My husband is a wonderful man. He’s smart, funny, and terribly protective of me. He and I think on the same wavelength 99% of the time, which makes it odd when he just doesn’t grok where I’m coming from. Take Sock Wars; the man thinks I’m a raving lunatic.
Now, granted. To the average person, a slightly stressed mom of two who is homeschooling, struggling to keep up with housework, and ready to start on this year’s round of handmade holiday gifts and comfy flannel PJs really shouldn’t be contemplating another project, especially one with a timeline.
But, come on. Really. A little project, with the thrill of assassination? Having your heart go pitter-patter every time the postman comes and you might find death in the mail? Death by handmade socks?! It’s a no-brainer. Plus, there’s the added bonus of an escape plan: if it gets to be too much, stop knitting and wait to be killed by warm, handknit goodness. I’m looking hard, but I can’t find the downside.
So, as often happens when crafting comes into play, he looks at me as one might look at any crazy relative: with wary fondness. After all, you never know what we’re going to do next. It’s best to make no sudden movements – we are volatile, we protect our projects, and we are holding very pointy sticks.
Google Spreadsheet – keep abreast of the war
Current status: 495 dead, 65 dying, 163 living, 36 AWOL, and 12 of unknown status.