…turning into my mother, it’s not even funny.

I thought this as I sat next to the window this afternoon (kids in the pool, don’t you know), swearing like a sailor as I tinked more than I have in eons while working on Trellis. (My mother could knit any aran sweater on the planet. And love it and hate it at the same time.) It’s frustrating — getting used to the charts, adjusting the pattern on the fly, cursing my yarn choice — yet as soon as I stopped, I wanted more.

Yup.

ETA: thank you Jenny!!

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