The rational side of my brain was screaming “Mayday! Danger Will Robinson! Abort! Abort!” because it was registering all the work that was going to go into it (see second paragraph above). This is a kid who is so long and lean that normal measurements don’t even come into play (his pants are a 33” waist with a 35” inseam for instance and he has the arms of an orangutan, like his mother I might add). But this is my baby and so the rational side of the brain was squelched (although it remains whimpering in the corner) and we picked out a pattern together and a color. He is leaving the actual yarn choice to me (“I know that you’ll pick a nice one, Mom”) which has me scouring all types of yarn from all types of vendors. I am sending him a schematic with a tape measure (because I know that he doesn’t have one) with the directions to have one of his (female) friends do his measurements. Then I will be able to determine the extent of the yarn damage.
But my favorite moment came immediately after he asked me for the sweater and I had agreed (cue: screaming on the rational side of my brain). He asked the dreaded question: “So how long do you think that will take?”
No sweat. I’ll get right on it.
Julie, WY's Do-bee and store wordsmith.