The Yarn Cure

Octamom is demanding pictures of Fridge #2. Let's make a deal - the day I go over 10,000 readers a day, I'll post those photos. Which makes me pretty safe, as my current average hovers around 200...

My parenting today was less than stellar. I seem to have picked up the cold I thought I had ducked (which is what happens when your 3-year-old sneezes in your face), so I spent half the afternoon lying on the couch; the rest of the day I spent being spectacularly unproductive - jigsaw puzzles, cards, whining...

No, wait, it was the kids who were whining. Whatever...


Rachel has a special talent for injuring herself in bizarre ways. Today she screamed for half an hour because she had shoved a playing card under her fingernail - repeatedly.

[Are you wincing? I'm wincing.]

She says that was the only way she could pick the card up from the floor. I say she was inflicting Karmic payback on herself for a former life spent as a torturer of political prisoners.


It refuses to snow here, which makes me grouchy. How about you all point me to something funny, heh? I could use a laugh, if only to distract me from the ennui that seems to currently be my life.

Yes, I am aware that a good cure for ennui is to start some new knitting project. And order some yarn. Believe me, I'm on it.

Whistle A Happy Tune...

Happiness is finding forgotten chocolate in my knitting bag. What more could a gal ask for?

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I am starting to realize that if I've knitted 4 scarves since last December, I cannot possibly knit 6 more in the next two weeks. Do you think it would be a good idea to mail 5 scarves this year and then mail another 5 next year for the people who didn't get any? The problem is, these are all being packed in one big box, so people are going to know they've been left out.

That's not one of the ones I've done, by the way - I stole someone else's picture. So don't start asking me where I got the yarn, or how it feels to knit with, or whatever. I've been using Paton's merino, which is a great deal at Michael's with the 40 percent off coupon.

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My teen daughter wants to see "Twilight" - the movie made from the book that you should have heard about by now if you are acquainted with any of the female species. It's a classic tale of star-crossed lovers, all mixed up in teenage melodrama. Only this particular star-crossed couple consists of a human girl and a vampire guy. I asked Anna how that could work and she explained, "Well, the guy is a vegetarian vampire."

All righty, then. That clears it right up.

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The pair of socks that I knit 3 times has disappeared. I last saw them on top of the washer. This does not bode well. I asked Larry if he had seen them and he said no, but he didn't sound convincing. My guess is that someone threw them in the dryer by mistake and that Larry came upon their shrunken forms and did what any sensible knitter's husband would do in such a situation: he hid them.

Let this be a reminder to all of us: we should hug our handknits frequently and tell them how special they are. Any time together could be our last.

*********************

Susie is fine with her stitches as long as we don't

1. wipe her face
2. take off her shirt
3. put on her shirt
4. give her drippy food

Apparently, when one warns a three-year-old to be careful of her stitches, she takes it very, very seriously.

*************************

Anna looks surprised and vaguely annoyed to find me still here. As in, "Don't you have a home to go to?" surprised. Or, "You're so old and boring, why do you even bother to go on living?" annoyed. In her eyes, I look precisely like the picture to the left. Only, less fun.

I try not to take it personally. I mean, if I'm lucky, I only have to wait another 20 - 30 years for her to be regarded the same way by her teen daughter.

Not that I'm counting the days, or anything...

A Word To The Wise

How Not To Be An Organized Knitter

1. Get a tote bag.
2. Put a work-in-progress in it.
3. Add a tape measure and a darning needle.
4. Put another work-in-progress in it, in case you finish the first one while you are out somewhere. Make sure there is enough loose yarn to allow both projects to become entangled. Bonus points if tape measure gets tangled also.
   
5. Repeat with several more tote bags.
6. Buy more knitting needles because you can't remember what you have and it is too time-consuming to check all those bags.
7. Put the spare needles in yet another bag.
   
8. Buy more tape measures while you're at it. Put them with the spare needles.
9. Misplace bag.
   
10. Repeat steps 1-9 ad nauseam.
    

Victory

After 4 tries on sock #1 and 2 tries on sock #2 (and if you think about it, I really knit 3 pairs of socks here), I finally have this (over there to the right) to show for all my efforts.


This was the first pair I have knit from Sockotta, and I am desperately trying to ignore the fact that the socks are, as I type this post, making my ankles itch. Nope, I just won't think about that at all.






I was also victorious (albeit 3 days late) in my weekly fridge cleaning. And not merely victorious, but downright creative, actually - I present to y'all Still Life With Leftovers:



Nice, isn't it? The dying flowers add a certain je ne sais quoi to the usual stack of Pyrex. Van Gogh, eat your heart out.


P.S. And for those of you who just have to know, from bottom to top it's chicken in black bean sauce, potroast (maybe), black bean soup, scrambled egg, and cooked pumpkin. I'm sure Ma Ingalls would have made some sort of a delicious stew out of all these ingredients before they went bad; I bow to her superior subsistence skills.

As The Food Turns

But first, some non-food news (well, sort of...)...

This news story is making me rethink everything I thought I knew about the blogosphere. I mean, knitting bloggers all seem so nice (so long as you don't threaten their stash). If you can't trust a knitting blogger, who can you trust? And if you peruse those published blog posts of the accused, they all seem fairly standard, don't they? Will we all start wondering who else amongst us might be a wolf in sheep's clothing? (Well, a wolf knitting from sheep's clothing, anyway...)

And doesn't this incident mean that all of us knitting bloggers should refrain from joking about how we steal from the family food budget in order to add to our yarn stashes? I wouldn't want the FBI showing up at my door, waving some printouts of this blog and demanding to see my teenage daughter. It just might upset Larry. Run-ins with the law do that to him, you know.

Speaking of knitting bloggers (at least, those of us who are law-abiding), I can only assume that we are all of the same mind about this news item. 150,000 dollars on clothes? I could have made do on half that and then spent the rest on some good sock yarn. And a decent set of circular needles. And a few knitting books....

It's all about spending priorities, isn't it? Judging from hers, I'm betting we can't count on a Vice President Palin to support yarn subsidies for knitters. I wonder, is there a knitter on the Democratic ticket? Does anyone even care about the knitting vote?


And now back to our regularly scheduled feature -

1. Sauerkraut (again!) - it migrated back into the refrigerator while I was still trying to decide whether or not to toss it.
2. 2 Gladware containers of mashed potatoes
3. 1 Gladware container of some kidney bean concoction - it was slated for the freezer, but someone shoved it into the back of the fridge instead.
4. Our scrambled eggs from last week - I told you so.
5. A CorningWare pot half full (or half empty, depending upon your outlook) of homemade chicken noodle soup. My kids like the canned stuff better. What can I say? They're sodium junkies.
6. And in the back is some leftover Amigo Chicken Tortilla Soup from SavingDinner. This tasted pretty good; but then Anna decided that it smelled like the sausage chowder she had thrown up 2 years ago, and now no one wants to eat it. Including y'all, I suppose...
   

I must say, it is a wonder how I am able to work the subject of vomit into almost any post. I do pride myself on it.

Problems

1. You would think, knowing how helpful knitters generally are, that someone, upon reading this post a couple of weeks ago, would have e-mailed me posthaste to warn me that, if I'm switching needles midway through a pair of socks, I might want to recheck my gauge on the new needles. But no, I heard nary a warning; so I've been happily knitting away to make a mate for the perfectly sized sock, the sock of my dreams, that I created on those accursed bamboo needles, enjoying the relative ease with which my new metal DPN's slide through my knitted loops, without even suspecting that I was careening toward a knitting disaster.

In short, the second sock is appreciably narrower than the first. I could leave it as is; but then every time I would wear it, I would be reminded, by the discomfort in my left foot, that a mistake had been made. Here I was fantasizing that I could become one of those knitters who actually manages to produce more than one item per year. Alas, that was all it was - a fantasy.

2. Last night, after approximately half an hour spent figuring out a)which photos are already in my Snapfish shopping cart, b)which photos have been edited but not placed in my cart, and c)which photos have been both edited and already purchased as prints - after all of that, I determined a devastating fact: I have not, in fact, edited a single photo from 2008. None. I remember editing a lot of photos somewhere in the first part of the year; but those photos were, in fact, from 2007. But only the last 4 months of 2007. I have no idea what is going on with the first 8 months there, either.

3. The trip today to my local library was once again humiliating. I picture them someday just snapping handcuffs on me in front of the children. No, I don't want to talk about it. But, damn, those fines add up fast.

I have to go now, to edit approximately 2800 photos (I am not indulging in hyperbole here) and to pull apart the sock I just about finished tonight. And, no, I didn't get around to calling the doctor, all right? I had a carpool to drive, and a library visit to make, and a sock to finish (sob). Tomorrow, though. There's always tomorrow.



Whew! Now I can't get that song out of my head. Nor the picture of the multiple Dutch Annies. That was too weird, don't you think?

Knit Me A River

Wow! I should have quizzes more often. I got almost as many comments about the mummified bananas as I had on the bra post. (There's a joke in there somewhere, but I'm not going to go for it.)

Yes, the unidentified object was (were?) 2 bananas, looking as though they had been bought sometime in the Pleistocene Era. I can't understand how they reached the petrified stage they were in without their oozing all over my counter first. Usually, it's the oozing that tips me off.

So, thanks to everyone who played! And a special thanks to "A," the first commenter, whose comment made me go over to YouTube looking for a rendition of "Yes, We Have No Bananas." I knew the song existed, but I had never heard it until today. And now I can't get that darn tune out of my head.

As I said, thanks. Thanks a lot.

I managed to attend Knit Night last night; essentially, I walked out the door as Larry walked in from his 3-day management retreat, saying, "Retreat this, buddy!" (Okay, no, I didn't; but I wanted to.) There I was able to discuss with other women a problem that I didn't realize many of us married knitters share: a spouse who thinks that, when he speaks, he should have our full, undivided (i.e., not knitting) attention.

In other words, all those evenings I spent sitting cosily in the den with Larry, knitting away on some project or another and listening to him talk about what is screwed up at work? Didn't count. Because I was knitting. Even though I was conversing with him throughout, asking questions, and only occasionally interrupting the conversation to pick up a dropped stitch or search for a lost needle...

Talk about not being on the same page, huh? Larry doesn't understand that the only way I can listen to him (or anyone else, for that matter) for an extended period of time is by knitting. If my brain isn't focusing on the knitting, it darts around thinking about laundry that isn't done, the kitchen that needs to be cleaned, meat that needs defrosting for the next day, etc. And when it does that, I am really not paying attention.

This misunderstanding stems from the fact that men don't seem able to do two things at once. For instance, when Larry is on the phone, he needs to retreat to a perfectly quiet room and focus on his phone conversation. Isn't that cute? Ya wanna know what I do while I am on the phone?

1. Cook
2. Clean
3. Wipe butts (not mine, though)
4. Settle fights
5. Change diapers
6. Answer e-mail
7. Knit (but, of course)
8. Fold laundry
9. Correct math homework
10. Yell at kids

If I can do all that, I am definitely capable of knitting quietly while carrying on a conversation with my spouse, don't you think? But someday, if Larry runs off with some non-knitting hussy who sits and gazes soulfully into his eyes every time he utters a word, y'all will know it's my fault. And I can live with that.

Going bananas here, can you tell?


(And, yes, I have noted that Audrey Hepburn is most definitely not knitting as she chats and laughs flirtatiously with Humphrey Bogart. But they don't have 6 kids together, either.)

Vacation Preparation

[Any of you who have wandered over here from The Well-Trained Mind forum: just type "fridge" into the search bar at the top left and you will find what you are looking for.]

After nagging my husband into joining us at the pool this afternoon, I began feeling seriously unwell. So, I left him there. (Good thing we came in 2 vans). I'm sure Larry thinks I lured him to the pool with the intention of leaving him alone with the 4 youngest while I went home and took a nap.

It was a great (3-hour) nap, though. I don't know what hit me. Maybe an entire summer's worth of sunscreen and swim towels and Italian ices, all at once. And I just had to lie down.

We are leaving on Monday for a whole week, which means I need to spend all day tomorrow cooking and freezing dinners, doing laundry, and planning which knitting I need to bring. This last is a very involved process that necessitates itemizing all the yarn I own, perusing all my available patterns (including free ones on the Web), and (quite possibly) making a few trips to Michaels and to the bookstore to pick up more yarn, or patterns, or the right-size needles (which I have but can't find).

And then there is the trip to Target for more underwear. And some envelopes for the books I am finally going to mail. (If you click on that last link, you can still sign up for this week's Bloggy Book Club giveaway.) And some treats to bribe the kids with in the car. And icepacks for the cooler. And...

Actually, I bet there will be 2 trips to Target. I am not the most organized person in the world.

Oh, and then I have to clean the whole house, because heaven forbid we all die on the road...

Think Up Your Own Damn Title

This was supposed to be Saturday's post, but Larry hogged the computer all day yesterday trying to straighten out our finances. You see, I threw a teeny-tiny hissy fit in the morning and told him I wanted to leave town for more than 3 days and that I wasn't going to spend a week in a tent. And I didn't care if I already spent our vacation money on someone else's bumper, I need to escape in August just like everyone else does around here, dammit.

So, he picked up on my subtle intimations of discontent (probably at the point when I threatened to dissolve the kids' college funds) and spent the day combing through our finances looking for some "extra" money. While he was at it, he attempted to deal with the confusion of our main credit card being farmed out to some new company that we didn't want; but that involved switching all our automatic payments over to a different credit card, and that meant trying to remember approximately 16 gazillion different passwords and PINs in order to access all the different accounts.

I hate seeing a grown man cry like that.

So I decided to deal with a minor knitting crisis while I waited my turn at the computer. You see, Anna's flute camp had a performance Friday evening; and knitting is the only thing that keeps me from acting up like a 3-year-old at these things, as it is all I can do to sit still through any sort of performance (much less a high school one) without sedation. But as I settled in my seat in the auditorium and pulled out the sock I was planning to work on, I realized that 1 of the 4 double-pointed needles I needed was missing.

Folks, I felt as if I had just jumped out of a plane without a parachute. There I was, with nothing to do for 3 solid hours. I whiled away an hour of it retracing my steps and searching for my missing needle (size 0, bamboo - have you seen it?). That was fun, if unsuccessful. Then I spent the 2nd hour repeatedly taking Susie (who was behaving way better than I was) down to the water fountain and back up to our seats (that's what you get for feeding the kids high-sodium-content fast food before the performance). The 3rd hour, I slumped in my seat and mourned all that lost knitting time.

So today I had to rummage through all my knitting bags (and they are legion) to locate the 5th matching needle. As any knitter knows, this sort of exercise is rife with regrets and self-condemnation, as it requires facing up to innumerable unfinished projects and a level of disorganization that makes the inside of my refrigerator look good. I unearthed things I didn't even know I had: 2 baby hats that I finished for Afghans for Afghans and then forgot to send; a vest I knitted for Rachel and never completed the neck edging on; a pair of socks that only need the ends woven in; a top-down hat that I started last October; and a bunch of yarn that I was supposed to have made into a mistake-rib scarf months ago. There were also assorted needles of indeterminate sizes, many tape measures, crumpled printouts of patterns, an old bag of cough drops, a comb, and a petrified french fry.

So I did what any self-respecting knitter would do. I gave up and started a new project. I sat upstairs and knitted Susie to sleep, as it were; and when I came down, I found Larry sitting disconsolately in his chair, surrounded - nay, engulfed - by a year's worth of paperwork. "Everything's a mess," he said. "I'm a slob. I can't find anything."

What can I say? We're a match made in heaven.

Oh, and in case any of you thought I was exaggerating the dismal outlook for women in their forties the other day, think again. For those of you who are click-averse, that link is to an msnbc article that is titled

Men End Up Happier Than Women Later In Life

Just remember, you heard it here first. The article mentions that age 48 is when "men's overall happiness exceeds women's overall happiness." Now, that makes perfect sense to me. That's just the point in life when many men dump their menopausal ball-and-chains to take off with some strumpet half their age. Is it any wonder the guys' happiness exceeds ours at that point?

Of course, I'm not too worried about that happening to me, what with the deal Larry and I have worked out.

Sunday Ramblings

Larry was duly alarmed upon reading yesterday's post. Serves him right for not hiring a nanny. Maybe she wouldn't ignore his children the way I am doing right now. Then again, she might be young and nubile. Okay, new rule - any nanny hired has to be older than me. And not as good-looking. I really don't need the competition.

Today (well, Saturday) happened to be Worldwide Knit in Public Day. Apparently, we knitters are supposed to take to the streets in massive numbers and knit in full view of non-knitters. Personally, I don't think it will make much of an impact, as we usually bring our knitting with us when we go out anyway. Now, if the organizers had called it Worldwide Knit Naked in Public Day, that may have garnered a bit more attention, don't you think?

I don't know why no one consults me on these things.

That's all I've got, folks. I'm also at MidCentury Modern Moms today, as soon as I figure out what the heck I'm going to write. See you there - I'll be the one with the knitting (but fully clothed).

Why Bunkbeds Are A Bad Idea

I was going to be a good girl and go to bed at 10 this evening, but then I decided to stay up and wash puke off of the boys' bedroom wall instead. Because that activity is more enjoyable than a good night's sleep.

Naturally, what with vomit-cleanup being such an adrenaline-pumping experience, I am still up. And not feeling too well myself, I might add. Larry went back to sleep, however, after moving the bunkbeds and lifting the mattresses and removing the puked-on guardrails for me while I wrung my hands and wailed things like, "Aaagh! It's dripping on me!" and "Why does he always have to be in the top bunk when he throws up?!" To that last, Larry said, "I dunno. We're lucky, I guess."

You know, Larry may seem like he's totally out of it, standing there in his underwear and looking groggy; but he always manages to come up with a good one-liner at times like these.

The embarrassing part is that when I heard Brian coughing strangely in his bed and I went in and didn't see any vomit (because it was dark and he had puked on the wall next to the bed and because I didn't really want to find any vomit, if you must know the truth), I had to debate whether there was a new puke smell in the room, or if that was just the old puke smell from October. I mean, how can you tell? Is that a question I could send in to Hints from Heloise, you think?

I'm just so glad Brian didn't want the tuna at dinner. I don't think I could have cleaned that up.

Hello? Anyone still here?

Before my evening was ruined, I went to Knit Night and let everyone touch the book that the Yarn Harlot had signed for me. Then I ate a delicious chicken caesar salad and half a brownie sundae, and I fervently hope that I will not be seeing those 2 items again tonight. Things are not looking good, though. Can anyone tell me: do you stop catching stomach viruses once the kids are grown and gone? Because this vomit scene is getting really old.

Natural Disasters

Not only do my children have issues with turning off lights, they also have an aversion to ever properly screwing the lid back on to any jar, jug, bottle, or whatever. This can be a problem when one goes to shake the salad dressing before pouring it (I mean, if it bothers you to walk around smelling like Creamy Italian the rest of the evening)...or when the vibration of the washer makes the laundry detergent container fall off and land on the floor. A problem, say, the way the Exxon-Valdez spill was a problem.

I mean, how does one clean up an entire jug of liquid laundry soap? It would be nice if I could have taken a hose and simply sprayed down the entire floor, as it does have a drain in it...but that would have been in some alternate universe, a universe where we have a garage that would hold all the crap we have piled in our utility room. I could show you a picture, but it is too embarrassing. Suffice it to say that there is a narrow path to my washer/dryer and that path was covered in soap.




It was like this, only messier and harder to clean up...






So, instead of spending a peaceful evening knitting (Larry had taken all the kids out to see David "cross over" from Cub Scouts to Boy Scouts), I spent my time learning that paper towels don't really do the trick in a situation like this. Old hand towels and cloth diapers worked better; though I needed to use so many, I had a full load of laundry to do when I was finished. Which was great, because, really, I don't do enough laundry. Why stop at 3 loads a day when you can do more? At least I didn't need to add detergent to that particular load (I did put in baking soda, however - I am Laundress, hear me roar...)

So, as you can see, the excitement never stops around here. Aren't you glad you stopped by?

Yesterday the kids and I walked to our local Ben and Jerry's and got the free ice cream cones the store was handing out (no, I don't know why they were doing that). And, yes, I was mean, making the kids walk all that way; but I figured it would heighten their appreciation for the unexpected treat. Plus, I really needed the exercise. I'm sure Susie was a tad puzzled that we were having ice cream, as she hadn't even pooped in the potty that day; but she's a girl who can roll with the punches, so she didn't let her confusion get in her way.

She peed all over the couch yesterday, by the way. Have I mentioned that? And again, on the hallway floor. It's worse than having a puppy. If she weren't so round-cheeked and squeezable, I would sell her to the gypsies. Maybe they would take Anna instead...she doesn't want to live with us, anyway.

Wonderful Things

Gee, I should ask for household hints every day. I get more comments that way.

Before all the (much-appreciated) suggestions to use vinegar came pouring in, my Depression-era neighbor advised me to add baking soda to the wash. Being primarily acquainted with baking soda's fire-extinguishing qualities, I was puzzled; but I complied. Wow! You know, I've never really cared much about how I do the laundry, just so long as it gets done; I have never even used fabric softener or dryer sheets. But today, sniffing my sweet-smelling, baking-soda-ed clothes released my inner laundress from whatever dark dungeon she has been cowering in all these years. The formerly funky-smelling laundry smelled so good, I was almost inspired to line-dry it in the sweet spring air. Almost. Fortunately, it's raining today, so I was saved from acting on this rash impulse. And line-drying is outlawed in my 'burb, anyway.

Yes, we are that plastic here.

What astonishes me is that I had such a great weekend, and here I am posting about laundry. Sad, really.

As Amy has already written, one thousand knitters is a sight to behold. And one thousand knitters marching across a small New England college town trying to be first back to the yarn store is almost surreal. And one very funny, very articulate knitter (aka the Yarn Harlot) attempting to sign copies of her book for all these avid fans/knitters is...well...awe-inspiring. And I'm not just saying that because she told me she likes my blog. Ahem. She probably says that to everyone. But, being pathetically needy, I chose to believe her.

And, of course, she may have said that because I once wrote that she is the rock star of the knitting world...

I met many bloggy friends. There was MadMad, of course, who admitted at one point that I was nothing like she pictured me. This confession of hers made me wonder if I were projecting some sort of false persona in my blog. But then Amy, of Live,Learn,Knit, insisted that I was exactly as she had always pictured me (and the feeling was mutual), which just goes to show something profound about blogging, if I could just figure out what it is. Persnickety Knitter was there, as was Newton's Knitting (whose hand-knitted vest was really cool) and Lily Potter Knits, both of whom carpooled with Amy...the list goes on. I felt as though I was having some weird sort of dream where all my imaginary friends were meeting each other.

Amy, I must say, demonstrated remarkable aplomb while speaking with the Yarn Harlot. Her poised performance was in marked contrast to my stuttering and giggling when brought face to face with the reigning queen of knitting. It was all I could do not to genuflect and kiss her book-signing pen. MadMad generously included me in her dinner plans on Saturday night, which included dining with some other knitting royalty (Melissa Morgan of Melissa-Knits). That just added to the weird dream-like quality of the weekend.

I met my first male knitter, who was very personable and urged me to listen to his knitting podcast. He obviously doesn't read my blog, or he would know that I am not yet technologically advanced enough for podcasts. Someday, though...

And I haven't even mentioned WEBS yet. Where to start? The shelves full of patterns and books? The room full of looms? The piles and piles of yarn all begging to be stroked and touched? I was reminded of the archaeologist who first gazed into King Tut's tomb, opened after thousands of years. The person with him asked, "What do you see?" and all he could say was an awestruck "Wonderful things!"

Yes - wonderful things, indeed. And wonderful people. And a hotel room all to myself on Saturday night. I sat and knit in the blessed quiet, interrupted only by MadMad calling at 10 PM to report that she had just shared an elevator at her hotel with the Yarn Harlot herself. I was beside myself with jealousy.

I got up early the next morning (why? I don't know). It was so peaceful to shower, dress, and dry my hair without having to talk to anyone, or settle fights, or tell people to do things. I ate a yogurt and nobody cried. I sat down and knit for half an hour, just because I could. I enjoyed my solitude so much, I started to think about running away from home and joining a convent (preferably one that supported itself on the sale of handknitted items); but then I remembered that, alas, I am not Catholic. Do you think affirmative action might require the sisters to take a few Jews?

Anyway, I got a lot of knitting done over the weekend. I was proud of the progress I was making on Rachel's little vest, and I decided to finish up the back of it during the Yarn Harlot's talk Sunday afternoon. There was just enough light in the theater to knit by. There was also just enough light to realize that, somehow, I had totally messed up my knitting the night before (and I couldn't even blame the kids for distracting me). So, while Stephanie Pearl-McPhee waxed rhapsodic on the joys of knitting, I was busy ripping out every single bit of the work I had accomplished during the weekend. But I did it cheerfully, secure in the knowledge that I was sitting among a thousand other people who all, at one time or another, had had to do the same exact thing. Misery does love company, you know.

Anticipation...

Apparently, I am going to spend my first free weekend in 17 years at what future generations will undoubtedly refer to as the Woodstock of Knitting. The gentleman at WEBS sounded a little shaken up yesterday when he relayed to me the information that a thousand people will be descending on his store just to hear the Yarn Harlot speak. Imagine, if you will, one thousand knitters all in one place. Having trouble? Me, too. All I can picture is people waving placards proclaiming, "Make sweaters, not war..."



Of course, first I have to get there. Free weekends aren't free, you know. Here was my list:

1. Wash every single piece of clothing in the house so that everyone has enough clean clothes for the trip to Grandma's and Grandpa's house
2. Make sure all those clothes are actually packed in people's individual backpacks.
3. Keep Susie from unpacking her backpack, repeatedly.
4. Feed Susie lollipops to get her to stop screaming after I confiscate her backpack.
5. Buy special car treats to keep everyone happy in the car
6. Clean all the crap out of the car so that we can fill it with fresh crap.
7. Vacuum the car, since it is the first time in 4 months that it has been clean enough to vacuum.
8. Periodically threaten that no one is going anywhere if they don't leave me alone long enough to get all this stuff done.
9. Rummage desperately through pantry for Coke. Settle for diet Coke instead.
10. Realize Diet Coke ain't gonna do the trick.
11. Spank everyone soundly and send them to bed.
12. Enjoy some peace and quiet and foolishly decide I'll have time to finish everything in the morning.

Ant-ipathy

I missed one lousy piece of food on the kitchen floor Sunday night, and I am paying for it dearly. Ants are swarming my kitchen....I hates them. And don't tell me to get a pest control company - I hates them, too. They want to charge me 400 dollars a year to show up every once in a while to place some ant bait under the shoe moldings and spray the outside perimeter of the house. Guess what? I can get that ant bait and some Raid at Home Depot up the road. 15 dollars, tops. I keep telling Larry he owes me 400 dollars.

To add to my woes, I am suffering from haircut-induced PTSD. The initial trauma occurred way back in 1997, what Larry lovingly refers to as The Year of the Head Lice. It was traumatic. So traumatic that I am still unable to write anything funny about it. Let me just say, then, that one week after letting someone cut my hair with communal scissors that I haven't been able to personally sterilize, I become convinced that bugs are hatching all over my head.

Add to that the fact that I have developed something of a nervous twitch at my periodically ant-infested computer desk - one that involves intermittently smacking my own fingers while typing because it feels as though ants are crawling on them - and another nervous twitch in my ant-infested kitchen that involves slapping at my shins because it feels as though ants may be marching up my legs.... what with all that and worrying about bugs laying eggs in my hair, I'm finding it sort of hard to relax right now.

Sitting in a bagel shop all day seemed like a good solution to me - but for some reason they didn't like having 4 of my kids wandering around the place all morning. So I had to give up my idea of insect-enforced homelessness and come back to our extremely expensive anthill of a house and snap at the kids whenever they wanted something to eat in our crawling kitchen. I would have fed them outside, but - wouldn't you know - it's raining.

Actually, raining is an understatement. There's a deluge out there, and we have a lake forming directly behind our house. I send the kids out to play in it, but they keep coming back in because they are wet. Sissies. I told them there was a tornado watch so that they would all stay in the basement and leave me alone. That worked until they got hungry again. What's a mom to do?

Reader, I fed them. And the ants came marching in once more. So I convinced Rachel to go after the intruders. Which she did with frightening enthusiasm. She'd focus in on one and squash it slowly and deliberately with her finger. She kept a body count.

I knew we'd be able to channel her decapitation obsession into something useful.

Knitting Follies

I decided 2 nights ago to finish the sweater I had started for Rachel. The separate pieces have been done for months; but, stymied by the cryptic (to me) instruction to "pick up" the stitches at the neck, I had put it aside. Buoyed, however, by my successful foray into kid-pleasing cake decorating, I realized that, hey, no matter what the finished product would look like, my daughter (being only 5) will no doubt think it wonderful.

Kids can be such an ego boost, can't they? I'm raising my own little fan club.

So, while I helped Theo with his geometry, I picked up stitches (badly), knitted a collar (somewhat), and then (whew!) started on the easy part - attaching the sleeves. My adrenaline coursed higher and higher as I sewed; I'll stay up all night, I thought, and finish the job; Rachel will wake up tomorrow morning to find a handknit sweater on her bed. Yes! I am truly a wonderful mother!

Imagine my disappointment, then, when I realized I had sewn the sleeve on inside out. I managed to (slowly) take it back off and turn it around and sew it back on; but, truth to tell, that second time around? My heart wasn't in it. So I went to bed.

Yesterday I finished sewing on the second sleeve while my friend was visiting; and then, just to show off, I called Rachel in to try on her almost completed sweater. I do wish I had thought to take a video of her struggling to pull it over her head. Seems that picked-up collar is a bit smaller than it should be. And I have no idea how to fix it. I'd give it to Susie, but the sleeves are already long on Rachel.

My friend (who, I must say, is easily amused) got a kick out of it, though. So all that work was worth it.

Alone Again...

Larry deserted me again to spend the weekend biking with David and his Boy Scout troop. At least he didn't have to drag David out of the house kicking and screaming like last time. I'd console myself for my loneliness by eating chocolate; but now that I have practically reached my goal weight (or, to put it more accurately, now that my goal weight has almost reached me), it seems foolish to set myself back with comfort eating. Plus, I want to pig out at Bunko on Monday night. So I will just have to knit instead. Maybe some crochet, too - for dessert.

Oooh...I wish I hadn't typed that word "dessert."

Anyway, Larry is atoning for all this spousal abandonment by agreeing to my suggestion that we drive all the way to Massachusetts to visit what is, apparently, the greatest yarn store ever (and, not so coincidentally, to hear the Yarn Harlot speak at this same store). I mean, I am going to the yarn store; he is going to keep the children amused by taking them to Sturbridge Village and whatever else he can think of to do in that area.

No expensive hotels for us, particularly as the clerks start citing fire codes and insisting that we reserve 2 rooms instead of one. Luckily, there is inexpensive military lodging nearby, which is much better, anyway. Mini kitchens, huge rooms with pull-out sofas, laundry facilities (because, really, what makes a vacation better than doing laundry - we wouldn't want me to go through withdrawal or anything over the weekend)...

Sad, isn't it, that I think of Air Force guest lodging in western Massachusetts as a resort stay? I think I need to get out more.

The very best part of this plan is that I will actually meet other knitting bloggers that I have become cyber-acquainted with over the past 6 months or so. Unfortunately, Anna heard me discussing this with Larry and said, "You're going to a strange place to see people you've met online? I thought we weren't supposed to do that."

Don't you hate it when teens are right? But what could a psychopathic knitting blogger do to me, anyway? Unravel the hat I'm knitting when I'm not looking? Handcuff me with extra-long circular needles and steal my Paton's felting wool? We're Yarn Harlot groupies, for heaven's sake; this will be more like going to a Grateful Dead concert than anything else - only we will all be wearing hand-knits rather than tie-dye, and none of us would waste our hemp by smoking it.




See? Everyone is smiling, nobody's getting hurt.







Or perhaps I'm rationalizing, and I am setting a bad example for my teenage daughter. But, determined as she is not to do anything that her totally embarrassing mother does, I do think this may be a win-win situation...

All Politics is Loco

One reader yesterday brought me to task over my assertion that waterboarding is indeed torture, pointing out that sometimes torture is sometimes necessary to elicit vital information from detainees. Actually, I wasn't arguing for or against the use of torture (although I respectfully disagree with his thesis, as do professional FBI interrogators). It's just that if you are going to torture someone, don't start splitting legal hairs and saying it isn't technically torture. They remind me of Anna arguing that she didn't really push her younger sibling, she was just moving him forcibly out of her way. Hello? Let's have a little personal responsibility here.

And, yes, I do think the current administration is a little short on that.

Don't think you have me pegged, politically speaking, simply because I dislike the Bush administration. I'm one of the vast number of swing voters that all the candidates are desperately courting these days. In fact, I still have no idea which candidate I am voting for this November. Every day I change my mind. If you're waiting in line for the voting booth, and you see the person ahead of you frantically flipping a coin? That'll be me, I'm afraid...

But I do think we've got a bunch of good choices, for once. And that makes me happy. If this campaign isn't making you happy, it's because you haven't listened to its front-runners take on the challenge of making an omelette, brought to you courtesy of Garrison Keillor and his gang. (Look for "Segment 5" and then "the omelette script")

It also makes me happy that so many other people in the blogosphere are library deadbeats. I think Jenn won the prize yesterday by admitting to "...the time I had $300.00 in fines and kept hiding the notices from my mom until the Marshal showed up at the door with an arrest warrant." There were a lot of good contenders, though; so I would like to thank all of you for playing "Why My Librarian Hates Me." You're great! What do we have for the winners, Johnny?

Excuse me, I'm just giddy because I am being allowed out this evening to attend Knit Night. And I don't even have to wear the ankle monitor this time. I've come a long way, baby...

Thankful For The Small Things

I'm thinking that it is hard for a woman to restrict both her food intake and her non-food purchases at the same time. I've lost another pound (thank you, yes, I do feel great, except for this gnawing feeling in my stomach); but I keep buying things online. Things that have been sitting on my Amazon wishlist for 6 months, say...and some more fun workbooks for the kids...and a bunch of educational CD's that put science to music I've been eyeing for years....

(I must say, that until you've learned about DNA to the tune of "Shortnin' Bread," you haven't really lived. This is why I home school.)

I haven't even hit the yarn sites yet; but I can feel it coming. Where do you buy your Cascade 220, Amy? I think I'll be ordering some next time I want a cookie.

You know what? Nothing to complain about today - I lost a pound, I got my 15-minute walk, only one kid wept through dinner, and my husband has not exposed me to a media firestorm of epic proportions. What's not to like about that?

War is Hell

I swear, in all the years they have been alive, not one of my children has ever, of his/her own will, turned off a light. I'll go upstairs and find it devoid of people, yet with 3 bedroom lights, one hallway light, and one bathroom light, all on. I think it's all part of their NILE initiative - No Illumination Left Extinguished. Just a few people's effort to make their tiny corner of the world a little brighter....

And in this (bright) corner of the world, what makes the front page of major newspapers (print edition) are school redistricting fights. That's right, there's the war in Iraq; but there are the more important wars here at home, such as whose child gets to go to an AP school versus an IB school. Though these differences seem trivial to outsiders, they spark internecine violence, such as fistfights among parents at school bus stops (please, people, the children! Spare the children!). Irate homeowners storm the offices of local realtors, who made unkeepable promises regarding specific school districts. Longtime friends and neighbors stop speaking to each other. It's brother against brother, the north side of town against the south, angry mobs sniping at each other at neighborhood yard sales...

People wonder why I home school. I tell you, it's because I don't like to take sides. Can't we all just get along? And put something more newsworthy on the front pages of our newspapers? Geez, no wonder print is dead....

I sat next to yet another spinning fanatic at Knit Night yesterday evening. She looked normal, but then she started talking about her spinning wheel that she had bought in Vermont; and the woman on the other side of me chimed in about the wheel that she might just pick up in Poland (apparently the Stradivarius of spinning wheels lives there); and I realized I had entered the Twilight Zone. What's wrong with these people? Don't they realize that we live in way too rushed a society for them to sit there and spin wool into yarn, and then knit a sweater from it? I mean, by the time you're done, you've frozen to death, right?

It's now that point in the afternoon when the sound of my children's voices puts my teeth on edge. Anna is out babysitting (apparently, she is much nicer to other people's children than to ours) and Theo has decided he wants to get all this high school nonsense out of the way and is studying non-stop. David is busy trying to make some sort of astronaut diorama out of those little marshmallow Peeps and some tinfoil. (What is it with that kid, anyway?) But that still leaves Brian, Rachel, and Susie (piping shrilly away on her little plastic recorder) to drive me insane. My only hope is that our next-door neighbor's children come over and distract them. You'll just have to take my word for it, it's way easier to watch 6 kids than just 3. One of those paradoxes of parenthood.

Oh, and I'm starving. Not losing weight, though; just starving. We wouldn't want all this suffering to have a purpose or anything...