Whoop. There it is.

Phillip's bronchitis-not-pneumonia is neither. It's bad old-fashioned Whooping Cough. We figured it out in the middle of his third week, when the actual Whooping started. The sound is indescribable: somewhere between a Native American war cry and a Rebel Yell. Definitely guaranteed to strike fear in the hearts of the brave. Lucky for the rest of us Huffs, we got antibiotics in time, and are just plain old sick. So far, anyway, knock on wood. And yes, if you are wondering, all of us have been immunized.

*Begin rant/gross description* We'd like to extend a big thank you to those who are choosing not to immunize their children for this new and more-virulent strain. The flock is only safe when ALL members are inoculated. As a public school teacher, my husband stands every day in the biological cross hares, waiting for a direct hit. 

Phillip has 3 cracked ribs and innumerable broken blood vessels in his eyes and face. A coughing attack lasts as long as 10 minutes, during which oxygen intake is severely compromised. The attack only stops when stomach and lung contents are violently expelled, and the sudden intake of air produces a high-pitched screaming gasp. Less of a "whoop" than a "shriek". And this is in an otherwise fit, healthy adult man. Can you imagine watching this happen to a helpless infant? Who may not be strong enough to survive it? When you could have prevented it?

Whatever your views on childhood immunization, I want to remind everyone of this: an autistic child is still ALIVE, and drowning in your own fluids is an unspeakable thing to inflict on anyone too small to choose for themselves. *End rant/grossness*

The FLAK swatches are piling up, almost as fast as the crumpled tissues. I think I've just about landed on the right combination of cables. The only question now is, what happens when you knit them from the top down? Do I just flip my chart upside down, and hope for the best? I'll let you know what happens, provided the antihistamines hold out. 

How are your swatches? 

Back to the FLAK

A while back, before I fell down the Fana rabbithole, I hatched a Cunning Plan to revive Janet Szabo's Follow the Leader Aran Knitalong (FLAK).  Remember that?  CLICK to see the post about it.

The general feeling at the time was that Fall would be a good time for us, and Fall, it now is!  I'm ready; How about you?

The first instruction is to get yarn: Check.  Then you're supposed to make a swatch (or two): Check.  The swatch needs to be in "filler" stitch. i.e., the allover pattern stitch you'll choose for the sides/underarm area adjacent to the cables.  And it needs to be blocked, so it gives a true reading.  Here you can see that I tried my hand at Star Stitch, which I totally love (lower half of swatch).  Ultimately, though, I decided it's a little too fiddly, even for me, and the fabric it makes is a little too dense.  I switched to a plain old moss stitch, (upper half of swatch) which makes me happier.  And I even remembered to leave myself a clue about what needle size I used: I tied 6 knots in the yarn tail after the bindoff, which reminds me that I was working on size 6 needles.  It's the knitters equivalent of a trail of breadcrumbs...

And its a good thing I did, because I had it in my head that this swatch was the right gauge. Which is not true, it turns out.  Having actually read the pattern, and carefully measured again, I'm 2 sts shy in 4".  Looks like I need to take another whack at it before I press on.

How about you?  Ready to swatch yet?

Finished Fana

Here is what my Fana looked like last week when I took it to Sandpoint, Idaho to play with the knitters there.  The only things missing are the braid trims and the second sleeve.  That's right. This artfully arranged photo hides the fact that she's really only a one-armed bandit.

I like to make a habit of bringing finished samples to the classes they support, but this time, I just flat ran out of time.  What I didn't know was how useful it would be to show the sleeve-setting in progress.  The cut armhole openings and sleeve-top facings which cover them are routinely the most difficult for me to explain, because once the finishing is done, it's really hard to understand the parts that can no longer be seen.  This little exercise in humility turned out to be a great lesson for me: I need to make a sample which is intentionally unfinished for class. Maybe not full-sized though.

When I got home, the toilet in the master bathroom had come completely loose from its moorings.  Which I had predicted, due to a certain listing sensation we had been experiencing. What I had not anticipated (or perhaps, had tried to deny?) is that the old cracked and grubby tile floor underneath it would cry out for demolition, once I ejected the old throne.  Yep: Before I knew it, I was ankle deep in ceramic shards, swinging a sledge hammer like one possessed.  I hated that floor for almost every day of the eight years since I had (very poorly) installed it. Turns out that ceramic tile (and its removal) is just not my medium.  I've sworn off both for good. Once I had the floor out, I could finally repaint the walls to match the new towels I scored last May.  Phillip has been asking me weekly why we couldn't use the new towels without first changing the wall color.  What an amateur.  Has he not met me before?  The old wall paint was red, for pity's sake.

In the midst of the Bathroom Reboot, Phillip came down with a chest cold that I feared was pneumonia.  It wasn't, but it took a chest x-ray to convince both me and his doctor.  He's recuperating very slowly, all the while barking like a bull walrus.  Seriously, the poor man is rattling the windows.  And yesterday was Campbell's 13th birthday, which I tried my level best not to have overshadowed by the other dramas.  He assures me I did an adequate job of celebrating him, but I still worry that his bar is set artificially low.

Anyhow, the new floor, and the new loo, (and fluffy towels and cheery shower curtain) have definitely improved my attitude.  Eight years is a long time to be mocked by an unfortunate DIY project.  Oh, and I *may* have replaced the doorknobs, too, while I was at it.

With the plumbing, and the patient, and the newly-minted teenager (sort of) all under control, I returned my attention to the Fana.

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As you can see, it now sports two sleeves, each with anatomically-mounted, functionally-buttoned cuffs.

And yes, there are four different trims on it now.  Once I get going, I just can't stop.