First let me say that we had a great Thanksgiving. We had lovely guests and great food and it ranks up there with one of the best Thanksgiving's we've had thus far. Ben and Milo were a little squirrely, but that happens when you hold them off lunch too long. Well, actually, it just happens sometimes.
Thanksgiving was followed by Friday in which Chris and Max left for 24-hours of boyscouting in sub-freezing temperatures and I entertained my mother and her friend for about the same length of time. I also did some workwork, which is what I'm off to do here again, soon. I have eight pages to finish before bedtime.
This is a hard time of the year knitting wise. You want to give everyone on your list something handknit and there just aren't enough hours in the days remaining even if you could quit your job, stop sleeping, and neglect your children. There are even fewer given that you can't quit those things. Just now I had just put the turkey casserole in the oven to heat up and I sat down to do a couple rounds on Max's socks. I thought about all that needs to be done by Christmas. There's the little pink thing for cousin Sofia, Max's socks, Chris's socks, Max's sweater, Milo's mittens, Oliver's mittens, and a couple of sample lace pieces for the yarn store.
I had really wanted to go into December with only Max's sweater and the mittens left to do, but I don't know how possible that is given that tomorrow is church and then we're decorating the tree together, and then I have a workweek so full of deadlines that our supervisor on this project is already sending out nice, but clear, "get 'er done" emails.
So there I am, sitting in the green chair in the living room, chewing on my lip and working away at this sock, trying to triage the knitting projects. It occurs to me I can't do the button bands on the pink thing until I have the buttons and I start mentally reviewing the known buttons at my LYS, rejecting each, when I suddenly remember BUYING the buttons for this sweater already. And they were perfect. They were little "Peter Rabbit" buttons and I bought them at Peight's in Belleville. They were in a little white bag and I remember unpacking them at home and tucking the bag and buttons away somewhere until I needed them. But for the life of me, I can't remember where. I have torn the stash apart looking for them (having become acquainted with others stashes on Ravelry, I can now say with some authority, that I do not have much of a stash. I've seen 20-yr-olds who have already achieved Stash Aquisition Beyond Life Expectancy there. I could knit up all my yarn in under 12 months if I needed to.) and they are nowhere to be found.
I'm really bummed. They didn't cost a lot and I'm pretty sure if I went back to the store, I could get them again, but Belleville is a half-day errand and I'm looking at my calendar and thinking that I have absolutely no idea where I'll get that half day between now and Christmas. And besides, I KNOW those buttons are here in the house somewhere. I just have not a smidge of a clue about where.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Saturday, November 17, 2007
You Say That Like It's a Bad Thing
Yesterday I had to go see my doctor for a small, but irritating issue, and their scale was like 5 lbs off, causing me to go into near hysterics, because the weight I have gained back this summer from eating all sorts of garbage in an attempt to feel better about our financial situation (I know, but it makes sense at the time, go figure) is bad enough and if you add 5 lbs and jeans and snow boots to that, it--well, it can make a grown woman cry. Having hopped on the scale this morning and reassured myself that I can still lose this weight and get back to that 167/168 that made me feel so good and happy, I can now view that conversation with a sense of humor. This was my favorite part:
[Doctor wraps up lecture on how my anti-depressant is notorious for weight gain, which I nod and can appreciate, but know that it's not the pill--it was the brownies I had in food storage. A year's supply, LOL, consumed in one summer. I didn't have a year's supply of GRAIN in the food storage, but by golly, I had a year's supply of BROWNIES.]
Doc: And then of course, there's your age.
Me: [surprised by sudden change of topic] My age?
Doc: Well, you turn 40 this year. That means your metabolism is slowing down and it's just plain harder to lose the weight.
I pause for a moment to consider this. I mean, it's not like it's a well-kept secret or anything. Everyone knows that the older you get, the harder it is to lose weight--until you're 86 and you've eaten every delicious thing you can think of and food just doesn't hold the attraction it once did for you--so this was no news flash. What was a newsflash was that she was seriously thinking of my turning 40 as a negative. I stared at her for a moment while my thoughts raced around, and I had to face the fact that my response to this assumption was simply far too complicated to go into and--as friendly as she is--really exceeded what she was expected to listen to as my doctor.
I settled for something along the lines of "Um-hum" and "I'll mention it to my psych."
Because here is how I really feel about turning 40:
I. can't. wait. Bring it on!
Turning 30 was fabulous. I had a better understanding of my moods and the stupid things I do when I let myself get too low or too high. I understood that in the throws of a sudden shift from low to high brought on by stress or even a fever or a dramatic change in sunlight in the spring, I was capable of astonishingly stupid decisions that might even be criminal in nature (although never with malice aforethought, and I'm not capable of violence or neglecting my children). I was developing the coping skills to stop myself before I got to that point. I was learning a little bit about how to manage my money like an adult. I was getting work that earned real money. I had managed to stay married for four years to the same guy and I--I wasn't twenty-something anymore. I was only too happy to put that decade to bed.
I have even higher expectations of 40. Here at the close of my thirties, my highs don't go so high and my lows don't go so low and I have survived the battle of secondary infertility and cloth diapers and Southern California cost of living and come out on the other side ahead. With a few exceptions, I get more sleep, I am paying off my debt instead of accumulating more of it (this year was a setback, but we're nearly through the worst of it), we probably have all the kids we're going to have so the house will probably gradually look cleaner and neater over time instead of progressively more chaotic. We are determined to soon be in the position of having no debt other than the mortgage and to be more aggressive about saving for our retirement.
I expect the following things to happen in my forties:
1. Grow ever closer to my husband.
2. Save more.
3. Watch my sons start to cross that bridge from child to man. (start to. Not complete it.)
4. Have more time for spiritual pursuits.
5. Take some vacations that require a passport.
6. Grow better tomatoes.
7. Watch my husband establish and grow his photography business (even if he gets a "regular" job in the meantime)
8. Enjoy my children's teenage years because they will also pass too quickly.
9. Go further gray and start to get white hair patches.
10. Knit more.
If my twenties taught me hard lessons about what I am capable of screwing up by being too willing to take too many risks, my thirties have taught me hard lessons about what I am capable of missing by working too hard and always setting impossible goals.
Somewhere in the middle of this is a place where you let go of control to the others in your life and to your God, while maintaining responsibility for the things you can control. My mantra for my twenties was something like, "Life life to its fullest." and that sometimes led me astray. And my mantra for my thirties was something like, "Where there's a will, there's a way." without an understanding that it needs to be GOD's will, not mine (well, except to the extent that my will be to do God's will). I anticipate my 40's mantra to be the serenity prayer. Let's look at it:
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things i cannot change; the courage to change the things i can;and the wisdom to know the difference.
--Reinhold Niebuhr, 1934 [lower case i intended by author]
There is, apparently, a mother goose rhyme that expresses a similar sentiment. Like many synonyms, it contains a slightly different take on things, and I like it, too, so I'm including it here.
And for my forties, which will be the last decade in which I have an opportunity to really MOTHER my children, I plan to keep this quote from this year's general conference talks in mind:
So yes, I'm turning 40 in 2008, but you won't hear me saying it like that's a bad thing. In my 40's I'll have sons that can help with the raking of the leaves, write me wonderful works of Science Fiction, and tell me how great it is to be 8 or 12 or 16 (and how hard it is, of course). I'll have more time with my husband, not less. I'll have one more decade under my belt of understanding how to be a better me. I understand I will have to work harder to lose the weight and I'm at peace with that because the older I get, the better I get at keeping things in perspective, recognizing when it's the kind of day I shouldn't make any long-term decisions, and in general, spend a lot less time worrying about what others think of me.
Now don't get me wrong--I don't feel anywhere near where I want to be yet. Maybe I never will. But I know I bounce back faster than I used to and I'm a better "half" to the whole that is Chris and I. And a person can't feel anything but gratitude about that. With things internally improving so much with each ten years that passes--it's hard to get too upset about things slowing down on the physical plane. Oh, I reserve the right to curse my metabolism from time to time--but I've never had a particularly speedy metabolism anyway, so that won't be all that new. The news that I'll have to stay on my diet longer to achieve the same results doesn't really sound like news. Dieting sucks. Always has, always will. But the rest of the stuff about being in my 40's--that all sounds good. I'm at no new risk for anything that could kill me and I'm past 2am feedings and high-interest rate loans. I think I'm going to find my 40's wonderful. I really do.
[Doctor wraps up lecture on how my anti-depressant is notorious for weight gain, which I nod and can appreciate, but know that it's not the pill--it was the brownies I had in food storage. A year's supply, LOL, consumed in one summer. I didn't have a year's supply of GRAIN in the food storage, but by golly, I had a year's supply of BROWNIES.]
Doc: And then of course, there's your age.
Me: [surprised by sudden change of topic] My age?
Doc: Well, you turn 40 this year. That means your metabolism is slowing down and it's just plain harder to lose the weight.
I pause for a moment to consider this. I mean, it's not like it's a well-kept secret or anything. Everyone knows that the older you get, the harder it is to lose weight--until you're 86 and you've eaten every delicious thing you can think of and food just doesn't hold the attraction it once did for you--so this was no news flash. What was a newsflash was that she was seriously thinking of my turning 40 as a negative. I stared at her for a moment while my thoughts raced around, and I had to face the fact that my response to this assumption was simply far too complicated to go into and--as friendly as she is--really exceeded what she was expected to listen to as my doctor.
I settled for something along the lines of "Um-hum" and "I'll mention it to my psych."
Because here is how I really feel about turning 40:
I. can't. wait. Bring it on!
Turning 30 was fabulous. I had a better understanding of my moods and the stupid things I do when I let myself get too low or too high. I understood that in the throws of a sudden shift from low to high brought on by stress or even a fever or a dramatic change in sunlight in the spring, I was capable of astonishingly stupid decisions that might even be criminal in nature (although never with malice aforethought, and I'm not capable of violence or neglecting my children). I was developing the coping skills to stop myself before I got to that point. I was learning a little bit about how to manage my money like an adult. I was getting work that earned real money. I had managed to stay married for four years to the same guy and I--I wasn't twenty-something anymore. I was only too happy to put that decade to bed.
I have even higher expectations of 40. Here at the close of my thirties, my highs don't go so high and my lows don't go so low and I have survived the battle of secondary infertility and cloth diapers and Southern California cost of living and come out on the other side ahead. With a few exceptions, I get more sleep, I am paying off my debt instead of accumulating more of it (this year was a setback, but we're nearly through the worst of it), we probably have all the kids we're going to have so the house will probably gradually look cleaner and neater over time instead of progressively more chaotic. We are determined to soon be in the position of having no debt other than the mortgage and to be more aggressive about saving for our retirement.
I expect the following things to happen in my forties:
1. Grow ever closer to my husband.
2. Save more.
3. Watch my sons start to cross that bridge from child to man. (start to. Not complete it.)
4. Have more time for spiritual pursuits.
5. Take some vacations that require a passport.
6. Grow better tomatoes.
7. Watch my husband establish and grow his photography business (even if he gets a "regular" job in the meantime)
8. Enjoy my children's teenage years because they will also pass too quickly.
9. Go further gray and start to get white hair patches.
10. Knit more.
If my twenties taught me hard lessons about what I am capable of screwing up by being too willing to take too many risks, my thirties have taught me hard lessons about what I am capable of missing by working too hard and always setting impossible goals.
Somewhere in the middle of this is a place where you let go of control to the others in your life and to your God, while maintaining responsibility for the things you can control. My mantra for my twenties was something like, "Life life to its fullest." and that sometimes led me astray. And my mantra for my thirties was something like, "Where there's a will, there's a way." without an understanding that it needs to be GOD's will, not mine (well, except to the extent that my will be to do God's will). I anticipate my 40's mantra to be the serenity prayer. Let's look at it:
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things i cannot change; the courage to change the things i can;and the wisdom to know the difference.
--Reinhold Niebuhr, 1934 [lower case i intended by author]
There is, apparently, a mother goose rhyme that expresses a similar sentiment. Like many synonyms, it contains a slightly different take on things, and I like it, too, so I'm including it here.
- For every ailment under the sun
- There is a remedy, or there is none;
- If there be one, try to find it;
- If there be none, never mind it.
And for my forties, which will be the last decade in which I have an opportunity to really MOTHER my children, I plan to keep this quote from this year's general conference talks in mind:
"We can lay down our lives for those we love not by physically dying for them but rather by living for them—giving of our time; always being present in their lives; serving them; being courteous, affectionate, and showing true love for those of our family and to all men—as the Savior taught."
--Elder Claudio R. M. Costa, "Don't Leave for Tomorrow What You Can Do Today", October 2007 General ConferenceSo yes, I'm turning 40 in 2008, but you won't hear me saying it like that's a bad thing. In my 40's I'll have sons that can help with the raking of the leaves, write me wonderful works of Science Fiction, and tell me how great it is to be 8 or 12 or 16 (and how hard it is, of course). I'll have more time with my husband, not less. I'll have one more decade under my belt of understanding how to be a better me. I understand I will have to work harder to lose the weight and I'm at peace with that because the older I get, the better I get at keeping things in perspective, recognizing when it's the kind of day I shouldn't make any long-term decisions, and in general, spend a lot less time worrying about what others think of me.
Now don't get me wrong--I don't feel anywhere near where I want to be yet. Maybe I never will. But I know I bounce back faster than I used to and I'm a better "half" to the whole that is Chris and I. And a person can't feel anything but gratitude about that. With things internally improving so much with each ten years that passes--it's hard to get too upset about things slowing down on the physical plane. Oh, I reserve the right to curse my metabolism from time to time--but I've never had a particularly speedy metabolism anyway, so that won't be all that new. The news that I'll have to stay on my diet longer to achieve the same results doesn't really sound like news. Dieting sucks. Always has, always will. But the rest of the stuff about being in my 40's--that all sounds good. I'm at no new risk for anything that could kill me and I'm past 2am feedings and high-interest rate loans. I think I'm going to find my 40's wonderful. I really do.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Ben, Milo, and BB King
There is a song that BB King does called Better Not Look Down. I thought of it tonight for my two larger-than-life, stars of the YSCP Kindergarten class, as tomorrow is their birthday and they are SURE that turning six will bring them even more wonderful things.
Usually their birthday brings back all the memories of that time just before and after they were born. The fear and joy and exhaustion all wrapped together with the lights and sounds of the Holiday season. But this year, well, it's been a humbling year. And I am living a little more in today and a little less in yesterday. So this year my advice for my sons comes in the chorus of this song:
I've been around and I've seen some things
People moving faster than the speed of sound
Faster than the speeding bullet
People living like Superman
All day and all night
And I won't say if it's wrong or if it's right
I'm pretty fast myself
But I do have some advice to pass along
In the chorus of this song
Better not look down, if you want to keep on flying
Put the hammer down, keep it full speed ahead
Better not look back, or you might just wind up crying
You can keep it moving, if you don't look down
An old girlfriend of mine showed up the other day.
That girl has lived in love, and for love,
And over love, and under love--all her life!
If the arrows from Cupid's bow that had
Passed through her heart had been sticking
Out of her body--she would have looked like a porcupine.
She asked me "B.B. do you think I've lived my life all wrong?"
And I said: "The only advice I have to pass
Along is in the chorus of this song." Girl,
Better not look down, if you want to keep on flying
Put the hammer down, keep it full speed ahead
Better not look back, or you might just wind up crying
You can keep it moving, if you don't look down
I was walking down the street at sunrise one morning, in London, England
And there was a very large Rolls Royce limousine,
Pulling slowly along the street.
And in that Rolls Royce was the queen of England, looking tired,
Just go back from a party, and the queen leaned out and,
She said: "Aren't you B.B. King?"
She said: "Oh B.B., sometimes it's so hard to pull things together.
Could you tell me what you think I ought to do?"
And I said:
Better not look down, if you want to keep on flying
Put the hammer down, keep it full speed ahead
Better not look back, or you might just wind up crying
You can keep it moving, if you don't look down
[And from me, the "forgotten fifth verse"]
I was flying along in the clouds at dusk one evening over New York City,
And there was a very bright light just ahead of me,
Floating serenely by the plane
at 34,000 feet was the Lord of us all, looking expectant,
Like he knew I had a question, and so I leaned out,
and said: "Lord, if I don't look down, where do I look,
when I don't know which way to go?
Sometimes even I don't know."
And He said:
Better look up, Son, if you want to keep on flying
Bend your knees to the ground, keep prayer in your heart.
Don't get too puffed up, for that road leads to crying
We can keep things moving, leave the blessings to me.
Happy Birthday, Ben. Happy Birthday, Milo. I love you.
Usually their birthday brings back all the memories of that time just before and after they were born. The fear and joy and exhaustion all wrapped together with the lights and sounds of the Holiday season. But this year, well, it's been a humbling year. And I am living a little more in today and a little less in yesterday. So this year my advice for my sons comes in the chorus of this song:
I've been around and I've seen some things
People moving faster than the speed of sound
Faster than the speeding bullet
People living like Superman
All day and all night
And I won't say if it's wrong or if it's right
I'm pretty fast myself
But I do have some advice to pass along
In the chorus of this song
Better not look down, if you want to keep on flying
Put the hammer down, keep it full speed ahead
Better not look back, or you might just wind up crying
You can keep it moving, if you don't look down
An old girlfriend of mine showed up the other day.
That girl has lived in love, and for love,
And over love, and under love--all her life!
If the arrows from Cupid's bow that had
Passed through her heart had been sticking
Out of her body--she would have looked like a porcupine.
She asked me "B.B. do you think I've lived my life all wrong?"
And I said: "The only advice I have to pass
Along is in the chorus of this song." Girl,
Better not look down, if you want to keep on flying
Put the hammer down, keep it full speed ahead
Better not look back, or you might just wind up crying
You can keep it moving, if you don't look down
I was walking down the street at sunrise one morning, in London, England
And there was a very large Rolls Royce limousine,
Pulling slowly along the street.
And in that Rolls Royce was the queen of England, looking tired,
Just go back from a party, and the queen leaned out and,
She said: "Aren't you B.B. King?"
She said: "Oh B.B., sometimes it's so hard to pull things together.
Could you tell me what you think I ought to do?"
And I said:
Better not look down, if you want to keep on flying
Put the hammer down, keep it full speed ahead
Better not look back, or you might just wind up crying
You can keep it moving, if you don't look down
[And from me, the "forgotten fifth verse"]
I was flying along in the clouds at dusk one evening over New York City,
And there was a very bright light just ahead of me,
Floating serenely by the plane
at 34,000 feet was the Lord of us all, looking expectant,
Like he knew I had a question, and so I leaned out,
and said: "Lord, if I don't look down, where do I look,
when I don't know which way to go?
Sometimes even I don't know."
And He said:
Better look up, Son, if you want to keep on flying
Bend your knees to the ground, keep prayer in your heart.
Don't get too puffed up, for that road leads to crying
We can keep things moving, leave the blessings to me.
Happy Birthday, Ben. Happy Birthday, Milo. I love you.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
For Ann and Dy
Dy gets a baby sweater because I totally dropped the ball and LOST smidges dimensions and then completely wiped it from my brain until I found the yarn I'd set aside for his sweater WITH the dimensions about a month ago in the back of a closet. Needless to say, Smidge is not that size anymore. So Dy just has to email me her snail mail address and the new baby gets something when we know a little about which team he or she will be playing for--pink or blue.
Griffin gets a baby sweater because he's a baby and I can still knit him a nice size 12-months something and get it done before he'll grow out of it. Griffin needs to get his mom to email me their snail mail address and any pertitent information like "warning, he's in the 99th percentile for growth," in which case I'll knit him a nice size 18-month outfit to wear at the 12-month mark.
It's really only big people like dear hubby and (as he not only is a big kid, but continues to insist on growing at an alarming rate) oldest son who have to keep on me to keep knitting. For that reason, I have sworn not to start any new baby sweaters until after Max's Christmas sweater is done. Griffin and baby Dy shouldn't expect delivery until early Spring.
But they can expect cute. ::Gasp:: I'm starting my first Elizabeth Zimmerman Baby Surprise Jacket soon. I have enough to make TWO of those! They're on the rustic side, but they're made in the most incredible Peruvian Organic Cotton and aside from the whole hand-wash only annoyance, they're plenty warm enough for the mild winters you both have. Oh these would be PERFECT.
::claps hands:: send mail address to my email! It is decided!
Griffin gets a baby sweater because he's a baby and I can still knit him a nice size 12-months something and get it done before he'll grow out of it. Griffin needs to get his mom to email me their snail mail address and any pertitent information like "warning, he's in the 99th percentile for growth," in which case I'll knit him a nice size 18-month outfit to wear at the 12-month mark.
It's really only big people like dear hubby and (as he not only is a big kid, but continues to insist on growing at an alarming rate) oldest son who have to keep on me to keep knitting. For that reason, I have sworn not to start any new baby sweaters until after Max's Christmas sweater is done. Griffin and baby Dy shouldn't expect delivery until early Spring.
But they can expect cute. ::Gasp:: I'm starting my first Elizabeth Zimmerman Baby Surprise Jacket soon. I have enough to make TWO of those! They're on the rustic side, but they're made in the most incredible Peruvian Organic Cotton and aside from the whole hand-wash only annoyance, they're plenty warm enough for the mild winters you both have. Oh these would be PERFECT.
::claps hands:: send mail address to my email! It is decided!
Monday, November 12, 2007
Yay! It's Strep!
As in "Yay! We have health insurance!"
And, "Yay! We got a doctor appointment for just 20 minutes after I called!"
And, "Yay! the new doctor is great!"
And, "Yay! A friggin' strep test takes FIVE WHOLE MINUTES in 2007,"
And, "Yay! We have health insurance!"
So, "Yay! He's on antibiotics."
I'd prefer NOT to have to pay $390/month for the privilege of having health insurance, yes, I would. I'd prefer to have a $25 copay instead of footing the bill for every appointment, every medication, because our deductible is higher than some people's annual income.
But at the same time I'm so glad it was an option, I'm glad that we were covered. Funny what you get grateful for when your kid gets sick. (Now, who wants to hold the pot so we can all place bets about whether the twinks get sick or not?)
Emily had a vet appointment today, too. I got a lecture on plucking her ears and Emily got a lecture on keeping her ears clean. SHE is on anti-yeast meds for the next ten days so it was MEDS all around and a donut at the grocery store for Mom.
And NOW I will go get some work done.
And, "Yay! We got a doctor appointment for just 20 minutes after I called!"
And, "Yay! the new doctor is great!"
And, "Yay! A friggin' strep test takes FIVE WHOLE MINUTES in 2007,"
And, "Yay! We have health insurance!"
So, "Yay! He's on antibiotics."
I'd prefer NOT to have to pay $390/month for the privilege of having health insurance, yes, I would. I'd prefer to have a $25 copay instead of footing the bill for every appointment, every medication, because our deductible is higher than some people's annual income.
But at the same time I'm so glad it was an option, I'm glad that we were covered. Funny what you get grateful for when your kid gets sick. (Now, who wants to hold the pot so we can all place bets about whether the twinks get sick or not?)
Emily had a vet appointment today, too. I got a lecture on plucking her ears and Emily got a lecture on keeping her ears clean. SHE is on anti-yeast meds for the next ten days so it was MEDS all around and a donut at the grocery store for Mom.
And NOW I will go get some work done.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Fever Dreams
It's been an interesting couple of days here at the house. On Thursday evening Max informed me that the he thought he was coming down with something, and might not be up to going to school. In any other 11-year-old, you'd immediately email the teacher to see what test he was supposed to be studying for, but Max's teacher is a seasoned ex-high-school teacher who usually schedules exams for Thursdays. Now that's clever. At any rate, Max was convincingly sporting an unpleasant cough and his throat sounded swollen. So when I went to check on him Friday morning and found him running a fever, I didn't even wake him. I dressed Ben and Milo and took them off to kindergarten and Max had a relatively pleasant morning at home playing his gamecube until . . . he discharged the contents of his stomach around 11am. This led to the first of many naps and that led to the first fever spike and in the meantime . . . . .
Downstairs we had Mom trying to finish up a work project and Dad watching the snow fall steadily all day, feeling extremely concerned about going, and accusing Mom of having it in for him because she was encouraging him to keep his date with Boy Scouter Leadership Camp destiny. He really only had one concern: despite his best efforts, he was going to end up cold. So in between edits I tried to round up all his missing wool socks and get them washed and dried and eventually he was packed and showered and in full Boy Scout Leader regalia and off he went.
Around 2:00 pm Max's fever hit 103 and with it came the first of many hallucinations for the weekend. This set off a massive panic attack and in that frame of mind, only Mom gets through. I was supposed to leave at 2:15 to pick up Gaye and go through my pattern books and those at the yarn shop to find a nice hat or scarf to knit up, but it took 40 minutes for the advil to kick in and bring the fever down, which turned off the anxiety and hallucinations--and I was given permission to go. So I picked up Gaye and she looked at patterns in the car while I went into the school to get Ben and Milo. From there we went to the grocery store to get provisions for the weekend including a new thermometer, more poscicles, and more ibuprofin. (Max gets the adult stuff.) We got dog food and cereal and frozen chicken bits and headed home. Chris left for thefrozen tundra Boy Scout Camp and I settled in for what I thought would be a quiet weekend at home. I would write textbook copy. The kids would play electronic gadgets. Grandma Judy was scheduled to visit briefly Saturday night/Sunday morning.
But it was not to be, for this was no ordinary virus. Every time the fever came back, it came back more viciously. It resisted normal pharmaceutical attempts to bring it back down, taking up to two hours to come all the way back to near normal. Every time the fever went over 103 (and it always does) the hallucinations and anxiety are near constant. If he falls asleep in this state, he has fever dreams that are far worse than the halluciations. He wakes up screaming about spiders, or "No! NO!" or something else that turns another fistful of hair on my head silver.
I prayed sincerely for Chris to be having fun, staying warm and dry, and learning lots of useful things about camping with boyscouts because the idea that this was some sort of cosmic retribution for me making him go in spite of the sleet and ice and snow and rain would just mean we'd both be sick and exhausted come Monday and I really want one of us to be up to dealing with Monday when we get there.
It was 3:30 am when I finally found the combination of pills that would bring the fever down long enough for him to fall asleep and stay asleep. It was 4:00 am when I fell asleep, too. I woke up at 8:30 when the phone started ringing. The first thing I did was give Max more meds before the others could wear off completely. Gaye and I had originally planned to do a weekend tour of the ski swap and the local craft shows and holiday fund-raising auctions, but I didn't trust Max alone that long, so we just did a quick run over to the Lion's club which is a quarter-mile down the road from home. I got lucky and found gifts for three of the women on my list. And a pumpkin pie. The twins ate Lion's club cookies and then we went back home. I got the kitchen partway cleaned up and the dishwasher half unloaded. It was about 11:30 when I headed back to the bathroom, stopped by my bedroom to just rest for a moment. I woke up briefly for a reason I can no longer remember (but it was child related) at 2:00 and then crawled back to bed under the covers until 4:00. In the living room, Max was doing much the same thing. I'd given him more medicine at the 11:30 mark, but failed to when I got up, so it was around 5:30 that the fever came back. And with it the hallucination and the anxiety and the--boy, there's just nothing to do but worry about the kid in that moment. You give him the meds and the fever just laughs at you. He had bright angry red streaks down the sides of his face with an angry red rash that didn't go away even when we put cool, wet cloths on it. We put these cool gel things on his forehead that were supposed to work up to 8 hours, but seemed to be at boiling point after 30 minutes.
It's just a fever but while it's there he's so freaked and so miserable, that you just would do anything to get it to go. He said something about the fever at one point so I did some asking around and determined that it was possible with his symptoms that he might have scarlett fever. Might. The rash he has is classic on his face but on his body, I don't see the sandpapery stuff, just little red dots around his armpits and in the center of his chest. It fades when the fever finally gives in. My Dad told me to take him to the ER, and I was waiting for Grandma Judy to get here to do that when my brother called and talked me back down. My Dad is a grandfather who believes in "better safe than sorry" and my brother is a doctor who believes that ER's are for organ failure and bones poking through the skin. I was able to balance the two and decide that as long as Max was feeling comfortable again (and by the time I talked to Dr. J, the two hours were up on Max's fever and he was his old self again, albeit, one with a funny-sounding voice because of the swollen throat.) that we could wait and find a clinic tomorrow, or maybe even Monday morning. I'm leaning more towards tomorrow because if there is strep in there, we should get him on antibiotics early enough to get him to school on Tuesday.
Anyway, I suppose in a way this weekend has been good for Mother-son bonding. I don't mind giving him the weekend. It hasn't done anything for my work relationship, which is really intense right now. But there is nothing to be done for it. Sometimes even a big kid needs you up with them at 4am and that's what you do.
My brother likes to tease and sometimes he says things that get under my skin, but he knew just how to cheer me up at the end of our conversation tonight. "O-bear needs a pair of thumbless mittens . . ." And 10 minutes later I was cheerfully clicking away at KnitPicks.com. My Thanksgiving vacation knitting project will be two little toddler mittens in Cal Berkeley's blue and gold colors. Then they and the Finnish Mittens (which are for the O-bear's mother) will wing their way further East to keep their little hands toasty warm. I think the only thing that a Knitter likes to hear* more than, "Can you make me . . ." are the words, "I've worn a hole in these, can you make another?"
*from a loved-one. From a stranger you want to ask, "do you have any idea the work that goes into these?" A loved-one does know, and also knows you'll say no if you have to. Although technically this wouldn't apply to a pair of toddler-sized thumbless mittens that won't even use a quarter of skein for the pair.
On the needle for Christmas: Corazon mittens for Piano Teacher Carol; Pink wool sweater for Sophie, the last-of-the-spring-baby-girls-cousins; Viking Twist on Orange Twist for Max; Pair of socks for Chris; Pair of socks for Max. I think that's it.
Downstairs we had Mom trying to finish up a work project and Dad watching the snow fall steadily all day, feeling extremely concerned about going, and accusing Mom of having it in for him because she was encouraging him to keep his date with Boy Scouter Leadership Camp destiny. He really only had one concern: despite his best efforts, he was going to end up cold. So in between edits I tried to round up all his missing wool socks and get them washed and dried and eventually he was packed and showered and in full Boy Scout Leader regalia and off he went.
Around 2:00 pm Max's fever hit 103 and with it came the first of many hallucinations for the weekend. This set off a massive panic attack and in that frame of mind, only Mom gets through. I was supposed to leave at 2:15 to pick up Gaye and go through my pattern books and those at the yarn shop to find a nice hat or scarf to knit up, but it took 40 minutes for the advil to kick in and bring the fever down, which turned off the anxiety and hallucinations--and I was given permission to go. So I picked up Gaye and she looked at patterns in the car while I went into the school to get Ben and Milo. From there we went to the grocery store to get provisions for the weekend including a new thermometer, more poscicles, and more ibuprofin. (Max gets the adult stuff.) We got dog food and cereal and frozen chicken bits and headed home. Chris left for the
But it was not to be, for this was no ordinary virus. Every time the fever came back, it came back more viciously. It resisted normal pharmaceutical attempts to bring it back down, taking up to two hours to come all the way back to near normal. Every time the fever went over 103 (and it always does) the hallucinations and anxiety are near constant. If he falls asleep in this state, he has fever dreams that are far worse than the halluciations. He wakes up screaming about spiders, or "No! NO!" or something else that turns another fistful of hair on my head silver.
I prayed sincerely for Chris to be having fun, staying warm and dry, and learning lots of useful things about camping with boyscouts because the idea that this was some sort of cosmic retribution for me making him go in spite of the sleet and ice and snow and rain would just mean we'd both be sick and exhausted come Monday and I really want one of us to be up to dealing with Monday when we get there.
It was 3:30 am when I finally found the combination of pills that would bring the fever down long enough for him to fall asleep and stay asleep. It was 4:00 am when I fell asleep, too. I woke up at 8:30 when the phone started ringing. The first thing I did was give Max more meds before the others could wear off completely. Gaye and I had originally planned to do a weekend tour of the ski swap and the local craft shows and holiday fund-raising auctions, but I didn't trust Max alone that long, so we just did a quick run over to the Lion's club which is a quarter-mile down the road from home. I got lucky and found gifts for three of the women on my list. And a pumpkin pie. The twins ate Lion's club cookies and then we went back home. I got the kitchen partway cleaned up and the dishwasher half unloaded. It was about 11:30 when I headed back to the bathroom, stopped by my bedroom to just rest for a moment. I woke up briefly for a reason I can no longer remember (but it was child related) at 2:00 and then crawled back to bed under the covers until 4:00. In the living room, Max was doing much the same thing. I'd given him more medicine at the 11:30 mark, but failed to when I got up, so it was around 5:30 that the fever came back. And with it the hallucination and the anxiety and the--boy, there's just nothing to do but worry about the kid in that moment. You give him the meds and the fever just laughs at you. He had bright angry red streaks down the sides of his face with an angry red rash that didn't go away even when we put cool, wet cloths on it. We put these cool gel things on his forehead that were supposed to work up to 8 hours, but seemed to be at boiling point after 30 minutes.
It's just a fever but while it's there he's so freaked and so miserable, that you just would do anything to get it to go. He said something about the fever at one point so I did some asking around and determined that it was possible with his symptoms that he might have scarlett fever. Might. The rash he has is classic on his face but on his body, I don't see the sandpapery stuff, just little red dots around his armpits and in the center of his chest. It fades when the fever finally gives in. My Dad told me to take him to the ER, and I was waiting for Grandma Judy to get here to do that when my brother called and talked me back down. My Dad is a grandfather who believes in "better safe than sorry" and my brother is a doctor who believes that ER's are for organ failure and bones poking through the skin. I was able to balance the two and decide that as long as Max was feeling comfortable again (and by the time I talked to Dr. J, the two hours were up on Max's fever and he was his old self again, albeit, one with a funny-sounding voice because of the swollen throat.) that we could wait and find a clinic tomorrow, or maybe even Monday morning. I'm leaning more towards tomorrow because if there is strep in there, we should get him on antibiotics early enough to get him to school on Tuesday.
Anyway, I suppose in a way this weekend has been good for Mother-son bonding. I don't mind giving him the weekend. It hasn't done anything for my work relationship, which is really intense right now. But there is nothing to be done for it. Sometimes even a big kid needs you up with them at 4am and that's what you do.
My brother likes to tease and sometimes he says things that get under my skin, but he knew just how to cheer me up at the end of our conversation tonight. "O-bear needs a pair of thumbless mittens . . ." And 10 minutes later I was cheerfully clicking away at KnitPicks.com. My Thanksgiving vacation knitting project will be two little toddler mittens in Cal Berkeley's blue and gold colors. Then they and the Finnish Mittens (which are for the O-bear's mother) will wing their way further East to keep their little hands toasty warm. I think the only thing that a Knitter likes to hear* more than, "Can you make me . . ." are the words, "I've worn a hole in these, can you make another?"
*from a loved-one. From a stranger you want to ask, "do you have any idea the work that goes into these?" A loved-one does know, and also knows you'll say no if you have to. Although technically this wouldn't apply to a pair of toddler-sized thumbless mittens that won't even use a quarter of skein for the pair.
On the needle for Christmas: Corazon mittens for Piano Teacher Carol; Pink wool sweater for Sophie, the last-of-the-spring-baby-girls-cousins; Viking Twist on Orange Twist for Max; Pair of socks for Chris; Pair of socks for Max. I think that's it.
Friday, November 02, 2007
Ben and Milo Welcome Lakshmi, goddess of Wealth
My kids go to a "World Languages" Charter school and about a third of the school doesn't speak English at home. One of their classmates gifted every child in the class with a Divali light on Friday. We got a little note giving a brief explanation of their use and a pretty colored lamp with a votive candle. (Milo's was missing its wick, so we punted with his candle.)
However, the boys also get Ladybug magazine and this month there was a very nice article on Divali, which the boys read and connected with the information they learned in school (I think the Mom came in and actually explained more about Lakshmi to the kids than was on the slip of paper) so they brought me the magazine and the lights last night and we read all about them. And when the sun went down today they were adamant that they had to light the lamps for Lakshmi.
So we did and I took some pictures to send in to the Mom as thanks for sharing her traditions with us in such a generous way. I thought I would share them here.
(How can you tell these lights are in an LDS home? Those are food-storage buckets ruining the picture ;)
(And ohmyheck, don't their faces suddenly look older? They totally have that "And Now We Are Six" look to them!)
However, the boys also get Ladybug magazine and this month there was a very nice article on Divali, which the boys read and connected with the information they learned in school (I think the Mom came in and actually explained more about Lakshmi to the kids than was on the slip of paper) so they brought me the magazine and the lights last night and we read all about them. And when the sun went down today they were adamant that they had to light the lamps for Lakshmi.
So we did and I took some pictures to send in to the Mom as thanks for sharing her traditions with us in such a generous way. I thought I would share them here.
(How can you tell these lights are in an LDS home? Those are food-storage buckets ruining the picture ;)
(And ohmyheck, don't their faces suddenly look older? They totally have that "And Now We Are Six" look to them!)
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Happy Birthday, Dr. J!
Today is my younger brother's birthday--Happy Birthday Dr. J! I hope it's a good one for you :)
Yesterday, of course, was Halloween. We had Ketchup and Mustard.
and Zorro
I was trying for a portrait I could use in Christmas cards, but I don't think we're there yet. This is the best we got.
Yesterday was a wild day. The boys' school administration is very anti-Halloween, but they'd somehow failed to communicate this to all of the new teachers. So there was a big fuss the night before Halloween as numerous "costume parties" (they'd all been careful not to call them Halloween parties) were canceled. The kids were bummed, the teachers were bummed. It was a mess. So I offered to bring in some no-artificial coloring, no-food die, no icing pumpkin muffins just to cheer up the class and that was accepted.
Now, the recipe I have feeds, oh, 60 or so. But I'd only made it once before and I couldn't remember if those portions were the result of doubling or not. So to be safe, I doubled. I was safe alright, but I had like 10 qts of pumpkin muffin batter. (I used the real pumpkin that I'd prepared for pumpkin pie, since I still have plenty frozen left for the pie.) I discovered at 9:00 am, that I was completely out of muffin pan liners, too. So I managed to pull Chris out of his workshop and we went shopping for muffin pan liners and a second, cheap muffin pan. By 11:00, I was pulling into the school parking lot and I delivered a couple dozen muffins to the 6th graders and 4 loaves of pumpkin bread to the Kindergarten (the leftovers were delivered to the teacher's lounge) and still had a couple dozen muffins left at home (which are all gone this morning--totally scary).
Nevertheless, by the time I sat down at my computer to get workwork done, it was 1:15 and then I spent another half hour answering email. In the end, I think I got about 4 hours of work done yesterday. It was a great day, but it leaves me feeling terribly behind with work. I'm trying not to panic because, honestly, this project isn't over until the day before Thanksgiving, and it's just going to stay like this until then. I don't get a day off until Thanksgiving day. For the record--I am not complaining! Not after this year! But if the blog seems less . . . inspired this month, please forgive me. I have to save my inspiration for teacher guide lessons this month.
And now, back to work! (Rabbit!)
Yesterday, of course, was Halloween. We had Ketchup and Mustard.
and Zorro
I was trying for a portrait I could use in Christmas cards, but I don't think we're there yet. This is the best we got.
Yesterday was a wild day. The boys' school administration is very anti-Halloween, but they'd somehow failed to communicate this to all of the new teachers. So there was a big fuss the night before Halloween as numerous "costume parties" (they'd all been careful not to call them Halloween parties) were canceled. The kids were bummed, the teachers were bummed. It was a mess. So I offered to bring in some no-artificial coloring, no-food die, no icing pumpkin muffins just to cheer up the class and that was accepted.
Now, the recipe I have feeds, oh, 60 or so. But I'd only made it once before and I couldn't remember if those portions were the result of doubling or not. So to be safe, I doubled. I was safe alright, but I had like 10 qts of pumpkin muffin batter. (I used the real pumpkin that I'd prepared for pumpkin pie, since I still have plenty frozen left for the pie.) I discovered at 9:00 am, that I was completely out of muffin pan liners, too. So I managed to pull Chris out of his workshop and we went shopping for muffin pan liners and a second, cheap muffin pan. By 11:00, I was pulling into the school parking lot and I delivered a couple dozen muffins to the 6th graders and 4 loaves of pumpkin bread to the Kindergarten (the leftovers were delivered to the teacher's lounge) and still had a couple dozen muffins left at home (which are all gone this morning--totally scary).
Nevertheless, by the time I sat down at my computer to get workwork done, it was 1:15 and then I spent another half hour answering email. In the end, I think I got about 4 hours of work done yesterday. It was a great day, but it leaves me feeling terribly behind with work. I'm trying not to panic because, honestly, this project isn't over until the day before Thanksgiving, and it's just going to stay like this until then. I don't get a day off until Thanksgiving day. For the record--I am not complaining! Not after this year! But if the blog seems less . . . inspired this month, please forgive me. I have to save my inspiration for teacher guide lessons this month.
And now, back to work! (Rabbit!)
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Good Save
This sock
does not fit Chris.
It was supposed to. It's a wool/LLama/Alpaca/rodent blend (Ok, no, just wool and alpaca, but I can't say alpaca without laughing). I started it last spring after thinking that since it took months of constantly knitting to make Chris' last pair of socks, that I was going to try to stick to worsted-weight socks for him in the future. And I cast these on and I KNOW I tried them on his foot and all was well . . . until last night, with only 3 inches left to go in the foot.
Oh, he could get them on okay, but they looked like they were straining to contain his foot. It actually managed somehow to make his foot look swollen. I made the socks to just be something soft he could wear without shoes while hanging out in his workshop, which is largely uninsulated. But they weren't going to work. I tried to slip into denial and keep going, but I couldn't even manage that.
As I sulked back to my desk, he suggested I try them on Max. So I did. And they fit beautifully. Which is kind of scary because they're not small socks. I shouldn't be surprised because I discovered this weekend that I can wear his shoes to walk the dog when I can't find mine.
Anyway, I finished up the sock with a new kind of toe (this is called a Badly Rendered Star Toe of Four Points, because I only read the directions every few rows or so and I never ripped back). Put it on Max, he was happy, I was happy. Life was good. But he's soooo on to me. As I was walking away he said, "Now, you ARE going to knit the second sock, right?" Actually, this is the wrong question to ask. I nearly always get the project DONE. I have very few true UFO's. I'm just running into issues recently (due to their insistence on meteoric growth) with not getting the project finished while it will still fit them. So. I promised him a second sock by Christmas.
It's November on Thursday and I have a LOT of knitting left to do between then and Christmas. I haven't started worrying about it yet. I just don't have the time. But I'll eventually get to that, too.
Speaking of things I'm not worrying about--my Tuesday afternoon Reader's Theatre group, which has been at times less than satisfying due to the nature of the that particular mix of personalities--is coming around. The last two Tuesdays have actually been mostly fun and their teacher, who is usually in the room at her desk doing paperwork while I'm teaching, said today that she can totally hear a difference in their reading. So that made me happy.
Coming tomorrow: photos of Zorro, Ketchup, and his twin brother, Mustard.
does not fit Chris.
It was supposed to. It's a wool/LLama/Alpaca/rodent blend (Ok, no, just wool and alpaca, but I can't say alpaca without laughing). I started it last spring after thinking that since it took months of constantly knitting to make Chris' last pair of socks, that I was going to try to stick to worsted-weight socks for him in the future. And I cast these on and I KNOW I tried them on his foot and all was well . . . until last night, with only 3 inches left to go in the foot.
Oh, he could get them on okay, but they looked like they were straining to contain his foot. It actually managed somehow to make his foot look swollen. I made the socks to just be something soft he could wear without shoes while hanging out in his workshop, which is largely uninsulated. But they weren't going to work. I tried to slip into denial and keep going, but I couldn't even manage that.
As I sulked back to my desk, he suggested I try them on Max. So I did. And they fit beautifully. Which is kind of scary because they're not small socks. I shouldn't be surprised because I discovered this weekend that I can wear his shoes to walk the dog when I can't find mine.
Anyway, I finished up the sock with a new kind of toe (this is called a Badly Rendered Star Toe of Four Points, because I only read the directions every few rows or so and I never ripped back). Put it on Max, he was happy, I was happy. Life was good. But he's soooo on to me. As I was walking away he said, "Now, you ARE going to knit the second sock, right?" Actually, this is the wrong question to ask. I nearly always get the project DONE. I have very few true UFO's. I'm just running into issues recently (due to their insistence on meteoric growth) with not getting the project finished while it will still fit them. So. I promised him a second sock by Christmas.
It's November on Thursday and I have a LOT of knitting left to do between then and Christmas. I haven't started worrying about it yet. I just don't have the time. But I'll eventually get to that, too.
Speaking of things I'm not worrying about--my Tuesday afternoon Reader's Theatre group, which has been at times less than satisfying due to the nature of the that particular mix of personalities--is coming around. The last two Tuesdays have actually been mostly fun and their teacher, who is usually in the room at her desk doing paperwork while I'm teaching, said today that she can totally hear a difference in their reading. So that made me happy.
Coming tomorrow: photos of Zorro, Ketchup, and his twin brother, Mustard.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
With Chris' Permission . . .
I am planning a joint baptism/birthday party for Chris for the afternoon of December 8. If you will be in the area and want to help me plan, please call or email me. We really wanted to do a skating party, but the cost is out of our range for this year, so now I'm thinking we'll just clean the house from top to bottom and have everyone here. The grownups can talk, hang out upstairs. The kids can hollar at each other and run train tracks all over the basement. (Emily can't hold her licker, and that scares some of the littles, so she'll probably be tied to my waist.) If you're LDS or not LDS but always wanted to see what an LDS baptism was like, and you want to attend the morning baptism, let me know about that, too. I'll make sure I get you the exact time as soon as we have that and directions to the chapel.
From Above: So, Alaska, how are you?
Me: Well, Lord, you already know the ways in which we could use a little help. But if you mean how am I feeling? I'm feeling deeply humbled and grateful, God. Deeply, deeply humbled and grateful. The further along I get in this life journey, the more I really understand that Your timing is Perfect. Perfect and Amazing.
From Above: So, Alaska, how are you?
Me: Well, Lord, you already know the ways in which we could use a little help. But if you mean how am I feeling? I'm feeling deeply humbled and grateful, God. Deeply, deeply humbled and grateful. The further along I get in this life journey, the more I really understand that Your timing is Perfect. Perfect and Amazing.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Saturday Morning
Have you seen the beautiful photo Chris took of fall trees here last weekend? Go to his blog and peek and you'll see just one of the reasons we are so smitten with the place.
Monday, October 22, 2007
:::Squeal, screetch, CRASH!!:::
Don't worry! Not my car. Just my mood.
Sometimes I really enjoy what I do for workwork. I imagine in those moments that I am really writing a great lesson that the kids and their teacher will enjoy as they soak up the skill or the facts or whatever . . . . [Sun shines, birds twitter.]
And sometimes I feel like a jammed cog in the stinkin' textbook machine, chained to standards, and feeling hopeless because whatever I write will be attributed to someone else and edited 700 ways to Sunday before it sees print. [F5 Tornado comes in and sucks all the happiness away leaving nothing but carnage and a fruit fly infestation in its wake.]
[Anyone remember the tsetse flies from the Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom Atari game? Here's a screenshot from elsewhere in the game. Anyway, my kitchen is totally under attack by the friggin tsetse-fly-like fruit flies.]
Anyway, most of this past lesson I felt pretty good about until about 15 minutes after I submitted it and then my lack-of-sleep from last night caught up with me (no reason, just couldn't sleep) and CRASH I hate my job.
So I very carefully closed my email program before I responded to any work related emails (which are just as amazingly likely to be sent at 11:00 pm as 11:00 am because the people I report to work even more hours than I do) in ways I might regret.
Then I pitched my little fit here.
And now I guess I'll go to bed. So wah.
Sometimes I really enjoy what I do for workwork. I imagine in those moments that I am really writing a great lesson that the kids and their teacher will enjoy as they soak up the skill or the facts or whatever . . . . [Sun shines, birds twitter.]
And sometimes I feel like a jammed cog in the stinkin' textbook machine, chained to standards, and feeling hopeless because whatever I write will be attributed to someone else and edited 700 ways to Sunday before it sees print. [F5 Tornado comes in and sucks all the happiness away leaving nothing but carnage and a fruit fly infestation in its wake.]
[Anyone remember the tsetse flies from the Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom Atari game? Here's a screenshot from elsewhere in the game. Anyway, my kitchen is totally under attack by the friggin tsetse-fly-like fruit flies.]
Anyway, most of this past lesson I felt pretty good about until about 15 minutes after I submitted it and then my lack-of-sleep from last night caught up with me (no reason, just couldn't sleep) and CRASH I hate my job.
So I very carefully closed my email program before I responded to any work related emails (which are just as amazingly likely to be sent at 11:00 pm as 11:00 am because the people I report to work even more hours than I do) in ways I might regret.
Then I pitched my little fit here.
And now I guess I'll go to bed. So wah.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
There is Dried Pumpkin on my Tattoo
As I sat down to blog, I cast about for a title and came up with nothing. I then noticed that something from the kitchen had adhered to the tattoo on my right arm. As I thoughtfully flaked it off my arm (and onto the carpet, I suppose) I thought, "that's my title then."
The day started off big and stayed that way. We woke up at some reasonable hour (say, 7-ish) and crawled out of bed to get started on the day. I was heading up a "Take Back the Kitchen" demonstration and Chris was getting ready for a photoshoot. I got the boys to pick up the floor in the living room and vacuumed it while the first load of dishes ran. Then Gaye arrived to babysit and I drove over to Spring Creek park to be the photographer's assistant. We were taking Christmas portraits of a family from church. The area was so beautiful and they looked so photogenic that I made Chris promise he'd take photos for us, too. (That said, I won't let him do so until after my November haircut, so the trees are likely to be bare by then. Timing is everything.)
At any rate, this was a family of young boys, so we were completely done 40 minutes after we started. We stopped at Sheetz on the way home for a Diet Mountain Dew and then headed home.
I was worried about the tomatoes and peppers we'd harvested from the garden the day we tore the last of the plants out. Last night I managed to can the brussel sprouts (Charlotte, I pickled them per your recommendation) and the apples we'd bought a week earlier at Way Fruit farm (and longer and they'd have been no good). So today I needed to do something with the tomatoes, hot peppers, and the two Pennsylvania Dutch Crookneck Pumpkins we bought for pie.
I divided the tomatoes into two piles--over ripe and just right. I'm trying to decide whether to make a soup for dinner tonight with the over-ripe pile or just pitch them. We had BLT's for lunch using the "just right." and they were delicious.
I sorted out the hot peppers.
I can't decide what to do with them.
Taking photos of them was pretty entertaining.
But I don't have a clue what to do with them. I grew them to go in salsa. But there weren't nearly enough tomatoes left by the time the hot peppers ripened. So. What now?
While I pondered that, I cut up one of the winter crookneck squashes and baked them in three batches. I pushed the cooked squash through a strainer and put the puree in quart jars. It takes two to three cups of this stuff to make one pumpkin pie. I think we'll have enough for 6 to 8 pies. Wow. Right now I need some cheesecloth to get the extra liquid out of the puree. But after that I imagine I'll free most of it while Max and I begin experimenting with pumpkin pie recipes.
Between batches of pumpkin, I worked on the backlog of dishes. By the time I was done with the last batch of pumpkin, it was past time to get some real workwork done, so I sat down to do that and . . . promptly felt like all I really wanted in life was a good nap. I really, really, really need to get some work done though, so I'm fighting back with caffeine as I write this.
The day started off big and stayed that way. We woke up at some reasonable hour (say, 7-ish) and crawled out of bed to get started on the day. I was heading up a "Take Back the Kitchen" demonstration and Chris was getting ready for a photoshoot. I got the boys to pick up the floor in the living room and vacuumed it while the first load of dishes ran. Then Gaye arrived to babysit and I drove over to Spring Creek park to be the photographer's assistant. We were taking Christmas portraits of a family from church. The area was so beautiful and they looked so photogenic that I made Chris promise he'd take photos for us, too. (That said, I won't let him do so until after my November haircut, so the trees are likely to be bare by then. Timing is everything.)
At any rate, this was a family of young boys, so we were completely done 40 minutes after we started. We stopped at Sheetz on the way home for a Diet Mountain Dew and then headed home.
I was worried about the tomatoes and peppers we'd harvested from the garden the day we tore the last of the plants out. Last night I managed to can the brussel sprouts (Charlotte, I pickled them per your recommendation) and the apples we'd bought a week earlier at Way Fruit farm (and longer and they'd have been no good). So today I needed to do something with the tomatoes, hot peppers, and the two Pennsylvania Dutch Crookneck Pumpkins we bought for pie.
I divided the tomatoes into two piles--over ripe and just right. I'm trying to decide whether to make a soup for dinner tonight with the over-ripe pile or just pitch them. We had BLT's for lunch using the "just right." and they were delicious.
I sorted out the hot peppers.
I can't decide what to do with them.
Taking photos of them was pretty entertaining.
But I don't have a clue what to do with them. I grew them to go in salsa. But there weren't nearly enough tomatoes left by the time the hot peppers ripened. So. What now?
While I pondered that, I cut up one of the winter crookneck squashes and baked them in three batches. I pushed the cooked squash through a strainer and put the puree in quart jars. It takes two to three cups of this stuff to make one pumpkin pie. I think we'll have enough for 6 to 8 pies. Wow. Right now I need some cheesecloth to get the extra liquid out of the puree. But after that I imagine I'll free most of it while Max and I begin experimenting with pumpkin pie recipes.
Between batches of pumpkin, I worked on the backlog of dishes. By the time I was done with the last batch of pumpkin, it was past time to get some real workwork done, so I sat down to do that and . . . promptly felt like all I really wanted in life was a good nap. I really, really, really need to get some work done though, so I'm fighting back with caffeine as I write this.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Short Blog About Long Day
I really, really need to go to bed, but before I do, I want to blog about the day because it was a truly unusual, special day. So, here is the Cliff Notes version:
7:00 Up and atem. Make sure all three boys understand it will be 30 degrees colder today than Tuesday and they must wear long shirts and jeans.
Breakfast, make lunches, get boys in truck, drive to Uni-mart, get some milks for their lunches because we're out of bottled water. Drop kids at school, pick up some stuff I had copied for tonight's meeting, go back home.
Change into outside work clothes. Chris goes to pick up missionaries. They arrive wearing outside work clothes. We dismantle the raised-bed garden, mow the lawn, take out all the volunteer tomato plants, pull weeds, trim back the grass that had grown too tall for the mower under the tomato growth . . . while Chris cleans off front porch and fills truck bed with things for the dump. Done. Load truck with all the gardening stuff. Go to Gaye's house.
Chris mows lawn, I do a smidge of weeding, the Gaye and I rescue some more gardening stuff from the stuff Chris had intended to take to the dump. We put that away. Missionaries rake the leaves along the back fence and pull them out to the edge of the road for county leaf pick-up. Gaye calls Chris to help her get the air conditioner out of her window. I take over mowing. Missionaries keep raking, pausing occasionally to pretend they are kung fu fighting with the rakes. (Kids, sheesh.)
Lawn is done, leaves are done, gardening stuff put away in Gaye's basement for the winter (well, we're not done with the rakes and tarps by a long shot.) We hop back in trucks.
At the community garden we harvest all the hot peppers. There are tons and they are ripe and hot and wonderful. Then we pull up all the plants and transport them to the compost pile. We do the same with everything else that's left in the garden. Finally, we close with fifteen minutes of weeding (three people weeding together for 15 minutes is like me weeding alone for an hour). [Oh, that? That's a stalk of brussel sprouts on his shoulder. We all thought the brussel sprouts were great fun, although only Milo and I really wanted to eat them.]
We all go get lunch and arrive home (separately, Chris had to drive the elders home first) just in time to change and run over to the school to do our Thursday afternoon reader's theater. Both classes did great. Time flies. We grab our own kids and head home. We hurridly fix dinner and enjoy it. I go back to preparing for my PAC meeting (fly in ointment--at this point we completely forget to take Max to his group piano meeting, never mind that it's at the same time and place it's been for 6 weeks now). and then I drive back to the school and chair a roller-coastery, at times emotional, meeting that I still consider a success because a) noone cried and b) I made us quit at the agreed upon ending time and c) it was the best attended meeting ever. I attribute this to my idea to list the topics in the note home to parents telling them about the meeting. Our particular PAC's biggest problem is that a) people think they have to join (nope, no fees, no nothing, you just show up) and b) people don't really know what we do. So we're working on that.
Now, I'd been up till 2:00 the night before finishing a work project (well, really I was up till 1:30, but then it took another half-hour to fall asleep) and so at the end of the meeting I was just ripped tired.
Nevertheless, I stayed another hour afterwards just chatting with R (who is in the PAC with me and also at church with me) and D (who is just in the PAC with me) before finally driving home. I was going over in my head how grateful I was that the meeting was over (they're just hard on the psyche) and how productive the day was and I felt, as I had all morning and most of the afternoon, soooooo grateful for the help of the missionaries in getting those chores done because they had been weighing on my mind and yet every moment is so packed with workwork or volunteering at the school right now that I just didn't have a CLUE when I was going to get those things done.
And here they were done. And done well.
And then I went totally numb, which is when I realized I'd have to blog this quick and then get myself to bed. Tomorrow must be all about workwork and Chris says Max is coming down with something, so we'll see . . . how it turns out. But you know, God really did a fine job today with sending me the things I needed. I really need two big missionaries willing and able to help me pull up tomato plants and I really needed a big hunky husband to do it all with us. And I needed the rain that came mid-afternoon to hold off until we were done with all of that--and it did.
Good day, God. Thank you.
7:00 Up and atem. Make sure all three boys understand it will be 30 degrees colder today than Tuesday and they must wear long shirts and jeans.
Breakfast, make lunches, get boys in truck, drive to Uni-mart, get some milks for their lunches because we're out of bottled water. Drop kids at school, pick up some stuff I had copied for tonight's meeting, go back home.
Change into outside work clothes. Chris goes to pick up missionaries. They arrive wearing outside work clothes. We dismantle the raised-bed garden, mow the lawn, take out all the volunteer tomato plants, pull weeds, trim back the grass that had grown too tall for the mower under the tomato growth . . . while Chris cleans off front porch and fills truck bed with things for the dump. Done. Load truck with all the gardening stuff. Go to Gaye's house.
Chris mows lawn, I do a smidge of weeding, the Gaye and I rescue some more gardening stuff from the stuff Chris had intended to take to the dump. We put that away. Missionaries rake the leaves along the back fence and pull them out to the edge of the road for county leaf pick-up. Gaye calls Chris to help her get the air conditioner out of her window. I take over mowing. Missionaries keep raking, pausing occasionally to pretend they are kung fu fighting with the rakes. (Kids, sheesh.)
Lawn is done, leaves are done, gardening stuff put away in Gaye's basement for the winter (well, we're not done with the rakes and tarps by a long shot.) We hop back in trucks.
At the community garden we harvest all the hot peppers. There are tons and they are ripe and hot and wonderful. Then we pull up all the plants and transport them to the compost pile. We do the same with everything else that's left in the garden. Finally, we close with fifteen minutes of weeding (three people weeding together for 15 minutes is like me weeding alone for an hour). [Oh, that? That's a stalk of brussel sprouts on his shoulder. We all thought the brussel sprouts were great fun, although only Milo and I really wanted to eat them.]
We all go get lunch and arrive home (separately, Chris had to drive the elders home first) just in time to change and run over to the school to do our Thursday afternoon reader's theater. Both classes did great. Time flies. We grab our own kids and head home. We hurridly fix dinner and enjoy it. I go back to preparing for my PAC meeting (fly in ointment--at this point we completely forget to take Max to his group piano meeting, never mind that it's at the same time and place it's been for 6 weeks now). and then I drive back to the school and chair a roller-coastery, at times emotional, meeting that I still consider a success because a) noone cried and b) I made us quit at the agreed upon ending time and c) it was the best attended meeting ever. I attribute this to my idea to list the topics in the note home to parents telling them about the meeting. Our particular PAC's biggest problem is that a) people think they have to join (nope, no fees, no nothing, you just show up) and b) people don't really know what we do. So we're working on that.
Now, I'd been up till 2:00 the night before finishing a work project (well, really I was up till 1:30, but then it took another half-hour to fall asleep) and so at the end of the meeting I was just ripped tired.
Nevertheless, I stayed another hour afterwards just chatting with R (who is in the PAC with me and also at church with me) and D (who is just in the PAC with me) before finally driving home. I was going over in my head how grateful I was that the meeting was over (they're just hard on the psyche) and how productive the day was and I felt, as I had all morning and most of the afternoon, soooooo grateful for the help of the missionaries in getting those chores done because they had been weighing on my mind and yet every moment is so packed with workwork or volunteering at the school right now that I just didn't have a CLUE when I was going to get those things done.
And here they were done. And done well.
And then I went totally numb, which is when I realized I'd have to blog this quick and then get myself to bed. Tomorrow must be all about workwork and Chris says Max is coming down with something, so we'll see . . . how it turns out. But you know, God really did a fine job today with sending me the things I needed. I really need two big missionaries willing and able to help me pull up tomato plants and I really needed a big hunky husband to do it all with us. And I needed the rain that came mid-afternoon to hold off until we were done with all of that--and it did.
Good day, God. Thank you.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Piano Lessons and Related Thoughts
Today has been a really. nice. day. Largely, this is because Wednesdays are never as insane as Tuesdays, but this particular Wednesday was also good because I had turned in a project the night before that was running late. Today I worked on editing a lesson, but the writer is good and the progress has been smooth. I would take breaks here and there to start Corazon for Ben and Milo's piano teacher.
I've started these mittens a few times now, and never been satisfied with the start. This time I'm starting again with sport-weight sock yarn AND I am replacing the K2P2 ribbing with a sort of modified gauntlet that uses the braid I learned making the Finnish Mittens and is then followed by a couple rows of knitting and then corrugated ribbing. I really don't know the first thing about corrugated ribbing, but I found a description at the Interweave press website. (I tried their Norwegian Purl Method and succeeded only in making myself miserable, but when I tried holding the purl yarn in my right hand and the knit yarn in my left, I made sloooooow, but steady progress and I think I've about got it now.)
Nevertheless, I'm a little nervous that I have merely invented some new form of making knots and this isn't what corrugated knitting is supposed to look like. If YOU know what corrugated ribbing looks like, please feel free to reassure me.
This evening was the usual round of piano lessons and I thought the boys all did well. It's definitely an "up" phase for piano lessons--which can definitely have tough periods. Max's next recital is in only two weeks and he's taking it more seriously than any prior to this (and this is by far the most "casual" of the recitals his teacher does every year).
Can you believe this is our third year with this (Max's) piano teacher? It makes me feel so deliciously sane and stabile to be in the third straight year of ANYTHING, really. Two years at the same school. 2.5 years in the same house. That last one doesn't actually break a personal record but it puts us really close to it. 3 years and 3 months is our personal record for being in the same house.
Well, I've wandered off topic. Back to work!
I've started these mittens a few times now, and never been satisfied with the start. This time I'm starting again with sport-weight sock yarn AND I am replacing the K2P2 ribbing with a sort of modified gauntlet that uses the braid I learned making the Finnish Mittens and is then followed by a couple rows of knitting and then corrugated ribbing. I really don't know the first thing about corrugated ribbing, but I found a description at the Interweave press website. (I tried their Norwegian Purl Method and succeeded only in making myself miserable, but when I tried holding the purl yarn in my right hand and the knit yarn in my left, I made sloooooow, but steady progress and I think I've about got it now.)
Nevertheless, I'm a little nervous that I have merely invented some new form of making knots and this isn't what corrugated knitting is supposed to look like. If YOU know what corrugated ribbing looks like, please feel free to reassure me.
This evening was the usual round of piano lessons and I thought the boys all did well. It's definitely an "up" phase for piano lessons--which can definitely have tough periods. Max's next recital is in only two weeks and he's taking it more seriously than any prior to this (and this is by far the most "casual" of the recitals his teacher does every year).
Can you believe this is our third year with this (Max's) piano teacher? It makes me feel so deliciously sane and stabile to be in the third straight year of ANYTHING, really. Two years at the same school. 2.5 years in the same house. That last one doesn't actually break a personal record but it puts us really close to it. 3 years and 3 months is our personal record for being in the same house.
Well, I've wandered off topic. Back to work!
Adwen's Sweater
At long last, baby Adwen's sweater is done:
I won't mail it till tomorrow since there are still a few damp spots around the collar, but phew! She'll be able to wear it before she outgrows it. It's such a race with these scamps.
I won't mail it till tomorrow since there are still a few damp spots around the collar, but phew! She'll be able to wear it before she outgrows it. It's such a race with these scamps.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Ahhhhh, That's More Like It!
The temperature has dropped 14 degrees in the last three hours. Thankyouthankyouthankyou!
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Sunday with Gaye
Today was a full and busy day. We started out by picking up Grandma Gaye and going to a local farm to get some pumpkins and squash. We considered bringing home some of the kittens, too, but decided to pass on that. We did their corn maze and Chris took some pictures. This was all Gaye's idea and it was a good one.
Max playing the air gourd (those are pumpkin pie pumpkins says the lady at the stand. We're taking her word for it and bought two to try in a pie.)
Gaye was having a terrible time.
The local wildlife was very aggressive.
They had a poor selection of decorative gourds and indian corn.
But we persevered and made the best of it.
Then we hied back to Gaye's to watch General Conference on her TV. Gaye doesn't have any interest in the church, but she knows we don't have TV and was willing to let us use hers to watch the Sunday morning talks (which, because of the time difference, were really Sunday afternoon talks for us).
Gaye and I got some knitting done. I FINALLY finished Arwen's sweater (no photos yet, it's blocking) and she swatched some new yarn and then got started on a project from Mason-Dixon knitting. She's doing the lace curtain for the window in her front door. Bubba-the-cat was very interested and wanted to help.
He tried so hard and for so long to help with our knitting (I took pictures of him "helping" with my sock yarn, but they got deleted. As the Yarn Harlot would say, "We will speak no more of this.") that he passed out cold.
It's tough work being a good kitty.
We had a wonderful mid-afternoon dinner prepared by Gaye of pot roast, cooked carrots and potatoes, mashed potatoes with gravy, and biscuits. After dinner we knit a little bit longer and then had ice cream and went home.
Not because we needed it or even particularly craved it--but just because I'd already made it--I baked up my first apple pie this evening. That turned out well, although like I said, we were still full from Gaye's dinner and none of us tucked into it the way we might otherwise have. We liked it well enough to try to save the recipe so that I wouldn't have to guess next time. The crust was perfect, so I can finally cross Learn How to Make a Decent Pie Crust off my list of things to do before I die.
Learn How to Make a Decent Pie Crust
Here I am, looking sweaty and . . . sigh. Never mind. Just look at the pie. October 7 and we're having a freakin' heat wave. I'm ready to just trade the stupid truck in for a bicycle built for five, myself.
Max playing the air gourd (those are pumpkin pie pumpkins says the lady at the stand. We're taking her word for it and bought two to try in a pie.)
Gaye was having a terrible time.
The local wildlife was very aggressive.
They had a poor selection of decorative gourds and indian corn.
But we persevered and made the best of it.
Then we hied back to Gaye's to watch General Conference on her TV. Gaye doesn't have any interest in the church, but she knows we don't have TV and was willing to let us use hers to watch the Sunday morning talks (which, because of the time difference, were really Sunday afternoon talks for us).
Gaye and I got some knitting done. I FINALLY finished Arwen's sweater (no photos yet, it's blocking) and she swatched some new yarn and then got started on a project from Mason-Dixon knitting. She's doing the lace curtain for the window in her front door. Bubba-the-cat was very interested and wanted to help.
He tried so hard and for so long to help with our knitting (I took pictures of him "helping" with my sock yarn, but they got deleted. As the Yarn Harlot would say, "We will speak no more of this.") that he passed out cold.
It's tough work being a good kitty.
We had a wonderful mid-afternoon dinner prepared by Gaye of pot roast, cooked carrots and potatoes, mashed potatoes with gravy, and biscuits. After dinner we knit a little bit longer and then had ice cream and went home.
Not because we needed it or even particularly craved it--but just because I'd already made it--I baked up my first apple pie this evening. That turned out well, although like I said, we were still full from Gaye's dinner and none of us tucked into it the way we might otherwise have. We liked it well enough to try to save the recipe so that I wouldn't have to guess next time. The crust was perfect, so I can finally cross Learn How to Make a Decent Pie Crust off my list of things to do before I die.
Here I am, looking sweaty and . . . sigh. Never mind. Just look at the pie. October 7 and we're having a freakin' heat wave. I'm ready to just trade the stupid truck in for a bicycle built for five, myself.
Friday, October 05, 2007
Fast Forward to Friday
Wow, what a crazy week. I meant to blog, but kept getting caught up in . . . life. Then I got to thinking that perhaps the week could best be summed up with a doodle:
Chris said, "How come you're smiling?" and I had to admit that it was sort of a mistake--a smile is just what I put there--except that I think it's accurate. I'm not feeling unhappy about any of the things I'm involved with right now. There just sure is a lot of it--Gosh, I didn't even remember to put anything representing the never-ending piano lessons/practicing in there either and we had lots of that this week.
Oh, well. Dinner for tonight is cream of tomato soup with a bagette bread fresh from the grocery store bakery. This morning Gaye and I went over to Way's fruit farm and came home with a half a bushel of Cortland apples, a half-peck of Gala's, and a half-peck of something else I'm blanking on. The Cortlands will become apple sauce, the Gala's are for the boys' lunches, and the others will become apple pie. I think. I haven't ever actually made apple pie before, so they could also become a disaster, but my pie crust has gradually improved over the year and so . . . I'm hopeful.
This weekend is General Conference and I'm really forward to the talks. I have GOBS of work, so I'll be streaming the talks tomorrow as I try to get that done, but Sunday we're watching the morning talks at Gaye's house (she has satellite TV) and then having dinner at her place.
Alright, back to the soup before it burns!
Chris said, "How come you're smiling?" and I had to admit that it was sort of a mistake--a smile is just what I put there--except that I think it's accurate. I'm not feeling unhappy about any of the things I'm involved with right now. There just sure is a lot of it--Gosh, I didn't even remember to put anything representing the never-ending piano lessons/practicing in there either and we had lots of that this week.
Oh, well. Dinner for tonight is cream of tomato soup with a bagette bread fresh from the grocery store bakery. This morning Gaye and I went over to Way's fruit farm and came home with a half a bushel of Cortland apples, a half-peck of Gala's, and a half-peck of something else I'm blanking on. The Cortlands will become apple sauce, the Gala's are for the boys' lunches, and the others will become apple pie. I think. I haven't ever actually made apple pie before, so they could also become a disaster, but my pie crust has gradually improved over the year and so . . . I'm hopeful.
This weekend is General Conference and I'm really forward to the talks. I have GOBS of work, so I'll be streaming the talks tomorrow as I try to get that done, but Sunday we're watching the morning talks at Gaye's house (she has satellite TV) and then having dinner at her place.
Alright, back to the soup before it burns!
Monday, October 01, 2007
Monday Musings
I have to keep this short as Chris says I have to go to bed with the kids tonight. I'm not exactly sure why, but it might have something to do with the impromptu speech I gave them at the dinner table about how I was NOT going to spend the next 8 to 12 years listening to their father ask them to use their manners at the table and that next Monday's Family Home Evening was going to be about showing some respect for the appetite's of others and THEY were going to come prepared to teach it! ::huff, huff, huff::
Shortly after that he suggested that maybe I needed some more sleep . . . . I wanted to argue about it, but I was too darn tired. So instead I did one of those big sweeps I have to do every week or two and cleaned the office so that at least I could have a productive day tomorrow.
Then I thought I'd add another project to Ravelry. So far this is my favorite feature of Ravelry. You can plug in the title of your project, the kind of yarn you used, where you got the pattern, all sorts of other fun details (including ranking the difficulty of the patterns and how much you liked the yarn), and then you can bring in your flikr pictures to illustrate.
So I thought I'd take a few pictures of the knee socks I'm working on for Milo. Here's how that went.
First, I convinced Milo to pose. This was not hard. I got this picture of last Christmas's socks. They're pretty snug now.
Then we changed him into jammy bottoms for the knee socks that are still in progress. I got this picture of the socks.
Aren't they smashing? Those'll be a great Christmas present. And toasty warm, too.
Then, because I was having fun with Chris' camera, which can do things mine can't even dream about, I took a closeup. Here's one of the bottom of the foot, showing off the Socks that Rock Fred Flintstone colorway.
And then I thought I'd document how much nicer my kitchener stitch looks than it used to.
And that led to me thinking, "Come to think of it, these toes were once one of my WIP's too!!" So I took a picture of those.
Like the bit of blue sock fuzz stuck in his toe? That's Claudia's Handpainted sock yarn fuzz. And that led to LOTS of giggling from the subject and his twinkie brother, so I took one more picture of how that "work in progress" is coming along.
Then I helped the kindergartener take the dpn's off his leg--and tickled the Ben and the Milo. A lot. And now it's time to jump into MY jammies and snuggle up with them!
:D
Shortly after that he suggested that maybe I needed some more sleep . . . . I wanted to argue about it, but I was too darn tired. So instead I did one of those big sweeps I have to do every week or two and cleaned the office so that at least I could have a productive day tomorrow.
Then I thought I'd add another project to Ravelry. So far this is my favorite feature of Ravelry. You can plug in the title of your project, the kind of yarn you used, where you got the pattern, all sorts of other fun details (including ranking the difficulty of the patterns and how much you liked the yarn), and then you can bring in your flikr pictures to illustrate.
So I thought I'd take a few pictures of the knee socks I'm working on for Milo. Here's how that went.
First, I convinced Milo to pose. This was not hard. I got this picture of last Christmas's socks. They're pretty snug now.
Then we changed him into jammy bottoms for the knee socks that are still in progress. I got this picture of the socks.
Aren't they smashing? Those'll be a great Christmas present. And toasty warm, too.
Then, because I was having fun with Chris' camera, which can do things mine can't even dream about, I took a closeup. Here's one of the bottom of the foot, showing off the Socks that Rock Fred Flintstone colorway.
And then I thought I'd document how much nicer my kitchener stitch looks than it used to.
And that led to me thinking, "Come to think of it, these toes were once one of my WIP's too!!" So I took a picture of those.
Like the bit of blue sock fuzz stuck in his toe? That's Claudia's Handpainted sock yarn fuzz. And that led to LOTS of giggling from the subject and his twinkie brother, so I took one more picture of how that "work in progress" is coming along.
Then I helped the kindergartener take the dpn's off his leg--and tickled the Ben and the Milo. A lot. And now it's time to jump into MY jammies and snuggle up with them!
:D
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