I know we have only known each other for these two posts here, but by now you are gathering that I like to do anything with sock yarn other than make socks with it.  This is, as it happens, the Sock Yarn Sweater from Hannah Fettig, made with Caper Sock yarn from String Theory (I would tell you the color, but raise your hand if you think I kept the paper from the skeins).  I finished it in May except for the sleeves.  Sleeves.  I mean, there simply is nothing good to say about them.  Finished, however, and in a size 2T (the pattern goes from 0-6 months to size 16, and if you're planning to make this, I would size up a little, because that 2T is on my 16-month-old, and he is average-sized on a good day).  Slack factor:  high. This thing is knit top-down and in the round, and had very little shaping.

An introduction to my den of slack.

The truth is that I am a lazy crafter.  I like easy knitting patterns that do not require me to focus or seam or, I mean please, twist strands of yarn together to form some sort of design.  I've spent ten years now avoiding learning how to set in a sleeve on a sewn shirt.  It is unlikely that you will be seeing any Pinterest-ready photos around these here parts.  I may not always list what yarn I used in a sweater because there is a realistic chance that I purchased it in 1999.  What this blog is here to do is to motivate me, and anyone who stumbles in, to get some projects done.  Done is better than perfect, as always, and any dent I can make in my supplies means room for more supplies.

Socks for the fundamentally lazy.

Do these socks have feet?  Of course they do not.  There is a reason for that.  They are not socks.  Years ago, I asked a sales person at a yarn store about where to start, sockwise, and she suggested that I would need a period of peace and quiet to myself to do things like "turn heels."  Oh, ok.  Pardon me while I buy sock yarn but do not knit socks with it.  This is a leg warmer "pattern" from Oat Couture, knitted in String Theory yarn from Blue Hill, Maine.  I say "pattern" because, unlike, say, socks, all these things require is memorizing a four-line repeat and sticking some ribbing on each end.  No shaping, no sizing -- they are like sleeves in my fantasy world where sleeves do not require me me to count rows and increases and then seam them on to something afterwards.  Are green leg warmers a little witchy with a black outfit?  Did my oldest jaw-drop and ask, "wait, did you wear those to work today?"  Sure.  Guess what?  They were quick, they are finished, they are warm, and I almost never wear pants.  Get used to them.