Ah, knitting

I’m not going to pretend that I miss the cross-stitch.  The cross-stitch told me I was dumb, that any moron could count up 2 and over 4 and arrive at the proper square.  It mocked me when I had to rip back yet again.  It selfishly claimed that I was not allowed to divert my attention with whimsical television shows and punished me cruelly when I tried.  But this,

this knitting tells me that I’m smart.   “Look how simple knits and purls grouped together make this woven effect.  Why, Natalie, I do declare this is fantastically clever.”  This knitting and I bond over episodes of Deadliest Catch and Mythbusters.  It hangs out with my husband and me over after-dinner coffee and conversation.  I haven’t forgotten the cross-stitch (or the goal of completing my orphaned projects  *sigh*), but it has been banished to the back of the craft pile.  Maybe that will teach it.  See, I have a pretty new plaything that likes me.  Perhaps some time alone will change that cross-stitch’s tune.