Hot, Acrylic Lovin'

So, as I mentioned a few days ago, I have to rip apart Little Mister’s Blanket o’Love that I’ve been working on since last year since I am basically a neurotic perfectionist when it comes to my crochet. If there is a mistake or a hint of a mistake, or a whisper of a hint of a mistake, or if it sucks really, really badly, I need to rip it all apart and then do it over and over and over again until the planets are aligned and the unicorns are once again farting rainbows.

My Mister wishes I was this neurotically obsessed about keeping our house in a perpetual state of perfection, or at least NOT in a state of OMG THERE MUST HAVE BEEN A TORNADO SO CALL FEMA NOW! But we all know that is plain silliness because I need to work on perfecting my crochet which leaves the sum total of zero minutes to work on the house. Dishes are dirty? Maybe a double crochet through back loop only will help me to forget about clean them. Floors need to be vacuumed? Maybe this fine lace weight alpaca/silk mix gorgeousness will magically distract me make the crap disappear. POOF! (If not, I’m pretty sure Little Mister won’t mind working on his pincher grip/self feeding skills he’s been utilizing as of late.)

As much as I obsess about my crochet, I must admit this particular project has me dragging my feet. I am having cold sweats thinking that I might give my sweet Little Mister something less than perfect, but the scope of what I have to do makes me think, “Well, he has to learn about disappointment sometime.”

What’s causing me this heartburn is the fact that I have to rip apart 60 rows or so of Tunisian color work. That's about 70 kajillion rows of regular crochet because Tunisian crochet eats regular crochet for breakfast, poops it out to make room for second breakfast and then still has more yarn to eat for elevensies and luncheon. Thus, I’ve been dragging my feet and not getting on with it since it is an incredibly, incredibly painful yarn-eating endeavor. Honestly, if I lived in the States and had easy access to the yarn, I might just start the whole thing again and give this one to my brother since he’d love it and I’d be totally ok giving him something that sucks is less than perfect. (Your turd sandwich is in the mail, li’l bro! *giggling and running away*)

Because it’s Tunisian, I have about 15 hundred million different colors in each row that start making passionate, sensual, worthy-of-Sting-tantric-sexy-time tangles with each other as soon as I release them from their crocheted chastity belts.

Actual yarn conversation, I swear:

Oooooh baby. She’s starting on our row. That’s right, baby. She’s going to loosen these bonds keeping us apart and we’ll be able to get all kinds of nasty, kinky, tangleness going on. Oh, come on, baby. You know you want to. Give daddy some hot acrylic lovin’!

And then I look away and blush and then make sure Little Mister can’t hear what’s going on because he’s much, much too sane young for this kind of thing.

So, this has been a sloooow process. And, since I need to do it but don’t really want to do it, I’m finding things to distract myself from the task at hand. Like *shudder* cleaning. *SHUDDER* (Truth be told, I’ve been pretty obsessed with my new vacuum and have been taking it out at any little provocation because it actually works and I’m all, “WHEEEE! LOOK WHAT I CAN DO!” Although I think I’m so excited by the fact that, since it works so well, I don’t have to try to create a vacuum by holding in my farts anymore.)

However, I’m slowly but surely getting there. I know I’ll feel better once it’s all out and I can start working on it again. But, Little Mister? Turns out he’s a vindictive little guy.

RIP OUT MY BLANKET, I'LL RIP OUT YOURS!!!

Either that or he overheard the Tunisian crochet yarn conversation which means I've got a lot of therapy to pay for when he's older.

What's hot acrylic lovin' mama?