he's convinced it's his

So, I'm in the middle of the conga line of death (otherwise known as blocking my brains... what brains there still are... out).

Being as cold as we have been this year, I've been poking my way through a very simple wool blanket.  I think it's Knitter's Knee-jerk Reaction to Being @#$%@# Cold.  Given how much strength I've lost, I'm managing roughly 1/2 of a "stripe" per day.  After that, the hands want to fall off.  I'm using bags o inexpensive wool that I got a year ago for $15 per bag.  It's pretty stuff, and this is what it's looking like at the moment:

nothing fancy here, but very very warm

Of course, little man has decided it's his.  In fact, he has been running around in lots of wool today. 

time to replace that sweater!

That sweater is one I knit for him last year as a stop-gap.  It is not superwash, and it has been treated to every evil behavior the little man can think of.  The sleeves have been through various forms of velcro hell, the buttons are getting loose... and he's almost outgrown it.  I'm going to need to knit him something a little more durable.  Although considering what he does with his knits, this hasn't held up terribly.  He loves them.  To death.  There are worse ways to die.

After I finish the conga line, we'll go back to lace.  But this is what's been on my mind.  That, and editing patterns.  Getting a well written pattern that is readable is harder than it sounds.  I think I owe my tech editor lunch.  Or more likely, more knits.  hehe