Yesterday, I made a very very stupid sock-related cock-up.
Flushed with success after having negotiated my way through the heel shaping, I picked up the stitches from the sides of the heel flap with no problem at all and forged ahead with the shaping of the instep.
And then I ballsed it up. And the mistake I made was so simple, so stupid, so... so bloody typical of me, that I'm still angry now.
The first row I was supposed to do was kind of complicated (by "I am Mary knitting in the round for the first time" standards). If I'd made a mistake on this row, I would not have minded. It would have been upsetting but not unexpected. So I paid as much attention as I could and very carefully dealt with the slips and decreases and stitch markers and so on. I counted like I was auditioning for Sesame Street and felt very pleased with myself. "Repeat these rows until X stitches remain" said my pattern. Marvellous, I thought, and steamed through another eight of these complicated rows before my brain finally realised what it was saying.
"Repeat these rows until X stitches remain"
Rows plural. I've been doing the same row, over and over again. I examined the pattern again, and nestling underneath all the gibber gibber ssk2tog hokey cokey and turn around, was the innocuous line:
"2nd Round: Knit."
Somehow, my enthusiastic brain had skipped this little instruction.
In non-knitter terms:
I should have gone complicated, plain, complicated, plain, complicated, plain, complicated, plain, etc.
Instead I went complicated, complicated, complicated, complicated, complicated, complicated, complicated, complica - oh BUGGER.
So I had to do this. Right back to where I was the night before.
Happily, I've picked up okay and am now back on the complicated/plain bit, having used up almost all of the wiggly wool. There's also been a bit more progress on the jumper for Littlun (which I would photograph, but it's dark blue stocking stitch, so there doesn't seem much point). I've just about finished the first ball of yarn, there's six more to go in total. So he may well get his jumper while he still fits it and in time for the cold weather.
Today Pip and I are taking Littlun for a haircut. Last time we did this, it was spur of the moment - we'd just had lunch and saw a hairdressers with no queue. Littlun was tired and had been sitting still for his lunch and wasn't sure what was going on, except he was sure he didn't like what was going on, and so he screamed himself sick - yep, screamed until he actually vomited all over the cape and the chair and the floor.
This time, we have a plan. We're going in the morning - so Littlun will be awake, happier, and we can bribe him with foods, rather than full, unbribable, and wanting his nap. Pip is making sure there's assorted treats, toys, and a drink in the bag, and we may try having the hairdresser cut Pip's hair first with Littlun on his lap, to show him it's not scary and Daddy likes it and what have you. Here's hoping.