Though why on earth I ever thought that a weekday afternoon (ratio of adults to children 1:2) would ever be a good time to do this, I really don't know. In my defence, both Sons lulled me into a false sense of security by appearing to embrace "quiet time" – at least just long enough to allow me to completely cover the dining table with what can only be described as a 'proper mess'. For the first time in a long time, yarn, needles and projects in their various states were reunited from their assortment of resting places around our home – including that from under the recently accessed dressing table. Ravelry’s "Needle and Hook Inventory" open, I made ready to start the most thorough audit my yarn-ing had ever seen. Cue Oldest Son.
Apparently he's had a "very, very long sleep". Given the constant chatter coming from his bedroom, I question whether or not he’s had any sleep at all. Apparently he's not tired. And he wants to get up. Now. You know that tone of voice.
After a quick explanation of my plan and the accompanying set of negotiations (something along the lines of we can play in the same room but we'll each be playing with our own toys), Oldest Son joins me at the dining table: "Wow, Mummy! It's so beautiful." Now, I've become wise to the ways of the two-and-a-half year old (and his distraction techniques) so sought further clarification: What, exactly, was beautiful? The array of colours and textures covering the table? The kidsilk haze colour-washing conveniently placed at toddler-eye-level? No, turns out it's the pile of fabric in the centre of the table waiting to form his Daddy's jumper. "Yes, that will keep Daddy warm." Well, not in its present state but here's hoping one day.
All starts off reasonably well: I play with my yarn, Oldest Son plays with his bus. Until he spots my fancy needle chest. I mean it no disrespect but my preferred storage unit for my needles is an old corset box that belonged to my Granny. I know, there's no accounting for emotional taste. Apparently it's a "treasure chest" – at least that’s what Oldest Son says. And it takes a great deal to persuade Oldest Son that my knitting accessories are "treasure": But no, the box of assorted beads doesn't fit. Except when you put it in like that, little boy. No, I don't like to put the array of free buttons and bag handles in there. Well, it's my treasure chest and I say what goes in there. Who's the grown-up now?
Accessories sorted, my attention turns to my needles. As does Oldest Son's. He loves numbers so it's really handy that most needles have numbers on them. Unfortunately, he's not really au fait with "snap" or "pairs" so lots of my needles are now separated from their partner.
Another heirloom from Granny is a sweetie tube full of dpns. A now lid-less tube: Which hand is the lid in, Mummy? Now which one? And the dpns, well Oldest Son had a lovely time using the needle gauge and apparently the needles fit most of the holes. At this point, I give up. And embrace the fact that he's showing an interest. And then Youngest Son awakes.
Now although he has slept, Youngest Son gives the distinct impression of having not slept for long enough but obviously aware of the fun being had in the sitting room, decides that it's time to join us. So the three of us sit around the table. I eye-up the still-enormous mess and wonder how on earth I'm to make any sense of it before, say, Husband comes home. Oldest Son and the driver of the (toy) bus continue checking the contents of the treasure chest, some of which is now "freight" on the back of the bus. To say Youngest Son looks bewildered is an understatement. Confused, perplexed even. Maybe he was expecting something a little less yarn-y. It's clear that he can't see what the fuss is all about. Never mind. He's young in the ways of yarn.
As I am clearly mis-guided in the ways of auditing with children. Unless, by "auditing" you mean "panic packing into a large bag". Well, at least I know where everything is.