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.

The knitting group that I am a part of organise a Secret Santa, with presents given out at our Christmas party, and it works really well.  One of the girls did point out that it's not very 'secret', because we always guess and admit afterwards who bought or made what, but that's beside the point -  just buying or making one present means you can put in some time and effort.  That would be difficult if buying for everyone, impossible if buying for no-one, and awkward if buying for only some!

This year I decided to make something.  The girl whose name I had picked out of the bag as my giftee is a seamstress and always produces fabulous Secret Santa gifts, so the pressure was on. I've been playing around with a technique for making 'contoured' colour changes with intarsia, by using increases and decreases either side of a colour change. I decided to make a cowl, and my design for the Secret Santa gift uses this 'contoured' intarsia technique, involves 18 small skeins of yarn, and the intarsia is done in the round, so I always knew it would be a challenge. I ploughed ahead anyway, approximated how much yarn I would need for each colour block, and ended up knitting with this distressing tangle:

If you are consistent about turning one way at the end of a knit row, and the opposite way at the end of a purl row when knitting intarsia, then the yarns magically untangle (sometimes with some gentle persuasion). But this wasn't working for this project: all the skeins moved around in the tray, especially because I was doing intarsia in the round. I was a bit worried: as much as I love intarsia, I was on a tight deadline to get the project done and untangling yarns under pressure is not really my idea of fun.

I know you can get 'yarn holders', but I didn't have any, and not being keen on buying eighteen of them I searched the kitchen for things that I could use instead. I decided on cups, as they are reasonably heavy so will stay in place, plus I have plenty of them, so there would be no need to empty a mug of yarn just to get my morning cuppa.  My intarsia tray ended up looking like this: 

It worked like a dream: the little skeins of yarn twisted round and jumped in their cups as I pulled on them to release more yarn, but almost never escaped their ceramic confines, and my strands stayed untangled throughout the whole project. 

Even with nearly-zero levels of yarn tangling, I still have to make a positive effort to relax into an intarsia mindset, and accept that it's a messy business until it's all over and the ends are sewn in. Maybe there's a metaphor for life in there somewhere - it's muddy and a bit out of control, but learn to live with the chaos and it's all worthwhile in the end.

I have a business based on what was once my hobby and running a business can be stressful.  I try and remind myself that this was supposed to be fun, but still, with deadlines looming and financial headaches, stress levels rise.

Previously if I felt stressed, I always knew that in picking up my knitting and working the first few stitches, the stress would fall away and I would feel instantly better.  Why is that? I think it's partly learned associations, since I've spent long, relaxing hours enjoying myself knitting, maybe in front of the TV.  I associate knitting with down-time.  More than that it feels like there's something else at work with knitting, as if the "negative voice" in my head that at times seems to invite in an entire committee to point out my worries and limitations is silenced. Maybe that part of my brain is busy, put to work forming the stitches. 

With the reduction in stress comes the chance to properly think through problems and come up with an answer to the realities of life that I'm facing.  "Okay, so I have this problem, I might not like it, but how am I going to deal with it?"  I sit and knit and ponder and possible resolutions present themselves.

That was before.  Now my stress comes from my knitting!  I have a business based on something that I love - but can I love it any longer with the stress it's giving me?  No matter, I have to knit, I have a pattern to finish, I have to just get on with it!

I pick up my needles and knit and, despite my fears, the warmth of the wooden needles and the smooth yarn feeding through my hands are enough; the stress is washed from me just the same as always.  As before, I find healing in its repetition and monotony and I am freed to think and solve. 

Whatever else might make my stress levels rise, it's not knitting.

Wendy x