Finest hours

There are many ways in which I'm not a great person. (I'll spare you the laundry list; just trust me on this.) Parenting, in particular, has a way of slapping me upside the head with my failings.

On the rare occasion, though, I make minute progress.


Take this...thing. There is very little to recommend it. The yarn writhes like the contents of a snake pit. The texture is, while soft, creepy in a Peter Lorre kind of way. It hung on to even Addi Turbos like I was trying to pry it from the edge of a cliff. In short, it sucked Hoovered big time.

But I promised a long time ago I'd finish knitting this little rag. And finish it I did. I don't know if Offspring the Eldest cares a thing about it anymore, but I kept my promise and it feels good.