The Yarn Harlot comes to Cambridge.

On Wednesday the Yarn Harlot came to Cambridge. I love both her blog and her books, and having heard about her last standing-room-only visit to Boston, I arrived at the church where she was speaking 3 hours before she was due to arrive. I was the second person there. Unfortunately I had G in tow, so instead of sitting and knitting we walked to the nearest playground and burned off some energy for an hour. (Anyone who saw G there with me later will attest to the fact that I wasn’t really successful in my attempt to wear the toddler out).

Here we are waiting:

G commandeered the camera, and tried photographing the waiting knitters. It was awesome. First he put his face RIGHT UP to the view screen, and then he’d angle the camera off to the side so he could look directly at whatever he thought he was taking a picture of.

G’s works of art:


(Does that sweater look familiar?)

One half of the church (no sock filter, and my sweater was too bulky to hold up):

The other half:

Me, trying to make progress on the last sleeve of the sweater:

Stephanie Pearl-McPhee, the Yarn Harlot herself.

She held my sweater. I’m hoping this means the sleeves will come out the same length! 🙂

(Also, I made it on to her website, even though I look like a complete dork!)

After giving an excellent talk on issues of self esteem and knitting, Stephanie (Mrs. Pearl-McPhee?) was kind and patient enough to sign books and chat with each and every person who stuck around. I was about halfway through the line, and I did the knitterly equivalent of peeing my pants from excitement while waiting: I dropped a stitch in my lacework, and had to frog it back a repeat. And then another, when I mysteriously dropped another stitch. But: now I have a signed copy of her book, and my sweater had been touched by the Yarn Harlot itself. I shall never wash it (never mind that it would probably felt if I did).

three night things

1. When I got home last night, G wanted to nurse because he wasn’t feeling well. I let him. Then, when it came time to do the bedtime nursing, G latched on for a few minutes and then popped off and said, “Not working. No milk. Switch sides.” So he did, and he very quickly came to the same conclusion. I explained that I was all out because he’d nursed earlier. “Make more, mama!” When I convinced him that I could not produce milk on demand, he settled for a sippy cup of milk.

2. I can now bring G into his room, lay him on his bed, kiss him good night and leave while Mr. Fizz stays with him, and there are no tears.

3. G showed up in our bed at 2:30 this morning…we’re not sure how he got there, since neither of us remember hearing him leave his room (we always leave his door open so he can get out if he wants) or lifting him into bed. The first I knew of him was when he kicked me in the back and asked for milk. I carried him back to his bed and he was asleep before his head hit the truck sheets.