My first crochet injury...

You heard right. A crochet injury. Actually, let's pluralize that. Injuries. Can you believe it? Some might say that I'm an "aggressive" crocheter. I sat down with Grandma on Monday for my first lesson. I'm sure poor Grandma wondered how the h I made it through grade 2 after my inability to grasp the concept of making a "loop." Poor Grandma sat down next to me on the couch and patiently demonstrated the basics of crochet, "Swoop, loop, dive, pull it through." I attempted to follow the movement of her fingers, the string, and the hook, but it was all happening much too quickly - it was a blur of swooping, looping, diving, and pulling. Sweating nervously, I pretended to understand, but as Grandma placed the hook in my hands, I began diving, looping, twisting, turning, and diving. It was awful. And embarrassing. Up until this point, I was pretty sure that Grandma thought I was one smart cookie. She remained patient, providing encouraging words, "Oh look, you swooped when you should have looped." "Oh, you hooked from the wrong side."  "Oh look you hooked from the wrong side again." (voice getting louder and shriller) "Oh, look, you've hooked from the wrong side again."AAAAAACCCCCKKKK! Why is this so difficult? When I finally managed to successfully create one chain (like the easiest "move" in crochet), Grandma fussed over me like I had just won a Nobel Prize, "Oh good! Look at how nice that chain is! What a smart girl!" At that point, I was crunched down on the couch with my head practically on Grandma's shoulder - hoping that if our shoulders touched, her talent would seep into me. How could this possibly be relaxing? Grandma crochets, holds conversations with her visitors, scolds Dr. Phil's reject guests, sips her tea, all whilst crocheting? I held my breath for fear that it would interrupt my damn chain.

After about an hour, I finally began to get the hang of it. Sorta. Grandma was over the moon, praising me, telling me that I had the crochet "gene." Trust Grandma to focus on the positives. If I ended up in the Pen for armed robbery (would I end up in the pen for armed robbery? Perhaps jail?). Anyways, If I was locked up for armed robbery, Grandma would brag to everyone what a great shot I was. Ivy MacDonald's grandchildren can do no wrong in her eyes.

I accepted my praise, my cookies (this crocheting is going to be hard on the waistline!) and headed out the door with the intention of completing a row independently at home. In the privacy of my home, I unleashed my anger on that crochet hook. I told it how I really felt. Recalling Janna's response to my project, "Our baby will know how much love went into this blanket," I couldn't help but feel slightly guilty for snarling, "You stupid piece of s$%t, motherf&^%$#$!"as that damn hook split perfectly good loops of wool and dove into places it wasn't supposed to dive into. I remembered one of Grandma's tips, "make a larger swoop." So that's what i did. Unfortunately, my nose got in the way. I actually swiped off a piece of nose skin on the tip of my nose. I knew it was time to throw in the towel as the blood began to drip to on the wool (don't worry, Janna - there is no blood or nose skin on the blanket; however, if your baby fails to have restful sleeps under this thing, I completely understand).

I awoke the next day with a hideous scab on the tip of my nose and a rib out. that's right, a rib. I didn't sustain that many injuries after a month of flying down hills on a longboard! Yikes. There was no waiver. No precautions were provided. I was never made aware of the risks of crocheting. I learned the hard way. The good news is that it can only get better...and I'm thoroughly enjoying my daily tea and cookies with Grandma.

Extreme close-up doesn't do it justice.