Again?

They stay busy with art supplies while I lie in bed and pray for death. I have the stomach flu. Again. Didn't I start the month sick? January was not kind to me. 2011 is not looking like my year.

Don't break the spell

They're not arguing. Had to take photographic evidence. And had to take said photographic evidence through the window so as not to break the magic spell some kind fairy obviously put on them for my benefit.

P.S. do you see the pickle jar?

More on the Boy

Someday someone is going to have to explain to me how carving a car out of a block of wood is going to turn my son into a fine upstanding citizen.

Cause I'm not seeing the straight line logic on that one.

Meaty had his very first Pine Wood Derby today and I must confess I was dreading it a just a bit. But it was actually tons of fun. Tons of fun that I forgot my camera for. Bad Blogger, no cookie for me. There were ten boys in his troop and they wanted everyone to get to race lots of times, so instead of doing a tournament elimination style race they had each boy race each boy, twice.

Meaty's car raced inconsistently. It really liked one side of the track and won on that side of the track every time. But it didn't like the other side of the track, and it was hit or miss on that side of the track. He had a really good time, which is the important part. He did a little "yes" with a arm movement when he won, and he just looked forward to his next race when he lost. He didn't place in the top three, but we think he came in fourth by the "Father's" unofficial calculations. (All the Fathers migrated to the end of the track studying the cars, predicting who was going to win each race, calculating who was winning overall, who wasn't, what they could do better for next year, it was hysterical).

This year, being our first year, was a learning year. We got the lay of the land. Learned how things work, what doesn't work. And next year, It IT ON. The Greatest and Meaty are already planning their design.

I've got to be honest. And I could be burned at the stake for saying this out loud, much less putting it in writing for all the world to see. This is even worse than when I confessed to loving my Knitpick Needles more than my Addis. It is that bad. But you know me. I keep it real.

I'm not in love with scouting yet.

I fear it is going to take over our lives.

At least I've only got the one boy right?

And he's so happy. How can I deny him anything that makes him so happy?

Boys

He wants a pet beetle. This is why I have three girls and only one boys. I don't do pet beetles. I'm a good Mom. Not a spectacular Mom, but a good Mom. I let him have his pet beetle. It currently lives in a pickles jar on the back porch and is not under any circumstances allowed in the house (a spectacular Mom would let him keep it on his dresser, see, not a spectacular Mom, and I can totally live with that, good is good enough, don't want to set the bar too hight for his future wife). He gave it a spider to be his friend (so now it really really can't come in the house). I can't decide if the beetle is going to eat the spider or if the spider if going to eat the beetle, but either way I hate setting someone up to get eaten alive. I know it's "nature" and all, but is it really nature if it happens in an old pickle jar on my back porch? It just seems like a horrible way to die. I don't want to be eaten alive. Girls never make me ponder my own death. This is why I have three girls.

Big Girl

No longer content to dress herself, she must now do all her personal grooming. I guess she got fed up with all the pigtails. So if you see her out in public, you'll understand what's going on with her hair. *sigh* She likes to do things herself.

You'll notice my blogging has been nothing but my random Project 365 pictures. And since I spend my days with Sweet Pea, she is often the subject of my 365 pictures. I hope to someday have time to type actual words. But not today.

Exhausted

Wish I could still fall asleep wherever, whenever, however.

Youth is wasted on the young.

Intervention Time...Again

I can't deny it

The pigtail obsession can not be stopped.

And I've eaten nothing but chocolate chip cookies today. I'd better go find something with protein. Or maybe something leafy and green.

Better

Some days are harder than others.

But

Pigtails. . .

Chocolate Chip Cookies. . .

And a new projects for Knit Picks. . .

Somehow makes everything better.

A good nights sleep and a shower helps too!

My Trend-Setter

I just can't convince her

that leg warmers go on her legs. Maybe she'll start a new fad.

Does this count as showing off a FO?

Is so it is a really pathetic attempt. I'm pretty sure I used a pattern from Ravelry, but I can't seem to find it now. The yarn is Red Heart from Wal-Mart. Fancy stuff around here. Remember the good old days when I thought I had outgrown using Wal-Mart yarn. "It was good for beginners but....." Yeah. I'm so funny. We should all laugh at me. And then immediately write letters to Wal-Mart demanding they upgrade their yarn aisle STAT.

Just a basic ribbed pattern with an easy peasy cable down the center.

And she likes them just fine...as arm warmers *shrug*

I think I knit them on my size 6 Knit Pick Harmony Options Interchangable Needles.

Which brings me to the saddest tale of sadness I have ever had to tell.

It it simply too sad. I can't bring myself to tell it.

I'll just skip to the end and show you pictures instead.

I am beside myself with grief. R.I.P. my beloved size 6 Knit Pick Harmony Options Interchangable Needles. Your colors were gaudy, but your finish was so smooth, your cable so flexible, your joins so seamless, and your tips so perfectly pointed you won my heart. I prized you above all my needles. Even my Addis. You were my favorites. I would knit things on size 6 needles just so I could knit with you. I learned magic loop just so I could knit with you more. I will miss you forever.

Or until I can order a new pair.

The Insanity Begins

Grand plans for the Pinewood Derby Car.

Bird

I just love her quirky fashion sense. Someday she will hate me for letting her leave the house like that. But in my defense, she's six. And that is her favorite outfit.

No Tears Here

Hard to cry over spilt milk

When it spills in such a sweet fashion.

Strawberry milk, the breakfast of champions.

Fancy

Fancy hair. Today, I'm so excited, I get to go pay the water bill. Then, as if that weren't enough, I get scrub the dining room floor. And when I'm done? The heart pounding excitement isn't over. I get to start decrapifying the kitchen. Just think of all those cabinets crammed full of stuff. I can't tell you what's in half of them. Which mean I don't actually need what's in half of them right? Which means I can throw away half of that stuff right? Thrilling life I lead isn't it? At least I'll look glamorous leading it. Aren't you jealous?

What Is This?

KNITTING!

I'm not 100% sure about this project yet. But I keep chugging along anyways. I can't decide if the random stripey-ness is all kinds of brilliant or seven kinds of wrong. The yarn is Araucania Ruca. 100% Sugar Cane. How cool is that. My sweater is sweet. The knit fabric is smooth and all kinds of drapey. And this is the good kind of drapey. I'm leaning twards loving this sweater. We'll have to see what the sleeves do. The pattern is Mothed. You know I'm gonna add a ton of length to those sleeves, cause sleeves ending there would drive me all kinds of crazy. And some length to the body while I'm at it. Cause we've discussed this before, belly shirts are not for me. But sugar cane yarn appears to be my thing.

Coming Together

It is starting to look like home again.

I just can't turn and show you the other side of the room.

I Can't Decide

For the past week I have been working my tail off "decrapifying" the house. I've gone through closets, and drawers. I've cleaned under beds. I've found an astounding amount of candy wrappers in the most amazing of places. I've moved furniture. I am killing myself. My house will be a house of order once again.

The Greatest is helping. He really is. And one of the projects he took upon himself to do was to light my yarn cabinet.

TA-DA

How cute is that! I loves it so much. My lights are one of the first things I plug in in the mornings, and one of the last things I turn off before I go to bed at night. I do love it. I really really do. And I know shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth...

BUT...

I just can't decide his motivation.

I know I sound a little crazy, but follow me on this one.

I've come up with two possibilities.

Either

A) He is really pleased with the dismal failure that is Evil 2.0 and he just wanted to do something nice for me because he loves me and he really is The Greatest. *dreamy swoon*

Or

B) He's realized that I've been secretly buying yarn and stashing it in my dark cabinet, and now that it is all brightly light and my yarn is super highlighted, secret yarn purchases will be impossible to hide in this cabinet.

I'm going with A, but B is taunting me from the back of my mind. I keep reminding myself he is a man. Men don't usually have hidden agendas. They just come out and say what they mean.

I think I will go ponder it further as I admire my yarn.

Can't See The Forest

Around here we love Christmas.

We do.

I won't apologize for that.

Our decorations goes up a few weeks before Thanksgiving. Every thing that stands still gets garland and lights. I've documented this before. The dog is scared to take a nap lest she wake up covered in tinsel and bows. My husbands dream is to have our house so brightly lit with Christmas lights that it shines like a beacon for miles around. Out of respect for our neighbors I try to temper that dream. I'm sure they like to sleep at night.

This year we acquired, by various means, new-to-us trees.

Six new trees to be specific.

That brings our total of Christmas trees to Eight.

Dang, eight sound like a lot.

And now I do feel the need to apologize and explain myself. Only two are large. Our largest one The Greatest has had for twenty years. The other large one goes in our bedroom. The rest are smallish. Two are outdoor trees. Three go in the kids bedrooms. One small three foot tree we didn't even unpack this year. It doesn't sound so bad when you find out they were all in bedrooms right? But still

That isn't even all of them.

It might be time to admit we have a problem.

Just Like Clockwork

My Pork Chop is Student of the Month.

(for our privacy identifying information has been blacked out. It is ugly, but you understand.)

I'm so proud of you baby. I am grateful for you being who you are and doing what you do. You are amazing.

And every year I appreciate the excuse to go eat doughnuts in the library. Cause when else are you allowed to eat in the library? It always feels slightly naughty to have such sticky hands so close to all those books. This year we sat right next to the computers and I about had a heart attack with Sweet Pea and her chocolate icing covered hands near all those key boards. And I still shudder at the memory of her juice box. Nothing really happened, but it was the constant possibility of disaster looming over us at every moment. That is what being in public with a three year old is, the constant possibility of looming disaster. Now I can't remember why we had so many toddlers.

But I digress.

I'm proud of you Pork Chop!

Home Repair Gone Horribly Wrong

So I'm on this mission to make my home livable once again. Cleaning, decrapifying, fixing. This is where the joint compound comes in.

My bathroom bunnies have decided that drywall is a tasty tasty treat. Yeah. Not as awesome as one might think. They no longer get free run of my bathroom. They now get free run of a playpen in my bathroom. In the middle of my bathroom. Far from the walls. And boy are they angry about the entire affair. Every night one, or maybe both of them, hops the entire perimeter of the play pen, dropping little pellets of rabbit poop along the perimeter as they go. They then push these tiny pellets of rabbit poop under the bottom of the playpen. Their message is clear. They are marking their territory. Fine you want us in the playpen? This playpen is now ours. Do not cross our line of poop.

We make sure to go in their playpen every single day to pet and annoy them.

They are very angry bunnies.

But they have such cute butts it is hard to take their wrath seriously. This is why bunnies as an animal have never been taken seriously as an evil super power. Their butts are just too cute.

The Greatest came home and found me with my joint compound, my patience exhausted, ready to take matter into my own hands. And he decided it was time to tackle the "honey do" list. Maybe some good did come from my trip to Lowes.

He fixed the walls in the bathroom for me. He fixed the leaky faucet in the kids bathtub (after much googling on my part I might add). He hung some things on the walls for me. He removed the door to the laundry room (something I've been asking him to do for over a year) He tackled the leaky kitchen sink.

And this is where it kinda fell apart.

But it wasn't his fault.

The faucet was too corroded.

And I don't think it was put on correctly in the first place.

But he couldn't get a piece off.

He tried and tried and swore and tried and tried and twisted and tried and swore.

He put some kind of lubricant on it and let it sit.

Repeat the above attempt.

We bought WD-40.

There was more trying. More twisting. More swearing. There was some scratching of the faucet. Then the faucet broke. The part he was trying to twist off never did twist off.

Back to Lowes we go.

*Yikes, ignore the dirty window. In my defense that dirt is all on the outside, and yet another thing to add to my to-do list: Wash the outside windows.*

I love my new kitchen faucet. It is shapely, and spot resistant. Best of all, when you turn if off the water stops coming out of the top. And because he spoils me, he bought the matching reverse osmosis faucet to go with it.

I just don't don't know how to tell The Greatest that I walked by the kids bathroom after tucking them into bed and I heard the tub dripping again.

The Eye of the Storm

I'm feeling moderately better. Good days, bad days. They're all there. But more good days than bad days, so that is hopeful.

Since you know how I like to keep it all real and stuff on my blog I'll straight up tell you, my house is a wreck. It still looks like Christmas threw up here. All the decorations are up. Toys are everywhere. It seems like there is always laundry in my living room. Clean laundry in neatly folded piles on the couch to the right. Dirty laundry in neatly sorted mountains to the left. The pots and pans don't seem to get washed until every pot and pan NEEDS to be washed. There are dogs toys, and bunny fur, and I always seem to be stepping over something to get where I need to be.

This is a very different sort of house than what I usually keep.

If you're local, and you drop in unannounced, I'm not gonna let you in.

It's that bad.

And it has been this way for a while.

But the good news is I'm feeling good enough to be bothered by it.

I've actually been bothered by it for several weeks now, but I'm finally feeling good enough, or fed up enough, to do something about it.

The hardest part seemed to be picking a place to start.

Do I start in the living room? It is the first room people see when they walk in my house. Or do I start in the kitchen? I do have all those pots and pans. Or the family room? We do spend most of our time in that room. The laundry room? Let's start small. Maybe the coat closet? Let's start really small.

See, I wasn't just going to straighten up or dust and vacuum. I was going to decrapify my house while I was at it. No corner would be left unturned. No possession would be left unexamined to be sure it was still wanted and in the best place. With God as my witness my home was going to be clean an organized once again.

If only I could figure out a place to start.

After debating all morning (which sounds so much more productive than surfing the internet, which is how I really spent my morning) I finally decided to start at the back of the house and work my way forward. My closet it is. During December my closet is the hiding place for all of Santa's early deliveries. they are stashed behind the clothes, and it inevitably turns into a big mess in there. But now.

There are no clothes on the floor. All my drawers are full of neatly folded clothes. I took out all the clothes that don't fit me *sob* so there's lots of room in my drawers. But I'm gonna call that an excuse to buy new clothes right? Everything is hung neatly on hangers. And I was impressed by all the hand knit sweaters I have that were never on the blog. I should do something about that.

That messy part on the shelf? Those are The Greatest's clothes. I'm not his Mom. He can fold his own #*%@ clothes if he is so inclined. I'm still impressed I folded my own clothes.

I also noticed The Greatest has twice as many shoes as I do. What's up with that? I know I'm shoe deprived but really? That is ridiculous. I need to go shopping. STAT.

The Birthday Boy

I'm not entirely sure how Eight happened. But I've got a year to figure it out so I can stop Nine.

Seriously

Today, while The Greatest was at work and the older children were at school, I ventured into Lowes with Sweet Pea in tow.

After consulting the helpful worker guy in the snazzy smock we came away five dollars poorer, but we have a moderately sized container of this.

I'm going to go on the record right now as officially stating: No good can come of this.

Evil 2.0: Take 2

So Evil 2.0 took four days to dry. Should have used a second towel to squeeze out the excess water before pinning it out. All that mounting anticipation only to discover....drum roll here....the sleeves look off. I've got a theory. My sleeve cap is too tall for a sweater with the amount of ease this sweater has. I need a shallower sleeve cap. I think. But I'm also thinking I didn't decrease enough stitches for the armpit on the actual sweater itself. To fix the first problem I just have to take off the sleeves, rip out the very top of the sleeves, re-knit them, and sew them back in place. It will take an afternoon. Then I cross my fingers and re-block. To fix the second problem I have to take off the arms. Take off the collar. Rip out the entire top half of the sweater front and back to the armpit. Decrease more stitches there, and then re-knit the sweater from the arm-pit up. This will take a few weeks. I'm going to try just fixing the sleeve caps first. Everyone cross their fingers for me.

Just thinking about it makes me sad. And tired. I've had a migraine since Thursday. All those pain pills I had left from December? Gone. I'm feeling better today, but I'm going to spend most of the day in bed anyways, taking it easy, making sure I don't relapse.

While I was waiting for Evil 2.0 to dry I knit myself a sweater *giggle*. I did. I knit myself a sweater from start to finish in four days *giggle* The entire time I was working on Evil 2.0 I worked ONLY on Evil 2.0. So when I was finally able to work on something else I worked on it with reckless abandon. And it flew by. But it was a cropped cardigan with negative ease and three quarter length sleeves. So it wasn't a full sweater. And it's pale ballerina pink. Does anything about this sweater sound like anything I should be wearing? It is a disaster of epic proportions in the making, but I couldn't help myself. It is so darn cute. And it will look so cute over my summer dresses. I tried it on with my dresses when it was half knit with one sleeve. It is going to be super cute with my black paisley dress. So not me. I will wear it and pretend I am someone else. Someone who wears cropped cardigans and pale ballerina pink. It is soaking in a bowl of water now. I should go block it. It is a cardigan, which means that after I block it I will neatly fold it and add it to the stack of cardigans I have knit this winter that are patiently waiting for buttons. Buttons are the bane of my existence. I shouldn't worry about actually wearing this pale ballerina pink cardigan. The button pile is where cardigans go to die in my house. I should really learn to love pullovers. But I can't help myself. I'm drawn to the siren song of cardigans.

Enough random ramblings for today. If I had been planning some of that could have been clever or interesting instead of just rambling. Maybe I'll be clever tomorrow. For now I'll just distract you with today's random picture.

I think the dogs have the right idea.

Clue

Training his future Detectives.

His Happy Place

I've been in bed heavily medicated, so he's been in his happy place. It all works out nicely.

Quiet

How can she be so little and so big all at the same time?

Today's Unrelated Picture

A Tale to Tell

Today my head hurts.

I've got a ton of things to do. Sweet Pea took a nap on the couch and peed on it. So I need to lug out the heavy carpet cleaner and steam clean my couch. And my vacuum is making a new and interesting noise, so I need to find my receipt from whatever "safe place" I stashed it a year ago, so I can then call the Dyson people and fight with them to make them fix my vacuum. And don't tell me all about Dyson's fabulous customer service. Cause I've got a broken yellow Dyson in my garage that says they won't do jack without the receipt. I feel exhausted at the idea of making a phone a call and fighting with them to fix what shouldn't be broken after only a year. I'm going back to $80 vacuums. The shelf life is just the same. And there's laundry and dishes. And my family room really needs vacuumed. Oh wait. I can't do that last one, cause my vacuum is making a new and interesting noise, so I gotta unearth my receipt from whatever "safe place" I stashed it a year ago so I can call the Dyson people....you see how the to do list cycles around in my head. But my head hurts, so all I want to do is sit still in one place. Enter BLOGGING stage left. Why didn't I think of this sooner?

So in my efforts to sit quietly in one place for a long period of time let me tell you a story.

A story of a poor wife.

The man she love.

And his unrealistic expectations of a sweater.

Go get a snack. And something soothing to drink. This could get long. And possibly ranty.

Once upon a time there was a wife who loved her husband very much. She thought he made the sun rise in the sky every morning. Her heart beat just for him. He asked her to make him a sweater. With stars in her eyes she assured him she would knit him anything his heart desired, just pick a pattern. She loved him so much, she dreamily thought of creating him a sweater of wool and love that would keep him warmer than any sweater known to man, cause you know, it was knit with love, and love is way warmer than wool alone. Ask any Grandmother, they'll tell you its true. And every time he wore this sweater he would feel how much she loved him. He just needed to pick a pattern.

They looked at every pattern they could find. But none suited the Husband. This one had the wrong neck. This one had the wrong sleeves. He didn't like the pattern on this one. This one was too plain. He was so picky the wife secretly wondered how he ever decided on anything he liked. But she didn't say such things out loud. That wouldn't have been very nice, a loving wife does not criticize her Husband. Instead she asked him what he DID like. He left the room and came back with a sweater from his closet. It was a sweater his beloved Grandmother had bought him. He wanted a replica of a sweater he already owned. The wife didn't get it. He already owned this sweater. Why did he want her to knit another sweater just like the sweater he already owned. Maybe he wanted it in another color? No he wanted it brown, just like the original. Different collar? No, same collar? Can she make it with dropped sleeves, since she was a new knitter and only knew how to make sweaters with dropped sleeves? No he insisted on set in sleeves, just like the sweater his Grandmother had given him. No, the sweater must be an exact replica of the sweater he already owned.

Feeling a little less starry-eyed, and a little more concerned about her ability to actually pull this off (set in sleeves?!!!) the wife started measuring the sweater. She measured and measured and measured until she could stall by measuring no longer. It was time to look for yarn.

Being poor and without a local yarn store they turned to e-bay for yarn. They found a cone of yarn in what the wife thought was a terrible depressing grey toned brown. But the Husband thought it was the perfect mushroom brown. And since it was His sweater they purchased the cone.

When the yarn arrived the wife was even more depressed by the prospect of knitting this sweater. The yarn was very stiff. So stiff it was like knitting with twine. The gauge swatch softened once it was washed. But knitting with the unwashed yarn left deep grooved in the wife's poor fingers. The Husband was not unsympathetic to her plight. He took her to the Big Box Craft store for some Simply Soft Yarn so her hands could take a break from the harsher wool. But he was not sympathetic enough to rethink the sweater. He still wanted the sweater. The depressingly grey brown sweater. Knit on size 3 needles. Impossibly tiny needles for a man's sweater. With a mind numbing 3 x 2 ribbing pattern. 3 x 2 ribbing that never ever ended, ever ever ever. With yarn that actually cut the knitter's hands. This sweater was Evil.

But the wife loved her Husband. She loved him so much she wanted to make him happy. So she knit the Evil sweater.

Sometimes.

And sometimes she knit soft baby sweaters. And booties. And hats. And she discovered Knitpicks. She abandoned Simply Soft and she discovered Wool. Not evil twine like wool that cut her fingers as she knit, but soft merino wool that was like knitting a cloud. And she discovered not so local yarn stores. She discovered Alpaca. And cotton. And cashmere. Oh the cashmere. She knit socks and socks and more socks. She dabbled in sock design and discovered she is no Cookie A. There was so much to learn and touch and knit. And in the corner there was always Evil.

She knit Evil. She knit miles and miles of ribbing for the body of the sweater. She knit to where the body would split for the armscye. And then she let it sit for a few years. Fear paralyzed her. Set in sleeves. Why did he have to insist on set in sleeves? Those stupid sleeves. She let it sit. She researched sleeve cap design. She lived sleeve caps. She designed a different sweater with set in sleeves. And the sleeves were failure. This did not bolster her confidence. Instead resentment started to grow. She hated this sweater. She hated this yarn. She hated the color. She hated the ribbing. She hated having no pattern. She might even hate her Husband just a little for being so darn picky. Fifty billion patterns in the world and he can't find one he like?

But then he comes home from work and kisses he so sweetly, and she is so happy he is safe, and she remembers how he is the reason her heart beats. And she forgives him. And she frogs the entire sweater (because after sitting for years her personal gauge has changed) and she begins anew.

And she knits miles and miles of 3 x 2 ribbing in depressingly grey brown color with yarn that cuts her fingers. It is Evil. She tries to ignore the voice in the back of her head that tells her this sweater will never be soft enough to wear. She is wasting her time knitting this sweater, for it will never be soft enough to wear. She knits the entire body of the sweater. She knits the arms up to the sleeve cap. She is almost done. So close to a completed sweater. All she has to knit is that dreaded sleeve cap. But in her heart of hearts she knows what the little voice says is true. She does not know what she is knitting with, but she suspects it is meant for weaving, or something other than hand knitting. It is yarn, but not all yarns are created equal and this yarn was never meant to be worn as a sweater.

When her Husband comes home that night she shows him the almost completed Evil and tells him it will never be a sweater. She will knit him a sweater, but not this sweater. Not with this yarn. He says he understands, but she can tell he doesn't. He just knows that she has been knitting for seven years and has not knit him the one thing he has asked for.

The wife loves her Husband, he makes the sun rise in the sky, but there are limits. The man needs to learn to compromise. She goes to her not-so-local Yarn Store. She buys some lovely chocolaty brown worsted weight yarn. It is soft and smooshy and warm. She knits on size 6 needles. She knits miles of 3 x 2 ribbing but it isn't so bad, because it is on larger size 6 needles, and the yarn is soft and smooshy and doesn't cut her fingers. And it is chocolaty brown, not depressingly grey brown. The only problem is her uncontrollably craving for Hershey kisses.

For three weeks she knits Evil 2.0 on the couch in front of her Husband and never once does he ask her what she is so industriously working on. She consults her knitting friends. She isn't sure if she should feel clever that she is working on his sweater in front of him and she can still surprise him with it, or if she should feel insulted, she's been working on the darn thing for three weeks and he hasn't once asked what she's working on. They decided she should feel clever. And the wife knit on, and on, and on. Until she reached the sleeve caps.

She calculated, and knit and sewed them in, and ripped them out, and recalculated, and re-knit and sewed them in and ripped them out, and recalculated, and re-knit and sewed them in and ripped them out. This went on all day. She sat on the couch watching movies with her Husband just knitting and un-knitting. The longer the day went on, the more frustrated the wife became. The Husband sat beside her all say long but remained silent regarding her knitting. At the end of the day she threw the whole thing down in frustration. She wanted her Husband to try the stupid thing on, but if he wasn't asking about the sweater she wasn't going to tell him, because she is just stubborn for no apparent reason like that. She threw her sweater down and cried "I hate all this stupid ribbing." To which the Husband replied "At least someone is getting a ribbed sweater."

The loving wife's head exploded right there on the couch.

As she tried to shove grey matter back where it belong she asked "Just what do you think I've been working on for the past three weeks."

"A sweater, you're knitting yourself a sweater. You're always knitting yourself a sweater."

"And why would I knit myself a brown 3 x 2 ribbed sweater."

"I don't know."

"Put the stupid thing on so I can check the sleeve cap."

And that is how the Husband found out about Evil 2.0. A few more rips and re-knits and the wife thought she might just have finally stumbled upon a sleeve cap that would work. But with all the pulled in ribbing she wouldn't be sure until after the blocking.

Which is where Evil 2.0 stands now. It is blocking. All brown and ribbed and so close to done the wife can't believe it.

And last night the Husband got a stern lecture that yes the wife is always knitting herself sweaters because she sees a pattern she likes, and then she knits herself a sweater from the pattern. Easy peasy. If he would like more sweaters then he needs to find a pattern he likes and she would be happy to knit him a sweater from the pattern. She'll even set him up on the Ravelry pattern browser to help him find patterns. Or he could divorce her and marry a pattern designer. Those are really his only options. Cause the wife has realized that she will not allow her love for him to be measured by the inches of wool she knits for him.

The End.

I'll give you a hint

Any one want to hazard a guess as to what miles and miles of brown 3 by 2 ribbing blocking on my bedroom floor might mean. Because I think it might be one of the signs of the Zombie Apocalypse. But I could be misinformed. It could just be a sign of the regular Apocalypse. Either way it would be best to have your emergency kits ready and on hand at all times. And a loaded shot gun.

Just sayin'.

Dinner

Peanut Butter Pancakes with maple syrup. Yum.

We don't worry about our sugar intake in this house. At least not when Daddy is working late and we can eat "fake food" for dinner.

Note the hopeful dog under the table. She is never far when the kids are at the table. That is the whole reason we have a dog. Did I say a dog? Cause we don't just have "a" dog, we have three. See all the things you missed when I wasn't blogging. That is a story for another day. The other two have not learned to lie beneath the table yet. They try to climb on top of the table so they are not allowed the big dog privilege of being out when we eat. Only the old dog gets the table scraps.

Lucky old dog.

Goodbye and Good Riddance 2010

So it is safe to say that 2010 was a bad year for us. My health just went down hill. I had a headache. All year. It is so stupid. It's a headache. All this fuss for a headache. Something most people cure with Tylenol. But it is bad one. A end each day throwing up from the pain and praying for death cause it hurts so bad one and I'm so sick of hurting so bad each and every single day. I have chronic migraines that affect my daily life and I no longer live the life I am accustomed to. And I'm bitter and angry over the whole thing. In the past year I've been on three different preventative drugs. None of which have prevented, but they've given me a host of new and fun side effects (stupid pills make me stupid). I've been on a myriad of pain relievers. They've relieved in varying degrees, but if they really work I'm unconscious, which doesn't help much if I'm home alone with the children. I've seen specialists. I've been poked and prodded and weighed and given blood. It is all big big fun. My favorite part was when I went for a super special shot that was guaranteed to get rid of my headache and I was part of the 1% of the population that reacts badly to the shot and I left in worse shape that I arrive in. There was vomiting, and a shot to stop the vomiting, and more vomiting, and more shots to stop the vomiting, and more vomiting. I had to be wheeled out in a wheelchair. That was the highlight of my September (or was that October? it all blurs together at this point.) I wish I had been blogging. It was so sad it was comical. Would have made a good story. Maybe someday I'll type up the long version. It really is hilarious if you aren't the one it happened to. Much of my life is something from a comedy. I should be grateful for that. It is better to live a comedy than a tragedy right?

So lots of changes this past year. I've learned to live my life according to the spoon theory. If you aren't familiar with the spoon theory, go give it a read, it is interesting and applies to any form of chronic illness, not just me and my stupid head. I do less. Some days I push myself harder than others. Some days I have more "spoons". For a long time I simply didn't have a spoon for blogging.

And I missed it.

I save my pain pills for the worst of the worst nights. At the end of September I got a new Doctor. A new Doctor meant new pills. New preventative, and he upped my dosage of my pain medication. I get 10 very expensive pain pills a month, see why I save them for the worst of the worst nights. In October I took all my allocated pain meds for that month, plus all the lower dosage pain meds I had left over from my old Dr. On November 1st I was first in line at the pharmacy to refill my prescription. In November I took all my pain pills, but I took the last one on November 30th. I refilled my prescription on December 1st. I was surprised when I went to take a pain pill on December 29th and I discovered I still had half my pain pills left. So while I feel like my preventative isn't working as much as I would like I guess it is doing something besides making my feet feel like they have pins and needles all the time (see fun side effects).

I've realized that I've slowly gotten more "spoons" each day. I have more good days than bad. I'm careful. My days still revolve around pain management. It is exhausting to constantly think about my head and plan and compare and compensate if I do x then I can't do y. But there is hope now. And I'm hoping to add blogging back into my daily life. I can't promise words or stories each day. But I also want to try project 365 this year. So some days, like Saturday and Sunday, might be just pictures. Other days, you get pictures and word. And some days, like today, you get words and later on, an unrelated picture. Cause right now it is 10:00 in the morning, I still haven't gotten dressed yet, let alone thought about taking a picture. Hey go easy on me, I am a work in progress, as is my blog. But aren't you glad you're along for the ride?

So Sick

Is this any way to start a new year?

I feel the same way Baby