mm wide. I used 48 stitches. Not only did it take me about a day and a half to knit these, but they are stretchy enough to go over Yummy's heels. I didn't have enough yarn to make them long enough for his feet (refer back to the threat potential post I mentioned earlier), so they went to Vish. Again.

There you have it. The universal laws of science rarely pertain to knitters. Decreasing stitches results in stretchier socks.

And if nothing else demanded my attention, I could knit 100 pairs of socks in a year. Stretchy ones that I could pull over my mutant heels.

But who needs 100 pairs of socks?

My own sock recipes
ONLine Supersock 100, wool and nylon I think.

A Soft, Pretty Thing

As I mentioned before, the Yarn Harlot (finally) published her pattern for Pretty Thing which readers have been bugging her about ever since she had the nerve to post about how perfect her Pretty Thing was and how everyone should have something so nice. When the Yarn Harlot covets, aspires, or effbombs up, knitters around the world take notice. When the Yarn Harlot promises a pattern on her blog, knitters everywhere will salivate impatiently until she provides.

The Yarn Harlot has great power.

The thing is, at the time, though I thought it was lovely, I didn't really see myself wearing something like that. Then I found my kittens. Macanudo and Cohiba were born for just this sort of thing. But even my savvy math skilz didn't put the two together until YH (finally) published her pattern.

Thus Cohiba, lived up to her name and became a smoke ring.



It's pretty, yes. It's green, obvious. What you can't comprehend is how obscenely soft it is. Of course, this yarn is also obscenely expensive. But once you feel it, all sticker shock floats away in a puff of smoke.

Pretty Thing by Stephanie Pearl-McPhee
Filatura Di Crosa Golden Line Superior, 30% silk, 70% cashmere

What She Made Edition--A Baby Quilt

Face Book has its advantages. For example, you come across a friend you haven't seen in years and she remembers you as always being a crafty, creative person so she starts reading your blog and decides if you have two kids and can knit a sweater in two weeks, then she can make a quilt in a weekend, because a book says she can.



Of course, she learned first hand about trusting book titles.



And she learned first hand why you should avoid giving yourself a deadline (especially one that you can't control).



But she also finished it. I'm pretty sure she didn't learn that here.



Missed deadlines aside, the baby is still a baby. And a lucky one at that.

Congratulations RD. You inspire me. To finish. Someday.

Hungry Bees Socks

My ungrateful son, Yummy, had asked for socks with a dragonfly on them last summer. I barely accommodated by squiggling some yarn in a sock I was knitting and he was satisfied.

More recently I was browsing Ravelry and stumbled upon these Hungry Bee socks. I grabbed some random sock yarn I had lying around (does sock yarn breed? I swear I didn't know I had that much.) and cast on.

By the end of the day I was covered in hives.

Bee socks. Hives. Funny.

I was slightly feverish and I may have convinced myself that the only way I was going to get rid of the itch was to finish the socks. I may also have eaten copious amounts of honey, ran through the house in figure eight formations shaking my ass, and/or wore a crown on my head while speaking in a weird buzzing language.

It would explain why my family avoided me for five days. Then again, maybe no one else wanted to be sick.

I did make bees.



The day I finished, Yummy had a new pair of socks.



And I could finally walk across carpet without actively trying to scratch the bottoms of my ridiculously ticklish feet.

A good trade-off, but I won't be knitting these* anytime soon.

*Because I hate snakes. I'm sure the pattern is lovely.

I'm Feeling Much Better, Thank You

Um, I sort of took a week off.

It wasn't because I was sick, though I was.

It was because I was in a knitting frenzy and I didn't want to admit it to you...because I didn't touch this Norwegian sweater:



This baby jacket:



Or This Hat:



I know you are all eagerly anticipating the Norwegian sweater, the baby jacket and This Hat, but I betrayed all of you.

Instead I finished these (for Yummy unless they are too small already):



Started and finished these (for Yummy):



And found it ironic that I broke out in hives on the day I started knitting a sock pattern called Swarm of Bees and didn't fully recover my normal, sallow skintone until the day I finished them. I became rather manic about finishing them.

I also started and completed these (for Vicious) in 24 hours:



They are not pink. They are like...um...flames. Yes, they are Fire Socks!

And I started knitting this (for me):



Because the Yarn Harlot told me to. And online knitters are like lemmings when it comes to the Harlot. I spend long hours praying the woman never decides to jump off a cliff.

Oh, and during it all, this happened:



Which means I (and my family) finally get to reap the benefits of knitting over 7 miles of wool over the past year.

Seriously?

At the risk of revealing another psychosis but in hopes that someone out there will identify...

When you, as a woman, are sick, flat on your back and incapable of providing any form of care giving to yourself or your loved ones, there is one thought that you cling to. One thought that prevents you from actually wishing your body would just give up:

"I'm probably losing weight right now."

And even though you know that you will gain it all back the first day your body decides six servings of Stouffer's macaroni and cheese makes a fine meal, you have that one day when you finally feel good enough to go out in public and you wear your skinny jeans. Because they fit.

I woke up this morning thinking today was that day. Then I stepped on the scale, slithered back into bed, curled into a fetal position and sucked my thumb.

Because it is so unfair that I can spend four days eating nothing but the graham crackers necessary to keep my medicine down and still not lose a pound.

I'm so mad I could eat six servings of Stouffer's macaroni and cheese.

Benadryl, Cortosone, and Prednasolone Cocktails

Mountain Mama is sick.

My anniversary started with a mild cold and ended with hives covering 50% of my body. Two days later, when my skin had become one giant mass of itchiness, I saw a doctor, who told me I had a cold and gave me drugs.

Forgive me while I recuperate. It's hard to type with these oven mitts on.

I don't even want to knit.

Oh yes, it's that bad.

Three Thousand Six Hundred And Fifty Three Days

Ten years ago today, I began the biggest adventure of my life.

I married this man:



Whew! I'm pretty sure it's G-rated, but that picture makes me tingle.

He proceeded to drag lead me through hikes on mountains, swims in oceans, we have even walked the occasional paved sidewalk together.

We made babies.


Raspberries on Yummy Tummy


Vicious in the Skagit Tulip Fields

And got silly.


Curious George and The Man In The Yellow Hat

And sometimes we get to just laugh together. We've both grown and changed and we've learned from each other. I couldn't have done it with any other man.

I love you, Businessman.

Even if you keep mentioning "14 mile hike" and "vacation in Hawaii" in the same sentence.

You also might want to separate the phrases "birthday present" and "16 hours with the airline industry."

We can keep "Sunday mornings" and "yoga class" together.

Did I mention I love you? And that picture of you makes me tingle.

Sugar And Spice

The baby receiving the benefits of my knitting talent these days (and is providing a nice little distraction from the Norwegian Sweater) will be the daughter of an old college friend. My friend was a forestry major and in the Army Reserves and resented anything that reminded her she was a girl.

She didn't want to be a man, mind you, she just hated being associated with female adjectives like delicate, curvy, and hormonal.

I lost touch with her for a couple years and then, in a mass email announcement, I learned she had eloped. Very shortly after that (I'm not trying to imply anything here, it was very shortly afterward) she got pregnant--a delicate condition that creates curves and oozes hormones.

With twins.

Boys.

And I knew the universe was unfolding as it should.

Now she is preggers again, but with a girl this time. Knowing her life is full of boyhood, and knowing she is the antithesis of girlygirl, I thought it might be nice to make this little jacket:


Smock Jacket from Celtic Knits by Debbie Bliss

...in a nice gentle and not very girly color. Like forest green:


Knit Picks Gloss in Parsley

But the green yarn I have on hand wasn't hitting gauge. So off the the yarn shop I went. And I saw this:


Patons Classic Wool in Currant

...and I knew my universe was unfolding as it should.



Or maybe I just need to take a break from green and blue.

Pumpkin Spice Lattes

The first herald of my favorite season? It comes before the leaves change, before the mornings get nippy and before my cat starts sleeping under the covers with me...

...Starbucks' Pumpkin Spice Latte. Tall, nonfat, one pump for me please. Mmm. It appeared a few weeks ago.

At this point, the leaves are changing, the mornings are nippy, and I have lost all the bedspace I enjoyed during the summer. And yet another herald of autumn, which I had forgotten about, appeared in my grocery cart yesterday.

Behold:



The Pumpkin Spice Kiss. It's like my favorite drink made spillproof (albeit with less caffeine). I'm blissfully ignoring the ingredient list because I'm pretty sure it would depress me.

My favorite use for these babies?

I drop a couple in my morning coffee and stir until melted. Then I splash in my usual milk. It's not a Starbucks' Latte but it will tide me over. I also like to drop a couple into some warm milk and let the kids have Pumpkin Steamers.

Oh, by the way:



Looks like I have to go back to my Norwegian sweater. Until my order for this hat arrives.

Baby Sweater on Two Needles from Knitter's Almanac by Elizabeth Zimmermann
Dale of Norway Baby Ull, Superwash Merino Wool