The knitting group that I'm in had a party last night to celebrate our third birthday. I love these knitty friends; so much fun, so many giggles and always there when it matters.  

But back to the party; I'd promised to make the cake and after seeing this cake on pinterest - and though I feel obliged to share the link to credit the original, I'd much rather not, since hers is sooo much better than mine! - I knew I wanted to make a muddy sheep version.

I used my staple cake recipe; the BBC's blueberry cake with sour cream, and James Martin's chocolate ganache from his book Desserts, though it didn't come out at the consistency I needed, so I got a sugar rush with all the adding and tasting that I had to do to get it right. It's a tough life.

It was really fun to take the time to be creative in a different way, though I think I'll go back to the day job now, especially as the girls decided they were more sheep-dogs than sheep! Ah well, at least it tasted good.

My children have watched me knitting since almost the moment they were born. Even in those early days when my whole world had turned into an alien landscape involving more nappy-changing than I ever thought possible, endless hours on the sofa attempting to feed, and hormone levels so erratic that sobbing with joy followed tears of despair as seamlessly as if they'd been joined with mattress stitch. Even then I would still try and find time to knit a row most evenings.

My eldest started asking to learn to knit at about three, and I foolishly tried to show him.  He has asked and we've tried again about once a year since, until he properly picked it up when he was about eight.  I know there are other ways to get young children going with yarn - pompoms,  finger knitting and knitting dollies - and we did make pompoms, but I didn't know about finger knitting then, and never quite got the point of the knitting dolly.

What I hadn't expected was the sheer frustration of the whole thing.  We'd sit down with yarn and needles and I'd demonstrate: "Through the front door, around the back..." He'd start, go wrong, I'd say, "No, not like that" all nice and calm, but it seems the damage was done.  Within minutes he'd be throwing it down and saying he couldn't do it, with me not able to understand why he wouldn't just try again and having a full-on frustration tantrum.  Yes, I mean me.

So the next time he asked to learn, I would tell myself to adjust my expectations.  Of course he wasn't going to be able to knit perfectly, he may never learn to knit at all, but that wouldn't be the end of the world, the point is to enjoy it.  Even so, I didn't usually make it more than ten minutes before pronouncing through gritted teeth that I was "just going to make a cup of tea."

But both boys learnt in the end and between them they've produced a couple of scarves for their teddies, and they're sporadic, but keen, knitters.  I still do emergency rows to get things back on track - once one of them managed to turn ten stitches into twenty in a single row!  But I have learnt to relax about the whole thing, and try never to rip back their work if there is any possibility of saving it.

...except maybe if they're not looking!

Last year I knitted my step-dad a tea-cosy reproduction of the Crown Jewels for the Queen's diamond Jubilee.  He's a big fan of the Queen. I was so excited about it, and worked on it every spare moment until it was done - which was in the early hours of the morning on 2nd June 2012, Jubilee day.  I loved it, but more importantly, he loved it. It was one of those occasions with a knitted gift where everything comes good: I loved making it, he understood the hours (and hours) of work that had gone into it, he knew the message of love and caring that went along with it, and to top it all, he liked it.

There was a slight problem in that there were so many different types of yarn in there - from silk to mohair to acrylic - and so many different beads that I had no idea how it could ever be washed.  "No problem," he said, "We shall use it only on special occasions!" And so it is: it comes out on dates deemed 'royal' enough.  Perfect.

I thought I could go one better.  He and my mum had so obviously been pleased with their Crown Jewels tea cosy, they were surely disappointed that they couldn't use it all year round?  Surely their old quilted one, bought from John Lewis ten years ago, was drab and loveless in comparison?  Obviously, I needed to make another, an everyday tea-cosy.  So for Christmas last year I made him and my mum the kind of tea-cosy that I would like to have on my own teapot.  

I found it quite difficult; it's a fairly traditional style, made using the fair-isle technique, but with the strands, or 'floats' of yarn pulled tighter than usual. The problem was that I'd spent so long ensuring that my fair-isle floats were long enough that I had to re-learn how to do them too tight!  There was quite a lot of ripping back involved in that tea-cosy.  No worries though, it would be worth it; they'd both be so pleased.

So you're guessing where this is going.  I sewed the pompoms on the top, lovingly wrapped it and put it under the tree, only for it to be greeted by a resoundingly underwhelmed reaction on Christmas day.  It was used a couple of times of course, but I couldn't help noticing that the tired old John Lewis effort was still taking pride of place in the kitchen.

This Christmas I was so busy knitting for Muddy Sheep and Knit-a-Kit that the only Christmas present I knitted was the Secret Santa cowl, so there was no waiting with baited-breath as hand-made gifts were unwrapped this year.  But I did find last year's tea-cosy back in my parents' kitchen.  My mum saw I'd noticed it and she took a deep breath and said, "We don't use this very much... I prefer to use the old tea-cosy because it covers the entire pot and keeps the tea warmer for longer." She watched, trying to read my face, hoping I wouldn't be upset.

I paused and examined my thoughts.  How should I react; was I upset that my gift had been un-enthusiastically received, uncared for? Did I feel sad that there must inevitably have been a sinking feeling when it was unwrapped?  Well, maybe just a little.  But on the other hand I knew just where that tea-cosy would find a loving home!

So, my perfect tea-cosy is where it should have been all along, sitting pretty on my teapot, and it makes me happy just to see it there.  And next time I make a knitted gift, I'll try and remember to make something that the recipient wants, rather than just making for someone else what I really wanted for myself all along.