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

Stuff I knit 2010

As always, this is not a complete list of the things I knit, it is just a list of the ones I blogged.


Socks for Sweet Pea
Cute Baby Things
Valentine's Quilt
My Vampire Boyfriend
Sock Monkey Hat

I try, oh how I try.

I hate having pictures taken of myself in my knits. I always have to have The Greatest take my pictures. And he just doesn't have the patience to take a billion pictures looking for that One Great Shot. He takes A picture and calls it good. I can get Pork Chop to take my picture sometimes, but I always fear she'll drop my camera, or the younger children see Pork Chop with the camera and they want to take pictures too, and since they HAVE dropped my camera and broken it *sigh* I'd just rather not deal with it all. I'd much rather knit for my children and combine cute child pictures with show off my knit pictures. I like those pictures. But it is even worse when I have to physically take the pictures of myself in my hand knits. Like today. The Greatest is at work, and Pork Chop is at school. I'm trying to blog more consistently. I really NEED to blog. So what's a girl to do? I must be self-sufficient. I will take self-portraits. My deficient photo-taking skills are well documented. But in case you're new around here I'll re-cap.

When I take pictures of myself, first of all I'm resigned to the dreaded "bathroom mirror" photo shoot and all the bad lighting that entails. And I get shots like this

and this

and this

And occasionally I get a shot like this

or this

Which makes it almost worth the aggravation. And then I realize you can see my cabinet with the broken door. And the random dog toy. And my sexy sexy toilet paper.

So I gave up.

The dreaded "bathroom mirror" photo shoot never ends well. Why do I bother?

I stuck my hat on the nearest person, who happened to be Sweet Pea. Let's be honest (cause I'm all about keeping it honest around here, did you see my sexy sexy toilet paper. Which by the way I'm down to only two rolls. Thank goodness payday is soon) With everyone else at school she was kinda my only option.

But she doesn't want to hold still.

And of course...

She's naked.

So kitchen counter pictures it is!

Pattern: Sockhead Hat

Yarn: Socks that Rock, I *think* this was also from Tina's Blue Moon barn sale, but Katrina will have to confirm that for me. I just know it was heavenly to knit. *sigh*

Needles: size 3 Addi Turbos

Modification:I went up a needle size from the pattern. It was supposed to be knit on size 2 needles. And I knit the entire hat on size 2 needles. And boy it was CUH-UTE! Of course I didn't take a picture before I frogged it. I really do suck. On size 2s the yarn knit up in a spiral rainbow stripe. I loved it. But it was a very tight knit, very stiff. Not as much drapey slouch as I was looking for. So we went to size 3s. I lost my stripe but gained more slouch. Life is all about compromise.

Review: I love this hat. I love it so much I knit it twice (see above). I kinda wish I had knit the ribbing on size 2 needles, and the slouchy part on size 3 needles. But I don't want to knit this hat a third time. I miss my pretty striped rainbow hat, but I like this French Impressionist watercolor thing I've got going on.

Despite the complete lack of flattering pictures of this project, this hat is a winner. I'm going to put it in a drawer beside my vampire socks where it too can patiently wait for weather that is under 100. I don't care how slouchy and fashionable this hat it, it is also warm inducing. Perfect for our wannabe winter weather. But not so great in August.

Stay tuned! I've got a sweater in my blocking bowl. And another neatly folded on my hutch just waiting for someone to take pictures of it. I know you all want to see self-portraits of my elbow in the bathroom mirror.

My heart belongs to The Greatest. But my neck is a vampire whore.

So after contemplating the carnage of half knit every things stashed all over my house I decided I wanted to finish something. Anything. I began sorting out my projects to determine what could be finished the quickest with minimal frustration (cause lets face it, all these projects were instantly abandoned when they began to cause me frustration). Imagine my surprise when I discovered a completely finished pair of socks in my unfinished knits drawer. These puppies are DONE. They are all knit. The toes are kitchnered. The ends are all woven in. There is nothing left to do with these socks but wear them. What were they doing in the unfinished drawer? I suppose a some point I must have decided my knits aren't done until they've been blogged.

So lets blog them and call these puppies done!

Pattern: My Vampire Boyfriend

Yarn: Socks that Rock, and honestly, that's all I can tell you about them. I've lost the ball band. When did I become such a bad knit blogger?

Needles: Who knows? Could have been a 2. Could have been a 1. Could have been that funky size between a 2 and a 1 that still gets called a 1. Could have magic looped it. Could have been dpns. Not a stinking clue how these socks came into existence. Bad, BAD knit blogger.

Mods: No obvious ones that I can see.

Review: Honestly, I've only got the vaguest of vague memories of these socks. The more I stare at them, and ponder them, the more I'm starting to suspect that I didn't knit these socks. I think these socks were a gift from the Sock Fairy. In gratitude I must now burn some fun fur in an offering to the Sock Fairy. I LOVE these socks. I love everything about them. I love the name of the pattern. I love the yarn. I love the cables. I love all that reverse stockinette. I love the cable on the heel.

(you would not believe the balancing and twisting and general acrobatics I had to do to get that shot. We've had new neighbors move in over the summer. They have not yet had the pleasure of spying me taking pictures of socks yet. I wonder what they thought.)

I love how the cable looks on the toe.

I said it once, but it bears repeating: I adore the colors! My friend Katrina once talked to me about how she loved a bit of white in her variegated yarns. I had never really given the absence of white in variegated yarn much thought. Take a moment to consider it and you will realize very few variegated yarns include white. They're too busy dying the yarn with every crazy color combination they can think of to leave in boring old white. In fact a white spot is considered to be a "you missed a spot" type of situation. But I LOVE the white in this color scheme. LOVE IT! Red and pink and black without the white just wouldn't be the same. This yarn is so perfect.

And how perfect are these colors for a pattern titled "My Vampire Boyfriend." It fits right in with my "can only knit monster themed sock pattern" trend.

I love these socks so much.

And now that they have been properly blogged and documented for posterity the only thing left to do is wait for the temperature to dip below 100 so I can wear them without passing out.

Wonder what I can finish for tomorrow. I saw hat that just needs the yarn in drawn through the last few stitches, and the ends woven in. Three hats as a matter of fact.

Time for an Intervention....Again.

It might be time to rethink my stance on knitting project monogamy and start finishing something. Anything. This is getting out of control.

Confessions of a Frugal Housewife

I can no longer hide it.

I've got a secret addiction that can no longer be contained.

It had gotten so out of control the cabinet door won't shut.

Time are tough. That's no secret. In this day and age we do everything we can to save money. I clean with mostly vinegar and water or bleach water. We rarely use paper towels, only real washable/reusable towels. I'm so sick of yelling at the children to turn their bedroom lights off. We consolidate errands to save gas. We cook everything from scratch. We price match at the store. You name it we're probably trying it to save money.

I'm even making my own laundry detergent and stain remover for pete's sake.

And for the record my stain remover rocks.

But with all the frugality and self-reliance I've got one tiny dirty little secret.

*deep breath*

I LOVE WINDEX!

Again, I'm scrubbing the house with all kinds of homemade cleaners, but try as I might I just can't be satisfied with cleaning the glass with vinegar water. Don't get me wrong. It does the job. It gets it clean, but Windex makes it shine. And Windex makes getting the tiny fingerprints off effortless. And Windex rarely streaks (except for the wipes. I loathe the wipes).

I'll go for weeks cleaning with homemade glass cleaner, but anytime there is the slightest hint of extra money laying around I'll buy a bottle or two of Windex. I can't help myself. That blue bottle makes me so happy.

But as I stashed my latest guilty purchase in the cabinet I realized I can't close the cabinet.

Admitting you have a problem is the first step right?

Friday Loving

Do you hear that?

Me neither.

My house is exceptionally quiet.

I must confess school is not without its charms.

Sweet Pea is contently enjoying her daily dose of Dora, uninterrupted by cries of "Mom, can I play the x-box, I hate Dora." Or remote thieves who would rather watch i-Carly.

The Greatest is sleeping upstairs. He worked last night but came home safely. I love this. When he's home safe and sound. Something in my heart stops working the moment he walks out the door and doesn't start again until he crosses our threshold safe and whole. It's almost as if I can finally take a full breath when I hear his key in the lock. I love that moment when I know for certain he is safe.

He's supposed to take me to lunch today. Don't worry. We'll still have the littlest chaperon

so we won't get into too much trouble. But it should still be fun. I've missed our friday lunch dates over the summer.

I actually don't have too much to say today. It is sprinkling off and on, so of course, my head is pounding. I'm just trying to get back in the habit of blogging.

Don't worry. In a week or two I'll hit my stride and be entertaining once again.

Don't Blink

Cause you'll miss it.

If you blink you'll miss everything.

One moment it will be May and you'll be up to your eyeballs in all the end of the school year activities. The entire summer will be stretched out before you with the promise of lazy days, and fighting children.

And the next?

In a whirlwind of swimsuits and library books and grilled everything it will be the First Day of School.

And you will have absolutely no idea how that happened.

Seriously, how did that happen?

You'll look around and see a house that has spent two and a half months of leisure. As Pork Chop proudly told her former teacher "We didn't use the chore chart all summer." And we didn't. I kept threatening it. And when they fought I made them clean. But for the most part I decided the beds could wait to be made, and they did. They waited patiently. So did the legos, and barbies, and army men. The dishes and the laundry were not so patient, but even they waited as well. It helps if you're only wearing swimsuits. And after the Fourth of July we started eating off the left-over paper plates from our barbecue. It was heaven.

You will see a pile of floaties and beach towels. You will see half finished books everywhere, and they're not all mine. They're Pork Chops, and Meatys, and Birds, and even Sweat Peas (although I'm pretty sure that last one is functionally illiterate.) You will see the dinosaur zoo built with legos. And the stuffed animal tea party. And the annual world's biggest train track. (this year it ran from Meaty's room, down the hall, into his sister's room, under their beds, and back. Just in case you were wondering) You will see signs everywhere of a summer misspent in sloth. And well-spent in laughter.

You will sigh as you drop them off at school. New clothes just a touch too big because you know they'll grow. They always do. All the chlorine washed from their hair. Shiny faces excited for a new adventure. They've taken all they can from summer. And now they're ready to fill their heads with new things, new books, new words, new facts, new ideas. They're ready for it all.

I'm sad that in order to let them grow they have to leave me behind. I'm not quite ready to let the summer go. Not quite ready to share them with the world. I'd like to gather them all under my wings and read to them just a few more chapters. Swim with them just a few more laps. Tickle them just a few more giggles.

Thank goodness for Saturdays!

Cause I need another hobby

I don't remember when or how I first stumbled upon Passing Down Crazy , but it was love at first sight. I loved her knitting, I loved her pictures, I loved her kids, I loved how she referred to her husband as her "Hero" and I loved her blog title. LOVE!

I stalked her relentlessly. Admiring her snow, her backyard, her humor, and above all, her knitting. Her lace shawls are perfection. Makes me want to knit loads more lace!

And then she published a post with a quilt!

It was all over from there. I was powerless against her quilts.

Can you seriously look at this, or this, or this, or this and not feel inspired?

It didn't help when Marie Grace started showing off quilts too. Suddenly I found myself in the tight grip of a new obsession. I NEEDED to quilt something NOW! Once upon a time I amassed quite the collection of fat quarters and other various pretty fabrics. There was simply no room for it in the great move of 2006 and we gave it all away to a woman who made baby quilts for all the babies at church. If I wanted to quilt something I was going to have to start fresh and go shopping.

And if we think about that for a second, is that really a hardship?

I decided it wasn't.

Now when I first learned to quilt I was taught by a Quilting Nazi, with a capital Q and a capital N. All quilts must be made with 100% cotton, and be pieced by hand. All batting must be "Warm and Natural" brand only. And all quilting must, Must, MUST be done by hand. Or it simply wasn't a quilt. The. End.

I'm not exactly sure what she thought the resulting item would be if one of her rules were broken, but her mind it most certainly would not be a Real Quilt(tm). I guess that would make it an Imitation Quilt(tm).

Once upon a time, being young and foolish and eager to please, I followed her rules to a T, and I think it was all the hand sewing that eventually led me to abandon quilting after Pork Chop was born. That, and all the pins I kept leaving on the floor. I decided that machine quilting was absolutely without a doubt the way to go this time. The Greatest, being The Greatest, and knowing me so well, knew that resistance was futile and bought me a set of quilting feet for my sewing machine.

I practiced meandering with my darning foot on old pieces of paper for hours. I'm still not sure I have the hang of it yet. I do have a baby quilt top just waiting for me to get the courage to try it out. Maybe someday. But not today. I've already moved on from that project. I think I must secretly like have UFO's hanging around. A little guilt is good for the soul.

Once the quilting bug took hold I started to haunt other quilting blogs. I became completely obsessed with, I mean I was inspired by this quilt. I knew I had to have one of my very own. But not in orange. In pinks and red.

And my Valentine's Day Quilt was born

Now don't look too closely at my quilt. It's full of mistakes.

I actually think my piecing is pretty fantastic. I still remember a few tricks from the old days that translate well to machine piecing. I just love how the red and white stripes line up perfectly in the diamonds. I'd like to say I planned that when I cut the pieces, but that was the result of a happy accident of cutting, and a bit of care when piecing. And I'm simply in love with my 1/4 seam foot. I wanna kiss who ever created that right on the lips. Seaming Perfection!

Now it was when I decided to try my hand at machine quilting that things took a turn for the worse.

First off, they should really include a picture of the walking foot and how it is supposed to look. In case you're wondering it is supposed to look like this...

with the little arm thingie on TOP of the thingie that holds your needle in place. That accounts for one of my broken needles.

Now it also turns out that when they tell you to roll the unused sides of your quilt they know what they're talking about. Because if you leave it loose, and just try to shove the unused side through like this

You end up with this

no matter how carefully you've pinned it.

And when you stop to shove the loose side through to make it easier to keep quilting you should really leave the needle down in the fabric. Otherwise it tends to shift like this

yeah. I'm still not sure I've mastered this one.

And it is also a good idea to match the thread color to your binding, even if you've used white thread on the rest of the entire quilt.

I also discovered is not a good idea to set up shop at one end of the kitchen table and let your children eat at the other end of said table. Unless you want to quilt a quilt that already has a spot of dried yogurt and a kool-aid stain on it.

So there's a ton of mistakes in this quilt. But I think that's alright. I know I learn more from what I do wrong, than I do from the things I get right. In the meantime I love my quilt.

I couldn't resist a little bit of piecing on the backing.

And I had to make a striped binding with my leftovers.

Although I think if I had to do it all over again I might have bound the entire quilt in this fabric

I just love the polka-dots. And the unexpected blue flower.

I think the reds and pinks are all 100% cotton, but the white on the front is of unknown origin, and the white on the back is a cotton/poly blend. The top is machine pieced. The batting is polyester. And the actual quilting of the quilt was done by machine. I did sew the final binding seam by hand. I have made myself a genuine Imitation Quilt. And I'm in love!

Unfortunately Sweet Pea is also in love. The entire time I was making it she kept poking it and telling me "Sweet Pea Quilt." I would tell her in a sing-song voice "No, this one's for Mommy." And she would sing-song back to me "No, Sweet Pea."

Looks like I'd better make her gingham quilt soon.

I still managed to sneak in some face time with my quilt the other day.

I'd like to thank whoever is in charge of the weather for dropping the temperature enough for me to lie outside and enjoy my quilt.

Friday Lovin'

So last week I was driving home after dropping the children off at school. I was in my jammies, no bra, unbrushed hair, and no shoes. I know. Could I get any sexier? In my defense...well...actually I have no defense. There is no rational explanation for why I couldn't take five minutes to make myself presentable. I've just been really tired lately.

Anyways, I was driving down the road looking at all the identical tan plastic trash bins lined along the road. I was thinking to myself how cluttered they make the tiny roadways look, and how much I hated trash day. I had a brief fling last summer with running, and I hated running on trash day. The street just smelled so bad from the rubbish rotting in their HOA approved containers. That's when I took to running alongside the canal. It was peaceful, and beautiful, and there was no smelly garbage. Perfect. Until the day I was a mile from anywhere and I met two feral dogs. I stopped running after that. But this is all neither here nor there. The part relevant to the story is I was driving along looking at all the trash by the road.

I only saw it because I was looking at the trash. Any other day I would have driven right by it without a glance. Between two trash bins was a small pile of dirty faded boxes. I wouldn't have given them a second thought, but taped to the boxes was a hand-lettered sign featuring the two most beautiful word in the English language:

"FREE HAMMOCK "

"Did you see that?!!!!!!" I asked The Greatest (who was riding in the car with me, fully clothed and wearing shoes. to this day I'm not sure why he didn't just take the kids to school and leave lazy jammied me at home) (and yes, I do speak in that many exclamation points!!!!!)

He had not seen the sign. I explained to him that there was a sign that said "free hammock." I pulled into our driveway and promptly pulled back out facing the direction from which I had just come. I was headed for that free hammock.

Now The Greatest does not understand trash day. I once found a coffee table I wanted on the side of the road on bulk trash day, and he insisted we knock on the door and ask the people who lived there if we could take the coffee table. They helped us load it into our car, happy to be free of the huge rectangle monstrosity. A couple of cans of black spray paint and we've got a fantastic coffee table in our family room. It is ginormous and perfect. But it still did not convert him to the joy of trash treasures.

As I pulled up to the dusty pile The Greatest did his best to discourage me. The boxes were faded and dirty and looked like they had gotten soaked and dried out several times. The only thing suggesting this pile was anything other than absolute garbage was the sign. And the only thing suggesting this unassuming pile was a hammock was also the sign. The Greatest told me I didn't need a hammock that badly.

But I did, I really did.

Growing up my Aunt had a hammock in her back yard. It was down at the base of a hill, under a huge shady tree. It was the perfect place to lay and read books. The fondest desire of my tiny childhood heart was to have a hammock of my very own, so I could lie in it and read books whenever I wanted to. The Greatest has a knack for fulfilling all my childhood dreams. He's tall, dark, and handsome. We live in a place where it is warm all the time and I can lie in the sun like a lizard and just soak up the heat down to my very bones. I've got a houseful of children. We have a pool. He planted me an orange tree. And now I was determined he was going to bring another dream to fruition and get me that hammock.

After all, he was the one wearing shoes.

He knows me. He knows when to just give it up and do what I want. So reluctantly he got out of the car. He stared of the dusty pile, not wanting to touch it, because touching it would surely get him dirty as well.

"I don't think its any good" He protested.

"Just put it in the car! Even if it is rusted and ruined we can fix the frame up and paint it, and having a hammock frame is one step closer to having a hammock."

Rolling his eyes, but indulging in my whims, he tried to pick up the boxes, but they were to awkward in shape for him to manage on his own.

So I got out of the car to help him, on the hot asphalt, barefoot. I really wanted that hammock.

The boxes smelled bad.

Like garbage.

Maybe this was a mistake.

I HATE it when The Greatest is right. I was starting to suspect he had not picked up the boxes because he loved me so much he can't deny me anything I want, and because he finds my crazy determination endearing. No. I was starting to suspect he had picked up the boxes because he wanted to tell me HIS favorite words in the English language:

"I told you so."

Sometimes he really isn't The Greatest.

Together we manhandled the boxes into the back of our SUV. I drove home grateful that The Greatest had to go to work later that morning, and figured I could deal with the rubbish while he was gone. If it turned out to be ruined beyond repair, or worse yet, not in fact a hammock but instead just a random pile of garbage that we had stolen and put in the back of our car, I didn't want him around. If things went south, I was lucky ,I could have the stuff back on the curb in front of our house, and quietly picked up by the garbage truck before he came home. He would never have to know how this all played out if it ended badly.

To my surprise, the moment we pulled into the garage, The Greatest hopped out of the car and started to unload the boxes (which I'd like to point out, he did by himself, no barefoot wife in the streets required). He was going to find out right away what we were dealing with.

We cautiously opened the first box. Cautious on my side because it looked like it might be a haven for bugs and spider. The cardboard had indeed gotten wet and warped and dried. It was oddly stiff and plumes of dust came up as we opened the top. We peered inside to discover

A BRAND NEW HAMMOCK!

Still wrapped in bubble wrap!

To quote Meaty "Booooo-yahhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!"

TOTAL SCORE!!!!!!!!

We eagerly assembled the hammock using the pictures that accompanied the direction that were, of course, in Spanish (which neither of us speak). Then we spent the rest of the morning lying in it. When the children came home from school we took turns lying in it and reading together.

So this Friday morning, I'm loving my hammock. I've got a reasonably clean house, and a brand new book to read. It's going to be a perfect day.

What are you loving?

Baby Cuteness

Oh, HI!

Did you know I knit?

And that this is a knitting blog?

Yup, it really is.

You wouldn't know it from looking at my side bar. From the look of it I haven't knit a thing all year. But I have, I really have. My needles are constantly clicking.

And to prove it, I've got some knitting to show you.

Nearly everyone I know is pregnant. The few who aren't? Well, I'm expecting announcements any day now. In theory, this is hard. I would like another baby. I can see where another baby would fit into our family. I've begun, as Mothers often do, to romanticise the quiet early morning feedings, and forget how tiring they are. I've covered my memories of newborn babies in a gauzy haze that camouflages the fact that I was covered in bodily fluids for weeks. All the bad, exhausting, stinky baby stuff is hidden, and nothing is seen but the sweet baby face. I could have another, or two. But The Greatest is done. And I can see his point. I'm just not sure I'm done.

But with all these pregnancies, I've got the perfect excuse to continue one of my favorite kinds of knitting: Baby Knitting.

A Dear Friend of mine recently gave birth to her fourth child, a baby girl.

I knit her a hat

(Ribbons from Itty-Bitty Hats)

and another hat

(my knock-off version of the flour sack hat from Baby Beanies: Happy Hats to Knit for Little Heads)

and some baby overalls

(Pepita, free pattern from Ravelry, modified to be newborn size)

You can't see, but the overalls have built in feet. It makes my ovaries hurt from the cuteness. And you can tell my friend is a very dear friend. Those overalls were knit on size 0 needle! Only true love knits on size 0 needles for other people's babies.

So yeah, I knit.

And while all these pregnancies should be hard on me emotionally, I'd like another baby but won't have any more. It should be sad, but they're not. I found visiting my friend and her newborn baby enlightening. It was fun to hold the baby, and then hand her back to her Mother. It is fun to sleep through the night. It is fun to hand the children over to their Grandparents for overnighters, something I can't do with small nursing children. Sweet Pea is almost done with diapers and I'm dreaming of a grown up purse again.

Maybe I'm done too.