yarning on and on about it

I joined Ravelry.com recently...and have quickly become addicted to it. I found out that another local yarn shop that is further away from my house apparently is cooler than the one near me. I definitely get a vibe at the nearby one that it is more for the mature crowd of well behaved demeanor. I, dear readers (all two of you that you are), can not be counted as demure, genteel, dainty, girly (ok maybe just a small tee-nintsey bit), gentle, or any other word associated with "well behaved". I am almost everything but that. Raucous, bawdy, loud, overbearing, feisty, sarcastic, snarky, hellbent at times. It has to be something with being an Aquarius I guess. I don't know many that are born late January/early February that are anything but spirited ... "assertive with a bit of varnish on it" as Monday's Child so eloquently put it when I asked her help. She is a word nerd as she says. In any case, I am now craving a visit to this yarn shop when they have their "knit night" on Wednesday and/or Friday. I'd gladly go with Persnickety Ticker if we can coordinate it. We'll have to see about ditching kids and co-spawners to escape into a world of yarny goodness with the Yarntender. The website said that a sense of humor was required. Persnickety and I certainly have that requirement covered. Our yarn skills..while hers are perfectionist and she crochets waaaaay better than I ever will, I have figured out knitting a bit and actually think I like it a little better than crochet. The snag is that knitting takes longer so my patience is vexed by the seemingly incessant looping that look like it's not going anywhere. Now my knitting heaven will be to get my hands on the Boye Needlemaster with interchangeable circular needles and the other goodies in the kit....but that will be a few moons from now. Right now I'd be happy to borrow someone's size 7 circulars so I can finish this one project that is working up so large it literally wraps itself around the needles as I work....it won't get easier to finish on these 14" long needles.

At the moment, the rain is pelting the roof and it's absolutely perfect for working on this wrap I've been making of acrylic yarn...nice and warm. It will come in handy this coming winter if it's big enough. Otherwise, somebody's baby will get it as a "welcome to the world" gift.

birthdays

Yesterday I was too busy enjoying the quiet to blog about a significant event in my family. Then my people crawled out from atop their mattresses and the quiet ceased. And it ceased till around midnight when my people were sent packing back to their quarters. Then I had to use brain cells that were lacking the ability to be used for my job as household executive manager. Quiet is no fun when you have to THINK while tired. In any case, yesterday was my father's 81st birthday, and his brother's 85th. Yes, you were not mistaken, I did not hit an 8 when I was reaching for its neighbor. It has been EIGHTY ONE and EIGHTY FIVE years those two souls have been on the Earth. Yes, they share a birthday, four years apart. Their parents' anniversary was four years before my uncle was born as well. Dad says Grandpa was a mathematician...in actuality, it was Grandma that had a very regular cycle. And NO my dad is not really my grandfather, like so many kids asked when I was younger. I completely tired of hearing that question quickly. He was nearing 50 when I was born...and even still there were two more after I arrived. Three more if you count the miscarriage Mom had. In any case, my sister went out Wednesday and got Dad a big beer to commemorate a little early. We were all on the phone together for quite a while, and Dad got the 22 ounce beer consumed in about 30 minutes. I quoted my father when I said "Old sots never die" and my sister added "and new ones don't stop". She then asked where that one originated, so I told her the New Year's story of how we took Dad to a party the first New Years after Mom died so he wouldn't be alone. We come from hardy Irish stock, and we know how to use it. Happy Birthday Dad & Uncle J. .... and Slainte.

Enjoying the silence

hmph, the really eloquent post I had typed got eaten...damn cyberelves.

I sit here, in silence, except for the appliances, my typing, my Howard Miller chiming every 15 minutes and the neighbor's dog barking at God-knows-what that she sees through the fence. Yes, my people are sleeping late. Yes it screws with the circadian rhythms. But my house is a cacophony of noise and activity at any given point. I just want the quiet, and I don't want to have to vacate my premesis to get it. I need my "me" time. I don't do bubble baths, alcohol is reserved for evenings (unless of course it's just *one of those days*), and a girls night out/in just can't be coordinated with everyone I want to be around for a girls anything. One friend is traveling for work, so when she gets home she is going to want to see her husband and kids...not her kid-in-big-girl-pants friend that I am. Plus it is enormously helpful if she is actually I dunno..... AVAILABLE ... to participate. The other one's got a Fat Cranky Buzzard that tries to keep her locked in the tower (I'm convinced that he thinks she has a treasure somewhere and he's hellbent on finding it before she gets to it). Plus she has this side issue of having been hit by a DUMP TRUCK that puts a hamper on some things. She can only do so much for so long. There are others that have too much going on as well. So even if I did declare a gathering to occur...I'd likely be sitting by myself, and probably Persnickety would be there because she found a way to fend off her FCB long enough to run for the door. That and she loves me like that...cuz I'm her token skinny wench. So for now, I enjoy the quiet in my house while I can keep it, because one by one, the noisy people in my house will emerge from their beds refreshed and ready to raise hell in some way or another. And my quiet will once again be a pipe dream for the rest of the day. Now if you'll pardon me, my coffee is getting cold and it certainly does taste much better just a mere couple minutes from being poured, as that is the absolute optimal temperature for pleasurable sipping...in the quiet of course.

Welcome to Camp Aunt Wench

My family's relationships are all complicated for starters anyway. Normal for my family is something that is often met with quizzical looks and the occasional "huh?" from outsiders. But when it comes to the muck, we tend to help when and where we can....almost to a fault. That's what has happened again. This time it's a chaotic situation at my brother's house. Dad calls the place a "flop house", I call it a crazy zoo, complete with a poo-flinging monkey type. My niece is here because she doesn't need to be around that stuff right now. It is getting adventurous to say the least over there. So since I have a daughter that is 3 months older than my niece, I get to host Camp Aunt Wench. They seem to play well together at first, but that's because they hardly ever see each other despite living a mere 6 miles apart. However, given a few days in a cabin together, things are going to get interesting. We have the older girl who is the youngest of three, and the only girl. Add to this we have the younger girl who is an only child. The one who is accustomed to fending off siblings for her things or space, tends to get a bossier as the days pass. The one who is not entirely accustomed to sharing tends to get whinier as the visit progresses. I hear "she's being mean" numerous times. Please define "mean". I guess my family can be brutes in some ways (regardless of gender), so it is entirely possible that what we consider normal is in fact "mean" to another. I can only suppose that the longer my niece is here, the better she will assimilate to my family's brand of chaos. However, as the aunt, it is my job to keep it interesting and fun or as a mom, I will go absolutely bonkers beyond recognition. In several ways this visit to Camp Aunt Wench is good for everyone involved. My niece gets away from the insanity in her own home, and my chaotic house gets a dose of fun. My usual intentions of doing fun stuff often end up tossed by the wayside because I lose momentum halfway through the day.

In the meantime, we really ARE camping in the house because the kitchen remodel is progressing in small steps because of my husband's retail hours. I am washing dishes in the tub with a dishpan and the drainer parked in a large roasting pan so the clean ones can be plucked out of the way in the event someone needs to defunk themselves. Oh yeah....that's right, I haven't been here to post anything for something like 2 weeks. I got word that new cabinets were being bestowed upon us with 2 days' notice, and one of those days I was working. So it was a bit of a stash-and-dash to empty the kitchen with some semblance of organization that allowed me to still feed my crew without drive-through and takeout menus. I can deal with no stove, as I have a nuker, crockpot, electric skillet and toaster oven. However, the SINK is highly important and makes things more challenging when it's lacking. I have incoming water because the pipes are still in place. However, the lack of a drain is posing a bigger challenge. It's manageable but not exactly convenient. In any case, we've been occupied with that and I will be glad when I have a sink back....I think I can even deal with bare plywood for temporary counters, as long as I can wash dishes while standing again. I've been spoiled by modern conveniences like sinks and electricity, so I can't see myself going off to the woods where bugs will feast upon my flesh while I wash dishes on my prayerbones.

Now if you'll pardon me, I just saw two little girls trailing off to my room, to bid Uncle DevilDog a good morning.......

corrupted yarn

I've shown my yarn stash previously. It hasn't dwindled much really at all since the picture was taken in September.
Well a friend taught me to knit last Summer and I think I kind of like it a little better than crocheting only because it doesn't hurt my wrist like crocheting does. My lovely job sends me to a store that hires only morons that wake up on the twit side of the bed, and eat a bowl of idiot flakes for breakfast, then report to work in the receiving department. That is a rant for another day with wrist pain. This is about yarn. Specifically this kind of yarn called boucle, which has little loops all along the thread to make it fluffy and light. This friend that taught me to knit recently said "oh that yarn can hide a multitude of sins"

This yarn, has apparently committed a few sins of its own.

wit and wisdom from my children

I have children that came equipped with a sense of humor unique to each of them. I am thankful they have a sense of humor at all. I'm sure somewhere in the family topiary there is some ancester that was born with no sense of laughter or wit what. so. ever. It happens in every family. I forget almost all of the funny stuff my kids say unless I write it down. This blog post is available for your perusal because I did just that...wrote it down as soon as I was able to stop smirking or laughing.

First we have my younger son, who has a disorder that I have called middlechilditis. He's smart in his own way, but has some wiring issues and I suspect is a tad lysdexic among other things. He has resorted to making jokes and a variety of noises with varying levels of humor and annoyance. Being a student at a public middle school in this city of such upstanding citizens....he's acquired an interesting alternative vocabulary too. Today he said something about "Monkey Fudger"
uh. yea.
I'm not that old, and I think I have that one figured out quite well enough. When I asked him to clarify, I was indeed correct. I presume being reasonably intelligent adults that have nothing better to do than read my blog fodder, you are probably accurate in your own assumptions also.
He also does a nice old lady voice with "kneet wun, purl two" .... and then asked me what that was. So I grabbed some scrap yarn, the closest knitting needles that didn't already have a project on them, and attempted to knit one, purl two for him. I *THINK* it's a rib stitch pattern...for those of you non-knitters (for which I used to be one till a year ago), that means, go look at a store bought sweater. If it has lines in the body of the garment, it's generally a rib stitch. Another example would be your socks. Men's dress socks are a good example. Look at the elastic-y part that holds the sock to the leg. That's a rib stitch of sorts.
Now that we're done with the mini-knitting lesson....we'll move on to my clone.

This one is going to be the reason the schools know my name as well. Her oldest brother helped the schools identify me easily too. The teacher told me she now understands where my daughter gets it...meaning her humor, sarcasm and way with words. I'm just good like that. Spend enough time with me, I start causing people to assimilate into my behaviors. Just don't go being too corruptible because I am not responsible for your actions pal. In any case, a recent day ago, she was stretching or something and a vertabrae popped in her lower back. Very lower back. She turned to me and said "My butt just cracked. Does your butt crack?"

The middlechilditis patient was in the kitchen and tried not to laugh. And failed.

ahh summer

It's the one thing we absolutely looked forward to as kids. No bedtime. No being awakened by my mother clacking her very obvious fake plastic nails on my door. No homework that made me tax my mental faculties farther than I cared to allow. Going to spend the night in the middle of the week. Playing in the yard till well after dark. Building forts with the hodge podge of things dad found at work and brought home for us. We loved it.

I too will love the lack of set wake up times. I can play online later into the wee hours of stupidity and not be the reason my daughter is late for school. As a parent, I have come to feel that year-round school may not be all bad. I know some will wrinkle their noses at me. My dad would eschew it in favor of the traditional-back-in-his-day Labor Day to Memorial Day school year. I suspect some of my sentiment is sheer laziness. But I gotta tell ya...unless you spent MASS quantities of time with my kids up under YOUR posterior days upon days ad nauseum please don't tell me what I should be feeling about my kids. I love spending time with them individually and en masse. The thing is, I am one of those moms that absolutely require mental health breaks from my people. I just don't do well living my life in constant contact with my spawn. Having started my family younger than most people, I did not get that free spirited fun of my 20's. Two in diapers for a while kills the buzz, and potty training them was no amusement park ride either. Plus, the older they get, the more like me and their co-spawner they become. Except that clone of mine, I swear she gets whinier as the minutes pass. She PMS's enough for the two of us some days. Being vastly different personalities, my children pose entertainment risks. What thrills one, bores the next and tortures the third. Meanwhile pretty much all of it renders me a shrill. There are many things I don't deal with very well at all. Internally overheating, squabbling kids, and overly obnoxious spawn are some of my triggers. Welcome to Florida where it is so hot the grownups are comatose and the kids can't decide who to torture first and most, so they make a concerted effort to torture as many as possible in one fell swoop and do it in the most comprehensive way they can to accomplish this feat.

Also my children are interested in almost every thing I do. I learned to crochet, they wanted in on it. I learned to knit...they thought about it and grabbed the crochet hooks. I learned to make rosaries, and they want to use up all my wire making odd creations. I resorted to getting the girl her own beading tools JUST so I could work on making the rosaries and not have to keep asking for my tools back just to get ONE bead wired. Literally, if I put a tool down for a split second, she grabbed it for her own use. Well now I am likely to need to buy the boy his own tools too. He'll have to wait for coupon and paycheck to coincide for it to happen though.

Prediction: My blog will become a virtual insane asylum, complete with folks in white coats brandishing syringes as summer progresses. I do prefer to be wrong on this prediction however. This is not one of those moments where I have this strong urge to be right about something. I've been known to be wrong before and I can admit as much. I will happily admit my inaccuracies about this should it be merited.

.... I may jump on Persnickety's Steel Magnolias wagon Friday

late in the school year

2.5 days of school left as of this blog post.

My daughter is late rather often. One week in May, she was late EVERY SINGLE DAY, and one of those days she was late by an hour. Today, my son was late and we careened to the bus stop on one wheel as the bus was loading. The boy even opened the door and started exiting the ride before it came to a complete stop. My daughter was up and ready to go early today. She went to breakfast at school. I stopped by the office to tell the ladies that they would not need to look for my daughter and have her tardy slip prepared. It was 10 after 8, and they were absolutely shocked. I wonder if her teacher teased her about being on time. I forgot to ask. I was a tad busy making a rosary for the Assistant Director at the daycare.

I found some beads that just jumped out and bit me. I bought them. I made some into a rosary and my daughter hijacked it. She kidnapped it and wouldn't even demand ransom. She claimed she gave it back. However due to the size of the beads, this "Mother Superior" length rosary would have been blatantly obvious on my desk. It was not here and she knew it. She wore jeans and a long sleeve really warm dress (odd child I know. I choose my battles). The Assistant Director had dd change clothes, oddly enough with stuff I sent in to the daycare for the "general clothing emergency" stash. Along the way the rosary was made known to Ms D and she apparently told DH that she liked it, and dh came back to me with "Ms D wants one just like it". Men mess up the translation but I was planning on making one for her anyway, just hadn't found beads I liked enough to use. So I spent my evening working on Ms D's rosary and completely failed to ask my child if she was teased by her teacher for being on time instead of being late as usual. It's genetic. They get that wiring from me. My senior year social studies teacher signed my yearbook "You'll be late to your own funeral". I read that and told him "Nope, I won't be late to my funeral, other people will be in charge of getting me there." Just don't put my brother in charge of getting me there. I arrive well ahead of schedule by comparison to him.