Standing hose and What I do and What I don't do

“Let us enrich ourselves with our mutual difference.”  Paul Valery, poet and philosopher (1871-1945)

So I started making a pair of Kilt Hose for my uncle last Friday.  Kilt Hose are BIG socks.  Knee-high Man Socks.  These are knit on US Size 2 knitting needles, with sock-weight yarn and start at a staggering 108 stitches per round.  Breathe deep with me, because there is hope, as they diminish with the lovely curve of the human calf to a more manageable 76 stitches for the ankle and the rest of the (man) foot.  

Here is what they looked like sometime earlier this week, with the cuff folded up.  Maybe about five inches total.  

Here is what they look like this morning.  With the two inch cuff folded, they now come in at just a shade more than seven inches, and they still stand up on their own.  Pretty impressive since they’re not knit in a tight gauge.  In fact they are squishy-soft and completely yummy to hold in my hands.  Any bets on how much longer they’ll stand on their own?  Nine inches?  Twelve?!

In other news of the crafting type, I am still elbow deep in Halloween costumes.  I came across this Suburban Kamikaze post the other day.  I love this—both the idea and the loving and irreverent sarcasm—and if a knight had been requested in this house, there’s an entirely good chance that we would have sought an acceptable substitute for chain mail.  Like window screen maybe.  

Before you go grumbling in your tea about Suburban Overachievers, I think a defense is in order.  

It takes time to do these insane things that I do.  Time that gets deducted from other things, like sleep and eating.  I don’t like giving up sleeping and eating, so the time that I take to make ridiculously large socks or insanely complicated Halloween costumes for small children that will be worn once and then relegated to the dress-up bin has to come from something else.  

I have three kids.  Partner and I do all of the things that three kids need parents to do.  Including a lot of laundry.  When I’m not writing, I do sew, I do knit, I do walk an awful lot, I do volunteer a little bit at the school, I do bake all of our bread, I do cook weird things sometimes.  I like to color in coloring books with my kids and to build things with K’nex.  

Whether I’m writing or not, I do not watch more than two or three hours of television a week.  I do not wear make-up, paint my nails, shave my legs, or color my hair.  For that matter, I do not blow-dry, curl or style my hair beyond combing it—sometimes with my fingers.  I do not ascribe to the consume-as-much-as-possible model of democracy and patriotism.  I do not believe in the “Bush Doctrine” (unless we’re talking about sex).  I also do not iron, my house is generally messy, and I spend an absolute minimum time shopping for anything.  

How much time out of the week do/would these things take me?  

These choices obviously do not suit everyone, and that’s great.  How boring would a world full of me be?  (Oh hush, you know it would be maddening.  After a while anyway.)  Every parent has limited time.  Every parent has to seek a kind of harried balance in one way or another.  Trade-offs will be made for the things you find important and happy-making and useful.  This is my balance point.  It teeters this way or that sometimes.  But so far it hasn’t fallen over completely.  

I won’t kick myself with guilt over the things I do and don’t choose, as long as you don’t kick yourself with guilt over the things you do and don’t choose.  And we can get together over kamikazes.  Or tea.  Whatever you choose.