Although I’d heard of knit-bombing, I’d never seen it in person until we came across an exquisite example of the practice in downtown Ketchum. Although this might be crochet. The bots were taken by it. It’s a kind of graffiti–adding “wearable art” to public spaces or objects. And maybe because it’s literally soft and fuzzy, it gives a soft and fuzzy message. If John Lennon were alive today, he certainly would pick up knitting needles between sets.
My friend Solveing, who lives in Colorado and is a mean knitter, first introduced me to knit-bombing, also known as yarn-bombing and sweater-bombing. It is her fantasy to knit bomb the giant devil horse statue near Denver International Airport, although she hasn’t yet purchased the eighteen thousand yards of yarn it would take to realize her vision.
I thought it was a splendid idea, but she pointed out that the hideous thing is on Federal property, and she just wasn’t sure a Federal prison offered an environment in which she would thrive, what with no knitting needles allowed (I’m guessing?) and that sort of thing.
Back here in Idaho, yesterday morning, Gbot Cheerio-bombed his placemat. It was the first time he’d actually dumped a whole bowl of cereal, organic milk and all, upside down in a fit of anger about being too big a boy for a booster seat. He is two.
He got a time-out, without his bear, during which he bawled and bawled. This is not normal Gbot behavior. A time-out usually presents him with an opportunity to look at me sideways with a mischievous grin while trying to escape a disciplinary act he does not believe in. Yesterday he just sat and wailed out his argument. He knew he needed the booster seat–when I had removed it, before the bomb, in an attempt to let him make up his own mind about whether he was, in fact, too big a boy, he cried about being too low to eat his cereal.
It was clear that he just needed a reason to cry. He’d been fuss-free since arriving at Nanny and Poppy’s three days before, and the equanimity had obviously taken its toll. He needed to wail for a while. So I let him. And after about fifteen minutes of sadness, he climbed up into his booster seat and ate a new bowl of Cheerios.
The Cheerio bomb made a little more work for me and Nanny, but the payoff–a happy Gbot with a full tummy who’d let off steam–was well worth it.
With that in mind, I think we should all pester Solveig to complete her mission of knit-bombing the Evil Equus. We’d all feel so much better afterward, and it would mean just a little bit of unpleasantness for her. I’m sure she would receive enough chocolate from fans while doing time to make up for the narrow cot, bad food, and really unfashionable outfit. Who’s with me?