Thank goodness it's Friday. I can't breathe. Whatever it is I've had on and off since, oh, November--is back with a vengence. I seem to do okay as long as I stay on top of things with the inhaler, but I don't have any resistence built up to the albuterol anymore--so now I can breathe but I feel like one of those small hairless dogs that sits and shivers with its tail between its legs.
So today I've been reading more children's poetry. If your big kid hasn't laughed till he puked lately, this is pretty effective:
It's too old for the market I'm reading for, but it's perfect for grades 4 to 9. Well, really for ages 9 and up. I laughed hysterically at more than a few of them, too. Thing is--they're concrete poems. You can't read them aloud. Trust me, I tried, "Honey! Honey! Listen to this one . . ." but it's not the same if you're not looking at it.
We have Max's piano lesson (moved to a different time, of course) this afternoon which I'm dreading because the church where she has the lessons is so flippin' cold and I'm already having a heck of time staying warm. She's been sick over and over this winter, too (but NEVER misses a practice--she just brings her tea and tissues). Well, last week I noticed that she was wearing a thin cotton shawl--it was an oversized handkerchief really. And I thought, "you know, for this room, she really needs a wool shawl . . ."
So here I am a week later looking through my two books of shawl patterns. I found one I could do--except I've already done it. What I really wanted was to make her a Ukrainian folk shawl. So I went a-googling and discovered that the Ukraine, besides being home to a lot of potentially Jewish or Orthodox piano teachers, is the home of the Orenburg Shawl.
Well, that's just perfect for a beginning lace knitter, doncha think?!?
So I ebay'd up a used copy of Gossamer something-r-other and ordered that. Word is that besides a few actual Orenburg shawls in the book, there is a SAMPLE shawl that you can make to see if you have any Orenburg apptitude at all.
This could be the project that turns me from a knitter into a Knitter.
Oh my holy heck, the twins turn four and look at me--delusions of grandeur. Or maybe it's because it is March! The end of my Dark season. Just this past weekend I put away the light box. (Or maybe it's just that the Little Pink Thing is turning out so darn cute. Or maybe it's the albuterol.) It's probably the albuterol. Listen to me babble.