Things that Go BUMP in my Mind

Moving Day

2006-06-20T15:16:00.000-04:00

Kirsten doesn't blog here any more. Now she blogs here.

Please update your links. I can't afford to lose the few readers I have!

Planning Ahead

2006-06-19T09:00:00.000-04:00

Andy: Mommy, you know that little green pool in the back yard?

Me: Yeah, honey, what about it?

Andy: Don't throw it away.

Me: I hadn't planned to. Why not, by the way?

Andy: Because I'm going to marry Mae.

Me: Umm, okay. What does the pool have to do with it?

Andy: Because after we get married, she'll have a baby, and the baby will want to play in the pool. Babies like those things.

Me: Yes, they do. When are you and Mae getting married? (Nota bene: Last I heard, Mae was planning to marry River, but Andy is undeterred by this fact.)

Andy: July.

Me: !!!!

Andy: When I'm twenty.

Add it up

2006-06-15T10:10:00.000-04:00

I have a tendency to be, shall we say, overoptimistic about the number of projects I can complete in a given ~~lifetime~~ period. Indeed, ~~my husband~~ some ~~would declare with great certainty~~ might suggest that I am something of a Pollyanna in this respect. Fools, I say. Naysayers! Bastards! I will not let you get me down!

As of the end of May, I had the following projects ~~gathering various amounts of dust~~ percolating along:

(1) A cute little folk angel that has no particular deadline, and that I just enjoy stitching.

(2) A rather elaborate dragon that I intend for Andy, providing he still thinks dragons are cool when I finish it. Original finish goal: Christmas 2005. Current goal: Sometime before Andy goes to college.

(3) A pair of socks for my mother in law (the ones pictured in the previous post).

At that time, I had the following ~~looming over me~~ in the wings:

(1) An Afghan for my mother in law. Due date: ages and ages ago. The socks are an attempt to throw her off the scent.

(2) A cross-stitched Christmas stocking for Owen. Adorable Mary Englebreit design. Due date: Christmas 2002, and each successive Christmas thereafter. Andy has an adorable hand-stitched Christmas stocking, and I can't leave Owen out.

So, here it is in mid-June. I have finished my mother-in-law's socks (they'll go in the mail soon, I promise), and I have started the afghan:

(Why yes, that is the most boring picture of knitting ever. How kind of you to notice!). However, I have also started:

(1) A pair of socks for Andy, for his birthday. How could I not? His birthday is July 1st, and there is sock yarn that stripes up like the American flag! Thank goodness his feet are still small.

(2) A sweater for me: Green Gable, which is actually berry-colored, in my version. It's been started and ripped back, so I have no progress to show.

(3) Remodeling the downstairs bathroom:

Any sane person would stop now, right? She would take herself firmly in hand and say something like, "No more projects for you, little missy, until you've cleaned up this mess you've made."

I am not, however, a sane person (nor am I in the habit of calling myself "little missy"). I am a person with a decidedly insane desire to knit a log cabin blanket, a la the lovely ladies over at Maxon Dixon Knitting. I have a fabulous idea for a spiral log cabin design done in blues with a center red square. It will be gorgeous. If I ever finish it.

This desire was under control until I found this: a log cabin knitalong. That pretty much did me in, and I spent most of yesterday afternoon searching for appropriate yarn. Projected knitalong start date is July 1. Projected finish date is the twelfth of Never.

Somebody, please, sedate me.

Just for Norma...

2006-06-13T11:26:00.000-04:00

Here are pictures of the socks:

The pattern is the basic sock pattern from Cat Bordhi's marvelous book. The yarn is Knit Picks "Sock Garden" in hydrangea, which they evidently do not sell any more.

Here's a better shot of the color:

I'm not too keen on how the striping turned out. I think I would like it better if I had used some kind of chevron-type pattern, to break up the strong horizontal stripes, which I think is a consequence of the strong colors.

Alas, no pictures of cute boys playing basketball. The cute boy under my jurisdiction refused to participate. He was quite amiable about it, but he was nevertheless adamant. I don't think I can quite articulate how disheartening this was; the basketball thing is supposed to help Owen with his social skills by allowing him to participate in an activity where speech ability is not key. I really needed this to work for him; I needed a little ray of hope, and I didn't get it.

All is not lost--we'll try again next week. Chuck will take him, on the theory that he is less cuddly and thus Owen may be more willing to leave his side.

Excuses, excuses.

2006-06-12T14:47:00.000-04:00

I seem to recall promising pictures of knitted things and cute kids in knitted things. And also my garden. Hmmm. Here's my story, and I'm sticking to it...

I went to Atlanta on Saturday for a visit with the Ghetto Stitching Floss Lickers (really, don't ask unless you already know). I arrived with a Cute Knitted Thing, i.e., a frog hat (to make: follow Stephanie's directions using an appropriately froggy color. Add white puff balls (I stole mine from the kids' stash) with black buttons for eyes, and embroider on a mouth (mine was crooked, which I declared "charming")). The hat was originally intended for Luke, with whose Mommy I had planned to spend the night before the get-together. Alas, Luke's Mommy had to attend to her ailing grandmother, so I just drove down to Atlanta on Saturday. I arrived and, while chatting with Cris's very cute daughter Scarlett, I learned that the latter is very fond of frogs.

Well. Suffice it to say that I need to knit a new hat for Luke. But, because I left the camera in freaking Greenville (after spending Friday evening baking goodies and muttering "don't forget the camera, don't forget the camera"), I do not have a picture of a Cute Kid in a Knitted Thing.

As for pictures of knitted things generally, I finished my mother in law's socks last week, and y'all are entitled to pictures of those, too. But you're not getting them today, because even though I remembered to put the socks in my knitting bag, and the camera in my purse, I have not yet managed to get my purse and my knitting bag within a five foot radius of myself at the same time. So, there goes that.

As for the garden, you're going to have to wait. Everybody chez Small was deathly ill with a stomach bug yesterday. I didn't have the strength to venture outside, much less take pictures.

You may get lucky tomorrow. I have the camera in the purse, and Owen starts his basketball minicamp tonight. So, you may get pictures of cute kids running around with basketballs.

Or you may not.

Still here.

2006-06-08T08:09:00.000-04:00

For some reason, I seem to go through periods where I just don't feel like blogging much. And ironically, they seem to happen when I'm least stressed out about work. Or maybe that's not ironic at all. Can't face the pile on your desk? Turn left 90 degrees and write a blog entry, complete with pictures that you have to upload and everything!

And then Bryan died, and I've been trying to figure out what to write about it, and I just can't. The sudden death of a young man with a wife and small child hits much too close to home. As I grieve for my friend, who is now facing a life completely different than the one she woke up to ten days ago, I am acutely aware how perilously close we all are to the same thing.

Well, shoot. I thought I was ready to be cheerful again, and here I am mulling about death. Sorry 'bout that; I guess I'm still processing it.

I'm headed off for Atlanta tomorrow for a long-awaited visit with some friends. When I return, there will be PICTURES! Of knitted stuff! And of the tomato plants that ate Cleveland (or at least a portion of my back yard)! And of cute children! If they will hold still for two seconds!

Memory Eternal!

2006-06-06T08:17:00.000-04:00

Bryan Flanagan died Friday afternoon.

I got nothing else.

Sorry.

2006-05-30T16:16:00.000-04:00

I was all set to write a cute and funny blog entry today about how we all got a bit crisped at the pool this weekend, but then I found out that a member of my church, a young man with a wife and baby girl, had emergency open heart surgery, and he's not doing well.

So, I'm sure you'll understand that I don't feel cute and funny at the moment. I'm mostly worried about this young man and his wife--dear God, I cannot imagine what she is going through right now. And I am praying, because that is the only thing that I can do at the moment. And even though I know it is the most powerful thing I can do, it still feels so very inadequate.

All right, all right.

2006-05-23T14:28:00.000-04:00

Since y'all are so curious, I'll give you two more words, but I'm telling you, you're going to be sorry you asked.

Poop.

Fingerpaint.

See? You're sorry, aren't you? I know I am.

Two words.

2006-05-23T08:23:00.000-04:00

Owen.

ThankGodIhaveasteamcleaner.

Two movies! No, scratch that...

2006-05-22T08:11:00.000-04:00

A movie and a half.

Andy and I went to see "Over the Hedge" on Saturday. Cute movie, appropriate for little kids. No real scariness, little or no potty humor (I can't recall any at the moment), and while there is some adult humor, it all went right over Andy's head. One thumbs up from me.

Last night, Chuck and I attempted to watch "Finding Neverland." Oh my, how I love Miramax pictures. Films that actually, say, develop characters and allow moments to linger when a half-second jump cut would suffice in any other production. Beautiful costuming, beautiful acting, beautiful dialogue. Le sigh.

Which is why it was all the more disconcerting when the DVD just STOPPED smack in the middle of the whole shebang. Movieus Interuptus. No. Fun. Our attempts at resuscitation failed, so the disc will go back to Netflix for a replacement, and Kate Winslet's "chest cold" and Johnny Depp's failing marriage (with a lovely Liverpudlian accent) will have to wait for another day.

Finally!

2006-05-18T08:48:00.000-04:00

Someone who agrees with me that Dan Brown
couldn't write his way out of a paper bag.

The linked article is actually about a bit of plagiarism, not the extreme awfulness of Brown's prose. Scroll down to the bottom for links to that stuff.

And, I would like to add my name to list of those who have not read "The Da Vinci Code."

My mother's day presents.

2006-05-15T13:21:00.000-04:00

I had a completely, absolutely lovely mother's day. These were my presents:

(1) An orchid corsage as I walked into church.

(2) Watching Owen wordlessly show his precious lovey, Lion, to a little girl in church. That probably doesn't seem like much to any of you, but for Owen to reach out to another person he does not know? Huge. Completely huge.

(3) A two-hour nap.

(4) A Curious George doll on my bedroom floor. Before his bedtime, Andy and I were playing "hospital" with George, who (I was told) had a boo-boo on his chest. And Andy told me that George wanted to sleep in my room, so I had to be sure to remember to bring him upstairs at my bedtime. I said, "mm-hmm" and immediately forgot about it. But when I came to bed (close to midnight, but that's what I get for taking a two-hour nap), there was George, propped up on Andy's favorite pillow and wrapped in Andy's beloved Bubby--the blankie he totes everywhere, the blankie that he won't let me patch because I only have time to do it at night, and he can't sleep without it. That Bubby. It made George feel better to have Bubby, so Andy did without.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm really not much of a mom. Sometimes, it seems like I am a monumental failure to the institution of motherhood, and I wonder if I should just cut my kids' losses and give them to someone who will do a better job. Last weekend was one of those weekends--completely horrible from start to finish, and I cried myself to sleep Sunday night, thinking of how badly I was failing my kids.

But I did a lot of thinking last week, and I think that maybe, just maybe, I've finally gotten a few basics through my head. Basics like, Andy and Owen don't care if I'm skinny or fat. They don't care if I'm hip or funky or clever (none of which I am, incidentally). They care about whether I am smiling when I pick them up from school. They care about whether I am there for snuggles, or for baseball practice, or at the school play. They don't care that our house doesn't look like something out of Southern Living; they just care that Mommy and Daddy are both there, with them, in it. In short, all that matters to them is that I love them.

And from these basics, I have arrived at the advanced conclusion: All that matters to me is that I love them.

Except for, you know, practically everything

2006-05-10T11:23:00.000-04:00

An actual conversation in the parking lot at Owen's school:

Person #1: Well, would you look at that.

Me, attempting to follow his gaze: What?

P#1: There, on the bank building.

Me (looking for something remarkable--flames, lights, anything--seeing nothing): What?

P#1: On the side. Look at that!

Me: The window washers?

P#1: Yeah. Isn't that something?

Person #2: New York City's got nothin' on us.

Going, going ...

2006-05-09T08:07:00.000-04:00

We got Andy a two-wheel bike (with training wheels, natch) last year. He didn't ride it much last summer. It was still a bit big for him, and it's a pretty heavy bike, which made it hard for him to get up the moderate hills in our neighborhood.

And going down the hills? Pretty much scared the crap out of him. Going down even the mildest of hills was totally crazy making (for me, anyway): goSTOP! gooSTOP! goooSTOP! goSTOP! goSTOP! goooSTOP! Like that. Little old ladies in walkers cackled at us as they flew by. (You think I'm kidding.)

This year is a different story. Andy is taller (I'm a completely lame mom without a height chart, so I have no idea how much taller) and stronger. Going up hills can be a challenge, but he can handle most of them.

Going down hills? He's become a completely fearless speed-demon. On Saturday, as he biked around the neighborhood with me walking along ~~beside~~ behind him, we got to a long, straight, moderate slope. Without so much as a "see ya, Mommy" he was off, speeding down the hill with only an occasional tap on the brakes to control acceleration. He totally left me in the dust.

I was at once proud and wistful. Proud because Andy, who tends to be rather fearful, is becoming so much more brave and self-confident. Wistful because I know I have to let him go out into the world on his own one of these days.

On Saturday, he was waiting for me at the bottom of the hill with a huge grin on his face. I hope that part never changes.

That is sooooo 2005.

2006-05-05T09:50:00.000-04:00

Since the boys are still too young to know any better, I still cut their hair myself. This happens about every six to ten weeks. The routine usually goes something like this: about 5 weeks after the last haircut, I notice that the boys are getting a bit shaggy. Over the ensuing weeks, Chuck and I have series of conversations like this:

"We need to give the boys a haircut."

"Yeah, we do. But not tonight. We're tired/they're tired/there's a game on/Mercury is in retrograde."

"Yup."

"Maybe this weekend."

"Sounds good."

Eventually we get around to it, and the cycle begins again.

The thing is, Andy starts *asking* for a haircut at about week 3. It's not that he's so fastidious about his hair--haircuts mean a bath in Mommy's tub, which is big enough for two boys, bubbles, toys, and a lot of splashing. Mommy's tub is da bomb.

So Andy started asking for a haircut last week, and I started putting him off. Yesterday morning before school, he took matters into his own hands:

I should note that every female adult person who saw Andy yesterday (me, his teachers, the moms at karate, etc.) noticed this as soon as Andy was within five feet. The male person who is in charge of getting Andy to school, and who presumably was in close contact with him for at least a portion of the morning *after* this occurred? Not so much. But I digress.

Obviously, the solution to this was a haircut (a glass of wine would have been nice, too, but I'm dieting, remember?). On any ordinary kid (say, his little brother), a 1/4" trim would have been sufficient to minimize the appearance of the bald spot while not making him look like a Marine recruit. Andy, however, has an incredibly thick head of hair. So, out came the 1/8" trimmer. And now we have this:

It's so kind of my child to provide me with blog fodder. I just wish he wouldn't repeat himself.

Hey, Mr. DJ!

2006-05-03T13:19:00.000-04:00

I am in need of a musical interlude.

You know what a musical interlude is, right? It's the bit in the movie where our hapless protagonist fixes his car with the help of the cute French girl, or learns to dance with the help of the hip city guy, or studies really hard, or generally goes from ugly duckling to swan.

I ~~need~~ want to lose about 15 pounds, and amazingly enough, it's not coming off when I just sit around thinking about how nice it would be to be a size 8/10 again instead of a size 12/14. I'm willing to do the necessary work--I joined weight watchers, remember?--but I'd really prefer to have it take about 3 minutes while a peppy song is playing.

Failing that, I am declaring May as my personal "musical interlude" month, during which I plan to (literally) work my ass off. There will be exercise, there will be limited quantities of judiciously selected food, there will be gallons and gallons and gallons of Crystal Lite. And at the end of it, with any luck, there will be less of me.

As of Monday, I was at 156. We'll see where I am on May 31.

Cue the music ....

Irony, thy name is Owen.

2006-04-29T15:18:00.000-04:00

We knew something was up as soon as we pulled into the Publix parking lot. There was Maggie the Mayfield Dairy Cow in all of her fiberglass glory, 15 feet high and taking up several parking spaces.

They were having some kind of event (we never did figure out whether there was a unifying theme), part of which involved the presence of the Cat in the Hat--or, more accurately, a guy dressed in a CITH suit that had seen better days.

Andy didn't freak out, but neither was he interested in making a close inspection. Owen tried to crawl back into my womb. After I convinced him he wouldn't fit, he spent most of the rest of the (mercifully brief) shopping trip huddled in the bottom of the shopping cart, evidently on the theory that if he couldn't see it, it couldn't see him.

So we get home and go on with our day. A few minutes ago, I popped my head into Andy's room to see what Owen was up to in there. He was reading The Cat in the Hat.

I is for Iced Tea.

2006-04-28T14:18:00.000-04:00

I have an entire post about iced tea, but in the interest of directing some traffic over to my new food blog, I thought I should post it there.

Tadaaa! I actually finished something!

2006-04-27T08:31:00.000-04:00

Two somethings, actually--a couple of hats for the Dulaan Project.

Something Number One:

A simple little hat, knit in the round with Lion Brand Wool. I loved the colors (the picture shows them pretty well) and the way that they sort of spiral up the hat (which the picture does not show so well). The yarn is very nice--better than I usually expect from Lion Brand. Springy and soft, not at all splitty. Also, great yardage in the skein--I have a ton left over after knitting this hat.

Something Number Two:

An even simpler hat, knit in Paton's Classic 100% merino. I knit the body flat, then seamed up the back and grafted the top with pink yarn to add some color. Then there are the tassels (obviously) and the band of single crochet at the bottom, which kind of messes with the ribbing but not enough to make a difference in how the hat fits.

I'm also plugging away on the baby blanket. I'm not bothering to take pictures because (a) it's not much to look at on the needles, and (b) I'm thisclose to being done, and I'd rather just take pictures when it's all finished and pretty.

In other knitting news, I met up with some fellow knitters last night at the brand new humongous Barnes & Noble. We had a great time, and I look forward to getting together with these ladies again.

Episode #56***

2006-04-25T07:51:00.000-04:00

In which our heroine discovers that her seemingly mild-mannered husband is really ...

... the infamous and reviled Voleur de Chocolat!

When she confronts him, he becomes desperate and distracts her with a new car:

With a trunk capacity of two boys and a backpack.

Naturally, our heroine forgives the scoundrel, because gasoline costs more than chocolate these days and her new car gets wicked good gas mileage.

***My apologies, everyone. I keep exceeding bandwidth from Geocities. I shall be jumping ship shortly to a place that provides a little bit more. Suggestions are welcome.

I feel so ... unsatisfied.

2006-04-20T08:57:00.000-04:00

I should have known it was a mistake to use the word "consummate" in the same sentence as "car purchase" in yesterday's entry. Using that word always makes me feel a little bit naughty, given (a) its usual use in the context of romantic relationships, and (b) the fact that I have a puritanical streak a mile wide, despite my repeated and vigorous attempts to stamp it out.

So anyway, the car dealer woman promised me the car would be at the dealership, ready for me, on Wednesday (that would be yesterday). My plan was to go to work in the morning, pick Owen up from school at 10:45, and head home until Chuck got off work at 12:00, where upon he and Owen would drive me to the dealership and I would drive back to work in my spiffy new car.

That is not what happened. What actually happened was that I spent two hours trying to get hold of the saleswoman, and when I finally did she brushed me off and told me she'd get back to me in an hour. (N.B. to salespersons: do not give a customer your cell phone number and then get huffy when you are called on it. It pisses me people off.)

When she finally did call me back, the story was that the car was not quite in the port in Jacksonville (strange ... last week she told me it was coming from Atlanta) but that--and seriously, I am quoting here--"I can definitely tell you that it will probably maybe be here on Monday, the 24th."

Probably maybe? Seriously? And she used the phrase at least three times, which leads me to believe (a) she actually thinks it means something, or (b) she's being, shall we say, less than forthright about the location of my car. Hmmmmm.

In any event, I am still schlepping around in the Honda, and definitely will be until probably maybe sometime next week.

H is for half-assed

2006-04-19T08:30:00.000-04:00

Edit, circa 4:00 pm: My deepest apologies, dear readers. Geocities has decided that I am exceeding my data transfer limit and is denying hosting access. Hence, no pictures. Anyone who has any idea what I can do about this, please comment or email me.

It occurred to me the other day that I have a tendency to be rather slap-dash. Preparation and planning mean not doing, and when I decide I want to do something, I generally want to do it right that very second, not after I have researched and planned and organized and purchased, etc. etc. etc.

There are exceptions to this, of course--the car purchase I plan to consummate today (yay!) was quite exhaustively researched and planned. But then again, the exception proves the rule, right?

All of this is by way of introducing my garden, which is undeniably half-assed:

The tall set of poles to the left is for my green beans--nice, sturdy, appropriate. See the short white set in the middle? Those are for my peas (which are only supposed to be 18" tall, incidentally). Wanna know what the poles are? They're the stick-things that you use on miniblinds to turn the louvers. We were out of actual garden supports, and I didn't feel like running to Lowe's before planting my peas, so there you go. Half-assed pea supports.

The "layout" of the garden is similarly haphazard. Some degree of thought went into the placement of tomatoes, peas, and greenbeans, but when it came to the cucumbers and watermelons, I just made mounds of soil where there seemed to be enough space. We'll find out eventually if I was right.

For the record, this year we are growing: Tomatoes (Roma and Beefsteak), green beans (pole type), jalapenos, banana peppers, cucumbers, watermelon (sugar baby), radishes, and peas. There is garlic in the garden, but that was a winter crop and should be ready to harvest soon.

I also have some herbs growing (H is also for Herbs): Parsley, which I always have going (seriously, if you grow nothing else for yourself, grow some flat-leaf parsley); Basil (which I always grow and never use, go figure), Cilantro (which I invariably kill); and some perennial herbs, namely, lemon thyme, tarragon, and rosemary.

What? What's that, you say? You're here looking for crafting content? My bad. There is precious little knitting going on, and what knitting is happening is devoted almost exclusively to the pinwheel baby blanket that would not end. I've reached the black-hole stage--I keep going around and around, but somehow the darn thing does not grow. With any luck, though, I'll make some progress between services at church this week (it's Holy Week for me).

I'm also jonesing to do some stitching, but I never seem to have a decent-sized block of time to sit down with needle and thread. Gonna have to work on that.

The Internet Rocks.

2006-04-10T16:34:00.000-04:00

Wanna know what I'm doing right now? Other than blogging, I mean. I am--get this--negotiating the price of a new car. Via email. How cool is that? Rather than driving from dealership to dealership, I sent out emails to the four closest Toyota dealerships asking for their best price on a 2006 Matrix. When I get all the responses, I'll shop around the lowest price to see if I can do better. Then I will buy it, with the aid of a loan I *also* got over the Internet, all without leaving my desk and/or dealing with a pushy salesperson.

All in all, not bad compensation for dealing with the kids during spring break.

And there's a new Knitty. I'm totally making this, and these, and possibly this. If I can figure out where to get the listed yarn, I might knit this. I'm told the "Circulo Anne" called for in the pattern is actually #3 crochet cotton, but I'll be damned if I can find anything resembling (a) the colors or (b) the yardage she identifies in the types of #3 cotton I can find online. I'll need to ponder that some.

Amen to that, Sister!

2006-04-04T15:53:00.000-04:00

Andy got sent home from school yesterday for having a sty on his eye. A STY, people. But it was a draining sty, and Dr. Spock says those have bacteria in them, which makes them contagious, which means the kid has to go home.

Well, not directly home. First to my current-fave second hand store (the fact that I love it and have a frequent shopper card means it's doomed, unfortunately), then to my office, then to an unnamed big-box toy store for essential supplies (play-doh, sidewalk chalk, and water pistols), then to the ice cream stand, and THEN home. Then Allison the uber-sitter came and rescued me from my children so that I could ~~shop online for a new car~~ get some work done.

In the midst of all that, my latest order from Amazon came: The Yarn Harlot's latest book and the first book from co-bloggers extraordinaire Ann and Kay.

Reading Stephanie's book is a lot like reading her blog, except better because it doesn't cause eye strain. I was particularly taken by the following statement: "Knitting and yarn appeal to the senses. A project in the works smells good, feels good, looks good. Never feel bad about wanting it hanging around. Knitting is too beautiful to be clutter. A half-finished shawl left on the coffee table isn't a mess, it's an objet d'art."

Check it--I'm not a slob, I'm a brilliant home-decorator! Somebody call Southern Living!

(In my defense, not all of that up there is yarn. The storage container is Tinker Toys. The ziplock bag is a cross-stitch project, which is so completely different. Right?)

(Extra points if you can correctly identify one or more of the knitting/needlework books in the picture. There are four.)

Where am I going?

2006-03-31T15:46:00.000-05:00

And what's with this handbasket I'm in?

Ah, yes, dear readers, I am back. Sorry for the hiatus--I had just managed to jerry-rig a solution to the Owen-kicked-out-of-daycare thing when Andy came down with this ick that's been going around and caused several days of non-stop chaos. (This happened, of course, two days after I started Weight Watchers. Because nothing tests your resolve to lose weight like spending three days with your kids and one of them is sick, and the other one is how he usually is, and you have work to do. I would say that I utterly failed to rise to the challenge (it sure felt like it at the time), but I managed to lose two pounds. So there.)

Life is still rather insane. My solution to the daycare problem, since there is currently no worthwhile full-time care available in Greenville, is a college student who is absolutely fabulous. Seriously, I was on the phone with her, trying to inform her of Owen's unique behavioral profile without sending her screaming for the hills, and she told me that her mom runs a school for special needs kids, where she has worked every summer for most of her life, so it's no biggie. Can you say "Godsend?" I knew you could.

The only hitch is that she's in class until 2 most days, so I've got a big gaping hole in the middle of my workday between picking Owen up at preschool (10:45) and her coming to my rescue (2:15). You'd think I'd like taking a long lunch every day, but really it's not so hot. I love spending the time with Owen, but work is a tad busy right now, and I need the two hours I'm losing.

Plus, the one hour that *was* my lunch hour is gone, so no more lunchtime running for me. Which means that the only time I have to exercise is after the kids go to bed. That, of course, used to be my knitting time. But alas, weight loss takes priority right now--the pool opens in 8 weeks.

I have been knitting a bit here and there, and there is some stuff to show you, but there hasn't been much time to take photos, transfer them to the computer, get them to my webspace, and then blog about them. Now that things have settled into something resembling a routine (let's not kid ourselves by calling it "normalcy"), hopefully my blogging will resume its ~~erratic~~ usual schedule.

Yeah, I'm here.

2006-03-23T07:24:00.000-05:00

It's been a busy week. Owen got expelled (as in, "Here's your stuff, it's been nice knowing you") from daycare on Monday for kicking teachers and kids. We're scrambling for a solution, but since there are no spaces available at any daycare I'm willing to put Owen in, it looks like we'll have a college student come in an babysit him for a few hours a week. Not ideal, but it should keep me from getting fired.

There are actually amusing aspects to all of this, and knitting is involved, but I don't have time right now to tell y'all all of it. Maybe in a day or two.

Friday update

2006-03-17T12:45:00.000-05:00

I was going to title this blog entry "Friday Randomness" because I plan to talk about two unrelated things--my knitting and Chuck's employment--when I realized that these are precisely the same unrelated things I blogged about on Wednesday. So, instead it's an update.

As for the employment thing, Chuck is employed. He'll be working part time for a law firm that does plaintiff's work in employment discrimination and employee benefits. Let's all give him a big "Way to Go!", shall we?

And as for the knitting... Well, if I'd cast on for the second sock, that would be an update. But I didn't, despite almost overwhelming temptation. Instead, I did some Dulaan knitting. Here ya go, bad pics and all...

That's Thomas the Tank Engine, wearing a jaunty red scarf I made out of Plymouth Encore. Maybe it was just the needles I was using (Bryspuns, for the very pointy tips with which to do cables), but I detested making this thing. The yarn was *very* squeaky. Ugh. And I have several more balls of it, in that same cherry red color. If you want it, let me know--I'll be happy to send it to you.

Here is another blurry picture (why yes, I did have a largish glass of wine last night after the kids went to bed, why do you ask?) of a had for Dulaan. I perched it on Bosco the cat for visual interest. Bosco is drinking out of the faucet because he only drinks running water, and those self-replenishing water dishes do not fool him. Thank goodness, he is very polite and does not actually lick the faucet. Ugh.

As for the hat, it's made in some kind of Lion Brand something with a fairly decent amount of wool. Love the colors, and I have another 1/2 ball left, so I'll probably do another one of these at some point.

And finally...

That's about 1/4 of this hat. I've done four pattern repeats of the lace but I'm almost out of yarn, so I had to order more. The dye lots probably won't match, but I'll burn that bridge when I get to it.

The weekend looks to be fun. After a massive round of housecleaning tomorrow, at least Andy and I are going to an Indian (as in India) cultural fair. I've had samosas and nan on the brain all week. Then Chuck and I have a babysitter so we can go to our favorite dead beast restaurant (yes, I know it's Lent, but they gave me a coupon for my birthday. I'll have fish, I promise.) Then church on Sunday and hopefully some gardening.

Have a good weekend, everyone!

E is for ...

2006-03-15T08:29:00.000-05:00

Endurance.

My mom once told me that I was the most disciplined person she knew. She must not know very many people, because in my own view I am seriously lacking in the stick-to-it department.

Running is a prime example. I like running. It's good exercise, it gets me outside, it gives me time to think or to listen to NPR. Why then, can I not stick with a regular running routine for more than a month at a time? Yeah, I'm busy. Sure, there are times when it is simply not possible to get out of the office at lunchtime for a run. But one busy week should not result in two months of slacking, which is usually what happens. Anyway, I'm going to work on that.

E is also for "Employment." It looks like Chuck, who has been a stay-at-home dad for nearly three years, will be rejoining the ranks of the employed in the near future. Nothing is certain yet, and I certainly don't want to jinx his chances, so we'll leave it that we're cautiously optimistic. His mom told him that going back to work would be like getting out of prison, and I have to agree. Both kids are in school full time, which has left Chuck with a lot of time on his hands, and he's been quite miserable. Going back to work will be very, very good for him.

In knitting news, I present to you....

My first sock. Looks nice, doesn't it? Too bad it's a piece of crap. The needles I used were at least one size too big, the foot is too short (the picture doesn't show that the heel turn is located not at my heel, but about at the beginning of my arch), and the kitchener bind-off is, to put it kindly, a bit wonky.

Regardless of these failings, and the near-total unwearability of this specimen, I am quite please with myself. I learned a lot from this sock, and I plan to make another in the no-too-distant future. I'll probably make another from this yarn (Lion Brand sock yarn), with smaller needles, just to see the difference. Heck, I may even do a gauge swatch (but probably not).

Incidentally, one of the things I learned is that slip-slip-knit pisses me off. I don't know why. It's not that I can't do it, I completely can. I just have an irrational, sui generis hatred of the technique. It may have something to do with the fact that I cannot tell the difference between a SSK and a K2Tog through back loops, which I far prefer and which I intend to use henceforth unless and until someone explains to me why I should do what the pattern tells me to do.

Julie, Julia, and Kirsten

2006-03-13T14:33:00.000-05:00

I've been reading Julie & Julia, which is by a woman (the Julie of the title) who freaked out upon during 29 (wimp) and took it upon herself to cook every recipe in Mastering the Art of Frech Cooking, Vol. I, by Julia Child (the Julia of the title).

There a couple of things I really like about this book--the cooking, the Julia Child bits, Julie Powell's adoration of David Strathairn. There are many things I really don't like, particularly the author's apparent inability to (a) get through a single day without a major histrionic meltdown; (b) form a sentence that doesn't inlcude the word "fuck" or some variation thereof; (c) mention a republican or government wonk without adding a knee-jerk insult. I find all of these things rather tiresome, really.

All of which is to say that the book is a so-so read. I am feeling rather inspired to be a little more adventurous in my cooking, although I don't think I'll be serving brains anytime soon, and I'm not going to ask Chuck's mom for her bone-marrow soup recipe. (I seriously thought he was joking when he told me about that, when I mentioned the bone marrow episode from the book. But no, he was apparently serious. Gah.) But frankly, I find Julie to be a bit annoying. The meltdown thing really gets to me. I mean, we all have our moments--God knows I do (check in with me on any given Sunday evening about 7:45, when I am trying to get Owen into bed after dealing with him all weekend). But when, on any given night, the *absence* of a snit is a more memorable occasion than the *presence* of one, there are self-control or biochemical issues that need to be explored in a doctor's office, not in the pages of a memoir about cooking. And particularly not in a memoir involving Julia Child's cooking. I suspect that Julia would have little patience with Julie's snit fits, no matter how difficult or disgusting the recipe.

That disconnect, and the fact that it appears that Julie is not ultimately going to pick up on it, makes the book a rather disappointing read.

Happy birthday to me...

2006-03-07T14:04:00.000-05:00

My 37th birthday was yesterday, and it was quite fabulous. Really, the whole weekend was great.

Friday, my friend Marla came over for dinner. She and Chuck and I had a nice time, when Owen wasn't totally flirting with her, which he did during most of the evening. We had birthday cake for dessert.

Saturday, I got out in my garden and took a few good whacks at some really ugly bushes that have been bothering me for ages. Said bushes are now mere stumps in the ground, to be removed by Chuck and replaced by a forsythia or two and some nice ground covers. I had a nice long walk with my friend Ellie. Then Chuck and I went out for a yummy dinner and a nice browse, after which we came home and had more cake.

Sunday, looong church day, then playing with the kids and chatting with the neighbors. There was some brief grumpiness on my part (seriously, why do boys always want to play games that involve throwing things at my head? I don't get it.) but it resolved by dinner time. And there was more cake.

Monday, day off. Since I spend Mondays with TW, I stitched on "Above the Clouds" most of the day. It went something like this:

At 10:00 a.m. Chuck walked into bedroom and says, "I thought you said you weren't going to sleep all day." I got up, showered, and drank tea and stitched until noon. We went to lunch at my favorite Thai place, then did a little grocery shopping. I stitched again until about 2:00, when we nipped out to Barnes & Noble for a book I had promised Andy, and a Frappuccino I had promised myself. Then home for more stitching, interrupted only by a phone call from my friend Kelly. Feed/bathe/bed children, stitch more, with a glass of wine. Go to bed.

That, my friends, is a mental health day. I needed it desperately, and it did the trick. I am so renewed and refreshed that when I had a dream this morning about my boss telling me to get my a$$ to work, I actually laughed about it.

D is for Discipline

2006-03-02T08:26:00.000-05:00

As in, Lenten discipline. Lent is fast approaching (well, it's here for most, just not for me--not until Monday), and I've been thinking about how to spend this period of fasting, prayer, and almsgiving. And while I was thinking about it, I found this:

(Annie is not confident of her button-making skills, but I think it's lovely.)

And since it was an idea I had already been toying with, I decided to plunge in--during Lent and Holy Week, I will knit for others. Specifically, I will knit for cold kids in Mongolia, through the Dulaan Project (D is also for Dulaan.) I'm aiming mostly for hats and mittens, but I may toss in a vest or sweater for a littlun. You never know.

Other news: I'm over my cold, thank goodness, and I plan to ask for Monday off. Not sure if I'll go to Asheville, though. Current weather reports are for very cold and potentially icy, which is not something I want to drive in, much less walk around in.

Update on my Mom: She has finished with chemo, and they're giving her a couple of weeks to get her strength back before starting six weeks of radiation. She is impressively upbeat, although very, very tired. If all goes according to plan, my parents will be able to visit for Andy's birthday in July, which would be a wonderful gift for all of us.

And God said, "Ha!"

2006-02-28T15:01:00.000-05:00

First, the good stuff:

My gold medal. Yay, me.

And now to explain the title of this post, which I totally stole from Julia Sweeney. Somewhere around 2:30 yesterday afternoon, things were going pretty well. My cases for the next court term aren't too bad, and I'm decently caught up with other stuff. So much so that I was thinking maybe, just possibly, I could ask for next Monday (my birthday) off. And then one of my coworkers mentioned that she had been in Asheville, NC the previous weekend and had noticed that there were scads of knitting shops. I completely love Asheville, but I haven't gotten to spend much time there since the kids were born. So this thought started blooming in my head... Maybe I could take the day off and spend it in Asheville, browsing around Earth Guild and other fabulous shops, having a yummy Lenten lunch at Laughing Seed Cafe, and generally not being on anybody's else's schedule for a few hours.

Like I said, I had these thoughts around 2:30. By 3:30, no lie, I had a sore throat. By 9:00 I was ready to crawl into bed, where I stayed until noon today. Loss of half a day of work (and the essentially useless half-day I'm putting in now) comes pretty close to precluding taking a day off on Monday. This is just so wrong.

Goooooooooold!

2006-02-27T13:00:00.000-05:00

Et voila--Branching Out, in all its glory:

Finished it Thursday night, blocked it Friday, wore it this morning. I am very pleased with how it turned out. The pattern was quite easy to follow, and the yarn (KnitPicks Merino Style, in Hollyberry) was very nice to work with.

And, even though I have a ton of other things I *should* be working on, I was unable to resist the lure of sock knitting:

If the needles seem huge, it's because they are, in sock terms, anyway. They're size 3s, which is what is recommended for the Lion Brand "Magic Stripes" sock yarn. I'm crawling before I walk. Sue me. (No, don't really--I'm totally broke and it's really not worth the trouble.)

Hanging up on the call of duty.

2006-02-23T14:50:00.000-05:00

So.

I have this dilemma. There's this Olympic knitting thing--I have until Sunday evening to knit 8 more pattern repeats and three rows of garter stitch, then block, the scarf. In other words, I stand a substantial chance of victory in the Knitting Olympics.

But. (There's always a "but.")

I have work to do. A lot of work. While I'm working on the ~~never-ending~~ speech ~~from Hell~~, there has been a pile of other stuff building up on the upper right corner of my desk, which is where I put stuff that I need to get to but don't have time for. Most of the projects there are ideal for out-of-office down time, like, say, during Andy's karate class or after the kids go to bed.

But.

That's also my knitting time. And while I'm ordinarily willing to give up knitting or stitching time for work when the need arises, this is not ordinary knitting, it's Olympic knitting. And let me tell you, the thought of finishing a project at a time when I can still remember starting it? That's pretty darn tempting, and it would never have happened were it not for the insanity called the Knitting Olympics. (Incidentally, did you know that there are people who are *done* with their Olympic knitting? Yes, Judy, I'm talking about you. That's just not right, girl.)

So.

I'm thinking I'll be knitting tonight. I'm thinking the pile of projects will stay where they are for another day or two while I reach for Olympic glory. I'm thinking that I will probably regret this come Monday morning, almost as much as I will regret staying up until 11:30 tonight to watch the ~~Ladies'~~ Women's free skate. I'll probably regret it more than that snowboarder regrets showboating and ending up with a silver medal. But a little bit o' gold can compensate for a lot of regret, don't you think?

Stress Fracture

2006-02-21T08:15:00.000-05:00

(or, "Why I Think Bode Miller Is a Total Wuss")

So, it amuses me to no end that NBC and various big corporations ahem-NIKE-ahem annointed Bode Miller the God of the Winter Olympics back in like, July, and now he's totally stinking up the mountain. Serves them right, I say. I'm willing to give NBC credit for a generally better job at covering a broader range of athletes this time around (as in, non-Americans and those who have no hope of a medal in a particular event), but that doesn't mean I can't give them crap for the Bode Miller thing.

I saw a headline in which Bode Miller complained about the "inhuman pressure" that he's under to ski well. To which I say: blah, blah blah. Dude, *you* signed the endorsement deal and did the interviews. If you can't handle the heat, stay out of the kitchen. And furthermore, pressure? For crying out loud, you "work" for two minutes a day, and fans aren't even allowed on the slopes during competition. And you have your spiffy little trailer to hide in between events.

All of this is by way of saying that I don't think Bode Miller would last five minutes in my life. "Inhuman pressure" is having 90 hours of work to do and only 40 hours to do it in, and never knowing when something new is going to come up and add to the workload. And a boss breathing down your neck, and colleagues who can't figure out how to press "start" on the stupid fax machine when something is stored in memory. "Inhuman pressure" is living with a three-year-old who is liable to explosions of screeching at the drop of a hat, who makes you live with constant sleep deprivation because spending the night snuggling him on the couch is the only way *anybody* is going to get any sleep. "Inhuman pressure" is worrying about your husband who is so miserable that breathing is a serious effort, and being totally unable to help him. "Inhuman pressure" is not being able to change any of these things or escape to a spiffy little trailer when it all gets to be too much. "Inhuman pressure" is wondering if this is finally the day that you're going to have a nervous breakdown, and thinking what a relief that would be because then maybe you'd get a break, but knowing that a nervous breakdown is not one of your options.

Let's see Bode navigate *that* for a day or two. "Inhuman pressure," my ass.

Edit, circa 4:00: Having cranked out 10+ pages of speech today, I am not so stressed out about work right now. Getting the speech going, plus a warm sunny day here in South Carolina, has been enough to walk me back from the edge for the time being. And I have every intention of parking my butt on the sofa and knitting tonight while I watch the ~~ladies'~~ women's short program. But I still think Bode Miller is a wuss.

zzzzzzzz snerk "wha-huh?" glub, glub.

2006-02-17T12:24:00.000-05:00

Owen has put Chuck and I through two nights of insomnia.* He sleeps for a while, then wakes up and wanders aimlessly around the house (periodically climbing onto, then off of, the nearest lap) until he collapses on the floor. He repeats this process every couple of hours. Sometimes he seems awake, sometimes he seems like he might be sleep walking. Not even a substantial dose of Benadryl (w/doctor's approval) kept him down last night. He just stumbled more.

The doctor ascribes all of this to allergies. She cleaned an alarming amount of junk out of his ears, gave him some Zyrtec chewables and nasal spray, and sent him (and us) on his way. If that doesn't work, guess who's house we're dropping him off at tomorrow night?

When at last I dragged into work this morning, all hell was breaking loose. I am drowning in an ocean of work, and someone keeps dumping more water in. You know the "Sorcerer's Apprentice" scene from Fantasia? I am Mickey, and the Sorcerer ain't coming back anytime soon.

All of this is by way of saying that I am likely to be scarce, or at least entirely uninteresting, for the next week or so. I've made it halfway through my Olympic knitting project, but it's looking like I may have to pull a Kwan.

*Those who are paying attention will note in that sentence a distinct lack of sympathy for Owen's plight. This is because Owen does not have a plight. He is three; when he gets sleepy, he sleeps. He does not have a job or a five year old or a household to run. He may not like being awake during the middle of the night (although the play-doh fest at 4:00 a.m. indicates to the contrary), but there are no lingering consequences. This is not the case for Chuck and me. Owen may be the one with the insomnia, but we are the ones suffering from it.

Medic!

2006-02-15T13:08:00.000-05:00

Over the last 4-5 days, every member of the Small household has gone through a 12-hour stomach bug. Owen's over it. Andy's over it. Chuck got over it without even throwing up. Me? Still feeling kinda crappy. Because, you know, I'm the one with a boss breathing down my neck about a gazillion things and Olympic knitting haunting my dreams. So it figures.

Speaking of Olympics knitting, I hereby send my apologies to Robert Palmer:

I might as well face it, I'm addicted to lace.

Seriously, this is so fun (except for the parts when I am painstakingly undoing stitches and swearing under my breath). I get a little rush every time I knit three together and make a leaf. Who knew that lace could be so fun? I must.knit.more. I'm thinking there is a Pi shawl in my future.

Even better, I think I am on pace to finish it by the end of the Olympics. I figured I need to do two pattern repeats a night to get it done in time; even without knitting two nights in a row, due to feeling yucky, I am almost on that pace (I have eleven repeats less one row; I need to be through 12 by the end of this evening. No sweat.)

In other fantabulous news, Andy has been accepted at Stone Academy, so we've got the First Grade thing figured out. Yay.

Good news, bad news.

2006-02-09T08:24:00.000-05:00

Andy didn't get into the arts academy, but he's #1 on the waiting list, so it's only a matter of time. Our neighbor's daughter got in, which means there is some serious car pool potential (yay!).

I'm all ready for the knitting olympics, and I can't wait to start. I forgot my camera this morning, otherwise there would be photographic proof of my readiness. But trust me, as soon as the kids are in bed on Friday night I'm settling in with Branching Out and a box of Kleenex for when I get all weepy (whether at the pattern or at the Games, you never know).

But in the meantime, there is work. I've got to ~~start~~ finish an opinion and ~~finish~~ start a speech.

Pssst!

2006-02-07T14:14:00.000-05:00

You don't see me. I'm not really here. I'm working, got it? Working. Not blogging. Working. Just in case ~~my boss~~ anyone asks.

Like the button says, I spend Mondays with TW. No stitching happened last night--I was too busy gasping at "Grey's Anatomy" to put needle to fabric, and besides, it's been so long since I worked on this project that I had to totally re-orient myself. So, here is a project pic from when I last worked on it, Lo these many moons ago:

Isn't the fabric cool? It's a Silkweaver solo, the name of which I forget. I think it's a great backdrop for a dragon guarding a castle on a high peak.

Before I get caught, I'm going to sneak in a finished object:

The scarf was made ages ago, and Andy has been bugging me for a hat in the same yarn ever since. So Friday I grabbed a pair of size 13s, cast on as many stitches as they would hold, and knit a hat in less than an hour. Unfortunately, it's a bit small on his head, but he says he likes it, and that's good enough for me.

Okay, back to the grind. Remember, I was never here, and this post never took place.

Stuff you didn't know about me...

2006-02-06T13:12:00.000-05:00

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Kirsten!

Only twelve people have ever set foot on Kirsten.
On average, women blink nearly twice as much as Kirsten.
It can take Kirsten several days to move just through one tree!
Influenza got its name because people believed the disease was caused by the evil "influence" of Kirsten.
Human beings are the only animals that copulate while facing Kirsten.
A Kirstenometer is used to measure Kirsten.
The military salute is a motion that evolved from medieval times, when knights in armour raised their visors to reveal Kirsten.
While performing her duties as queen, Cleopatra sometimes dressed up as Kirsten.
It takes 17 muscles to smile, and 43 to frown at Kirsten.
The ace of spades in a playing card deck symbolizes Kirsten.

A (silent) poetry reading

2006-02-03T08:09:00.000-05:00

I'm a little late coming to this (what else is new), but Grace's Poppies suggested that whoever feels moved to do so should post a poem on honor of Feb. 2. It is now February 3, but I am still inclined to post a poem. The below was written by Langston Hughes. Forgive the length, but I just couldn't justify cutting it. Hughes' poetry is simple yet powerful, and I find it deeply moving.

"Let America be America Again"

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek--
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean--
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home--
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."

The free?

Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay--
Except the dream that's almost dead today.

O, let America be America again--
The land that never has been yet--
And yet must be--the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME--
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose--
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath--
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain--
All, all the stretch of these great green states--
And make America again!

mmmmkay

2006-02-01T13:47:00.000-05:00

So, there are no pictures in today's posts. Wanna know why? Because the two darling boys pictured below have been ~~incorrigible~~ challenging this week. And because I have so much work right now, and I am so stressed out about it, that all I can do is sit at my desk and think about how implosion or its polar opposite, spontaneous combustion, both sound pretty good right now.

But there is knitting going on, because it's court week and while I'm listening to arguments (live via computer feed, which is so very cool), I can just sit there, or I can sit there and knit. So I'm knitting. And I'll give you a hint: When my scattered brain manages to remember the camera, C will be for cables, baby.

And I just figured out that acceptance letters to the magnet schools Andy applied to will be mailed out next freaking Monday. I hadn't been stressing about schools until that little piece of information came up on my computer screen. Now I'm totally freaking out.

Gah. Someone pass the valium, please.

B is for Boys

2006-01-30T13:06:00.000-05:00

I got two of 'em:

The astute among you will notice that I have actually missed the "B" fortnight, and that I am supposed to be posting a "C is for ..." picture. I'm late because it's taking me ages to figure out what to say about these guys. Seriously, how do I encapsulate in a single blog entry (let alone an entire blog) what it's like to live with these two, and to be (gasp) responsible for turning them into productive citizens?

I am certain, at least, that my neighbor C has no idea. C and her husband have two little girls about the same ages as my boys. I don't know what the girls do during the 1/2 hour immediately preceding bedtime, but I can guess that they are not chasing each other in circles around the house, screaming their heads off (in a happy way, usually) the way my boys are. I know for certain that neither of the girls has broken her arm jumping off the back of the couch. And, I have it on good authority that each of C's daughters has been known to spend several minutes in a row sitting still.

There used to be a time when I would sigh wistfully at little girls all dressed up with bows in their hair. I'm pretty much over that now. I can't imagine having a girl--I wouldn't know what to do with her. My boys are crazy and exhausting (particularly when they are exhausted), but they are wonderful, and they are all mine (well, I kind of share them with Chuck). So there.

In other news, I have escaped Scarf Hell. My mom's scarf is done (again), and this time it is not at all craptastic. And, I have the yarn for the Olympics challenge. And I started my mother-in-law's afghan. Pics of all of this tomorrow.

Memories .... (aka, "Attack of the Memes, Part II")

2006-01-24T13:00:00.000-05:00

Some memes can be fun....

If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, even if we don't speak often (or ever, for that matter), please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL MEMORY OF YOU AND ME.

It can be anything you want--good or bad--BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE.

And now you can consider yourself tagged, so go post this meme on your blog.

Heh.

And the winner is...

2006-01-20T07:55:00.000-05:00

Hollyberry. There was a late surge for Storm (ha, ha, get it?), but Hollyberry won by two votes. I think it will go very nicely with my camel-colored wool coat and with my black trench.

And since I forgot to ask, let's have a show of hands as to how many people think I ought to get a new pair of Bryspun needles for the project? Well, lookee there. It's unanimous! I'll add those to the order, then.

In other news, Andy has an "interview" this morning at the arts magnet school we're trying to get him into. He's already done one of these (at the language magnet school), so I'm not too worried, since we both know pretty much what to expect. I started out really wanting him to go to the language school, but after investigating the arts school (Stone Academy), I think I'd prefer him to go there. It's a fabulous school, and it has many other advantages--it's closer to my office, it has a great after-school program, and our neighbors are (hopefully) sending their daughter there, so we've got an instant car pool. Keep your fingers crossed for us--we'll find out in mid-February where he's going.

Faster. Lacier. Selfisher.

2006-01-17T15:37:00.000-05:00

Anyone who knows me knows that I love the Olympics, despite the fact that NBC can't seem to get it through their thick skull that some of us would maybe like to see an athlete or two from a country other than the United States at *some* point prior to the gold-medal round. And quit with the "up close and personal" segments. And..... wait a sec, I'm getting grumpy again. Never mind.

But anyway, it turns out that the Yarn Harlot gets as schmaltzy about the Olympics as I do, God bless her. And, just like me, she views the fortnight of the Olympics as prime knitting time. So, she has embraced the Olympic Motto (Faster, Higher, Stronger, but in Latin, which makes it cooler because of the whole "dead language" thing. You know.) and has challenged other knitters to complete the 2006 knitting olympics, during which we are supposed to challenge ourselves to knit something hard between the opening and closing ceremonies.

This is just the kind of insanity that I live for. I will be knitting Branching Out, which will be my first attempt at lace involving a pattern of more than two rows. There are multiple challenges invovled here:

(1) Speed. I knit slow, due in part to numerous interruptions during prime knitting hours ("Mommy, will you come snuggle"), and due the the fact that "prime knitting hours" actually consist of about one hour and 45 minutes between putting the kids to bed and when I collapse from exhaustion.
(2) Difficulty. I've done yarn overs and k2togs before, but this is an actual *pattern* that requires me to pay *attention*. There will be many, many lifelines. Like, every row.
(3) Selfishness.I've been knitting less than a year, but I have yet to knit anything for myself. It all goes to other people, and at the moment I am behind on several projects that I owe to others (remember the Scarf Hell thing? I'm still there.). But this one is for memememememe! Until I decide, halfway through the knitting, that someone else really deserves it more than me. So, part of the challenge will be fighting that urge.

Now, here's the reader-participation part. Since y'all were so kind to me during my recent bout of grumpiness (I'm all better now, thanks!), I think you should get to choose the color for my scarf. I'm going to knit it in Merino Style from Knit Picks. Here are the available colors. Whatcha think?

Here's the thing.

2006-01-14T22:36:00.000-05:00

I'm grumpy. Not just cute grumpy--the kind where you can tease me a little bit and I'll start giggling and all will be well. I am the seriously pissed off, kick-you-where-it-hurts-if-you-look-at-me-cross-eyed kind of grumpy. Y0u do not want to mess with me right now.

Here are the reasons why I am grumpy.

(1) Thursday night, as Andy and I were driving home from karate class, we got hit by a car crossing traffic. The driver (who never got off his cell phone, I am told) promptly backed up, drove around my car, and drove away. As in, who gives a crap if you and your kid are bleeding to death (we were not, thank God), we've got places to be. As best we can tell, the tags on the van were stolen, and the drivers, who were hispanic, were probably illegal. Which is, of course, why they took off. And so now my car is messed up, but we won't know how messed up until the insurance guy calls next week. And I have a rental that I'm afraid to drive because I apparently owe them $500 if I even breathe on it wrong. And they'll probably total it out, and I have neither the time nor the money for a new car.

(2) My children. I love my children. Really, I do. But the last few days have been the sort of Mommy Hell I haven't had to endure since Owen was a newborn. Both of them have been yelling for *me* (not Daddy, Daddy will not do) nonstop. The only way to make one of them stop whining is to make the other one cry. Oh, Joy. And then Owen decides that wherever he is, Mommy must at least be in the same room. Mommy may not take a nap. Owen will scream and fuss and make everyone miserable (including Mommy) until Mommy is in the room with him again. Those of you who are out there saying "let him scream" do not know Owen. You wouldn't believe me if I told you, so I won't bother, but trust me when I tell you that once Owen starts screaming, there is no stopping him.

(3) Sunday School. I teach the high school Sunday School class. At their request (keep this in mind, please) we are reading Paul's letter to the Romans. Okay, I know I'm a geek, and I don't really expect them to have the same interest in Paul's very clever rhetorical devices (never mind the substance of the letter) that I do. But I keep hoping for something better than attitudes ranging from indifference to near-outright hostility. Seriously, why am I doing this? So I can spend a substantial amount of time preparing a lesson that will fall on ears that appear to resent my very existence? I literally cried this afternoon at the mere thought of going to church tomorrow. That is seriously messed up.

(4) First Grade. The process of choosing, and getting Andy into, a school is totally stressing me out. We must, of course, make the Right Choice, lest he be Ruined Forever. Should it be language? Should it be arts? Should we just say "screw it" and send him to the school he's zoned for? Anyone? Anyone?

(5) I am fat and I can't make myself stop eating.

(6) I am tired and Owen won't let me sleep. (Yes, I know I have mentioned this already in this list. Trust me--If you were in my shoes, you would mention it twice, too. Because I am that exhausted, and have that little hope for rest anytime before 2021, when Owen goes to college.)

(7) I am still in Scarf Hell. The Fourth Circle of Scarf Hell involves making numerous mistakes on a scarf that, after all, involves only three different freaking stitches--yarn over, k2together, knit. It will never end. I will knit this scarf until I die. Which will probably be soon, because Owen will not let me sleep.

(8) My boss keeps giving me projects that must be done Right Now. It goes like this: He comes to my office to check my progress (in the last five minutes) on Project One. Half an hour later, he comes to my office and gives me Project Two, being sure to mention that this is a high priority. After lunch, he comes to my office and asks about Project Three, and when I tell him I'm working on one of the other projects, looks at me like "WTF is wrong with you?" So I work on Project Three until mid-afternoon, when he either (a) has Project Four for me, or (b) wants to know why Project One isn't done. This cycle will continue until someone else surfaces on his radar screen, an event that could be weeks away.

(9) It's 11:00 pm. The Patriots are losing. I am drunk, or at least substantially tipsy. I have roughly 6 hours (if I'm lucky) before Owen is ready for snuggles, and not much longer before I have to face the sullen teenagers. And after church is the parish meeting, and after that is a birthday party that Andy is going to, and even if we didn't have that it wouldn't matter because I wouldn't get a nap.

(10) All of the men in my life hate my new haircut. I think it's very Annette Benning in "The American President" (find your own damn link), but Andy just thinks its yucky and Chuck only likes it because it looks more like my friend E's. Chuck has the hots for her. As well he should, because she is cute and energetic and thin and all of the things that I am not (including "capable of being a decent mother").

So there you have it. I will probably be my usual, cheerful self in a day or two, but right now I am grumpy. Deal with it.

Attack of the memes....

2006-01-09T13:04:00.000-05:00

There may be a few more memes than usual over the next couple of days. I'm busy. Deal with it.

Before we get to the meme, an update on Scarf Hell. I'm still there--so far I've been knitting with the leftover yarn from the Craptastic Scarf, but soon I'm going to have to rip out the original. I have descended to the third circle of Scarf Hell--the place for those of us who (a) didn't get our Christmas gifts done on time and (b) have had to set them aside for other urgent matters of life, such as not getting fired, hemming karate pants, and planning a superbowl party.

Without further ado, on to the meme...

I found this while blog surfing and thought it looked like fun. And, indeed, it was. Go to Google.com and type in “[your name] needs” and see what you come up with. Then post the ten best.

Number one on my results list (no, I am not kidding): “Kirsten needs to start getting dirty.” Amen to that, sister. Gardening season is just around the corner. Huh? What do you mean that’s not what it meant?

2. “Kirsten needs to shower and wear some makeup!” Fer cryin out loud, make up your minds, people.

3. “Kirsten needs Serious help.” Not just serious help, Serious help. Anybody surprised by that? Didn’t think so.

4. “Kirsten needs to grow up.” Who asked you?

5. “ Kirsten needs warm winter clothing, summer outfits, and lots of pretty outfits for school.” Hint, hint.

6. “Kirsten needs to say SOMETHING to her children.” Nothing new there.

7. “Kirsten needs some chardonnay.” Actually, I’d prefer a nice Pino Gris.

8. “Kirsten needs to learn to use a flash.”

9. “Kirsten needs to put on some weight.” Soooooo not true.

10. “Kirsten needs to do something productive.” Off I go, then.

A is for ...

2006-01-06T12:04:00.000-05:00

And here it is, my first entry in the 2006 ABC Along:

A is for ...

Artichoke.

I've been an artichoke devotee since a tender age. My mom used to cook up whole artichokes and serve them with butter and salt. Heaven on a plate, in other words. Seriously, a whole artichoke is the ultimate in patience rewarded. You get a small bit of yumminess as you scrape the flesh off each leaf (after having dipped it in butter and a bit of salt, of course), but the real prize is the heart, waiting there for you after you've done all the fiddly work of getting to it. (there's a knitting/stitching metaphor in there somewhere, I'm sure of it).

Alas, I haven't had a whole artichoke since the last time my mother cooked one for me, lo these many years ago. Since I got an actual job, married a man who isn't a huge fan of artichokes (gasp!), and had children, artichokes have fallen into the category of Things That Are Too Damn Much Trouble. Many things fall into this category, including most gourmet meals, clothes that require hand washing, and shopping around for the best price on anything that costs less than $50. Other things fall into and out of this category--e.g., making my own pie crust, separating laundry--depending on my mood and the number of ongoing crises, domestic or otherwise. Other things have pretty much always been in this category for me, such as ironing anything that will not be seen by the public at large (underwear, sheets) or cooking beans from dried (it's why God gave us cans and the organic food industry, people).

Don't get me wrong--artichokes are still a major part of my diet. It's just that they come from a can now, and are usually all cut up and cooked for me. It's a compromise I can live with.

Circle One

2006-01-05T11:17:00.000-05:00

I have decided to reknit the craptastic scarf. I am officially in Scarf Hell. Further updates as events warrant.

My ugly avatar...

2006-01-04T10:37:00.000-05:00

As per JenLa's very sneaky tag, here is my shot at an ugly avatar:

I regret to say that I don't think I've reached the true heights (depths?) of ugliness of which I am capable. But I'm on a break at work, and limited on time. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

Scarfapalooza, vol. I

2006-01-03T13:26:00.000-05:00

At long last, here are pictures of some of the scarves I made for various relatives for Christmas. First, here's my brother's:

The yarn is Knit Picks' Wool of the Andes in Fern, Snickerdoodle, and Wheat. The pattern is something I kind of made up on the way. I'm calling it the 3-5-7 Scarf, because the stripes are all multiples of 3, 5, and/or 7. For example, the wide stripes are, respectively, 7, 14, and 21 rows long; the narrow green stripes are 3 rows, and the wider narrow stripes are 5 rows. The big blocks of green are 50 rows. Ain't I clever? I'm quite pleased with how it turned out, even if it did mean weaving in a bajillion ends.

Here's a close-up (and rather blurry) picture of the scarf I knit for my sister-in-law:

The pattern is the Opera Scarf from Blue Sky Alpacas, knit in Knit Picks'
Elegance, in Cornflower. Lovely color, no? This was my first attempt at lace knitting, although I'm not really sure it should count because it was so easy.

My second attempt at lace knitting did not go so well. Behold, the train wreck that is the scarf I knit for my mom:

The picture isn't very good, but toward the top you can see a nice, even rectangle. The bottom 3/4? Not so nice, not so even. One might go so far as to say it's really, really dreadful ("craptastic" was the word that came to mind--repeatedly--yesterday evening).

For ~~better~~ knitters with more time than me, this would not be a problem. Frog it and redo--a few hours' work at the most. Not for me. I knit this thing with two balls of yarn, alternating every second row, so as to avoid flashing and pooling. It took me for-freaking-ever to knit this thing, and I am not anxious to do it again. I am mightily tempted to reknit it with one ball of yarn at a time, and see if I get flashing or pooling, rather than doing the "two balls o'yarn" thing. That would make it a travel project, and would make it much easier to get done.

Any advice or words of consolation would be welcome.

Synergy

2005-12-29T08:36:00.000-05:00

In the immortal words of that guy George Peppard played on "The A-Team," I love it when a plan comes together. (side note about that link--seriously, a shrine? To the A-team? Seriously?) Or, more accurately, I love it when two previously unrelated things turn out to work quite nicely together.

I've decided to have a go at juicing. Health benefits, weight loss, blah blah blah. I won't bore you with my thoughts on the subject of nutritional healing. The problem with me juicing is that I do not have a juicer, and I am certainly not about to shell out big bucks for one until I know this is something I'm going to make a habit of.

So, last night I decided to see what the old Cuisinart could do with a couple of handfuls of baby carrots and an apple. What I ended up with was a mass of juicy pulp, which yielded almost a glass full of juice after I put it into a seive. Quite tasty, and solves my juicer dilemma. Cool.

And then I have this pulp, which is not a problem because I just dumped it into the compost container for later transfer to the compost bin out back. (You never knew I was so earthy-crunchy, did you? I still shave my legs, though.) Then, while the kids ~~ran amuck~~ played, I popped onto the computer to do a little reading about vermicomposting. And it occurred to me, as I formulated my diabolical plan to harness worm power in the service of my garden, that worms would probably love squashed up veggie and fruit pulp. I bet they'd dive right into it. Hmmm.

Synergy. I love it.

Food, glorious food!

2005-12-23T09:14:00.000-05:00

It's two days before Christmas, and we have a truly ridiculous amount of food in our house. In addition to the four kinds of cookies/bars I made yesterday, we received a cookie bouquet
yesterday, and this morning, when we were still in our jammies, a huge box from this fabulous company. Oysters and crab, and shrimp, oh my! And salmon and chocolates and gummi grizzlies and.... you get the idea.

For your reading pleasure, I thought I would share the following: Padilla order. That, my friends, is judicial whup-ass of the highest order. I love it.

In other news, I've been watching the BBC's version of "Pride and Prejudice." I've never been much of a Collin Firth fan, but that was before I saw him brood. Dude is totally hot when he's all moody and stuff. Yum.

I'm off for a couple of days (big shock there, right? I've hardly been *here* lately.) If you celebrate Christmas, may you have a merry one. If you don't, have a great weekend.

Just for the record...

2005-12-19T18:43:00.000-05:00

I really should know better than to read blog comments concerning Christianity, particularly around Christmas time. It just makes me grumpy, and that's hardly the spirit of Christmas, is it?

But see, I was kind of grumpy anyway, what with being cooped up in the house with no power for four days, followed by going into work on the first day of my vacation, and my children being ... how children tend to be during the week before Christmas. So I dove in and read some comments that related to a post on the Yarn Harlot's blog (link in sidebar--in addition to being grumpy, I'm being lazy). Stephanie is spot-on in her comments about the people behind her. My knickers are in a twist about a couple of things I saw in the comments, which are the kinds of things you hear a lot this time of year. So, here I go, untwisting my knickers...

(1) "Jingle Bells" is not a Christmas carol. Yes, you hear it on the radio during the interminable "Christmas season" (beginning in late August these days), but listen to the lyrics some time. Not a single word about Christmas, presents, etc. It's a winter song, not a Christmas song. It is therefore entirely proper (and not a violation of church and state) for sweet little children to sing it during their public school holiday programs. I will stand right there with you if you want to protest "O Little Town of Bethlehem," but you lose me at Jingle Bells.

(2)Early Christians did not "steal" Christmas from the pagans. Seriously, if the early Christians had wanted to take over the pagan celebration of the solstice, don't you think they would have put the feast of the Nativity on the day they were trying to "steal?" Early Christians were many things, but stupid isn't one of them. (Well, some of them probably were. Every culture/group/tradition has its share of dim bulbs.) It's also worth noting that the Christian church (particularly the Orthodox and Catholic traditions) celebrate three births as major feast days: Christ, Mary, and John the Baptist. My point being that the celebration of Christ's nativity is not unique.

It is true that the early church encouraged (in varying degrees) former pagans to keep some of their rituals when they became Christians. That's where modern day Christians end up with evergreen boughs (although Christmas trees were an invention of German Christians, and are not pagan in origin). You will not, for example, find Christmas trees or evergreen boughs in any Orthodox church, or in most Orthodox homes outside the United States and Eastern Europe.

So, I'm really not sure what the problem is here. Pagans still celebrate the Solstice, and more power to them. Pagans who converted to Christianity celebrated Christ's birth instead, incorporating some of their traditions into the Christian celebration. I really don't see the problem, and more importantly, I don't see the theft.

(3) Easter is a pagan holiday. Well, you got me there. In my view, the manner in which Easter is celebrated in most of the world is far more pagan than Christian. Eggs and bunnies in particular, are not Christian, with one minor exception. Orthodox Christians dye eggs red at Pascha (Greek for "passover", a more accurate term for day in question) in commemoration about Mary Magdalene (I think) preaching to some muckety-muck about the resurrection. The contents of some eggs turned to blood in witness to the truth of what she was saying, and to this day eggs are dyed red in commemoration of this.

(4) Christians are oppressed because everyone has to say "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas." Fer cryin' out loud, get a grip. You are not being oppressed. If you want to know what oppression is like (for Christians or any other number of religions), there are several places in this world where you can experience it first-hand. The United States is not one of them (well, not for Christians, any way).

(5) "Here Comes Santa Claus" is the worst Christmas carol ever. EVER. Even worse than "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer," which I loathe with the fire of a thousand suns. The reason is the final line: "Let's give thanks to the Lord above/'Cause Santa Claus comes tonight." Read that again and let it sink in. Feel the depths of the ... shallowness of it (oops). Don't be thanking God for the gift of His Son. No, no, no! Thank God for Santa Claus--he's the one with the presents!!! What did that Jesus dude ever do for us anyway?

There. I feel better, and I really hope I haven't grumped up anybody else's day. I'll be back later in the week with the tale of our weekend in the dark and a few pictures of scarves.

A haiku for you...

2005-12-09T10:57:00.000-05:00

My Christmas knitting
Still a dream on my needles
No more sleep for me

Or this one...

Scarves for my parents
Go slowly--not enough time
Too bad, they'll be late

And one for Annie of the comments...

No pictures, I know
I do not have an excuse
Maybe this weekend

On a lighter note...

2005-12-08T08:39:00.000-05:00

I've always thought fish--particularly really, really big ones--are really cool. It's always been a dream of mine to go on a sport fishing trip for marlin or sailfish or something (strictly catch-and-release, of course). With that in mind, I found this site the other day... Fishosaur. I love it.

And there are a lot of cool pictures here.

99 to go....

2005-12-06T08:42:00.000-05:00

I learned just now that it would take 101.58 cups of my current poison (brewed coffee) to kill me. Good to know.

I have to say that the first 3/4 of yesterday was really the worst day I've had in quite a while (and given the state of my life lately, that's really saying something). At 7:45 a.m. I heard a strange noise as I went through the intersection at Worley Road and Pleasantburg Drive. At 7:48 a.m. I pulled into a convenience store and discovered that (1) my tire was flat; (2) I had been driving on the rim for a good 1/4 mile, and the tire was now smoking; (3) I had forgotten my purse, in which was my cell phone and my trusty AAA card. Oh, and did I mention that it was raining? And cold?

So I called hubby, who arrived with Owen. Hubby waited for the tow truck while Owen and I proceeded to my office, where my boss was waiting for me to show up. This is never a good thing, and especially so when you have your three-year-old in tow. We go over a few things, I redo something I thought was done, and then I take Owen to preschool.

I come back to work and discover that (a) I have to redo the thing again; (b) I have a run in my nylons--a big one. So I redo the thing, and then I get a call and I have to redo it again. And while I'm redoing it I get an email from yet another person asking where the hell the thing is. To which I responded, "bite me." (Actually, I said, "It's on the way," but the meaning is the same and the recipient of my email knew it. He even sent me an apology. Nice guy, if a little too impatient.)

Later that morning, hubby and I discover that (a) he is not qualified to be a freaking bank teller (the local tech college actually offers a certification program in that!); (b) selling books requires a full-scale personality test (come on, people), and (c) handing out towels at the gym at the local university requires a degree in health sciences. So much for today's job search.

Later, we discovered that we are going to owe a ginormous amount of money for services we thought were going to be covered by someone else. Then, one of Owen's therapists--the one we really trust--tells us that she thinks we should have him screened for autism. Those of you who are familiar with the whole saga may remember that the very first person who screened Owen mentioned autism, and we pooh-poohed it on the basis that she knew nothing about Owen. Patti knows Owen, and she thinks he may be autistic. Crap.

So this is all by 3:30 yesterday. It's a good thing that I didn't have the information about death by caffeine yesterday at that time.

But then things improved. The tire, which I had been convinced was destroyed, was patched for a mere $20. My new ice cream maker arrived, as did my book on natural healing. The boys and I went for dinner and karaoke at a friend's house, and had a wonderful time. And then I got to watch "Grey's Anatomy" (we always tape it and watch it on Monday) and go to bed. And the cats didn't bug us and Owen let me sleep until 5:00 a.m. (very generous of him, don't you think?). And the sun is shining this morning.

Well, damn.

2005-11-24T18:50:00.000-05:00

Too late now, I suppose...

You Should Get a PhD in Liberal Arts (like political science, literature, or philosophy)

You're a great thinker and a true philosopher.
You'd make a talented professor or writer.

What Advanced Degree Should You Get?

Would you believe that I was actually going to get a Ph.D. at one point in my life? Seriously. I hated law school so much I couldn't imagine ever being a lawyer. So one day there I was, sitting in the journal office, with a grad school application spread out in front of me. The phone rings. It's the General Counsel of the U.S. Sentencing Commission--my boss from the previous summer--telling me that *his* boss (the Chair of the Commission, who also happened to be a judge on the Fourth Circuit) needed a clerk, and he wanted to recommend me, and was I interested?

No, said I. I'm going to grad school. I don't need no stinkin' clerkship.

John paused for a second and then did a very helpful thing. He said, essentially, "That's the wrong answer. I'll call you again in 24 hours and you can give me the right one." And he did, and I did, and here I am in South Carolina. And now you know a little bit of my life history, aren't you lucky?

Oh, and by the way--brining a turkey? Totally not worth the trouble. Thanks for the tips, Alton, but I'll do it my way next year.

2005-11-21T09:10:00.000-05:00

I have the stupidest reason for not blogging lately. Wanna know what it is? Now that I have a digital camera and *can* post pictures in every blog post if I so desire, I feel obligated to do so. So when the batteries in said digital camera have run out, or I don't have time to fiddle with my picture program, I don't blog because I don't have pictures. I know, I know. But that's the way it is.

At the moment, I am deeply enmeshed in a number of things, not the least of which is choosing an elementary school for Andy to go to next year, when he starts first grade. (Begging the director of the Montessori program Andy is currently in to add a first grade (and a second, third, etc.) didn't pan out. But I didn't expect it to.) My current top pick is a languages academy, where Andy can be immersed in French or Spanish for half a day, every day. Andy says he doesn't want to go there, but what does he know? He says he wants to go to "The Publix School," by which he means the elementary school that we are zoned for, near the grocery store. I suspect that his reasons for wanting to go to this school have less to do with the academic program than with some association he has drawn between the school and its proximity to the place where he gets a cookie just for showing up. Like this: Publix=cookie; school=near Publix; therefore, school=cookie. Whereas, my equation goes something like this: 29605=rich zip code; rich zip code=better school; better school + fabulous language immersion program=where Andy will go if I have anything to say about it.

Anyway, they're having an open house for prospective students and their parents on the Tuesday after thanksgiving. I'm hoping Andy will be interested once he actually *sees* the school. In the meantime, I earned some Mommy points by knitting him a scarf with some Jiffy Thick & Quick and size 17 (!) needles last night. He loves it + it looks great = happy me.

General Life Update/Blog Randomness

2005-11-09T10:15:00.000-05:00

I've been cruising along at work these days--not frantically busy, as I often am, but very productive. I'm in the zone, so to speak. So I haven't been blogging much, because I generally blog when I have law clerk's block (closely related to writer's block, except that it involves a mule-like unwillingness to read yet another badly written brief and do the lawyer's work for him/her because I feel sorry for the client, and because even if the lawyer doesn't feel like doing her job, I still have to do mine), which I haven't had lately. What I do have is a bit of a cold that's been hanging around for several days now, making me feel just a wee bit yucky, but not so much as to justify going home.

Update on my Mom: She's recuperating well, although frustrated that she is not back to full speed. Unfortunately, she will have to have more chemo. They have removed all the cancer they could visually identify, but apparently there are still microscopic bits of it still in there someplace. After chemo, radiation.

The fact that she's having more chemo is freaking me out a bit. In my mind, if you're having chemo it's because your life is in imminent danger. And I'm sorry, but after six months of chemo and a radical mastectomy, you should be done with the whole "imminent danger" thing. You should be moving on to the "well, that's that, then. Go on with your life as though you never had cancer in the first place" thing.

In happier news, Owen is well on his way to being fully potty trained. As I write this, he is having a "practice day" at the Montessori school Andy already attends. If it goes well (i.e., if the director decides that Owen is ready for the program), we will shift Owen out of his current preschool and into this one at the end of November/beginning of December. It will be great to have the kids at the same school, and it will make life so much easier when Chuck goes back to work ...

... which he will hopefully be doing soon. He's definitely ready to go back, and he has a pretty decent shot at teaching in the Criminal Justice dept of the local Tech college. While we're waiting for that to materialize, he emailed a friend of ours who is a writer (and who, like Chuck, is a recovering lawyer) for leads for freelancing that he might do. She promptly emailed back: "I'm sure I can help, but I'm leaving for Istanbul in a couple of hours. I'll email you when I get back next week." I love how she just casually tosses that out, like she's going to the grocery store and not halfway across the world. (N.B.: Mapquest doesn't like it when you ask for directions from South Carolina to Istanbul.)

And that's it for me, at least for the moment.

2005-11-03T08:56:00.000-05:00

Halloween was soooo much fun. Andy and I went trick or treating with my friend Ellie and her two boys. Once they figured out that there was candy at every house with a porch light on, there was no stopping them. "Hey guys! Porch light! aaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrghhhhhh!--the pirate-like yell being the sound that emitted from them as they ran across the yard to the front door.

Andy's Robin Hood costume turned out great, if you ask me:

Obviously, though, the people in my neighborhood are not up on their Disney movies, because only one person instantly recognized him as Robin Hood. Peter Pan was one guess (forgiveable, especially since he'd abandoned the bow and arrow by that time), but I'm not sure where that one guy came up with "goblin."

Before heading out into the neighborhood, Chuck and I took both kids over to Publix for their trick-or-treat thing. Owen looked really cute in his Thomas costume, even though you can't really see his face because he wanted Scoop to be in the picture:

But once we got to Publix, he was all about the treats:

Update on my mom: She's doing well, but a bit tired (gee, ya think? After major surgery?).

In tomorrow's episode: someone stop me before I stash again!

Neener neener

2005-10-27T08:41:00.000-04:00

Lookie what I got:

The vastly fabulous Rani has blessed me with two skeins of Lorna's Laces sock yarn in the "Lakeview" colorway. Truly, I am not worthy. Andy latched onto it when I pulled it out of the package, and I must admit that my retrieval of this wonderful stuff was accompanied by a rather possessive and less-than-motherly snarl. I'll make him socks--just not out of this stuff. This is all mine.

In other good news, my mom's surgery went fine. I haven't talked to her yet because she's still pretty doped up.

And last, a little housekeeping. I have been remiss in posting a picture of the sweater I made for my nephew this summer. Here it is:

The pattern is the Fisherman's Sweater from
Oat Couture, knitted in some kind of fingering weight merino. The pattern was great--clearly written, no mistakes. The only change I would make is to make the button holes a little bigger so I could have used a bigger button for more cuteness.

You make my heart sing...

2005-10-25T09:27:00.000-04:00

So, I spent the weekend in Maryland attending my friend Kelly's wedding. I had a generally fabulous time, despite the fact that when I left South Carolina it was 85 degrees and sunny, and when I arrived in Maryland it was 65 degrees and rainy, and I had brought not even one pair of socks with me.

Upon arriving at Kelly and Graham's, my "niece" Mara introduced me to the Wild thing that lives in her fourth grade classroom and who gets to go home with the students for birthdays and other special occasions. The wild thing had been invited to the wedding but did not have proper attire, so (Mara informed me) we were going to make him a tuxedo. More to the point, I was going to make him a tuxedo. Um, yeah.

Much to my amazement, I was actually able to craft a garment that somewhat resembled a tuxedo, and after Mara had combed his hair, he actually looked quite presentable:

The wedding was on Sunday morning at Brookside Gardens, in the Japanese Tea House (scroll down a bit). Atmosphere was provided by God and a small army of horticulturists and by Daniel, who knows his way around a Bach concerto.

The ceremony was just lovely, with cute kids,

rings,

and general gooshiness from the bride and groom.

The wild thing, true to his nature, was really only interested in the cake:

This will probably be my only entry this week, dear readers. I'm heading to Bellingham on Saturday (mom's surgery is tomorrow). Thanks to all who have sent cards to my mom. I can't wait to tell her about all the wonderful friends who are wishing her well.

A trip to the yarn store...

2005-10-19T15:34:00.000-04:00

A photo-blog by Andy.

This is what happens when you hand a digital camera to a five-year-old in the desperate hope that he might allow you to spend a few precious moments browsing in the yarn store....

First there were a few self portraits,

And a couple of pictures of the couch and floor (I have spared you those. For the morbidly curious, the couch is red and the floor is taupe carpeting).

Then there was this fascinating study of perspective, which (my memory card indicates) took numerous shots to perfect:

And, just so you have an idea of what the store looks like, here's a shot of the yarn itself:

This store arranges yarns by color, which is at times perfect (e.g., when I wanted to find red yarn for a sweater for Andy) and at times perfectly infuriating (when I wanted to find a particular brand of yarn in all of its shades).

Diane has, however, separated out the sock yarn; Andy sought me out there...

I sent him away, but not before he caught me fondling the Lorna's Laces ...

Alas, fondling is all I did. Until I am an uber sock-knitter (not gonna happen any time soon), I will refrain from the wonderfulness that is the Lorna's Laces. *sigh*.

Long time no blog

2005-10-13T08:56:00.000-04:00

Sorry, dear readers. There has been much busy-ness lately. A quick update...

My mom is scheduled for surgery on October 26. Chemo finished two weeks ago yesterday, and her hair is already growing back. She never really felt sick, just really tired after the last several sessions. She is utterly nonchalant about the surgery, which I guess is a good thing. She doesn't even want me to be visiting while she's in the hospital--she told me to wait until she's home so that we can have fun. So, I'll be heading out there on Oct. 29 for a week-long visit.

Andy is so excited about the upcoming weekend that he can hardly contain himself. He's got Zoo Camp on Saturday--all about dinosaurs, currently one of his favorite subjects. Then we have our annual pumpkin painting extravaganza on Saturday. If everyone who hasn't declined shows, we'll have 26 kids and at least that many adults; I'm guessing the actual number of kids will be closer to 20, but still--gonna be a big party. Fortunately, having done this a few times, I'm not the least stressed about it--this party practically runs itself. And, since Chuck and I are going out to dinner Friday night (with a sitter and everything!), I have an excuse not to make any of the food myself. Wahootie!

And then there's next week, which will be crazy busy between Monday and Thursday, and then on Friday I head to Maryland for a wedding. Phew!

Photo of the day...

2005-10-06T16:13:00.000-04:00

Constipated butter Elvis. Really, I'm not kidding. Go look.

Much better.

2005-10-06T11:29:00.000-04:00

I give up.

2005-10-05T14:50:00.000-04:00

For the past week, I have frantically been trying to finish the wedding sampler--late nights, much gnashing of teeth, etc. Unfortunately, the frogs came to visit. Many of them. Last night at 11:30, as I was frogging three days' worth of work, I had an epiphany: I will not be finishing this thing in time to get it framed. Although I can do many things, I cannot bend the space-time continuum in order to create the number of hours necessary for me to finish this thing in time to get it to the framer's before the wedding.

So, my goal now is to finish it before the wedding, show it to Kelly and Graham, and then bring it back home for framing. I am really, really disappointed about this, but it's my own fault--I should have worked on it more this summer, when I had time. But, in my defense, this summer when I had time Kelly and Graham weren't sure they were ever going to solemnize their relationship, and in any event there was no indication that they would pick a date only six weeks out.

Even though it's my own fault, I am naturally angry at the piece itself. How dare it betray me by not being easier to stitch? (I know, I know--because beautiful and easy/fast do not go together. Hmph.) So now I don't want to work on it at all. I want to pout and make it feel rejected for putting me through this. So it's going to be in time out for a little while. I think I'll work on a nice, easy scarf instead.

Whole lotta nothin' goin' on...

2005-09-29T22:47:00.000-04:00

Seriously, the lack of recent blog entries is not to be taken as evidence of a crisis, work-related or otherwise, in my life. I've just been cruising along since the Great Trip North--running, working, playing, stitching, knitting.

Oh. Yeah, that. It occurred to me the other night that there is not *nearly* enough stitching or knitting going on. Christmas is less than three months away. Three months, people. That's DefCon 3 in terms of gift-preparedness. No need to panic just yet, but I'm starting to feel the prickings of concern at the back of my consciousness. Here's why:

Exhibit One

I swore to myself that this sampler would be finished by 9/30, so that I would have ample time to get it framed before the wedding on Oct. 23. What you see here is my progress as of 9:00 pm Sunday evening. It is not Thursday morning. As of Tuesday morning, when I started this blog entry, I was in a bit of despair. I didn't have a verse for the darned thing, and I hated the way the cross-hatch section looked and thought I was going to have to frog an entire evening's worth of work.

Things are better now. I've concocted myself a verse (which is so incredibly cheesy that I'm not going to tell you what it is, because I'm convinced that it will miraculously become less cheesy when stitched. I am a woman of faith, I tell you.), and I have started stitching said verse. My new finishing goal is the end of next week (Friday October 9). This may involve a few late nights and a few glasses of
Two Buck Chuck, but I will persevere.

Exhibit Two:

What you see here (you may need to use your imagination, but work with me, please) are (1) a chemo cap for my mom (Bernat CottonTots, Ivory), (2) a scarf for my sister-in-law (Knitpicks Elegance, blue); (3) a scarf (with cables!) for my Dad (in some kind of Alpaca so soft that I just know that knitting is going to be delayed by numerous breaks to just pet the stuff); and (4) a wrap for my mom (in Schaeffer Yarns "Laurel", "Frieda Kahlo" colorway).

The chemo cap will probably not get done, as it turns out that Mom is nearly done with chemo and is heading toward surgery (more about that in a subsequent post). The rest of it would be manageable, were it not for ...

Exhibit 3

While we were visiting this summer, I asked my Mother-in-Law what her favorite color was, thinking I would knit her a pretty shawl or something. She immediately asked for a white afghan for Christmas.

Now, you need to understand that Mom Small has never asked me for *anything*. And the woman has been through hell and high water in her 70+ years of life. And she has this very endearing tendency to give us extravagant gifts (the latest of which was a cashmere twinset for me, God bless her). So if she wants a white afghan for Christmas, by golly she's going to have it. And I'm not making it in the stinky cheapo acrylic she recommended. No sirree, she's getting pure, winter-white merino wool.

And let's not mention the fact that I think my beautiful nieces really must have one-skein wonders because they look absolutely so cute on little girls (check the sidebar).

So you'll understand if I need to sign off now. I have a little bit of knitting to do.

Rather than actually be creative,

2005-09-21T09:48:00.000-04:00

I'm going to do a meme today. I thought this one was rather interesting. The idea is to copy the list and bold the things you've done. Then add three and pass it on. I'm not going to pass it on, but I will add three.

I am bisexual.
I am homosexual.
I've run away from home.
I listen to political music. I have in the past, but in all honesty, I think it must be tiring to be that earnest all the time. I know I got tired of listening to it.
I collect comic books.
I shut others out when I'm sad.
I open up to others easily.
I am keeping a secret from the world.
I watch the news. - at least once a week.
I own over 5 rap CDs.
I own an ipod.
I own something from Hot Topic.
I love Disney movies.
I am a sucker for hair/eyes.
I don't kill bugs.
I curse regularly.
I have "x"s in my screen name.
I've slipped out a "lol" in a real conversation.
I love Spam.
I bake well. Just ask my coworkers, who totally devoured the pumpkin cookies I brought yesterday.
I would wear pajamas to school.
I own something from Abercrombie.
I have a job
I love Martha Stewart. Well, “love” is too strong a word, but I do think the amount of crap she gets is undeserved. Except for the criminal conviction thing. She totally deserved to get crap about that.
I am in love with someone.
I am guilty of tYpInG lIkE tHiS. Nope, not me. I am totally obsessive about clarity of my typing.
I am self conscious. stop looking at me.
I like to laugh.
I smoke a pack a day.
I loved Go Ask Alice
I have cough drops when I'm not sick.
I can't swallow pills.
I have many scars.
I've been out of this country.
I believe in ghosts.
I can't sleep if there is a spider in the room.
I am really ticklish.
I love chocolate. Lately, I have been thinking more and more about opening a gourmet chocolate store.
I bite my nails.
I am comfortable with being me. I’m still learning. I think I’ve made some progress, though. This week, when shopping for work clothes, I blamed the fact that I couldn’t find a pair of pants that fit me right on the design of the pants, not the design of my body. Yay, me.
I play computer games/video games when I'm bored. I would if I had time. I loooove “The Sims”.
Gotten lost in a city.
Saw a shooting star.
I have had two serious surgical procedures. Two c-sections
Gone out in public in my pajamas.
I have kissed a stranger.
Hugged a stranger.
Been in a fist fight with the same sex.
Been arrested.
Laughed and had milk/soda come out of your nose.
Pushed all the buttons on an elevator.
Made out in an elevator.
Sworn at my parents.
Kicked a guy where it hurts.
Been skydiving.
Been bungee jumping.
Broken a bone. My pinkie toe. While constructing a closet system. Yes, I am just that talented.
Played spin the bottle.
Gotten stitches.
Drank a whole gallon of milk in one hour.
Bitten someone.
Been to Niagara Falls.
Gotten the chicken pox.
Crashed into a car. One month to the day after getting my license. Truly, there is no end to my talents!
Been to Asia. Malaysia, when I was in college.
Ridden in a taxi.
Shoplifted.
Had feelings for someone who didn't have them back.
Stole something from my job.
Gone on a blind date.
Had a crush on a teacher/coach.
Celebrated Mardi Gras in New Orleans.
Been to Europe.
Slept with a co-worker.
Gotten married.
Gotten divorced.
Saw someone dying.
Driven over 400 miles in one day.
Been to Canada.
Been on a plane.
Seen the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Get this--with my mom. When I was maybe 12. What was she thinking?
Thrown up in a bar.
Eaten Sushi.
Been snowboarding.
Been Skiing
Been ice skating.
Met someone in person from the internet.
Been to a car show.
Going to or have gone to college.
Done hard drugs.
Taken painkillers.
Met a celebrity.
I like playing practical jokes
I love rainy days
I have rushed the stage at a concert Duran Duran, circa 1987.
I love to take naps

Sorry

2005-09-19T13:41:00.000-04:00

No blog entry today. Andy has got something weird going on with his hip, and he's in extreme pain. We'll see the orthopedist this afternoon. The current best guess is an inflammation thingy that kids sometimes get or possibly it's dislocated.

Update, 6:22 pm. The doc says it's toxic synovitis and has prescribed ibuprofen, a couple of days on the couch, and a re-check on Friday.

A grand unveiling...

2005-09-16T09:55:00.000-04:00

I got bored with my old blog template, so here's a new one! I'm still tweaking it a bit. Will regular readers let me know if they hate the blue? If you love it, you can let me know that too, of course! :-)

I was going to blog today,

2005-09-14T10:41:00.000-04:00

but instead, I think you should go read this.

The Dulaan hat

2005-09-09T09:55:00.000-04:00

Here it is, the picture you've all been waiting for ... the Dulaan hat.

First, the specs. The yarn is a space-dyed version of Harrisville Designs' New England Highland, which is a two-ply, heavy worsted weight. I made a pilgrimage to the weaving center when we were in New Hampshire and found it in their sale bin, at $10.50 for a 200 yard skein. It's not on the website--call the weaving center to see if they have more. When I saw those bright colors, I immediately thought Dulaan, dude!

The design is ~~was~~ started out as, but now bears no resemblance to, Norma's Double-thick, super warm Dulaan hat.

Norma's pattern calls for one strand of worsted and one strand of DK, knit together on a size 13 circular. She says you can do it with two strands of worsted, but you might want to go up to a size 15 needle. Pshaw! said I. That would mean going out to get new needles instead of starting right then and there. I'm an instant gratification kind of girl (stop snickering), so I went with what I had. Which, incidentally, was a pair of size 13 straight needles. Who needs circulars? thought I. I'll just knit it flat and then seam it. Patting myself on the back for my frugality, I cast on the requisite 40 stitches.

I soon discovered two things. (1) Size 13 bamboo needles are not really big enough for 80 strands of heavy worsted wool. Those stitches at the front of the needle will persist in attempting to fling themselves off the end when you are ~~captivated by Steve's attempts to figure out Blue's clues~~ distracted. (2) I was not going to have enough yarn to knit the 17-18 inch tube Norma wanted me to knit, i.e., this was not going to be a double-thick hat.

So, plan alteration time. I got hold of a pair of size 13 circulars and knit onto those. I originally figured I would continue to knit straight, but then I figured I might as well join where I was, knit the rest of the had in the round, and only have a couple inches of seaming left when I got done. I couldn't think of a single reason not to do this at the time, but now I know that doing this will give you a totally wonky seam and a spot where the brim of the hat will not curl up as it should. Hindsight is 20/20.

Now, Norma's pattern doesn't call for any decreases, because you're going to gather each end of the tube and then tack them together. Since I knew I didn't have enough yarn to do this, I figured I would go ahead and do a few decreases, to make the hat a bit more shaped. So, about the time I figured the hat was getting almost long enough (I tested it on Andy a couple of times), I worked a round of decreases (K4, K2tog, I think), knit a few more rounds, and then another round of decreases (K3, K2tog). That was all the decreasing I did, because I had no intention of going out to buy size 13 dpns.

Then I knit a while longer, and then I gathered up those last 20 stitches or so, and voila! The hat was done. As you can see from the picture, it's probably still a little small for a kid Andy's size, but it would probably work on Owen. If I could get him to hold still long enough, I would try it on him.

Have a lovely weekend, dear readers. We'll be busy--Second Saturday at the science center (insect-mania, oh joy), date night, etc., etc. I hope to get some work done on the wedding sampler, because I'm kind of starting to panic about that.

Hoodelali

2005-09-07T12:22:00.000-04:00

Note to readers: Thanks for the well-wishes. I'm feeling much better today. Still no pics of the Dulaan item, though. My model and I spent too much time playing outside after dinner last night. Maybe tomorrow.

The other day, Andy and I went to the fabric store to pick out a halloween costume and the accompanying pattern. (Yep, I'm going to sew Andy's halloween costume, and I ... stop laughing. Seriously, I mean it. I can do this. Yes, I do too have the time. No, I don't have to prove it.)

We sat down at the pattern table and opened "SewKwik Halloween costumes." Andy had been alternating between being a pirate or a knight, so you can imagine how this went.

Me: Okay, honey, let's look for a pirate or a knight costume.
Andy: I like that one!
Me: That's a bear.
Andy: Yeah! A bear!
Me: A bear costume would be awfully warm. Why don't we keep looking?
flipping of pages proceeds
Me: Hey, there's a nice knight costume. How about that?
Andy: No, I want to be a pirate.
Me: Oh, okay, here's a pirate costume.
Andy: no, not that kind of pirate. But I like that part. pointing to the bandana under the pirate hat
Me: Well, okay....

We repeated a roughly similar procedure for several more books, until we got to the McCall's book. Then this happened:

Me: Hey, Andy, here's a really cool [read: really easy] pirate costume. points to pirate costume on left-hand page
Andy: Wow, that's cool! I want to be that! points to dinosaur costume on right hand side of page
Me: You want to be a dinosaur?
Andy: Yeah, a T-Rex! A purple one!
Me: Everyone will think you are Barney.
Andy: No, I'll be a T-Rex!

After multiple assurances that it was his steadfast, if newly formed, wish to be a dinosaur for halloween, we got the pattern out and started looking for fabric. Andy immediately flung himself onto the first bolt of faux fur we passed, proclaiming that he wanted to be a "soft" dinosaur. Soft, indeed. Also "expensive" and "possible victim of heat stroke on a warm October afternoon." After being dissuaded from his first choice, Andy proceeded to fling himself (sometimes metaphorically, sometimes not) onto various bolts of fabric, all of which shared the property of being totally inappropriate, due to fabric content or price, for the project at hand.

When he found the tiger fabric and declared a steadfast wish to be a tiger, I knew we had to go back to the drawing board. So back to the pattern table we went, much to the amusement of the women who had been there on our first foray into the books. We ultimately settled on a Robin Hood costume (Andy's been into the Disney animated version lately). Andy likes it because the kid in the picture has a bow and arrow--never mind that they are not part of the pattern. I was fine with his choice, though, because the pattern proclaims that it can be done in "ONE HOUR!" This means that instead of a day off, large quantities of caffeine, and my entire vocabulary of epithets, making the costume will require only a late evening (or two), a few mild oaths, and a beer (or two. per evening, of course).

Further updates as events warrant.

Blah, blah, blog.

2005-09-06T09:26:00.000-04:00

Yes, I'm still here--thanks for asking. (Oh, you didn't? My mistake.) I haven't been feeling terribly bloggish lately. I've been knitting, but not on anything exciting--just a couple of fun-fur scarves for my secretary's nieces. Those are done now, and I'm returning to the much more interesting scarf I am making for my brother for Christmas. I've also made my first Dulaan item, a nice warm hat knit in a space-dyed worsted wool I picked up on vacation. Pics tomorrow.

I need to be working on the wedding sampler I'm making for my friend for October, but Owen has been difficult at bedtime lately, so it's been hard to find the time to pick it up and get something done. Nevertheless, the wedding is fast approaching, so I need to get cracking. I'm missing cross-stitch a bit. It's just easier to knit in the evenings, when I'm tired and don't have much time, because it's so easy to just pick up and get started (obviously, I am not doing lace at this point). Hopefully now that Owen is back in his half-day program, I'll have more time in the evenings to cross-stitch.

Sniffle, sniffle, cough, cough. I have an end-of-summer cold, so I'm feeling a bit grumpy and pitiful. I was scheduled to donate blood today, but I guess that's out, since the first question they ask is, "Are you feeling well and healthy today?" Um, that would be a big "no."

So, there you have it--the world's lamest blog entry. My apologies, dear readers. I'll try to be wittier and more interesting next time.

Dead Penguin Walking

2005-08-30T09:33:00.000-04:00

Andy and I went to see "March of the Penguins" on Saturday. It would appear that even though we were in the same theater, sitting right next to each other, we saw completely different films. I saw a beautifully photographed film about the lengths these penguins go to in ensuring the continuation of the species. I saw love and loss, joy and pain, survival and death.

The movie Andy saw, evidently, was all about different ways penguins can die. The poor kid wanted to leave after the seal showed up (there were several lingering shots of sharp seal teeth), and I totally had to lie to him about the bird incident ("They scared him away, honey. It's okay."). We ended up leaving before the end--he just couldn't take any more.

Word to the wise: Sensitive five-year-olds and nature movies do not mix well. Just so you know.

1, 2, 3, 4...

2005-08-26T09:10:00.000-04:00

Our vacation, by the numbers.

2280 Approximate number of miles traveled (Greenville-DC-New Hampshire and back, with a side trip to Cape Cod).

11 Number of days in our trip.

4 Number of days devoted exclusively to travel.

8 Number of family/friends visited.

4 Number of beds slept in.

0 Number of times Chuck and I slept in the same bed.

3 Number of nights I shared my bed with my two year old.

8 Number of times said two year old kicked me in the head while sleeping.

5 Number of tourist attractions visited (Pamplin Historical Park, National Museum of Natural History, Davis' Farmland, Cape Cod, and Hershey's Chocolate World)

1 Number of tourist attractions that actually interested and entertained my children for more than 5 minutes.

9 Number of meals eaten in restaurants

7 Number of times the restaurant in question was a fast-food place

0 Number of times I ever want to eat fast food again

4 Number of frappes (milkshakes to non-New Englanders) my mother-in-law fed my children during the 24 hours we were at her house.

5 Number of times my MIL offered my children a frappe before noon and/or before any actual food had been consumed.

2 Number of Owen's loveys brought with us.

2 Number of Owen's loveys lost within 12 hours of arrival in DC

1 Number of replacement loveys obtained from the really super cool two-story Target.

I think by now, dear readers, you get the drift. There was agony ("Mommy, make him stop!", there was ecstasy ("They're both asleep."), there was wonder and amazement, there were cousins (who, after all, are way cooler than Mom and Dad). We had a great time, and we are glad to be back.

Things I have learned recently.

2005-08-09T08:34:00.000-04:00

(1) 3/4 of a canister of baby powder is enough to thoroughly coat one five-year-old, one two-year-old, and the entire upstairs of our house.

(2) Butterflies of all kinds love Mexican sunflowers. Love. Them. Will dive bomb you if you get too close, because they think you're stealing the nectar, or something.

(2a) Your average five-year-old (based on a sample of two) cannot be depended upon to be impressed by this fact.

(2b) Your average neighbor (based on a sample of one) can.

(3) When the upstairs bathroom floods, water leaks through the fan in the downstairs bathroom.

(3a) Your average two-year-old (based on a sample of one) likes to celebrate pooping on the potty by flooding the upstairs bathroom.

(4) Alpaca & silk=yummy and soft.

(5) The amount of food a child will consume in between playing in the tubes at Chik-Fil-A is inversely proportional to the number of other children present in the tubes.

(6) The amount of time a mother gets to spend knitting while at Chik-Fil-A is directly proportional to the number of other children present in the tubes.

Fascinating, yes?

And now, dear readers, I am off to the mythical land of "vacation." See you in a couple of weeks.

So cool.

2005-08-04T14:07:00.000-04:00

Scene: Books a Million. I have just settled in with the new Cast On magazine while the kids ~~ransack~~ browse the children's department. Beloved hubby comes over.

Him: Do you want to go get a coffee from the cafe?

Me: No, I'm fine, thanks. (me thinking: Who are you, and what have you done with my husband? You never encourage me to buy overpriced coffee drinks.)

Him: Are you sure? Because there's kind of a group of knitters over there. I thought you might be interested.

Me: See ya!

Knitting in hand, I scurried over to the cafe where there were, indeed, a number of women gathered around a table, all with knitting in hand. I was warmly welcomed and encouraged to have a seat. I chatted and knitted until Owen came over, grabbed me by the hand, and literally dragged me out of there. He's quite strong for a two-year-old.

Anyway, they meet there every week because the once-a-month guild meetings are just not enough for them.

In other news, I finished the baby sweater last night, and blocked it. Seaming tonight, buttons tomorrow or maybe Saturday. Pictures thereafter. I'm working on another chemo cap for my mom--the first one I made her was a little tight around the edge. (The one Patti made her fits great, of course. Patti is a goddess of all things knitting.) Mom's hair has fallen out, but she is still feeling fine after two chemo sessions (her third was yesterday, and I haven't talked to her yet). Her oncologist assures her that this will change, but for now she's making the most of the time she's got to work in the garden.

We are finalizing vacation plans for next week (by which I mean that I have ordered the yarn for the projects I plan to work on in the car). We're heading to New Hampshire via DC, where we will stay with Chuck's brother and his family, including the newborn who is the soon-to-be owner of the sweater. This week, they are on a camping trip. With a 6 year old, a 3 week old, and a 4 year old who is learning to walk again after brain surgery this spring. I love my sister in law. She is totally. insane. however. This makes us a good match, since we are taking two adults and two boys in a car on a 17-hour car ride. We're breaking it up into two days, but still. It is quite clear that when it comes to vacations, we are a family that is a few books short of a library.

Remember that hand on my heart thing from a few weeks back? Well, much like Rafael Palmeiro, I never knowingly promised not to work on anything else. For instance, how was I supposed to know that my best friend would finally get around to scheduling her wedding, meaning that I actually have to stitch the wedding sampler I'm making for her? It's totally not my fault, I'm telling you. The gawd-awful afghan is going to have to wait. I feel terrible. Really.

Score!

2005-08-01T16:13:00.000-04:00

This is a good news, bad news kinda thing. Bad news: our favorite thrift store is closing. This is very, very bad news. We love the Sock Exchange (albeit, apparently not enough), and we will miss it.

The good news is, because they are closing they are practically giving away clothing--as much as you can fit into a plastic grocery-store bag for $10. Andy and I popped in there on Friday to ~~scavenge~~ see what they had, and they had just put out some winter sweaters. I looked through them and found a couple that I thought I could recycle. Cool. On a whim, I asked the owner if she had any more sweaters in the back that I could ~~scavenge~~ look through. Turns out, she had two more big boxes.

I came home with a number of sweaters:

They are all piled into that wagon. Owen looks like he does because he has just intuited that maybe, just possibly, the sweaters were not placed there solely for his enjoyment, and that maybe, just possibly, Mommy is not going to let him douse them with the hose.

While I will not ~~torture you with~~ treat you to pictures of the whole lot, there are a couple of particulars.

First:

I got that one so I could play with the different colors of yarn (Owen thought y'all needed to know that Thomas approves of this sweater). It will likely end up as some kind of afghan sqares, perhaps mitered squares or maybe I'll try some intarsia colorwork (scroll down a bit--you will know 'em when you see 'em).

This baby doesn't know it yet

but it's going to be sitcom chic. It is *exactly* the type of color I was looking for--a dark, heathery blue. Perfect.

And this last one is just drool-worthy:

That's a 50-50 wool-silk combo. Yummy. I have no idea what I'll make with it.

The rest of the sweaters (other than the couple I bought with the intention of actually wearing them, if you can imagine such a thing) will be used for various charity projects.

Here's a little of my actual, current knitting:

That's the front and back of the baby sweater. I've also finished one sleeve, and I'm about 1/3 through with the other. I'm expecting/hoping to finish it tonight while I watch the last episode of "Hell's Kitchen."

yawn

2005-07-29T09:15:00.000-04:00

So. tired. Owen discombobulated by potty training. Needs much reassurance in the middle of the night. From me, not Daddy.

Need more coffee. Not enough coffee in Greenville County to get me through the day. Need I.V. drip.

Too late. zzzzzzzzzzz

A dispatch from the front

2005-07-26T22:03:00.000-04:00

To: Fearless Leader
From: Agent X (Codename: Duchess)

Greetings, exalted one. I am pleased to report that I have successfully infiltrated a family unit of humans. I achieved this objective none too soon--the agent already in place has clearly been seduced by the lure of easy living, and has all but abandoned his assigned task. I regret that I must recommend disciplinary action against him.

I believe I have nearly assimilated the female. It was she who unwittingly provided access to the premises, and she seems quite besotted. She regularly murmers that I am "cute" and "fuzzy." While she also notes that I am "fearsome," her tone when she uses this word indicates that she (1) does not know what it means or (2) believes that I am not truly to be feared. Either of these suits my purposes quite well.

In the evenings, the female often waves about a pair of sticks, to which she has attached a quantity of yarn. I may need further instruction on this matter from our tactics department. While it appears quite clear that this activity is intended for my amusement, she will not tolerate close inspection of the sticks or the yarn. On other evenings, she pokes at a piece of fabric with a tiny metal shaft to which she has attached a string. Again, she will not permit investigation, although this activity is just as clearly intended for my view.

The male human has been resistant to assimilation, although I believe I am wearing him down. I have affected an attachment to a piece of blue cloth that he spreads on his portion of the bed in the evenings. Although the male purports to resent my intrusion on his sleeping space, he is obviously flattered by my attentions.

The building is infested with humans of diminuitive stature, which has necessitated a certain amount of circumspection on my part during the day, when they are active. The smaller of these creatures is particularly troublesome. Although I initially thought he might be useful, rather than obeying my commands he insists on carrying me about the house (usually tucked under his arm) making a strange noise the adult humans call "chuckling." I have found it best to secrete myself under large pieces of furniture while he is about. Even when he does find me, the most he can do is make this strange "chuckling" noise and call me loathesome names like "kitty cat."

I am quite concerned about the larger of the infant humans, who seems to understand that my presence in the household is not simply for the purpose of providing him with amusement. He has attempted to photograph me on numerous occasions, and I am convinced that he is documenting my activities. His removal from the household may be necessary.

I have been contacted by a quartet of agents in another location. They duped their female into delivering a most interesting device, which the humans call a "laser pointer." Although the humans have provided numerous opportunities (believing the "laser" to be a "toy"), I have not yet been able to capture and analyze the contents of the beam. Rest assured, Fearless Leader, that I will not abandon the task.

A-potty we will go....

2005-07-26T09:42:00.000-04:00

Here I am, folks, safe and sound (and un-piddled upon). Here follows a photo essay about this weekend's potty training exploits.

Here is a picture of Plan A:

Plan A consisted of setting the timer for 20 minutes, following a naked Owen around with knitting in hand, and reminding him to go to the potty whenever the timer went off. I operated on the assurance of another mother, who said that this method worked like a charm with her son.

Owen loved being naked. The timer? Not so much. In fact, rather than running willingly to the potty when the timer went off (as I was assured he would do), he automatically said "No, Mommy!" when the timer went off.

So, we regrouped over lunch and went with Plan B:

Cool Thomas underwear, which Owen loves, and no timer. (Note the largish hand-wound hank of thread in the picture. That's how much of the bandage Owen undid. Hmph.). Chuck implemented Plan B while I applied Restorative Measure One, viz., a nice long nap.

Plan B was a success, if you define success as "complete and utter failure to obtain mission objective." By bedtime on Friday night, Owen had not peed on the potty even one time. Things were so dire that I came downstairs after putting the kids to bed to find that my teetotalling husband had, on his own initiative, prepped Restorative Measure 2:

We finally had a breakthrough on Saturday morning. Upon being informed that he would not be allowed to wear his beloved Thomas underwear until he had peed on the potty (because, after all, Thomas doesn't want to get piddled on any more than the cat did), we had our first potty training success. And things have been improving steadily since then. I wouldn't say that Owen is 100% potty trained, but he's definitely got the idea now, and he's quite proud of himself when he does pee on the potty.

Oh, and my morning glories are blooming:

I love morning glories.

The score so far...

2005-07-22T10:07:00.000-04:00

Potty, 0; Floor, 2.

Update, circa lunchtime: Potty, still 0. Floor, 10 (ish? Really, I've lost count). Bosco's tail, 1. Knitting, -1 (unravelled by a gleeful Owen while I was cleaning up poop.)

Almost forgot...

2005-07-21T14:41:00.000-04:00

In addition to potty training Owen this weekend, I'm teaching myself to knit continental. My medium for doing this will be a leprosy bandage made in #10 cotton crochet thread. Because, you know, potty training a kid with a speech delay and a stubborn streak a mile wide isn't challenging enough, I have to be fiddling with string at the same time.

Owen may learn some interesting new words this weekend.

Oh, to be a frog.

2005-07-21T09:23:00.000-04:00

In the immortal words of Matthew Broderick's charater in Biloxi Blues*, "Man it's hot. It's like Africa hot. Tarzan couldn't take this kind of hot."

No matter how long I live in the South, the six weeks between mid-July and the end of August will always kill me. The heat index has been well over 100 for the past several days--the kind of day when you walk out the door at 7:30 a.m. and think, "Cripes, it's hot." It's during these days that I think the >California red-legged frog has the right idea. The little buggers aestivate, you see, which is basically the summer version of hibernating. Clever, no? "Damn, it's hot. I think I'll go to sleep until things cool off a bit. See y'all in September." I could totally hang with that.

When it's hot like this, I cannot bring myself to go out and work in my garden, which is a shame, because the bed by the mailbox really needs some work. The zinnias I have planted there are the talk of the neighborhood (well, okay, one person complimented me on them after I gushed about how cute her new baby is). The cosmos, however, need desperately to be deadheaded. They need this every week or so, and I think it's been like three weeks since I've gotten out there. I've already decided I'm not going to plant cosmos next year--they're a wildflower, and hence cause too much work for the somewhat more formal garden that I have. It's too much work to keep them tidy.

I'm not making any bets on getting out there this weekend, however, because we are going to attempt to potty train Owen. He's started taking off his diaper whenever it gets wet or poopy, so I think it's high time. We're going with the "Thank goodness we have a steam cleaner" method, which involves letting him run around naked for several days and periodically reminding him to use the potty. I am taking Friday and Monday off to devote myself to the project full time. Wish me luck, send me positive sanity vibes. Better yet, send chocolate.

*I note for the record I have never seen Biloxie Blues. My entire knowledge of the movie consists of having viewed the trailer once upon a time. The trailer contained this quote, which has since then been kind of a running joke between me and Chuck.

Ah, the (delicious) irony.

2005-07-19T13:58:00.000-04:00

Remember how I started a new diet yesterday? When I got home, my birthday present from my best friend was awaiting me (yes, it was a bit late, but Kelly is a busy woman). It was .... wait for it ... a creme brulee set--five ramekins and a mini blowtorch. I have wanted my own mini blowtorch forever, but it's one of those things I would not buy for myself, since I don't do creme brulee all that often. Well, never, in fact.

But now, I'll be taking a flamethrower to the place. Kelly helpfully included a "foolproof" recipe from her friend John, which is the one I will try on Sunday. Sunday happens to be my "day off" from the diet, which means that I can eat what I want within reason. So, Sunday dinner will be roast chicken & veggies, rice, and creme brulee for dessert. Mmmmmm.

An even better thing happened last night--Evan was born, safe and sound. I need to get cracking on the baby sweater--we'll be heading up to New Hampshire in just a couple of weeks!

That's it.

2005-07-18T12:51:00.000-04:00

I've had enough. Time to lose some weight (again), and time to keep it off (for once). Oddly enough, knitting is a large part of the inspiration for this. I want to knit all these cool, funky sweaters that will go great with a pair of jeans, but I want to look decent in the jeans, and at 162 (my official start weight this morning), I just don't. So, it's back on the diet train I go.

As an aid to my progress, I've joined in with the Knitty Yarn Diet Diet, which is both stash control and weight loss. As I reach each milestone toward my goal, I get to buy just a wee bit of yarn--enough for a scarf or hat. And, since the entire enterprise of losing weight is entirely premised on vanity (for me, at least--I'm not so heavy that it's a health issue), these little projects will be done for charity--probably for Dulaan 2006, if there is such a thing; if not, I think the Orthodox Church in America has some missions programs in Eastern Europe that could use some warm, hand-knit items.

In other news, we had a pretty nice weekend. Friday, we had pizza at the pool with some friends. Saturday we hit the farmer's market, and ran into some other friends with their 2-year-old twins. Owen loved running around with little people his own size!

Saturday night, Chuck and I saw "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory." It was absolutely fabulous. Johnny Depp and Tim Burton are great together, and the combination is a perfect match for Roald Dahl. I was worried that it would be too scary for littles like Andy, but I think it will be okay. There are two rather creepy moments, but it was much friendlier for children than I expected it to be. Andy and I are reading the book right now, and we will likely go see the movie at some point.

I got some knitting in on the baby sweater. Said baby will be arriving some time today, so please spare a thought or a prayer for my sister-in-law, the baby, and the rest of the family.

Hand on my heart...

2005-07-14T20:32:00.000-04:00

I hereby solemnly swear to finish the following projects before starting anything new:

(1) The baby sweater for my soon-to-be-born nephew
(2) Above the Clouds
(3) Andy's crochet blanket (bleah...I've got like 55 squares to go.)
(4) My Dad's scarf

Technically, I haven't started the scarf yet, but I have everything I need now, and I cannot wait to get my needles into the gorgeous alpaca I have for it. Mmmm. Also, I'm claiming an exception for our trip to New England in August--I'll take whatever project I feel like working on.

The blanket is going to kill me, though. It's completely hay-uge, in colors I don't like, and with "yarn" I despise. Which is why, of course, I have to solemnly promise that I will not start anything new until it's done, because otherwise I will never finish it.

The other projects are coming along, however. I've started the front of the baby sweater, and I may even finish the whole thing by the end of next week. For some reason, I got stalled for a while out of some kind of fear about actually finishing the back. What? Me, finish something? Seriously, I fear the unknown.

Guilt blog

2005-07-11T09:36:00.000-04:00

It's my first day back at work after a week off, so blogging time is short. Gotta catch up again, you know. So, just a few brief highlights:

(1) The kitchen is transformed. It looks fab-u-lous. Even Chuck likes it, and for him to compliment a home renovation project (knowing the potential for spawning other such projects) is pretty big. Pics later.

(2) The first annual retreat of the Ghetto-Stitching Floss Lickers was a roaring success. I can't remember the last time I voluntarily stayed up until 2:00 in the morning. This weekend, I did it twice. There was laughter, there was chocolate, there was stitching. Woohoo!

(3) Duchess is settling in nicely (she is much less afraid of the children than Daphne was, which bodes well), but the poor dear has a nasty cold. She is at the vet right now, getting all fixed up. Bosco will likely get some meds too, as he was sneezing last night.

(4) On Saturday I bought the Fall 2005 issue of Interweave Knits, primarily for the sweater on the cover. Sweaters like that are the reason I wanted to learn to knit--gorgeous and unique. There are several other designs in there that I like. I will be interested to see what Queer Joe thinks about the designs when he reviews the magazine, as he no doubt will. Like Mikey in the Life cereal commercials, he hates everything (well, almost everything). There is some bad stuff in this magazine, but there is also some really cool stuff.

(5) My nephew's sweater is moving along--I'm past the armhole decreases on the back, and I'm starting the pattern stitch today. Again, pics are forthcoming.

Okay, it's back to work for me. Have a good day, y'all.

Do you pray?

2005-07-07T10:43:00.000-04:00

If you do, you are no doubt praying for the frightened and suffering people of London right now. But, are you also praying for the people responsible for the bombings? Whatever prompted them to do this--hate, fear, wrath, envy, etc.--surely was not put in their hearts by God, but by someone else entirely.

These people, whoever they are, are in need of God's mercy every bit as much as the rest of us. God is not willing that even one should be lost, so should we not pray for our brothers and sisters who have hurt and frightened us? Should we not pray for their hearts to be softened, for the love and mercy of God to wash over them and restore them to Him? If we want peace, should we not pray for our enemies?

Of course we should, and I hope that you will.

No time to blog...

2005-07-04T19:31:00.000-04:00

I'm busy transforming my kitchen...

And making the acquaintance of Her Royal Felineness, the Grand Duchess Elizaveta:

She has deigned to allow us to call her Duchess, for short. She will not, however, entertain inquiries as to how such an absolutely tiny little kitten (she weighs all of two pounds) managed to acquire such a huge name. She simply reiterates that she is, indeed, royalty, and that those who forget it do so at their peril.

Misc. stuff...

2005-06-29T14:53:00.000-04:00

My first completed knitting object: My mom's chemo cap.

This will teach me to take pictures indoors, instead of in natural light. Believe it or not, the cap is a lovely, cool green, not grayish pink (or pinkish gray, depending on your monitor). It is not as ugly and hopeless as the picture makes it appear. In any event, it is on its way to my mom (who starts chemo today), along with another cap much more capably knit by the inestimable Patti.

I've also finished the never-ending baby blanket, and none too soon. The lucky recipient arrived in the world yesterday. Pics (of the blanket, if not the baby) soon.

And, believe it or not, there is some stitching going on.

This is what I've gotten done so far on Teresa Wentzler's "Above the Clouds." Again, it's a pretty cruddy picture, but you can see the mottled look of the fabric, which is going to be really cool when it's all done. I'll post more pics as the work progresses.

I'm reading a fascinating book right now: No Idle Hands: The Social History of American Knitting, by Anne McDonald. Seriously, this book is a must-read for American women who knit. Did you know that knitting was a form of protest from way, way, waaaaaay before Knitters Against Bush? True fact, my friend. But you have to read the book to learn more about it, hahaha. If you liked Debbie Stoller's introducton to Stitch & Bitch, you'll probably enjoy McDonald's book.

Gratuitous cuteness

2005-06-27T13:08:00.000-04:00

aka, party pics. Just a few, some of which were taken by special guest photographer Andy.

First, the cake:

There are two things you will notice about the cake (other than its really cool "Madagascar" theme, which Andy loved). First, it is huge. This is my fault. Chuck dutifully ordered a "half-sheet" cake, per my instructions. Evidently, in bakery parlance "half-sheet" means "roughly twice the size of anything you could bake in your puny little home oven." Silly me. We fed every kid at the pool (some of them twice) and still had a ton left. Not that I am complaining--see the next paragraph.

Also, there is the fact that it is not homemade. I do not feel the least bit guilty about this, and if you have ever tasted a cake from Publix, you will understand why. When people bite into a piece of Publix cake, their eyes roll back in their heads and they say, "Oh my God, you got this from Publix, didn't you?" and you are immediately the best hostess that ever walked the face of the earth. All hail the Publix cake. (For the record, Andy will get a homemade cake for his actual birthday.)

Here is a close-up of a slice of cake, courtesy of our Special Guest Photographer:

Andy also took pictures of his lunch, his juice, and the pole for the table umbrella.

And, he snapped this:

That's the back of his friend Jonathan's head. I think Andy was going for some kind of avant-garde, post-modern kind of thing.

Of course, after several hours at the pool and the general merriment that ensued there, our party guy was a bit wiped out: Gratuitous cuteness alert!

The absolute adorableness of my big guy cuddled up with a stuffed kitten totally makes up for the fact that this nap caused him to be awake until almost midnight.

And a good time was had by...

2005-06-25T16:55:00.000-04:00

both of them--Andy and the one kid who showed up. Sheesh. But Andy didn't notice and we shared the cake with everyone at the pool, so all in all it was not a bad day. Pictures (I let Andy have the camera again) coming later.

Here goes nothin'

2005-06-25T09:59:00.000-04:00

The first word out of Andy's mouth upon waking this morning was "Yippee!" He then ran into our bedroom shouting "It's my birthday! Mommy, it's my birthday!" It's actually not his birthday today--today is just the party. His birthday is next Friday. Apparently, however, such trivial distinctions are lost on the youth of this household.

We're just about ready for la fete. Andy and Chuck are out getting the balloons, cake, and some ice. All of my prep work is pretty much done (for once, I have managed to keep things simple. There will be no ice cream because I don't want to bother trying to keep it frozen at the pool. And there will be no fruit salad because people who don't RSVP do not deserve such niceties. Yes, I'm still torqued about that, thanks for noticing.) Hot dogs, chips (potato and tortilla), veggies & dip, various drinks, and cake. And goodie bags, of course. And the pool. Hopefully that will keep everyone happy.]

So, now I just have to hope that people show up. Cross your fingers for us.

Helloooooooo!

2005-06-23T08:44:00.000-04:00

Look who we found at the bookstore last night:

A cute little hippo guy. He was found wandering, bereft, in a basket of clearance-priced beanie babies, and we simply had to rescue him. Cute little hippo guys do not belong amongst pink striped "tigers". It's just not right, for a variety of ecological and chromatic reasons. So naturally we brought him home.

Here he is getting to know the rest of the hippo population chez Small:

We think he will get along well with the other hippos. (Well, except for the gold-tone one Mom sent me for my birthday. But that one’s kind of snooty in general, being gold and all.)

And here, just in case you were wondering, is what Andy’s feet look like:

This is what happens when you let your almost-five-year-old have your digital camera for more than 30 seconds. There is also a picture of the shoes on the mat by the door, but trust me when I tell you that this picture is even less inspiring than the picture of Andy’s feet.

Poor Andy. His birthday party is Saturday, and he’s so excited about it, but I don’t think many kids are going to come. In addition to the ones that are out of town (a problem we had tried to avoid by scheduling the party *before* the July 4 weekend), it turns out that there are two other birthday parties this Saturday, and Andy’s is the one in the middle. Only about 1/3 of the guest list has bothered to RSVP (you people are rude, rude, rude, and I am very. annoyed. at you.), so we have no idea who else might be coming.

And, of course, there’s the fact that he wasn’t invited to either of the other birthday parties. One of the kids is an older boy, so I’m not surprised Andy wasn’t invited to that one. The other, I don’t know. Either way, I’m upset because I think Andy is going to get crushed on Saturday. Every maternal fiber in my being (turns out there are a lot of them, by the way), wants to scream at the world for daring to hurt my precious little boy. Life shouldn’t be like this, not at five years old.