In which the knitting gods kick my ass

Only a few days ago, I was feeling quite optimistic about the state of my Christmas knitting.

The SIL shawl was done, the ends were woven in, and--with amazing ease, courtesy of my new blocking wires--it was pinned out to dry:

One major present: done and checked off the list. The only thing left was the wrapping.

The socks-that-come-up-to-his-knees socks for the nephew were well underway; the first one is completely done and clocks in at 9.25 inches, total. And we've got a car ride to NJ--a good four hours of knitting time--for finishing. His knees are about 10" about the ground, so they should be plenty long. I'm making the toes blue (he picked the yarn) so that when his feet grow, which they inevitably will, I can cut them out and make the feet a little longer without any hassle.

Second Christmas knitting project: well underway.


The green blob that was to be the Brother sweater was actually starting to look like a sweater. Both sleeves were attached, and I had knit about 5 inches of the decreases along the shoulders when I realized

(cue scary Jaws music indicating that makes you want to yell: don't go in the water!)

Something was wrong.

(music swells ominously)

I recounted the number of stitches on each sleeve. An EPS sweater is decreased 8 stitches every third round--two on each sleeve, and four on the body. I'd be blithely knitting along, counting the stitches on one of the sleeves, to make sure I was staying on track, but never bothering to check the other sleeve.

(music tempo increases)

I had 54 on one side.

And 64 on the other.

A two-inch difference.

(music stops, screaming begins)

I cannot, it seems, count to 82 with any reliability, even though I checked my counts on both sleeves repeatedly.

Christmas knitting project the third, and my brother's major present: disaster. There's no possible way I can rip back the five inches of the chest, remove the problem sleeve, rip it back six inches, finish the increases, reattach it, redo the chest decreases, finish the chest decreases, and knit the shoulder saddles in the 46 or so hours left until my brother opens his present.

Which, at this point, will be an empty box with a funny note in it. And a story that he'll be able to hold over my head for years to come, which may be more precious than a hand-knit sweater.

The knitting gods are definitely kicking my ass this year.