Monitor Me

And on the sixteenth day, the knitter, Rilla, knit like she had never knit before. Her fingers became chaffed and sore, her knitting needles became dulled, and the yarn flew into form. And yea, The Kaz was annoyed at the little free time his wife had. And yea, The Babies yowled with the impatience of cold, shirtless, babes. At least, Rilla imagined the yowling that spurred her on to even greater knitting heights.

And the first miracle of this, the final day of the Knitting Olympics was that the knitter, Rilla, did succeed in her task. She completed these two knitting projects. And lo, the ends have not been weaved in, nor have the articles been washed and blocked, but completed, they have been.

And the second miracle of this, the final day of the Knitting Olympics was that she did not run out of yarn for the sweater, even though she had a mere scrap of it left after she completed it. For the Rilla had seen the quickly depleting supply of wool and adapted the sleeves, shortening them, apparently just the right amount to make the most of the resources she had. Behold the little pile of wool beneath the sweater. Witness the miracle!

And the third and glorious miracle of this, the final day of the Knitting Olympics is that she still has a giant ball of wool, despite the pattern's recommendations for the blanket. Like the loaves and the fishes, there seems to be a never ending supply of this damned wool. The Rilla has cursed and sworn at this, the fluffy wool, for it is difficult to knit with, and drops off the needles, and seemed to actively thwart the efforts of The Rilla to complete the blessed baby blanket.

Let The Knitting Olympics be over. Let The Kaz celebrate the return of his wife! Let the cold and naked babies embrace their new source of comfort!

So say we all.