Actual therapy

I'm not sure what's gotten into me; after months of posting nothing, this is my third post today. And actually related to therapy, if not knitting!

I am a member of BACP but I'm not accredited. Which in lots of ways doesn't matter, as lots of jobs say either 'accredited or working towards accreditation' (and you can be 'working towards accreditation' without actually doing anything really), but it would be nice to be able to put it on my website, and the real push comes because the only route via which I can actually get accreditation is closing at the end of October, so it's now or never. (I've known for months - typically I'm only deciding to do something about it now). 

So, step one was printing off the 46-page application. DONE. Haven't read it yet, but one step at a time.

Step two - searching for my diploma certificate so I can send off a copy. I think I must have lost it when we moved house (over six years ago). It once lived in a clip frame, but I'm pretty sure I decided that was ridiculously pretentious pretty soon after and took it out. But I have no idea where I put it then. It's not in my incredibly complicated filing system, because I thinned that out some months back (and found my CRB check form, and my passport, which were also mislaid). (I know. Bit of a pattern there.)
I do however have a letter from the course organiser, which actually has more information than the certificate - it not only confirms that I passed, and completed the course, but it gives my percentage (68% fact fans). However, unbelievably, it's not fucking dated, which makes it basically useless. And I mean at all, there's not even the year on there.
The course doesn't run anymore either, but there is a number for the coordinator. I've left a message asking for a dated letter confirming that I passed, as then the two together will suffice instead of a certificate. Fingers crossed...

Double negative

Yesterday, as I got home from the supermarket (I know! Such an exciting life I lead!) two yoofs were sat on my neighbour's front wall. Since she's had trouble with racist graffiti, rubbish being left on her lawn etc. I kept a sneaky eye on them (while trying not to look like some deeply paranoid middle-aged dullard - look, I work with young people, so I'm not pointing the finger, just trying to be neighbourly).

One one trip back to the car boot I could clearly, definitely, smell weed. Hey, I've been to university people.

'Seriously?' I said to the yoofs, bearing in mind it was broad daylight, middle of the day, not exactly being subtle.
Them: 'What?
Me: 'I can smell it.'
Them: 'What? Smell what? We ain't done nothing!'
Me: [biting down the urge to pedantically state 'I think you'll find that's a double negative, meaning you actually have done something'] and yes I know language changes and adapts, and if it didn't we'd all still be speaking like Chaucer and I should just get over it, but I'm still a copy-editor and I don't like it, ok? 
'Er, the dope?'
Them: 'Nah, man, no way'.

As I dredged nappies, kitchen roll and frozen food inside, they quickly hoofed it round the corner. I wouldn't have called our PCSOs (who were utterly lovely when some other yoofs told me to fuck off in front of my kids and threatened me) anyway, but I did chuckle to myself a bit at the idea of a) them being so bold/brazen/stupid as to smoke it openly in the first place and b) them legging it so quickly when they were 'rumbled'. 

Roll on term time...

Absolutely nothing to do with knitting.

So, I guess this is just a 'therapy' blog post and absolutely nothing to do with knitting. I was going to put 'I can't even see anything to do with knitting from where I'm sitting right now' but a ball of Debbie Bliss cashmerino DK in a lovely blue is in my in-tray (where else?). So that's the knitting part crowbarred in.


My youngest daughter will be two this month. Two. Years. Old. 


No big deal, right? And I've been saying to my husband for ages, 'She's not a baby any more'. She's walking. She's getting more and more words every day. (My current favourite, and apologies for the shameless parental brag, is 'cu-coo' - no, not cuckoo, she means cuddle. Altogether now, awwww.) Her turning two isn't really a big surprise or anything.


But it really struck me today, and made me feel sad. Then I remembered that I felt really upset around her birthday last year. This is not broodiness - bugger that, I absolutely do not want another. Life is hard enough with three of the needy little darlings without adding another. My lovely friend Helen announced that she is pregnant last night, and although I'm absolutely thrilled for her, I couldn't help but inwardly shudder at the idea of going through the hell that is pregnancy again. I'm not remotely envious of that part. Newborns? Cute, yes, lovely gummy smiles, little waving arms, yadda yadda, fine for a cuddle but I don't want one. My eldest daughter asked for a goldfish yesterday and I'm balking at the extra responsibility of even that. 


No. No more children. I simply don't have the inner resources. So why the sadness? I'm not entirely sure, but I think it's a mixture of reasons, reflecting also on why I felt sad this time last year:

• I don't have the right word for it, but the basic pulling-at-heartstrings feeling you get watching your children grow up and reach milestones. That feeling you get when they first go to school. Your little baby, that you grew and fed and watched grow, isn't small anymore. You blinked and time has moved on. Long, long days but quick years. 
• Following on from that I think there's a sense of 'what have I done with that time??' I'm not demeaning bringing up children. I still work. I don't want to have a career and break the glass ceiling. But my identity has been lost a little along the way, and time passing is reminding me of that.
• My daughter was quite ill after she was born. We spent nine days in hospital (after a home delivery) and although my mum thought this was great as I'd get to rest without the 'interruption' of a baby, it was a hideous, hideous unsettled and uncertain time. They couldn't find what was wrong with her, did three spinal taps, she got better and then worse again. We were four floors apart, I had the shakes and a rash over half my body (possibly from my own infection, which didn't clear up straight away either), the staff in SCBU each gave me their own take on the best way to try and breastfeed a poorly baby leaving me a bit bombarded and wondering how the hell I'd managed with the first two, one nurse called her 'loud' (well, yes, she's a 10lb baby who's hungry and you're used to 1 or 2lb babies who physically can't cry 'properly') and made me feel generally like we were being a nuisance. Then when we were discharged I was just told to 'wait and see if she hits her milestones' with regards to the potential long-term side-effects (she had meningitis as well as a chest infection). She's totally fine now, no hearing loss, but it still feels raw and fresh and horrible.

I feel teary typing the above. SHE'S FINE NOW. Look:

(That's not even a very recent picture. Bad mummy.)

Happy birthday baby girl.

Long time, no posting...

I haven't posted in a while. Life has been busy, true... I've been a bit sidetracked. Nothing too sinister, just the usual stuff. I'm a bit adrift, and so is my knitting. I still haven't sewn up the top for my daughter. I started a jumper for my son (because starting new projects is way more fun than doing the fiddly finishing-up bits for old ones, as everyone knows) but I'm a bit confused by the instructions so that's run aground until I can enlist some help, AGAIN.


So I'm going to take a look at some of my past efforts in an attempt to re-inspire me. And just generally get things back on track. Housekeeping, of sorts...

November 2011:
This may look like an upside-down not-very-good knitted bikini top, but it is in fact a picture of two knitted bunts (as in bunting, obviously) for a 'wooly garland' for another MNer whose daughter was born with a life-limiting genetic condition. I had wanted to include a 'B' into the stocking stitch one (for her daughter's name) but I couldn't translate a generic graph-style pattern (then, I'm not remotely sure I could do it now) into the given pattern, so plain it was/is.

January 2012:
Please ignore the deer in headlights slightly startled look on Baby Annabel's face; I'm confident it's not a critique of the fabulous hat-and-bootees combo. These were a present for my dear friend Jess who gave birth to her daughter Ada shortly after I finished these. I know they look rather blue, but in reality the colour scheme is a little more turquoisey-grey-lilac (as I didn't know what she was having). The bootees were a find on Pinterest, here (from Ravelry, of course) and then I just picked a hat pattern to match. Jess described the hat as a 'good nosewarmer', so it should fit Ada, ooh, just in time for the summer. Anyway, Ada has warm toes, Jess seemed thrilled with my efforts, that gave me a warm glow, all is well.

February 2012:
I thought some more about my habit of 'skipping the boring steps and cutting straight to the bits I'm interested in' with, well, anything, and how this results in great big gaps in my skills and knowledge. So I decided to work my way through the exercises in The Book (except a garter stitch scarf, because, come on, I really am beyond that and also I don't want to get lumbered with not only a giant fluffy scarf, but giant needles that will never get used again). And so, voila, a headscarf-jobby that my daughter ripped off her head minutes later. I personally like the seventies ragamuffin look, but apparently she's not so keen. This pattern I actually improved (no, really) because it said to knit the ties separately and then sew them on. I thought, 'But hang on, you've just said on the previous page that you can do a cable cast on here, so why not do that instead, huh?' and lo and behold, it worked brilliantly. Take that, Book! I also did a button hole (duh - not for this, just for practice), but - as it said it would - it didn't look great. Next...

If at first you don't succeed... ask Mumsnet

So, I'm knitting quite a few squares for the Mumsnet blankets, some on behalf of other people who have donated wool. MrsKwazii's daughter liked CareBears, plus one of my donors gave me some red wool to knit with even though red wasn't on The List of Approved Colours so back to Ravelry I go, and I found this gem:

Lovely, I thought. The pattern is 'intermediate' level but, wouldn't you know, that's exactly the word I used to describe my knitting capablities just the other day to a friend. I don't have a clashing pink teacup, but otherwise it's all looking good.


Until I get to row 11. The instruction is as follows:
(K1 P1) twice. K4. yo [Sl1. K2tog. psso. (yo) twice] 6 times. Sl1. K2tog. psso. yo. K4. (P1 K1) twice.


Er, que? Who with the what now? I checked in The Book and I'm none the wiser. I just can't make this work with 37 stitches, no matter how much I want to.


I think about my experiences with the cabling pattern. And the disaster that was the last 4-way mitred square, and how that made me feel (crap, basically).
So, I ask on the blanket thread on Mumsnet and everyone is lovely, really helpful. But I'm still not getting it, quite, so they actually start another thread just to help sort me out, and so we don't derail the original thread. 
Not only do I - eventually - get to the point where I understand what I'm meant to be doing, but another member, tribpot, photographs the stages step-by-step to get us all through it and then re-writes the pattern so it's not only easier, but better, avoiding the now-named 'Yawning Chasms Caused by Double Yarn-Overs of Doom'. (Not only are they better than me at knitting, they are far, far wittier.) GleamingHeels notices - gasp! - a mistake in the original pattern as well. Beaten, and improved. Job done. And here's my finished article - by Jove, it actually looks like the original:

Team Heart has won. It wasn't easy; as trib said:

 '<mops brow again> It was brutal, man. BRUTAL.' 

But we did it. And [emotional cough] - together. 


Next: trib, my new Best Knitting Friend, is going to translate the cabled tree pattern for me. I will NOT be beaten. I CAN do this, I WILL do this. [sticks two fingers up at unclear patterns]

Practice makes imperfect

Huh. I thought if you practised something, generally speaking you got better at it, not worse.
The aim:

Ideal for one of the Mumsnet blankets I thought - simple, yet slightly different with a bit of texture. So this is what I'm aiming for, ok?








Exhibit A:

It's a bit hard to tell when the wool is so dark, but my diagonals have a twisty-turny bit that doesn't look like it's  in the original.


Plus, obviously, it's not remotely quite square. I did follow the instructions, even when they seemed to have a random 'slip one' at the start of every purl row for no good reason as far as I can see. 


(Sidebar: Make-one-purlwise is a tricky little stitch, no?)


Exhibit B:

I know. I fucking know, all right? It's even more shit than the first attempt. Just look at the tension on the twisty-turny diagonal. Those stitches are huge. And gaping. To misquote Craig Revel-Horwood 'You could drive a bus through those gaps.'


Maybe I should have used my smallest needles instead of larger ones (with this pattern you just keep increasing until you get to the length you want, which obviously happens more quickly with larger needles). Maybe I shouldn't knit when I'm tired. Maybe I need to practice more styles. 


Maybe I'm just not very good at this.


Maybe, I've reached my limit of capabilities and this is it.


I just don't know. I don't know if I'm being defeatist (stampy-foot attitude is giving way to being disheartened instead), or realist, or perhaps a bit of both. Do I frog it (technical term for saying 'fuck it' undoing it), or try and sew it tighter? Is there any point trying again with smaller needles? Could I try it without the stitch marker - would that make a difference?


If I'm continuing to crowbar my knitting-is-a-metaphor-for-life idea in, then I suppose I should try again. But I suspect I'll feel even worse if I do, and it's still crappola. 

Hoisted on my own cable-needle petard

Most of my spare time recently has been taken up with knitting for the Mumsnet blankets. I'll post about what I've done when I can be arsed later, because we've got a deadline to get them in the post.


The first blanket is for the family of a poster called WubblyBubbly, who sadly died of breast cancer just a few weeks ago. Before she died she had a sort of dream or vision, that after we die we all 

'go back to earth in a million different places to sit on top of mountains, become snow flakes and grains of sand. We become a part of earth. We really never leave.' 

Ah-ha, I thought, I could pick a pattern for a square bearing that concept in mind. I'm knitting using wool donated by another Mumsnetter in a lovely soft light green colour, which would suit a earth/trees/growing/cycle of life kind of theme. I found this pattern:

Rather lovely, no? And the intertwining could represent family, or the connectedness of all of our lives, or offshoots/ new growth (her son is five), etc. etc. All good. 


I checked in The Book - the section on cabling is less than a page. Pah, easy. I had a quick practice - my cable needle kept dropping out , but it was no big deal to shove it back in. Another skill ticked off. Let's look at this pattern then.




Teeny, tiny problem. The pattern isn't a 'k15 p8 k10' type, oh no, rather, it looks like this:

No, I haven't a fucking clue either. But hey, there's an explanation, how hard can it be? I'm an intelligent person. (Husband: 'No, you're a very intelligent person.' Not really true, but bless.)


So I started trying to write it out by hand. The first thing I notice is that there are a lot of rows, and a lot of stitches in a row. I double-check the pattern (yes, yes, I should have done this before) - it's a 9" square. Too big (we need 6" squares). So, not only do I need to translate it into KnittingBasic, I need to reduce it by a third, all over. Ok, I could trim a bit off the top, quite a bit from the trunks, a bit from the ground... not so much from the sides. Definitely not a third.


Time for a re-think. Back to my beloved but not so much today Ravelry and I found this pattern instead:

Not the whole dress, obviously, just the tree bit. Twining branches; growth; past; present; future: tick, tick, tick. It's a bit narrow this time, but no problem, I can add some at the sides - easy-peasy because that would just be plain. Little bit of cabling - I've got that sussed. 
But...

I'm angry just looking at that image. Again, I spent too long a while trying to translate it. Plus, I think there's a mistake - after knitting a few rows, it's all just bumps. There's no relief pattern. Ok, I adjust the pattern and voila! a trunk is appearing. But if that part of the pattern was wrong, what about the rest? This makes me then question what I've translated so far, so I correct.


And then undo a few rows, and re-correct, and try again. 


And again.


And then I give up in a fit of pique. I can't do it, I can't work it out, I am beaten. Cabling is NOT easy, and above all I can't translate graph patterns for toffee. [stamp of foot]


This is pretty typical of my approach to many things in life. I get a few basics down, skip the bits that look boring and jump to the parts that look more interesting. And guess what - it turns out those boring bits were perhaps quite essential, and that you have to master those FIRST before moving on. I did read the not-quite-a-page on cabling carefully, but hey! as there are entire books just on cabling on Amazon, perhaps it's not quite as simple as The Book suggests.


The stampy-foot feeling is pretty typical for me as well. It's not so much a 'But it's not MY fault' feeling as a 'Fine! FINE! Well I might as well JUST GIVE UP THEN' feeling. But... this time, I sucked it up instead. I'm not knitting this for fun. I'm not knitting this for practice, or to improve my skills, or because it's therapeutic (those are all fortunate side-effects). I'm knitting this to help - hopefully - a family who have lost someone they love, and for a little boy who will grow up without a mother. My son is five too and it's heartbreaking to think of what Wubbly's son must be going through.
So I have another look on Ravelry, and I find this:

Perfect. And in a normal pattern.


Knitting eh? It's a metaphor for life, innit.