Oh For The Love Of Cookies

My poor sweet LB just can't seem to catch a break. First she got tossed about in the car accident, then she got a nasty stomach virus, and now she has an upper respiratory virus. In an attempt to be more empathetic I am trying to concentrate on her being my poor, sweet, pitiful sick girl and not the whiny brat who has passed on her funk to the rest of the family. Which ever way I look at it though, it has meant a string of cancellations for things we had planned to host. Can you say SUCK?

The latest thing to bite the dust was our monthly dinner gathering wherein we were hosting Mardi Gras night. To say I was psyched about this would be an understatement. I picked February solely because I wanted to do a Mardi Gras theme. I had planned a Bloody Mary Bar and was going to make vats of Hurricanes and a King Cake. I had beads! And masks! So canceling made me sad. Very sad. Knowing how disappointed I was, my husband sent me the following politically incorrect e-mail (an e-mail which reminded me that yes, I am married to the right man):

I’m sorry about having to cancel. I know you were looking forward to it. Maybe we can take the one in June and make it a South Africa World Cup theme. That way, we wouldn’t have to provide food.

Get it? Famine?

Try the veal. I’ll be here all week.

Sweater Scmeter

I don't like knitting sweaters. It's true. I like wearing sweaters. I like owning sweaters. But the knitting part, not so much. That last few days LB has been sick, we've been housebound and I've been a surly bitch. My patience is nil and my empathy for whiny little girls, sick or otherwise, is negative nil. I've repeatedly thought that I should turn on Elmo so that she could veg out on the couch and I could sit and knit next to her and maybe mellow out a tad. And this is a wonderful plan, except when I pull out the sweater I get more grumpy and more surly and then when LB drops her cup of milk, because apparently she is incapable of holding her cup for extended periods of time but also refuses to put it on the table because I asked her to and that means she must not, um, anyway, she drops her cup, creates a minute shower of milk droplets all over the couch, her sister, and the floor, and I explode. That sentence was so long, even I got lost in the middle.

So yah, I hate knitting sweaters. I do not, however, hate knitting socks. I like knitting socks. Speaking of which, here is a pair I finished knitting some time ago.



I find these socks to be quite comfortable when I am pole dancing. They prevent blisters when I am working a long shift and they keep my feet warm too. A+ for function. Also, A+ for form. See how aesthetically pleasing they are with their precisely matching stripes? Nice, eh? I suspect those matching stripes get me better tips.



Yarn: Regia, Design Line, Kaffe Fassett, 4253, 27053.
Needles: Addi Circs, size 2.5 mm (US 1) WHICH I HAVE SINCE LOST!?!
Pattern: Jaywalker
Modifications: Toe up.
Time: One month.
Care: Machine wash, tumble dry low heat.

Overlooked

You'd think that with my public declaration that BY ALL THAT IS GREAT AND HOLY THYSELF SHALL KNIT A SWEATER, I SHALL, that you know, I would be knitting on that sweater, or at the very least, thinking about knitting on that sweater. So it is with some chagrin that I tell you that I forgot, I KNOW, forgot ... forgot? Yes, plum forgot, that I was suppose to be knitting a sweater. Whoops!



I have since remembered but fear I may be so far in the hole that no amount of speeding knitting will make up for the time I spent doing ... stuff. I thought about trying to sound mysterious as if I have been doing something quite exciting instead of knitting but the truth is I haven't done diddly. I've been dealing with the oven. What oven? The LB oven, she burns at a steady 103.7, coughs like duck mimicking a fog horn and whines likes well, something, something annoying. Despite my dear heart's malady, I have done some knitting. Only time will tell, however, if it was enough to keep me in the race.

Under Pressure

I decided to sign up for the Knitting Olympics, which, quite dorkie, I KNOW. But still. Short of fingernail painting becoming an Olympic sport, I really can't see my advance-maternal-age-assed self entering the real Olympics any time soon, or ever. So yah, the Knitting Olympics, my chance at a gold metal.

What this entails is picking a project that would be a challenge for you to complete in seventeen days. And then you know, COMPLETING IT. You start it once the Olympic flame is lit and have to finish before the flame is extinguished. Straight forward. Well, except for the whole picking a project that is challenging. I am by no means an expert knitter. I am, however, somewhat educated and have good reading comprehension skills (so sayeth the SAT's). So there are very few knitting things that I have come across that are too challenging once I read the pattern. Granted, I am lazy and so the whole READING THE PATTERN? That can the be the challenge (ergo why I hate knitting lace charts). All of this is my verbose way of rationalizing why I am picking a simple sweater as my Knitting Olympics event. I picked the Holla Hoodie, a stockinette sweater with a few cables here and there. A sweater that even Knitty.com labeled "tangy" which means so simple a blind, one-armed monkey could do it. But this sweater, despite its easy skill level, will be a challenge. Honestly.

If you are observant, you might notice that Holla is listed on my sidebar as one percent done. This is not because I am a cheater and jumped the gun. No, this highlights why I chose this as my Knitting Olympics project. Several months ago (pre-baby #2) I started this sweater. I cast on an insane amount of stitches, realized my gauge was fucked, and quit. I quit because I was too lazy and time-deprived to knit a proper gauge swatch and start again. Thus, what seems to be my biggest knitting challenge right now is time. It use to be I could knit at work. I could knit at home after work. I could pretty much knit whenever the mood struck. Now, I only knit for a few hours a week when I meet my lady friends at Starbucks. The rest of my free time is eaten up by dishes, laundry, and dishes. So I am committing that for seventeen days, I am going to use my free time to knit a sweater. I am also probably going to use some of my work time (uh Elmo, can you babysit?) to knit a sweater. Because whatever it takes, did I mention ELMO???, I am going to knit that sweater.

Now this all sounds great and I sound very GO SWEATER! But. But, more observation would note that there is another sweater, the Kangaroo Duo, sitting over there on my side bar. Minimal investigation shows that this sweater has been sitting in a pile, unworked on, since November 2007. Yes, that sweater has been on sleeve island for over two years. Apparently I have absolutely no follow-through when it comes to sweaters. So, in addition to the time challenge, there is also the finishing a sweater challenge. I am hoping that the pressure of signing up for something, of publicly putting it out there, that this is enough to make me Git R Done, and, at the end of the seventeen days I will have a sweater, and a gold metal.

C is for ...

Crash!



Last week we were hit by a truck. I KNOW!

I was just minding my own business driving down the road when a wiener in a jumbo pick-up truck turned into us instead of the gas station. As his truck pushed us over the curb and I was heading toward a man pumping gas and an electrical pole I kept chanting in my head, "Don't hit the guy, don't hit the pole, don't hit the guy, don't hit the pole." I was also mentally screaming, "FUCK!" Though for the purposes of the A-B-C along I should take literary license and say I was mentally screaming, "CRAP!" In any event, I missed the electrical pole and the gas pumping man, and the gas pumps for that matter. Some would attribute this to providence, I, however, attribute this to a misspent youth during which I drove my cars ridiculously fast and extremely dangerously. Some instinct must have stuck in my brain. That or we were really feakin' lucky.

B is for ...

Baby Booties.



Some of the cutest freakin' baby booties out there. I'm not sure if it is the shearling innards or the big ole yarny stitches, but something about these booties tickle me and I lurve them. I lurve them so much that I am cramming them on TD's feet despite them being close to too small. I say close to too small because if I say too small I'd be a bad parent for cramming her toes in there. Anyway, I lurve them so much I am ignoring several disparaging comments regarding them from people who typically have good taste. In fact, I lurve them so much I am ordering her another pair, in a bigger size. Yes, I could make her a pair, but come one now, I still haven't even finished her C'mas stocking.



P.S. I totally hate the word lurve. It is so 'sloppy drunk' and yet, I used it a bazillion times in this post. I apologize.

Faux Pas

Dear Nordstroms Shopper:

Please accept this apology on behalf of my daughter. She is not quite two and well, you see, we've been working on manners here at Casa de SouthPark. Those manners include saying, "excuse me" when one burps or toots (toddler speak for farts). I realize that you were suffering from some extreme gastrointestinal distress which is why you were in the Nordstroms' loo in the first place. And I realize that the last thing you wanted was to hear was my sweet little snowflake chirp "'Scuse me" after each and every one of your toots. So, I apologize. She didn't mean to embarrass you (or me for that matter). She was just practicing her manners. Maybe you can take heart in the fact that all of her hard work seems to be paying off and that she is starting to learn manners. No? Oh well.

Sorry,
'Scuse me and her Mom

Ice

Yesterday we got a couple of inches of snow which resulted in some icicles on the windows of my car. Not a big deal, right? WRONG! It is a HUGE deal if you are a twenty-one month old toddler who goes by the moniker LB. A deal so huge that you must scream and shriek and have a goddamn meltdown the second you enter the car. Now I'm a nice, kind, caring mom, at least some of the time. So when LB screamed MOMMY! MOMMY! NO ICE. NO ICE. NO ICE, MOMMY! I was willing to scrape the icicles off. Just not in my garage. Which is why we had the following conversation:

LB: MOMMY! MOMMY! NO ICE. NO ICE. NO ICE, MOMMY!
Me: Honey, it is just ice. It's on the outside. It's fine.
LB: NO MOMMY. NO. MOMMMMMMMMMMMY! NO ICE. NO ICE. NO ICE, MOMMMMMMY!
Me: Okay sweetpea. As soon as we are in the driveway I'll scrape the ice off the windown.
LB: NO ICE. NO ICE. NOOOOOOOO ICE, MOMMY!
Me: Listen! I am not dumping the ice in our garage. You are just gonna have to suck it up for a minute.
LB: No suck Mommy. No suck.

A is for ...

Apple chips!



LB loves the apple chip. Which is a good. She could do a lot worse than freeze dried apple. Me, I am not a fan of the apple in its raw state. When it is freeze dried, however, it isn't terrible. Kind of like apple flavored styrofoam. Basically it has a good apple flavor without the hideous crunch. The apple chip also has the ability to stick to a greasy face when licked like nobody's bidness.



In my own defense, I will say that I was overly tired, as well as mildly annoyed at having to clean up yet another pile of LB's leftover snackage, which is why sticking these things to my face AND taking pictures seemed like a good idea.

Functionally Handy

I finished my fingertipless mitts a week or so ago. And then I promptly started wearing them. A lot. Which is why, now that I've gotten around to writing my finished object post, the gloves look well worn in the pictures. What I'm saying is that they are well worn.



Yes, they already have some pilling on the fingers and some felting of the stitches but that is okay because they are soft and they keep my fingers warm. I used the pattern #063, Lobster Claws, by Mac & Me as my jumping off point. I intended to make the mitts according to the pattern but then once I got to knitting, I decided to lengthen the fingers so that they went past my middle knuckle. Then, when I bound off my longer fingers, every few stitches I would bind off two together so that there was a decrease. Now the edge is a little snug and hugs my finger. I also decided that the ruffle looked queer and instead picked up stitches and knit a cuff. I added four stitches in the cuff so that it gapes a smidge. I did keep the stitch count the same for the mitts themselves though. In the end, if you look at the pattern and then at my mitts, you won't see many similarities. But that is fine because they totally fit my needs. A functional handknit? Who knew?



Heck, not only are they functional, they carry a cheesy dancing vibe in them. Too bad they don't carry the "wear a better shirt when taking pictures that will be published on the internet" vibe. At least I cropped out the stain on my shirt. Which is something since our upgrade to a newer version of Windows left us without any photo editing program. ASSHOLES. I had to use my Crackberry software for cropage. You can tell. I KNOW. Shut it.



Speaking of Crackberries, if I am being totally honest, I should admit that my knitting mojo for these was solely from my desire to wear mitts and use my Crackberry at the same time. While driving. NOTE: Driving and Crackberrying is dangerous and YOU SHOULD NOT DO IT. If you do do it, it is against my express instruction not to. Thus you, not I, are liable for any injuries or damages you may cause. I should also admit that I do not laptop while wearing gloves, fingertipless or otherwise, though with these mitts I could. My laptopping is done from the comfort of my couch where it is a temperate seventy degrees, and not so cool as to require hand warmers of any sort. My car, however, can be freezing. Literally. And when it is, my hands get cold when I drive. I tried wearing proper gloves. But then I couldn't use my phone. Even my store bought fingertipless gloves fell short since the thumb is totally covered. Instead of complaining I took action. Crazy for me, I KNOW.

My only gripe is that these are a little thick. They push my fingers out a little bit when my fingers are in a relaxed state. If I ever find myself with a lot of free time I would like to make the same exact mitts in a sock weight yarn, a superwash sock weight yarn. But for now, these guys are awesome and I will wear them lots. The End.



Yarn: Malabrigo, Worsted, Merino Wool, #607- Vetiver - 1 skein.
Needles: Two Susan Bates Circs and a set of Clover DPN, size 4.5 mm (US 7)
Pattern: #063, Lobster Claws, by Mac & Me
Modifications: Longer fingers; no ruffle or button; arm cuff with four extra stitches added to the cuff.
Time: Three days.
Care: Hand wash cold and dry flat in shade or dry clean.

Fabu

My eldest is sick with a cold. Which means she is a crying whining mess. So instead of interacting with her and dealing with the constant whining and crying, I have turned on Sesame Street (also known as ELMO, ELMO, ELLLLMMMMMOOOO) and let her plant herself in front of the t.v. I am an awesome COMPASSIONATE parent.

Schmaltz

It's been a million years since I blogged. I'd like to say it's because I have been elbow deep in hijinks, but in fact, I have been elbow deep in drudgery. Okay, I exaggerate. Ankle deep in drudgery with a good heap of day-to-day survival on top. And, in light of the real survival issues in the world (think Haiti), maybe I shouldn't even use "survival" as someone somewhere would say I am insensitive. But you know what? Fuck that. I'm not going to let a catastrophe hijack my use of exaggeration. Take that catastrophe! Also, sometimes keeping me and my two kids alive, well, that is an act of survival. In any event, I have been buried in my own little microcosm and the world has kept on going. But I am trying to step outside my bubble. I am. I shall live each day to the fullest. Starting with today.

Today I ... um, well. I vacuumed up dry wall dust. LAME. Life to the fullest. So today. Today I ... Crap. Oh, I know! I joined my local yarn bombing society. WHAT? Yarn bombing? You? YES! I KNOW! ME! I should note I joined its Facebook page. I'm not sure there is a real membership. But still. Crazy, no? Yes! And not just that I could be a local yarn bomber, which is crazy as I am a staid thirty-five year old housewifely-mother (not fucker, thankyouverymuch) now. But also crazy because Hartford, yarn bombing? Really. Who knew Hartford was so hip? So now that I am a member of the subversive (which in my head kept coming out 'submersive' heh) underbelly of knitters, the big burning question is, what do I yarn bomb that won't get me tossed in the slammer? I thought about yarn bombing the boulder in my front yard, but that seems feeble as a)I live at the top of a cul-de-sac where the only people that can see my house, and my boulder, are those coming over, and 2)I own the boulder. Hardly subversive. Unfortunately when I think of targets that won't get me arrested, those targets are all well hidden, and on my street. I think I am going to have to work harder at this subversive yarn bombing thing. In the meantime, I'll also work on getting up a picture of my completed fingertipless gloves. Also known as the first finished object of 2010!

I can't seem to type the word yarn bomb sans the yarn as I fear ending up on some government watch list. Not so subversive of me is it? But hey, I watch t.v., I know how these things work. One mention of yarn bombing without the yarn and the next thing you know I'm living in Cuba.

Provocateur

If LB was awake to see this ...


she would LOSE. HER. SHIT.

Fingered

No, I have not done a single thing on TD's stocking but I did knit a glove.


One glove. So basically it's as completed as the stocking which is to say not completed at all.

Pervy

I am a total Law & Order junkie. So, when I found rebroadcasts of the old Old OLD seasons (circa Michael Moriarty as ADA Ben Stone), I DVRed the episodes and booked a date with my husband. It was while watching one of these episodes, one from 1991, when Jerry Orbach appeared as a defense attorney!?!, that we had the following conversation.

ME: Hey! Edward Cullen. That is the name of the vampire from Twilight.

HUSBAND: [silence]

ME: You know ... Team Edward? Team Jacob? I like Jacob the werewolf but the vampire, Team Edward, is named Edward Cullen. L&O was ahead of its time using the name Edward Cullen for a character.

HUSBAND: Uh huh. How does it make you feel to know that you were ogling someone who wasn't even born yet when this episode aired?

ME: Jacob is 17 ...

HUSBAND: Right, and 1991 was eighteen, nineteen years ago. So I ask again, how does feel to know that you were ogling a kid who wasn't even born when this episode aired?

ME: Like a dude.

Incompletus

Poooor Deuce, already suffering from the Neglected-Second-Child Syndrome.


Her stocking was hung by the chimney with care. A whole lot of care being that the toe isn't bound off, the ends are weaved in, the seam isn't seamed, the body isn't bedazzled, and the lining isn't even a pipe dream. Santa must have been afraid because he skipped right over it.

Here's hoping your holidays were a little more successful than ours!

I May Have Crossed The Line

In year's past I have given our Christmas trees famous monikers. We've had Gisele Bundchen (tall and skinny), Slim Shady (tallish and thinnish), and Danny DeVito (short and fat), to name a few. So, with that in mind,


Heather "Crazy" Mills McCartney (tall, thin, and missing a leg) wishes you all a merry Merry.

Close Call

It seems that yesterday we were visited by gnomes. Or trolls. Or some other foul creature that took away this:


And left us with this:


Fortunately, the switch was short-lived and we have our sweet-tempered baby back. Which is good because we would have been screwed, I already cut the tags off so I can't return her!

Hustle, Me Must

Twas a few weeks before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse (especially not a mouse). The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, but for one, which needed to be knitted.



So maybe I should get to knitting while my creatures aren't stirring, eh?

Necrosis

Well, uh, we seem to have resolved our mouse problem. As the mouse crawled into Noah's Ark and died.

The Ark which will my husband will be throwing away tonight.

No Shit.

That there is the mouse, dead, next to the Ark.

I have to say, as an atheist, I am amused that the mouse died in Noah's Ark. As a mom, I am sad since it was a fun toy and now we have to throw it away. And, as a softie, I am a wee bit depressed at the thought of the mouse crawling in the ark with the mini animals thinking he had found kindred souls, only to end up D.E.A.D. dead. I want to yell at him and say, "See, you shouldn't have come to our house! Duh!"

There is a lot more to the story, such as my husband suggesting we throw away the ark (see, us = atheists) mere hours before the mouse was discovered and me saying no because I liked it; me, the wussiest of wusses, then finding the fucking thing dead in the ark, screaming, throwing the ark across the room thus sending the mouse carcass airborne; LB, seeing me freak the hell out, and mimicking me; and, me, calling my husband on his way to work, telling him I could deal with eleven mistresses better than I could with a dead mouse. I'm gonna skip the details though because really, the details can't top the fact that the mouse died in my kid's Noah's Ark toy.