Last night, as we tried to work on our Christmas knitting (I say 'tried,' because I frogged a sock for the third time, and I was past the gusset, too, and the Fool was busy tangling a ball of yarn over and over as he tried to wind it), he said, "I have too much knitting to do; I don't think I'll make it."
This is funny. Usually, because the Fool does no Christmas knitting at all, or such small amounts, it's downright comical, what he considers a knitting time crisis. He says stuff like, "Oh god, I don't think I'll have time to finish this felted mouse by Christmas."
Meanwhile, I'm trying to knit him a sweater or something goofy like that.
But this year, he actually has Christmas Knitting to do. And now, while Jamie is blissfully occupied throwing things down the basement stairs, or dropping silverware down the heating vent, or any number of vaguely destructive toddler activities, I'm going to see if I can get that stupid sock to go anywhere at all, other than to the frog pond ... again.