The socks that started it all.

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I had trouble sleeping one night about a month ago.  You know when you think you can hear an insect buzzing in your ear but you can’t see it, and somehow in your sleepy state you determine that repeatedly smacking yourself in the head is your best shot at silencing the little pest?

It was exactly like that.  Except it was the sock knitting bug. And it bit me. Hard. 

It started innocently enough with this wee little pair of socks for a baby-to-be, knit from the leftovers of the wool that I used to make socks for his mom a while ago.  There’s apparently something very motivating about socks so small you can complete them in one or two sittings.  Something that makes you believe that adult socks are really not much bigger, and they would also be very quick to knit. 

Before I knew what was happening, I was binding off a pair of Cookie A’s Wanidas, and casting on for Nancy Bush’s Fox Faces

Also, I may have had a retail accident involving more self-striping yarn. And bare yarn and dye. 

Here we go. 

 

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