LB is sick which means she isn't sleeping through the night. Which means I am not sleeping through the night. This was doable as a co-ed. As a parent, it BLOWS. Yesterday morning I loaded up my toothbrush with face soap. Normally this would be a "that sucks, need more sleep" type if thing. I'd wash off my toothbrush and start over. Which was what I did. Except it sucks extra-hardcore since I now have to traverse to New Friggen York City to buy may face soap, a face soap sold in drugstores ... Damn you Connecticut! And damn you Bubbles too! How dare you introduce me to an awesome drugstore type of face soap that is reasonably priced and works wicked well on my overly-acne-prone skin. That's right. Get me good and hooked on a totally normal mainstream product and then BAM quit selling it in my state. SERENITY NOW! Oops, I digress.
So, sick kid, not sleeping through the night for four birthcontrol-inducing nights, doctor's appointment, diagnosis: respiratory virus and ear infection, prescription: amoxicillin and "taking it easy for a day or two." Which brings me to my point ...
Taking it easy, baby style:
Go to bed at 7:00 p.m. Cuddle down in soft footy pajamas, with soothing sound of vaporizer gurgling like a creek in the background and the refreshing, snot-clearing smell of menthol wafting through the air.
Taking it easy, parent style:
After putting baby to sleep, grab glass of wine and collapse on couch. Realize shirt stuck to upper chest with baby's mucous. Shrug and drink some wine. Ponder getting your knitting out from way WAY far across room. Realize that if you are going to get up to get knitting, you might as well go wash dinner dishes and bottles and get that chore over with. Go wash dishes. Break ridonculously expensive glass baby bottle in sink. Cut finger. Drop the F bomb. Thrice. Decide knitting and wine was way to go. Finish dishes. How is it 9:45 p.m. already? Decide to check e-mail. Computer sucks you in ... Holy crap, it's 11:30 p.m. Decide to go to bed having not knit or finished wine. Forgo any real nightly hygiene ritual (hell, face soap is at a premium anyway) and instead fall into bed with mucous matted shirt. Fall asleep at midnight.
Taking it easy, baby style:
Wake up screaming at 12:10 a.m. Feel crappy and want to spread the crap.
Taking it easy, parent style:
Jerked awake after just falling asleep. Realize this is going to be a LONG night.
Taking it easy, baby style:
After being changed, fed, and rocked, scream and cry. Keep screaming and crying. Scream and cry self hoarse. May be because miserable. May be because mom's singing voice sucks and needs to be drowned out. May be soothing creek and refreshing menthol are now annoying. May be just nighttime fun. Fall asleep cradled in arms of mom. Scream when she approaches crib as if crib is the root of all evil and HATE HATE HATE. Mental telepathy to Mama: Taking it easy means you carry me Clown! Rinse and repeat until so tired can not muster screaming or crying anymore. Snuggle into crib like there was never any hate.
Taking it easy, parent style:
Deal with sick and screaming baby. Vow never to have sex again. Hours become blur. Hips sore from walking laps with twenty pounds of baby. Realize baby is asleep for real. Dump her in crib and weave down hall into own bed. Fall face first onto cat who has taken your spot. Drift asleep with mouth full of cat fur.
Taking it easy, baby style:
Wake up at 7:00 a.m. chipper and bright. Coo and giggle.
Taking it easy, parent style:
Hear baby waking. Start mental chant, "ten more minutes, ten more minutes." Hope it works like Good Parking Karma chant.
Taking it easy, baby style:
Realize the Clown is not coming after two minutes of cooing and start to scream.
Taking it easy, parent style:
Damn you Karma!
Taking it easy, baby style:
Get changed, fed, and fluffed into new pair of clean, sweet smelling, soft footie jammies. Roll on bed and chase cat. Pluck cat fur. Wonder why dog stays three feet away at all times. Rub eyes and yawn in subtle sign that naptime is immanent. Gently carried to crib where screaming commences. Want Clown to know would rather be playing. Fall asleep after two minutes of screaming since point was made. Take nap.
Taking it easy, parent style:
Put baby down for nap. Decide to nap too, being last night was rough. But first, check e-mail and FaceBook. As approaching computer, decide to put load of laundry in first. Sort, dump, and set washer. Realize stuff is in the dryer. Hit "touch up." Add another ten minutes to the twenty given for touch up. Should be able to check e-mail and FaceBook in thirty minutes. Go to computer. Forgot coffee. While pouring coffee, decide to start cooking sweet potatoes for baby food while on computer. Ponder this Betty Crocker turn and shake head in mystification. Scrub and nuke potatoes. Return to computer, with coffee, while potatoes nuking, open browser, hear baby start to fuss. Turn volume down on monitor as if this might make baby stop fussing. Holy crap! It works! Return to keyboard. Potatoes done nuking. Get up to take them out of microwave as dryer buzzes. Fold clothes. Put in next load as baby starts to wake up and demands cuddles. Realize opportunity to nap has gone the way of the dinosaur.
I could go on, but really, you get my point. Only one of us is taking it easy. That same one is also cracking the whip for the Clown.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
S is for ...
Socks! I knit LB socks from some cursed yarn from my stash. Originally, the yarn was to be socks for myself but then my yarn was hit by a car and the socks, well the sock remnants, were tossed into the frog pond. Now that my heart no longer leaps into a gallop at the sight of the yarn, I decided to turn it into some baby socks.
The socks have been done for several weeks now but I haven't been able to share because trying to photograph the socks on LB was damn near impossible. I wedged her into the Bumbo (a foam seat which you can use to help babies sit up by themselves when they can't actually, you know, sit up by themselves). LB's thighs are a little large for the Bumbo. Getting her in is no problem. Getting her out usually requires some grease. It is effective though, in keeping her put, because no matter how hard she bucks like a bronco, she can't get out. Wahahaha. Nonetheless, having her contained in the Bumbo wasn't actually all that useful for the picture taking thing because, well ...
When she does sit still, it's because she's getting into mischief, or rather grabbing at her sock-clad feet! Maybe if I had put the socks on her earlier in the day and then just stuck her in, she would not have figured out my intent. Live and learn. Anyway, I gave up on getting her to model and approached the dog. She was not pleased, but agreed to model.
Unfortunately her feet are bigger, or rather, dog shaped and thus incompatible with human baby socks. Instead, I had her pull a Chuck.
Obviously she is no Chuck - she's not much of a 'balance things on her head' kinda gal. She pouts. But we got the shot. I probably will never get another like it because I forgot to give her a treat when I was done. Whoops.
In the end, I can tell you that I knit my baby some socks. It isn't because I totally love her lots, though I do. I knit them because I am too cheap to buy the Robeez that I like ($30 for a pair of shoes that will fit for what, 30 days? I don't think so) and the style I like doesn't come in the Fauxbeez. She has one pair of Robeez that EiC gave her and we love them. But they are pink and don't go with everything ... I can't believe I just said that. But it's true. The Mary Janes that I like are much more neutral. But I am cheap. So, I figure if my baby can't have the shoes all the cool kids have, well then, she can have some cool one-of-a-kind socks. Work with me.
Anywho, I did the toes first and then the foot. My standard approach. I didn't have any heel patterns with me when I needed them, so I went with an afterthought heel. It was my first afterthought heel and I misjudge the length so I had to make the heel a bit petite. It's fine though. Baby feet are squishy. I then did a rib with the absurd hope that this would cause the socks to stay on. I figure the rib would pull tight. It does, but grabby fingers can still get the things off. When the socks were done I decided to add an afterthought ruffle. Having never done a ruffle before I just kind of winged it. I picked up stitches and then knit each stitch front and back. For four rounds.
As you can see, I over winged it, making a JUMBO ruffle. Note-to-self: One or two rows of ruffle would have been adequate. Heck, three would have been quite nice. Four? Over kill. I wasn't about to rip it out though so jumbo ruffle it is.
LB loves the socks. She can't keep her hands off the ruffle which must mean they are winners. If only they fit for more than a month.
So, S is for sock!
Yarn: Madelinetosh Hand Dyed Sock Yarn, Sweat Peas
Needles: Addi Circs, size 2.5 mm (US 1)
Pattern: None - toe up sock, after thought heel, ruffle added after cast-off.
Modifications: n/a
Time: 10 days.
Care: Machine wash cold, air dry.
The socks have been done for several weeks now but I haven't been able to share because trying to photograph the socks on LB was damn near impossible. I wedged her into the Bumbo (a foam seat which you can use to help babies sit up by themselves when they can't actually, you know, sit up by themselves). LB's thighs are a little large for the Bumbo. Getting her in is no problem. Getting her out usually requires some grease. It is effective though, in keeping her put, because no matter how hard she bucks like a bronco, she can't get out. Wahahaha. Nonetheless, having her contained in the Bumbo wasn't actually all that useful for the picture taking thing because, well ...
When she does sit still, it's because she's getting into mischief, or rather grabbing at her sock-clad feet! Maybe if I had put the socks on her earlier in the day and then just stuck her in, she would not have figured out my intent. Live and learn. Anyway, I gave up on getting her to model and approached the dog. She was not pleased, but agreed to model.
Unfortunately her feet are bigger, or rather, dog shaped and thus incompatible with human baby socks. Instead, I had her pull a Chuck.
Obviously she is no Chuck - she's not much of a 'balance things on her head' kinda gal. She pouts. But we got the shot. I probably will never get another like it because I forgot to give her a treat when I was done. Whoops.
In the end, I can tell you that I knit my baby some socks. It isn't because I totally love her lots, though I do. I knit them because I am too cheap to buy the Robeez that I like ($30 for a pair of shoes that will fit for what, 30 days? I don't think so) and the style I like doesn't come in the Fauxbeez. She has one pair of Robeez that EiC gave her and we love them. But they are pink and don't go with everything ... I can't believe I just said that. But it's true. The Mary Janes that I like are much more neutral. But I am cheap. So, I figure if my baby can't have the shoes all the cool kids have, well then, she can have some cool one-of-a-kind socks. Work with me.
Anywho, I did the toes first and then the foot. My standard approach. I didn't have any heel patterns with me when I needed them, so I went with an afterthought heel. It was my first afterthought heel and I misjudge the length so I had to make the heel a bit petite. It's fine though. Baby feet are squishy. I then did a rib with the absurd hope that this would cause the socks to stay on. I figure the rib would pull tight. It does, but grabby fingers can still get the things off. When the socks were done I decided to add an afterthought ruffle. Having never done a ruffle before I just kind of winged it. I picked up stitches and then knit each stitch front and back. For four rounds.
As you can see, I over winged it, making a JUMBO ruffle. Note-to-self: One or two rows of ruffle would have been adequate. Heck, three would have been quite nice. Four? Over kill. I wasn't about to rip it out though so jumbo ruffle it is.
LB loves the socks. She can't keep her hands off the ruffle which must mean they are winners. If only they fit for more than a month.
So, S is for sock!
Yarn: Madelinetosh Hand Dyed Sock Yarn, Sweat Peas
Needles: Addi Circs, size 2.5 mm (US 1)
Pattern: None - toe up sock, after thought heel, ruffle added after cast-off.
Modifications: n/a
Time: 10 days.
Care: Machine wash cold, air dry.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
*&^$%&!*
Gah! Another year, another loss?!? Are you kidding me?
The Big Bad Wolf à la Grandma was PISSED!
Actually she wasn't. Or rather, she was pissed that we wouldn't stay and let her play with the other dogs after her disappointing finish. My poor Baby Girl, she was a loooooser. And, she lost to two store bought costumes which just burns my ass. I mean anyone can go out and spend $20 on a costume but to go out and craft together something, I mean come on, there should be points for that. I sewed a skirt from scratch BY HAND for my kid - THE PROP - how could that not be awesomely winsome? One of the three finishers was homemade and it was kind of a good costume. Maybe you couldn't see the seems and maybe it was even bedazzled. I don't like the dog so much, but the costume was fair and I can swallow losing it to it. Actually I can't. I am bitter about the whole thing. Not sure quite what that says about me ... other than my sewing skills are so sub-par that they killed Dogbert's Halloween victory!
The Big Bad Wolf à la Grandma was PISSED!
Actually she wasn't. Or rather, she was pissed that we wouldn't stay and let her play with the other dogs after her disappointing finish. My poor Baby Girl, she was a loooooser. And, she lost to two store bought costumes which just burns my ass. I mean anyone can go out and spend $20 on a costume but to go out and craft together something, I mean come on, there should be points for that. I sewed a skirt from scratch BY HAND for my kid - THE PROP - how could that not be awesomely winsome? One of the three finishers was homemade and it was kind of a good costume. Maybe you couldn't see the seems and maybe it was even bedazzled. I don't like the dog so much, but the costume was fair and I can swallow losing it to it. Actually I can't. I am bitter about the whole thing. Not sure quite what that says about me ... other than my sewing skills are so sub-par that they killed Dogbert's Halloween victory!
Sunday, October 26, 2008
A Handbasket, Por Favor
We have a new computer keyboard and it SUCKS. The side command keys - I just made up that term - the "home," "end," "delete," etc. - are in the wrong places and it keeps fucking me up. That isn't why I haven't posted in the last decade, but it contributed. Sorta. Well, not at all really. But it is annoying me now and I wanted to bitch. I am entitled as I have been up since 4:30 a.m. with a sick kid.
I actually have a few posts percolating in my brain (Ten Things I Have Said to My Charles Schwab Account in the Last Month: unrealized loss my ass! That shit is REALIZED! ... Baby Socks, quick to knit, fun to show off, impossible to photograph while on said baby ... How did I become the hippie granola freak making my own baby food? ... and so on) but I have something to tell you right now dear internet ...
Halloween is HERE. Well, more importantly in this neck of the woods ... Dogbert's Halloween party is here. In mere hours (and have I mentioned I have had NO SLEEP??). As you may recall, Halloween is big in these parts. The pressure was on this year to think of a good costume and well, I came up empty. The original plan, as lame as it could be, was for Dogbert to be Little Red Riding Hood and Lady Bean to be the Big Bad Wolf. Though I am all about making Dogbert's costume from scratch, I think doing the same for a 6.5 month old is ridonculous. So, I went off to find any black fuzzy animal that I could cram my somewhat over-sized kid in. I planned to take some liberties with the wolf thing ... dog, cat, wolf, she's six and a half months old lay off. Right? Wrong. There was not black furry animal costume to be found. The best I could find was a cow. At one point the Big Bad Cow seemed funny. Last night, the night before the contest, the Big Bad Cow was just LAME. So in a fit of domestic insanity, or just plain ole insanity, I hand stitched Lady Bean a red gingham skirt from the material that was going to go in the dog's LRRH basket. Yes, Lady Bean can be Little Red Riding Hood (with glazed over eyes and snot everywhere) and I AM FUCKING NUTS. Mind you, this skirt would get laughed off the runway on Project Runway - no hem - noticeable seemage - terrible craftsmanship - but still ... I AM FUCKING NUTS. The dog is going to be the Big Bad Wolf dressed as grandma. This is either an awesome idea or I was delirious after staying up with a sick kid. We'll see what happens. The contest, normally held at the doggie daycare place, is being held at an Alzheimer's home, so it's not as if the majority of the audience will remember if we totally suck it. I think I am going to Hell after that last statement. Right there is no Hell. Whew.
I actually have a few posts percolating in my brain (Ten Things I Have Said to My Charles Schwab Account in the Last Month: unrealized loss my ass! That shit is REALIZED! ... Baby Socks, quick to knit, fun to show off, impossible to photograph while on said baby ... How did I become the hippie granola freak making my own baby food? ... and so on) but I have something to tell you right now dear internet ...
Halloween is HERE. Well, more importantly in this neck of the woods ... Dogbert's Halloween party is here. In mere hours (and have I mentioned I have had NO SLEEP??). As you may recall, Halloween is big in these parts. The pressure was on this year to think of a good costume and well, I came up empty. The original plan, as lame as it could be, was for Dogbert to be Little Red Riding Hood and Lady Bean to be the Big Bad Wolf. Though I am all about making Dogbert's costume from scratch, I think doing the same for a 6.5 month old is ridonculous. So, I went off to find any black fuzzy animal that I could cram my somewhat over-sized kid in. I planned to take some liberties with the wolf thing ... dog, cat, wolf, she's six and a half months old lay off. Right? Wrong. There was not black furry animal costume to be found. The best I could find was a cow. At one point the Big Bad Cow seemed funny. Last night, the night before the contest, the Big Bad Cow was just LAME. So in a fit of domestic insanity, or just plain ole insanity, I hand stitched Lady Bean a red gingham skirt from the material that was going to go in the dog's LRRH basket. Yes, Lady Bean can be Little Red Riding Hood (with glazed over eyes and snot everywhere) and I AM FUCKING NUTS. Mind you, this skirt would get laughed off the runway on Project Runway - no hem - noticeable seemage - terrible craftsmanship - but still ... I AM FUCKING NUTS. The dog is going to be the Big Bad Wolf dressed as grandma. This is either an awesome idea or I was delirious after staying up with a sick kid. We'll see what happens. The contest, normally held at the doggie daycare place, is being held at an Alzheimer's home, so it's not as if the majority of the audience will remember if we totally suck it. I think I am going to Hell after that last statement. Right there is no Hell. Whew.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Trying
I'm on my phone ... trying to blog. I'm not sure if this will work and since Boo is on the computer for work (i.e. reading porn), I can't check.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Sorry
Dear Blog:
I'm sorry I've been neglecting you. Mommyhood has been keeping me busy, but I do have a few things to share. Give me a day or two. There is horrible poop, threats of bodily harm, and progress and anti-progress on the Bee Fields shawl!
Love you,
SPR
I'm sorry I've been neglecting you. Mommyhood has been keeping me busy, but I do have a few things to share. Give me a day or two. There is horrible poop, threats of bodily harm, and progress and anti-progress on the Bee Fields shawl!
Love you,
SPR
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Cheese
This morning my husband received the following e-mail from the car dealership where he bought his car:
Dear CRV:
"Happy Birthday" from your friends at Hoffman Honda!
I hope you and P- are getting along well and that P- is taking good care of you. If you have any bumps and scratches, aches or pains, just come in and see us. We are here to care for you. As always if there is anything I can do, please call me at Hoffman Honda at 860-651-3501.
I hope you and your owner have an excellent day!
Respectfully,
J-, Sales Manager
Hoffman Honda
j-@hoffmanauto.com
860-651-3501
He thought the e-mail was the queerest thing ever, though I suspect he secretly liked it. Me? I kinda think it's neat. I told the CRV it should send a thank you note, something along the lines of:
Dear J-:
Thank you for the birthday wishes. I am doing well and P- is taking good care of me. Unfortunately P- refuses to buy me an amplifier and subwoofer for my birthday, something about kids and their stereos. I'm really bummed. He did, however, say that if someone gave me an amp and subwoofer for my birthday, he'd let me keep 'em. I'm ACHING for them. Maybe a kind "uncle," like the sales manager who handled my adoption, could hook me up, wink wink, nudge nudge.
Thoughtfully,
CRV
Dear CRV:
"Happy Birthday" from your friends at Hoffman Honda!
I hope you and P- are getting along well and that P- is taking good care of you. If you have any bumps and scratches, aches or pains, just come in and see us. We are here to care for you. As always if there is anything I can do, please call me at Hoffman Honda at 860-651-3501.
I hope you and your owner have an excellent day!
Respectfully,
J-, Sales Manager
Hoffman Honda
j-@hoffmanauto.com
860-651-3501
He thought the e-mail was the queerest thing ever, though I suspect he secretly liked it. Me? I kinda think it's neat. I told the CRV it should send a thank you note, something along the lines of:
Dear J-:
Thank you for the birthday wishes. I am doing well and P- is taking good care of me. Unfortunately P- refuses to buy me an amplifier and subwoofer for my birthday, something about kids and their stereos. I'm really bummed. He did, however, say that if someone gave me an amp and subwoofer for my birthday, he'd let me keep 'em. I'm ACHING for them. Maybe a kind "uncle," like the sales manager who handled my adoption, could hook me up, wink wink, nudge nudge.
Thoughtfully,
CRV
Friday, August 29, 2008
R is for ...
Retirement!
Yesterday was my last day of work. I'm officially retired. Well, from the law. I don't expect to ever retire from mommyhood. I'm not sure how I feel about this end of my legal career. Mostly excited. I think. If it sucks, I can look for another job later. But I really want to try this retirement thing out. So, in order to push myself firmly into the pro-retirement camp, I thought a celebration was in order. Unfortunately the confluence of events leading up to yesterday evening resulted in a busy husband and busy friends so that my celebration was a celebration by one, me. Even Lady Bean was asleep by the time I amped up the party. Which sounds a little pitiful. And, if I had taken a picture ... leftover office funfetti cake, topped with a brownie from a box mix, a half a glass of wine because that is all I had left, and a bestselling vampire romance novel, for teenagers ... well, my celebration may have actually been a little pitiful. But it's all good. I have years no-work-in-the-morning-I'm-retired weeknights to yuck it up with full glasses of wine and bestselling vampire romance novels written for adults!
Yesterday was my last day of work. I'm officially retired. Well, from the law. I don't expect to ever retire from mommyhood. I'm not sure how I feel about this end of my legal career. Mostly excited. I think. If it sucks, I can look for another job later. But I really want to try this retirement thing out. So, in order to push myself firmly into the pro-retirement camp, I thought a celebration was in order. Unfortunately the confluence of events leading up to yesterday evening resulted in a busy husband and busy friends so that my celebration was a celebration by one, me. Even Lady Bean was asleep by the time I amped up the party. Which sounds a little pitiful. And, if I had taken a picture ... leftover office funfetti cake, topped with a brownie from a box mix, a half a glass of wine because that is all I had left, and a bestselling vampire romance novel, for teenagers ... well, my celebration may have actually been a little pitiful. But it's all good. I have years no-work-in-the-morning-I'm-retired weeknights to yuck it up with full glasses of wine and bestselling vampire romance novels written for adults!
Monday, August 25, 2008
Unusual
Today is the first day of school and this morning, while I was driving to work, I was behind a school bus. The bus driver must have been lost or confused or high because at each corner where there was a kid, she would put on her lights, stop, and ask which school the kid was attending. The kid would answer and she would shake her head no. Then she would turn off her lights and drive away. Well 'away' to the next corner where another kid was standing. Wash, rinse, repeat. I was stuck behind the school bus for thirteen very long minutes and seven stops where she never once picked up a kid.
After getting away from the bus, I was on my way. Two blocks further, I had to stop at a red light. While waiting at the light, I noticed something in the road. It was a toupee. There was a toupee just sitting on the ground in the middle of an intersection.
After getting away from the bus, I was on my way. Two blocks further, I had to stop at a red light. While waiting at the light, I noticed something in the road. It was a toupee. There was a toupee just sitting on the ground in the middle of an intersection.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Q is for ...
Qat:
\ˈkät\ noun
a shrub (Catha edulis) of the staff-tree family cultivated in the Middle East and Africa for its leaves and buds that are the source of a habituating stimulant when chewed or used as a tea.
and
Qaid:
\kah-eeth, kahyth\ noun
(in North Africa) a Muslim tribal chief, judge, or senior official; a Berber chieftain; an alcaide.
I love playing Scrabble. Even as a kid with a limited vocabulary, and shit for spelling (which actually, as an adult, has not gotten any better solely due to my reliance on spellcheck), I loved playing Scrabble. In the last few years my love has turned a little more cutthroat as Joan opened my eyes to Scrabble strategy.
Now don't get me wrong, my strategic skills are pretty cheesey and I don't think I could do very well in a Scrabble tournament as my memorization skills are only surpassed in lameness by my spelling skills. Which is a roundabout way of saying I can't remember fancy words and if I can remember them, it doesn't matter because I can't spell them. Nonetheless, in my attempt to expand my strategic skills, I have memorized several words that start with Q and don't require U. Such as qat and qaid. Both of which can be pluralized (pluralized, probably not a real word) with an S but are flagged by spellcheck. Go figure.
\ˈkät\ noun
a shrub (Catha edulis) of the staff-tree family cultivated in the Middle East and Africa for its leaves and buds that are the source of a habituating stimulant when chewed or used as a tea.
and
Qaid:
\kah-eeth, kahyth\ noun
(in North Africa) a Muslim tribal chief, judge, or senior official; a Berber chieftain; an alcaide.
I love playing Scrabble. Even as a kid with a limited vocabulary, and shit for spelling (which actually, as an adult, has not gotten any better solely due to my reliance on spellcheck), I loved playing Scrabble. In the last few years my love has turned a little more cutthroat as Joan opened my eyes to Scrabble strategy.
Now don't get me wrong, my strategic skills are pretty cheesey and I don't think I could do very well in a Scrabble tournament as my memorization skills are only surpassed in lameness by my spelling skills. Which is a roundabout way of saying I can't remember fancy words and if I can remember them, it doesn't matter because I can't spell them. Nonetheless, in my attempt to expand my strategic skills, I have memorized several words that start with Q and don't require U. Such as qat and qaid. Both of which can be pluralized (pluralized, probably not a real word) with an S but are flagged by spellcheck. Go figure.
Monday, August 18, 2008
P is for ...
Progress, or, to be truthful, lack thereof.
My progress has been sucktastic due to many things. But, um, basically it's due to the fact that I just haven't been knitting. Not with my ladies and not at home. I haven't been knitting at home because of another P. Phelps, Michael Phelps. I have found it difficult to knit when I am bouncing up and down on the couch, or, someone around me is jumping up and down screaming "Go Michael! Go Michael! Go!" at the television. Crazy, yo sé.
One might think I have a Summer Olympics addiction, and one might be right. I love me some Summer Olympics. From the beach volleyball (which IS a real sport, thankyouverymuch Husband) to the decathlon, I love it all. But I especially love it when there is drama. Real drama. Not some corporately created schlock. Dara Torres kicking ass at 41? Awesome! Tyson Gay failing to qualify for the 100M? Holy crap! Michael Phelps going for eight. Booyah! America can fence? Who knew! Needless to say, I have been glued to these Olympics. I have DVR'd these Olympics and re-watched performances. Hell, I even have googled the athletes to find out what they have tattooed on their bodies ... and for the record, the Olympic rings was a cool tattoo the first ten times I saw it, but now? They are the Olympic athlete tramp stamp.
So P. It is for pathetic progress. But it only happens once every four years, so that's okay.
My progress has been sucktastic due to many things. But, um, basically it's due to the fact that I just haven't been knitting. Not with my ladies and not at home. I haven't been knitting at home because of another P. Phelps, Michael Phelps. I have found it difficult to knit when I am bouncing up and down on the couch, or, someone around me is jumping up and down screaming "Go Michael! Go Michael! Go!" at the television. Crazy, yo sé.
One might think I have a Summer Olympics addiction, and one might be right. I love me some Summer Olympics. From the beach volleyball (which IS a real sport, thankyouverymuch Husband) to the decathlon, I love it all. But I especially love it when there is drama. Real drama. Not some corporately created schlock. Dara Torres kicking ass at 41? Awesome! Tyson Gay failing to qualify for the 100M? Holy crap! Michael Phelps going for eight. Booyah! America can fence? Who knew! Needless to say, I have been glued to these Olympics. I have DVR'd these Olympics and re-watched performances. Hell, I even have googled the athletes to find out what they have tattooed on their bodies ... and for the record, the Olympic rings was a cool tattoo the first ten times I saw it, but now? They are the Olympic athlete tramp stamp.
So P. It is for pathetic progress. But it only happens once every four years, so that's okay.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Alternatives
Sunday afternoon I needed to do some work and had Lady Bean with me. I had left the house in a hurry and didn't have a blanket. In the car, however, was my Clapotis. I grabbed Clapotis as a "just in case" baby blanket, never figuring I would need it, as I planned for LB to sleep the entire time I was working. She, however, had other plans. Plans that were the opposite of sleeping. I still managed to get a lot of work done though because Clapotis, it seems, is brilliant in the rolling on the ground and amusing the baby category.
I'm not sure that Clapotis will ever be the same after its romp with Lady Bean and I'm really not sure how I feel about giving LB a hundred dollar baby blanket. But I am sure that she loved it, no, LOVED it, all caps, all the time, there was that much love.
A while back one of the woman we knit with had a baby and several people in the group knitted individual squares which were made into a baby blanket. I knit an anchor square, but had initially thought about doing a lacy square. To say this idea was frowned upon would be a HUGE understatement. One would have thought that knitting lace for a baby blanket was tantamount to child abuse. There was much concern for little fingers and toes and the lace holes. After watching Lady Bean cavort with Clapotis, I am going to go out on a limb and say that this concern was misplaced.
She loved the Clapotis holes. Her fingers and toes were drawn to the holes like white on rice. In fact, she amused herself for thirty solid minutes by slipping her fingers and toes in and out of the Clapotis holes. She screeched like a monkey at the holes (I found this a bit trying but she totally enjoyed it), she cackled like a loon at the holes, and she even cried when I took Clapotis and its glorious holes and put it away. So, my point, if I actually had one, which really, not so much, but whatever. My point? Don't be afraid of the lace blanket for babies. Obviously your don't want a hole big enough for the head (even I can figure that one out). But smaller holes? Finger and toe holes? Brilliant!
I'm not sure that Clapotis will ever be the same after its romp with Lady Bean and I'm really not sure how I feel about giving LB a hundred dollar baby blanket. But I am sure that she loved it, no, LOVED it, all caps, all the time, there was that much love.
A while back one of the woman we knit with had a baby and several people in the group knitted individual squares which were made into a baby blanket. I knit an anchor square, but had initially thought about doing a lacy square. To say this idea was frowned upon would be a HUGE understatement. One would have thought that knitting lace for a baby blanket was tantamount to child abuse. There was much concern for little fingers and toes and the lace holes. After watching Lady Bean cavort with Clapotis, I am going to go out on a limb and say that this concern was misplaced.
She loved the Clapotis holes. Her fingers and toes were drawn to the holes like white on rice. In fact, she amused herself for thirty solid minutes by slipping her fingers and toes in and out of the Clapotis holes. She screeched like a monkey at the holes (I found this a bit trying but she totally enjoyed it), she cackled like a loon at the holes, and she even cried when I took Clapotis and its glorious holes and put it away. So, my point, if I actually had one, which really, not so much, but whatever. My point? Don't be afraid of the lace blanket for babies. Obviously your don't want a hole big enough for the head (even I can figure that one out). But smaller holes? Finger and toe holes? Brilliant!
Monday, August 11, 2008
Dammit
So the one day when I don't have the camera and I don't have my cell phone with its camera is, of course, the one day in which Crazy brings me a new present! Could this be the start of another run of presents?
Saturday, August 09, 2008
Confused
It seems that I gave birth to a screecher monkey. A cute drooling screecher monkey, but a screecher monkey nonetheless. I'm not sure that my eardrums will ever recover. The dog feels the exact same way. I thought we received sign language books and DVD's as a way to learn to communicate with LB before she could speak. Now I realize it is because we, and everyone within a sixty mile radius, are now deaf. I've tried squelching the screeching (trying saying that real fast, squelching the screeching, squelching the screeching) with duct tape but that didn't work (FYI, all the drool prevents stickage). What, you have a suggestion? A way to stop the incessant screeches? If only I could hear you over the permanent ringing in my ears.
Friday, August 08, 2008
Monday, August 04, 2008
Twists and Turns
I am all over the place with this one. On Friday, I gave Crazy my letter of resignation. I gave her two weeks notice and planned on saying sayonara on August 15, 2008. I had wrapped my brain around this and was finally comfortable with the decision. I had made peace with resigning. Which may seem surprising as I have bitched and moaned about this place for the last six years, so you'd think I would be turning cartwheels at the idea of leaving, but not so much. I'm okay with leaving Lady Bean in day care. I don't think day care is evil and your child will be screwed up for life. I like working, though not necessarily at my current job, and the thought of not working, well, it was a bit nauseating. Also, I love my daughter to bits but spending twenty-four/seven with her (or anyone)? Also a bit nauseating. But whatever, I got over it and was ready to move on. Stay-at-home-mommyness, here I come. But, considering I work where I work and with the people I work with, it should come as no surprise that I couldn't actually outright resign. NOTHING IN THIS PLACE IS STRAIGHTFORWARD.
I feared that once I gave my notice, I was going to get kicked out of the door on the spot and not be eligible for our bonus. Or, maybe Crazy would be all crazy and how-dare-you-leave-after-all-I-have-done-for-you and the last two weeks would be pure torture. But this is not what I got. No, I got a oh-no-I-am-going-to-miss-you-what-will-we-do-without-you-can-you-work-part-time-for-a-little-longer-while-we-replace-you-we'll-pay-you-lots-more. Yes, in case you got lost in that run-on sentence, I was asked to work part-time at a decent hourly rate, a rate better than what I make now, for an extra two weeks. Even though I was told I couldn't work part-time EVER, AT ALL, when I was setting up my maternity leave and at that time I was only asking for a few weeks part-time at my current el-cheapo salary rate. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
Initially I was thinking all NO, FUCK NO, I AM NOT DOING THAT. I planned to quit and quitting I will be. But then I learned that my COBRA insurance was going to be well over five hundred dollars a month (To which I replied, "The hell? I'm the young one. The one that had the baby, not the near death experience. The healthy one. ARE YOU LOOKING AT THE RIGHT PERSON'S RATE?" And was told, "Yes. I am looking at you. Suck it."). So now I am all conflicted.
I could work three hours a day, several days a week, for two weeks and pay my COBRA for the time I will need it and maybe even have a few bucks left over to feed my addiction. Heck, I might even be able to feed my other addiction and buy some yarn (yah, yah, I don't need it, whatever) for Mystery Stole 4. I'd even get to knit during the day since my home time would be during the long afternoon nap (oh knitting how I miss thee). But then I would STILL BE HERE. I busted my ass and cashed in all sorts of favors to make things work out child care wise to get us to August 15, which now would seem somehow lame, like I am a big whiner crying all "I just need to get to August 15" when in fact August 15 is now a regular day of no import. Not that I would need to tap anyone else, in order to make this work, Boo would swoosh his schedule around (yet again for like the eleventygillionth time). But I would be missing him on the days I do work since we would be passing like two ships in the night. There is also the chance that Crazy would find out I am looking at a real part-time job. I did tell her I am looking for something part-time but I forgot to mention that I was looking right now and that the job I have my eye on is the part-time version of one that she applied for and did not get. So that could be bad. Real bad. The job is a political appointment and she could, well, I dunno, she could do something and that something would be bad. But even as I type this drivel, I think, asshole, you want to work part-time, so what's the real downside? Crazy? Dealing with jailbirds? Actually having to work?
I feared that once I gave my notice, I was going to get kicked out of the door on the spot and not be eligible for our bonus. Or, maybe Crazy would be all crazy and how-dare-you-leave-after-all-I-have-done-for-you and the last two weeks would be pure torture. But this is not what I got. No, I got a oh-no-I-am-going-to-miss-you-what-will-we-do-without-you-can-you-work-part-time-for-a-little-longer-while-we-replace-you-we'll-pay-you-lots-more. Yes, in case you got lost in that run-on sentence, I was asked to work part-time at a decent hourly rate, a rate better than what I make now, for an extra two weeks. Even though I was told I couldn't work part-time EVER, AT ALL, when I was setting up my maternity leave and at that time I was only asking for a few weeks part-time at my current el-cheapo salary rate. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
Initially I was thinking all NO, FUCK NO, I AM NOT DOING THAT. I planned to quit and quitting I will be. But then I learned that my COBRA insurance was going to be well over five hundred dollars a month (To which I replied, "The hell? I'm the young one. The one that had the baby, not the near death experience. The healthy one. ARE YOU LOOKING AT THE RIGHT PERSON'S RATE?" And was told, "Yes. I am looking at you. Suck it."). So now I am all conflicted.
I could work three hours a day, several days a week, for two weeks and pay my COBRA for the time I will need it and maybe even have a few bucks left over to feed my addiction. Heck, I might even be able to feed my other addiction and buy some yarn (yah, yah, I don't need it, whatever) for Mystery Stole 4. I'd even get to knit during the day since my home time would be during the long afternoon nap (oh knitting how I miss thee). But then I would STILL BE HERE. I busted my ass and cashed in all sorts of favors to make things work out child care wise to get us to August 15, which now would seem somehow lame, like I am a big whiner crying all "I just need to get to August 15" when in fact August 15 is now a regular day of no import. Not that I would need to tap anyone else, in order to make this work, Boo would swoosh his schedule around (yet again for like the eleventygillionth time). But I would be missing him on the days I do work since we would be passing like two ships in the night. There is also the chance that Crazy would find out I am looking at a real part-time job. I did tell her I am looking for something part-time but I forgot to mention that I was looking right now and that the job I have my eye on is the part-time version of one that she applied for and did not get. So that could be bad. Real bad. The job is a political appointment and she could, well, I dunno, she could do something and that something would be bad. But even as I type this drivel, I think, asshole, you want to work part-time, so what's the real downside? Crazy? Dealing with jailbirds? Actually having to work?
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Whoops
"What's that smell? Did you spray something?"
"Huh?"
"That smell? It's like bug spray and air freshener combined to form a nuclear mushroom cloud that then rolled around in three-week old garbage that contained rancid citrus."
"Oh, THAT. It's Investigator's new cologne."
"Huh?"
"That smell? It's like bug spray and air freshener combined to form a nuclear mushroom cloud that then rolled around in three-week old garbage that contained rancid citrus."
"Oh, THAT. It's Investigator's new cologne."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)