A week or two ago I tie-dyed some onesies for the Beast and a few of the Elf's stained white shirts. I was so tired of putting plain white clothes on such an adorable baby. Something had to be done! Little did I know that the Imp would become emotionally attached to wearing his older brother's much-too-large tie-dyed shirts. So I vowed to dye some appropriately sized shirts just for him. Also, it wouldn't hurt to dye up the rest of the Elf's shirts and some tank tops for myself - to speak nothing of my attempt at dying wool yarn!
I laid everything outside on an old, greyish fitted sheet yesterday. I figured that it would make the sheets more fun, if nothing else. The heat was near unbearable. After being outside for only a few minutes I had sweat dripping off my nose. Heat indices have been between 106 and 115 for a few weeks.
I was supposed to let the dye sit in the fabrics for six to eight hours. After five and a half hours I just couldn't wait any more. It was getting dark and I just *had* to see my yarn! This picture was taken while the yarn was still damp. It's a bit lighter now, but I'm in love with it! I'll be using it to knit felted bowls for the Imp's birthday. My goal is for them to be nesting bowls, but we'll see how that turns out!
This morning, after sleeping on lovely and colorful sheets, I laid some of the shirts out for the Imp to choose from. Apparently he agrees with my husband and prefers the first dying attempt with the darker colors. He passed up all the new shirts and opted for his older brother's previously dyed shirt. Bah. Oh well. I suspect he'll wear the new ones eventually.
People have been posting images of themselves on their blogs lately. It seems to have all been prompted by Shaktimama.
Well, let me start this with the confession that I've never been comfortable with my physical self. Never. I was labeled "fat" by peers and ridiculed in school. It wasn't just peers and strangers, my father (who has changed considerably with age and grandchildren) was never much for tact. I'd been made to feel ashamed for who I was.
Nine glorious years with my husband have helped to change all of that. He's helped me to see that I am not repugnant. That I am worthy of love. That other people can see my beauty, even if I cannot.
So I've posted an unaltered (aside from cropping and resizing) picture of myself (in which my head looks teeny). In all my bleary-eyed glory, this is me. This is also my fabulously dyed tank top (yes, I'm quite pleased with it).