I’m craft inept. Totally. As in I’m absolutely missing the craft gene. I have a million and one ideas, that isn’t the problem. I just have a gross inability to create them.
It doesn’t help that I’m not terribly fanatic about learning something new. I’m far too easily frustrated and am allergic to failing at things that most people find relatively easy. I’d rather not do something than struggle and fail.
The first time I attempted to crochet, I spent about an hour solid failing at the very first step; the slip knot. It wasn’t pretty. It resulted in me hurling the yarn and hook across the room.
I didn’t try again for a long time yet when I did, it clicked. I eventually stumbled through the chain stich and produced since very wonky and wobbly things. Things being just that. They had no purpose. Just mismatched wonky practice rows. Quite literally, things.
Once again I neglected it. I don’t enjoy doing things that I’m not terribly good at.
Then came the womb dweller and I wanted to crochet. To make something for her with my own hands.
And I did! I mastered the granny stripe and I bloody well made a blanket. It’s not terribly good but I started it and I finished it.
The seven year old and four year old were super intrigued and remarked that they too would rather like a blanket as well.
What the hell, I’m on a roll. They chose their own colours and I decided to attempt crochet in the round I.e a huge granny square for the seven year old. I warned her in advance that it would only be a small lap blanket for her.
Everyone told me the easiest thing to start with was a granny square. Bollocks. Absolute Bollocks I tell you! It took forever for it to ‘click’ in my head hence why womb dwellers blanket was in rows!
Click it did though and I was away. Doing rounds the blanket grew satisfyingly quickly. I even managed a somewhat bodged attempt at a border. Woo-hoo! Yeah baby. I’m on fire!
Wanting to attempt something different yet again (you know, besides the two abysmal attempts at baby hats which even the seven year olds dolls are laughing at and refusing to wear. …..) I decided on making the four year old a blanket from solid colour granny squares.
Do granny squares! They said. It will be fun! They said.
Tosspot bastards. The lot of them.
I started with four colours doing 12 four round squares of each. Then I realised this wouldn’t be a small blanket. It would be tiny. Balls. Google told me I’d need eighty squares for even a baby size blanket. Give me strength. I was already bored.
Eventually I had eighty twatty squares. But now I had to figure out how the hell to join them together! Google tried to show me, several times, this one method that left a ridge on one side. Yuck.
Eventually I found a method I thought may work only now I decided my squares needed a final round in the joining colour to make it look right. Fine. That’s another round on each of eighty squares.
For fucks sake.
Then, yes then, I still had to join them together. So to break the monotony I thought I’d do a bit of both as I go along. I joined the first row and fuck me, it’s a monster. It’s going to be far far bigger than the small blanket I envisaged. Balls. Actually double balls, balls to this and balls as in wool. … and the now necessary task of needing far more than planned. Wonderful. This is my happy face. Honest. It just looks like my kill everything face.
I won’t tell a lie. I’m beginning to loath this project. I refuse to start anything else because I know If I stop I’ll never want to go back to it. Every. Only I promised the four year old I’d make it. I started so I’ll finish. Even if it kills me which at this rate it probably will.
This sodding blanket has become my nemesis
I’ve not even joined a third of it yet. I’ll need more wool. It looks sloppy and wonky. I’ll still have a border to do not to mention all those shitty tails.
What was a relaxing, cathartic hobby is now feeding my homicidal tendencies.
This is not fun.
I am never ever making anything from granny squares ever again. Ever.