Connected at last

These past ten days without Internet or phone have been torture! Pure Torture! I have so few vices left. I don't drink, I don't smoke, I don't snort drugs. I don't even drink caffeinated soda anymore, it's caffeine-free diet coke with a shot of lime juice for me these days (although honestly, if I'm going to drink something with no calories, and no caffeine, I should just grow up and drink water). Really my Internet addiction is all I've got. And man, I needed a fix. I was ready to go to the public library just to use the Internet. But all my websites are saved in my favorites, so without my favorite bar I was afraid I'd end up wandering the Internet helplessly, sobbing over the keyboard because I couldn't find my friends. Rather than make a spectacle of myself, sobbing in the library, I did without. I'm so glad that blip in my life is over. The Greatest and I did discover two things about ourselves.

1. That we really don't have much to say to one another after ten years of marriage. We NEED TV to fill the silence and

2. We really need to buy some new movies. We couldn't find a DVD to watch after the kids went to bed that we hadn't already memorized.

But we survived to tell the tale! The moving day went fairly well. It didn't rain, and the tree was miraculously gone from our driveway Saturday morning. There was one rather large glitch. Due to circumstances beyond our control we ended up with no moving truck. We moved our entire house with a Ford Expedition. Which means it was slow going. We moved furniture over the course of an entire week. There are still a few odds and ends at the rental house, and a ton of dust bunnies. I thought I was a fairly decent housekeeper, yet I was still disgusted by what we found behind the TV stand. As soon as I clean the rental house and turn the keys back in this mess will officially be over. But I'm so unmotivated to clean. I've got a very large, very wet, distraction in the backyard.

We're getting settled in our house, mostly unpacked, finding places for all our things. Our computer is now tucked in a corner in the dining room. It overlooks the dining room, the family room, and the kitchen. I can simultaneously keep an eye on the children AND completely neglect them. I thought it was going to be perfect. I was so anxious to blog once our Internet was finally connected, but I hit a new obstacle. Sweet Pea is teething. She refuses to be set down or she sobs like her heart is broken and shall never be whole again. So no blogging until nap time. No problem. Since the computer is no longer in the baby's room I CAN blog during nap time. It was going to be perfect. Teething baby got sleepy. I took her upstairs for a rock-and-cuddle, and slipped her peacefully into her crib. I returned downstairs with my head full of blogging ideas, only to find this (and I've tried four times to rotate the picture, stupid photobucket, you know the drill, turn your head to the side).

This might be problematic. The girl is a computer genius. She's got mad skillz with a mouse. She hogged the computer all day long yesterday. I couldn't even entice her to let go of the mouse and go for a dip in the pool. She spent the entire day on Noggin. She is truly my child. I fear someday soon I shall find her hunched over the keyboard muttering and hissing at anyone foolish enough to make a grab for the mouse. Wonder if I can distract her from the keyboard by teaching her how to knit?

As I type she stands by my side informing me that my turn is over and it is now her turn. I have so much to share. It will have to wait until tomorrow.

It's Moving Day!!!!!

And here in the desert it is predicted to rain today!

Of course it is!

It wouldn't be moving day without rain!

In fact we had a terrible storm the other night and it blew over the little tree in the front yard of our rental. It is now residing in our driveway. I've called our property management company and they have promised to send over a landscaper to remove it. In the meantime we get to carry our furniture out of the house, around the tree, and then into a truck. Possibly in the rain. Should be a fun day!

And the cable company's system was down when I called to move our services (phone, Internet, cable). So I might be out of touch for quite a while.

See you when this mess is mercifully over.

Bittersweet

I look forward to this time of year every year. In fact I have declared it to be BETTER THAN CHRISTMAS. But this year it just kinda snuck up on me. I mean it was only August 6th for goodness sakes. Isn't this supposed to take place closer to Labor Day?

I suspect some of my gentle readers are a bit mystified. What could I be talking about that takes place near Labor Day and is better than Christmas? Labor day is possibly one of the worst holidays of the year. Sure it's a day off work for those who are gainfully employed, but there's no barbeque's like Memorial Day. No fireworks like the Fourth of July. There's no special food or candy like all the "big" holidays. There isn't even the expectation of the exchange of meaningless cards like Valentine's day. No Labor Day is a useless holiday good only for sleeping-in (which in itself makes the day worthwhile but certainly not better than Christmas). But the event to which I refer is not Labor Day itself, but usually takes place NEAR Labor Day. I am of course referring to *dun,dun, duuuuuummmmmmm*

THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL!

That glorious day where Parents scrub three months of dirt off their children, put them in new clothes that are presentable and slightly too big, and send them off for someone else to deal with for eight hours of the day. It is a glorious day that signals the end of the endless months of bickering that are the summer. Or at least when they bicker they're doing it somewhere else. *sigh* I love the first day of school.

In the past I have only had to scrub down Pork Chop and send her on her merry way. She loves school. She loves books, and music classes, and learning. She loves recess, and gym, and lunch with her friends. She loves everything about it. At school she shines. I send her forth into the world with confidence that she will brighten what ever corner she lands in.

But this year was different. I sent my little man as well.

I was not as prepared to send him forth into the world. The kindergarten questionnaire asked what your child does not like. I wrote "sharing." The Greatest and I are quite certain we will get to know the Principal on a first name basis this year, and it won't be at the awards ceremony (which is the only time we see the Principal with Pork Chop).

So with great trepidation we took Meaty to buy a new shirt for the first day of school. We stood in the aisle for ten minutes while he painfully selected the perfect backpack (because you know, the earth might implode if he makes the wrong decision). We gave him the traditional going-to-school shearing. After five years with him we had done all we could to prepare him to go forth into the world of academics.

Yesterday was the first day of school. Since it was the first day of school I walked Meaty to his classroom. The kindergartners have their own fenced playground. They swarmed around it in their striped polo shirts and neatly-pressed dressed. They weren't playing together, but they were nervously eye-ing one another. Meaty had been dying to play on the equipment. I gave my consent, he handed me his most-perfect-of-perfect backpacks, and with nary a backwards glance he was gone. I watched him disappear in the sea of shiny-faced little ones and something in my chest broke. Possibly an apron string? A connection I had with my little man that was mine and mine alone. He is no longer mine. He is his own.

I am excited for him. All the things he will learn, the friends he will make, the adventures he will have. I know he will grow and blossom and shine, like his sister but also not like his sister, he'll shine in his own special way. I'm excited to watch him grown and continue to be part of creating who he will be when he is all done. But as I watched him go, for a minute, just for a minute, I want to fold his long little boy legs up in my lap and keep him there forever, smelling his sweet puppy dog scent (side note, why does he smell like a wet puppy after he's had a bath?).

When the bell rang the Principal did make an appearance on the playground. He told us all to go home. He assured us that the school had our phone number on file and would call us if there was a problem. I spent the day anxiously awaiting a phone call. But no call came. At 1:15 (it was early release) I went to the school to pick up my children. Aside from one little snag where school was over and Meaty just left instead of staying in the kindergarten fence to wait for me (imagine my surprise when I found him down past the parking lot by the road) we all survived the first day of school. Pork Chop declared her teacher to be the best teacher EVER. And Meaty has consented to return (which is really all I was hoping for at this point).

So the first day of school was surprisingly bitter sweet this year. Exciting for all they'll learn and do. Melancholy to watch them grow. The paradox of being a parent.

Odds and Ends

I am exhausted. E.X.H.A.U.S.T.E.D! We've done so much work on the new house, and there's still so much to do. But I do feel like we've gotten over the half-way mark, and we're sprinting towards the finish line. We're so ready to move over there and have this all over with. The Greatest is working like a man possessed. I'm actually grateful he's working two twelve hour shifts at his "real job" in the next two days so I can proceed at a more relaxed pace. I'm still going to go over and work on the house without him, but I'm going to stop around noon to feed the kids lunch, instead of, oh, I don't know, THREE! And I might take an hour off in the afternoon so Sweet Pea can take a decent nap in her own crib instead of a fifteen minute cat nap on my shoulder. (It is a true sign of what a bad sleeper she is when I consider an hour to be a decent nap. This kid does not like to sleep).

Speaking of Sweet Pea, she's mobile. She isn't crawling in the traditional form, but she does get around. It's a cross between an army crawl and a bear crawl. It's not graceful, and it looks awfully labor intensive, but it gets her where she wants to go so she is thrilled. She's also mastered going from a sitting up to crawling, and now she's working on the reverse action. It's so fun to watch her on the floor trying to puzzle it all out. We think she successfully executed the maneuver, but of course neither of us were watching. We just know she was on her hands and knees trying to sit up, and a few minutes later she was sitting up. Whether there was intervention in the form of Pork Chop, or if she did it all on her own, we just don't know. She's eating everything we set in front of her. We have yet to find a food she will not eat. Until last night her favorite was avocado, but last night we gave her watermelon. She was shoving those tiny red cubes of heaven in her mouth as fast as her chubby hands would move, often smashing pieces into her cheek in her impatience to get more in her mouth. I may have to have watermelon on hand for the rest of the season, it made her so happy.

There's been knitting, but not much in the past few days. I've knit another pair of pants for Sweet Pea for this winter. I'm almost done with a matching sweater for her pants. This obsession with baby pants really is threatening to grow out of control. But for the moment exhaustion is keeping the obsession in check.

And just for the record. I did not intentionally do a bad job on painting. I am just naturally bad at it. It takes a certain degree of hand eye co-ordination, which surprisingly, despite all my knitting, I lack. It might also require general body co-ordination, which I also lack. I did help The Greatest paint our family room the other day when his friend from work failed to show up to help. When I dropped my wet roller on the only six inches of flooring not covered by a plastic drop cloth he didn't even say a word to me. But I notice he found other places for me to be when he painted the kitchen. I try.

And Stephanie. I did not paint Pork Chop's room. I picked out the color, I went with him to buy the paint, then I hung out with my Mom while The Greatest painted. Mom and I did hang the border in Pork Chop's room, but my hands were paint free. I did help steady the ladder while The Greatest was painting the stairs. But he had half the ladder held up by a cook book and a box of Tide. He needed supervision. Not that I could have done anything but watch him fall to his death when the Tide box broke, but at least I would have been near him during his final moments on earth. Again my hands were paint free. And when I made him paint the master bedroom, only to turn around two days later and declare the color (which I picked out) "hideous" and made him re-paint the room, again, my hands were paint free. It is a true testament to his love for me that our marriage survived that little incident. But don't worry, I've made up for it lately. My hands, my hair, my feet, my arms, my legs, my tummy (??!), my clothes, and even the baby (who was in the sling while I painted) have all been covered in paint. Only the two story living room/stairway, and two bathrooms to go, and the painting will be done! And the garage. The Greatest wants to paint his garage and *shrug* I'm not about to get between a man and his garage.

A Talent I Lack

Things are going well at the new house. Even though we haven't moved in yet we've been swimming almost everyday. I'm starting to think we've purchased the world's most expensive pool pass. We just show up whenever we feel like it to swim. The kids are getting so tan. Even the baby, who swims in the buff, is getting tan lines in her fat wrinkles. Work inside the house is moving fairly quickly, but I'm so impatient to move-in that the progress feels glacially slow.

We started out with the Greatest taping rooms and painting while the children and I washed walls. Sweet Pea was along for the ride in the sling which meant I couldn't get up on a ladder to reach the tops of the walls or bend over to reach the bottom of the walls. The children (and by children I mean Pork Chop, the middle two mostly threw the wet rags at one another) washed the bottom portion of the walls, while the Greatest came in and got the top portions. We managed to wash all four bedrooms and both bathrooms upstairs the first day, not to mention painting Meaty's room. Not bad for a days work. Since I didn't have to bend over, or get up on a ladder this arrangement was working really well for me.

I had to go and open my big mouth and ruin it.


As The Greatest and I lay in bed that night chatting about how it went and what we hoped to get done the next morning I mentioned that in all the years of marriage, in all the places we had lived and painted, I had yet to pick up a roller. I'd never roller-ed, edged, or even opened a paint can. I didn't tape, or remove tape. I had almost nothing to do with the actual painting of a room, and couldn't really recall ever painting in my life. Why, oh why, did I feel the need to open my mouth? I could have taken that little tidbit of information to the grave with no one being harmed in the process. But no, the words were out of my mouth before I realized the full implication of them.

The Greatest had never realized this inequality of the workload. He didn't know I didn't know how to paint and that if left to my own devices I might forever live in a house with paint picked out by the previous owner, not for lack of desire to change the paint color, but for lack of a starting point on where to begin. But honestly, look at it from my viewpoint. If I'm painting, who is watching the children? It's not like I was sitting on my butt knitting while he was painting all those other houses. Alright, maybe I was sitting on my butt knitting while he was painting some of those houses, but I was also tending to the children. And it's not like I was sitting on my butt knitting while he was painting THIS house, our dream house, our forever house. I was in the other room, sweating with no a/c, washing walls. I was working too.

But it was too late to plead my case in my own defense. The damage had been done. The Greatest had determined that I would paint Pork Chops room the next day. And nothing I could say would dissuade him.

So the next morning I dressed in old clothes that I could throw away without shedding tears over. I managed to get Sweet Pea down for a nap (the only nap she's taken at the new house) and with a deep breath I prepared to paint.

Now The Greatest was kind. He taped the room. He laid out plastic to protect the carpet. He carefully edged the ceiling for me. He showed me how to load paint on the roller and how to roll it on the wall. The he showed me how to roller more slowly when I splattered myself on my first attempt by rolling too quickly. He gave me the sturdy ladder because I don't like heights and can't reach the upper wall with a chair anyways (I'm not that short, the walls are that tall). He then turned me loose.

This was a mistake of epic proportions.

I managed to paint everything but the walls. I could frequently be found swearing and grabbing an edge of my shirt to wipe paint off of places it didn't belong. I got paint on the door jamb, the window frame, the window, the closet door jamb, the carpet, my hair, and my shoes (that were in the room, but not on my feet). My white t-shirt was completely pink from all the wiping I did, and somehow I got paint on my tummy as well, whether it was transfer from the shirt, or if I rubbed against a wet wall when I was trying to wipe off paint from somewhere it didn't belong, I can not say.

As I stepped in a three inch puddle of paint I don't recall dripping on the floor I had a flash-back. I HAD painted before.

When I was fourteen or fifteen I was sent away for a week of "camp." This was a "character building" experience where the youth were spending a week fixing up an old campground. It was "service to the community." It was going to make me a better person. It was slave labor!

I was painting a cabin. But I wasn't any good at it back then either. The story was the same. Paint on everything but where it belonged. Paint in my hair. And I stepped in paint back then too. Only that time it was a gallon of paint, that I stepped in and spilled. I was such a disaster they sent me to go swimming. They didn't even re-assign me a new task. They just sent me out of the way. I was such a poor clumsy little girl. Is it any wonder I've worked so hard to repress memories like these?

But I survived "camp" and I survived painting Pork Chop's room. It is now a monstrosity of pink.

The Greatest praised me and my efforts. He told me what a good job I had done. He told me all my mistakes were easily fixed. And he enlisted his friends from work to come and help him paint the rest of the house.

It Must Be Mid-Summer

Because we're preparing for our annual Fall Move! I can't believe I didn't blog it, but in addition to moving across the country almost two years ago we moved last fall to get into a better school district for Pork Chop. And I don't even want to think about this move or this one. And those were just the ones that got a passing mention on the blog. I've been married ten years and moved eight times. And we're about to make it nine.

I moved a lot as a child too. My parents must have had wander-lust in their blood. Things were always changing at our house. The furniture was re-arranged on a quarterly basis. We were always swapping bedrooms. And every few years we just changed towns. My Dad was into computers before computers were something people were into and I think he went where the technology would take him (or at least that was my child-like understanding). My best friend in high school went to the same school for all thirteen years. That was just unfathomable to my teenage brain. How could one stay in one town for so long?

And that wander-lust must have rubbed off on me. I married a man in the military, virtually guaranteeing I would never spend too long in one place. But as the years slipped by, and the moves added up (and in the interest of full-disclosure only two moves were military related, three if you count the move when he left the military) I began to ponder living in one place for a long time. Wondering what it would be like to live in one house for a lifetime. Making friends and keeping them. Not picking up heavy furniture every 12 months. Having my children go to the same school for all thirteen years. Would it be dull? Would the stability be smothering? Or would it be glorious?

I'm about to find out.

Yesterday we closed on a house. I can't even begin to get into what the home buying process was. It was a nightmare. After I hit publish I shall never think nor speak of it again. I started to type the highlights, but really, if I have a record of them I might stumble across them, then I'll have to think of them, and I'm never going to think of them again.

I didn't blog the process as it happened because I was too happy about buying the house. I was so happy my body could not hold it all in, and it bubbled out in smiles, laughter, and occasionally happy tears. To be honest, so much joy felt foreign to me. I worried that if I called attention to how happy I was the universe might notice me. Surely this much joy is not meant to be felt by one person. I didn't want them to realize their mistake and take measure to correct the situation, or temper my joy by filling the house with termites.

But the documents are all signed and recorded. The locks have been changed and the house is mine.

It was a foreclosure house, so there is a bit of work to be done in the house. Not as much as there could have been. The house was broken into and the appliances were stolen after we went into contract. So the bank had to install brand new appliances and fix the garage door. If only we hadn't stumbled upon the break-in before they came back for the fridge (we went to the house and the doors were all open and the fridge was on a dolly by the door, they never came back for it). We have a VA loan. And the VA inspector declared the house to be unsanitary. Our lender refused to fund the loan until the house was cleaned, the carpets were washed, and the pool was swim-able. That's right. I said POOL.

So I am now the co-owner (The Greatest signed the loan too) of a house with a pool. But the love doesn't stop there. The previous owners pimped the house out with lots of upgrades. My favorite is probably the humongous balcony off the master bedroom where I plan to sit and knit every day! I'll show you lots of pictures when we are done. But in the meantime I've got walls to wash.

And painting to do.

So we can move in and do this

Every day!

What does a Zombie knit?

As we all learned yesterday I am a sleep deprived zombie, stumping my way through the day in a tired haze. And what does a good zombie knit? Why *ZOMBIE SOCKS* of course!

Pattern: Zombie Socks

Yarn: South West Trading Company TOFUtsies

Needles: Two size 0 Addi Turbos

Modifications: Just the smaller needles.

Review: I didn't join Sock Madness this year. I feared with the Tiny Terrorist I wouldn't be able to participate well enough to enjoy myself. I also didn't *love* the patterns we knit last year. Most were fine, one I hated, but most weren't patterns I would have knit had I not been in the competition. I didn't want to spend what little knitting time I can find knitting things I didn't love. I was perfectly content with my decision. Then wouldn't you know it, I fell in love with the first pattern they knit,Zombie Socks, a sock madness exclusive. Thank goodness the designer offered it up as a free ravelry download when sock madness was over.

In an only vaguely related piece of useless information, I cast on for these while I was listening to "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince" just as Harry and Dumbledore were fighting the inferi. I found that oddly appropriate. A tired zombie of a mommy knitting zombie socks while she listened to a story with zombies in it. I'm so in love with these socks! Perfect fit for a zombie to wear as she stumps through her hazy day.I know some people had problems with the sock being too big. But mine fit just fine. I could blame it on my monster feet (hey, I'm five six, I need big feet to carry me around all day), but I'd rather think it was a combination of size 0 needles, and the non-stretchy Tofootsies yarn that made such a perfect fit. I'm loving these socks, and need to knit myself more socks.

And a note on the tofutsies. I love this yarn. But it isn't wool. It has no stretch, give, or memory. I had to go through six or seven patterns before I found a pattern that worked so well with this yarn's qualities. I've knit with two balls of this yarn and each one contained several poorly spun places that had to be cut out, atleast two per sock (and I've knit four socks with this stuff). I adore the fabric this yarn produces on size 0 needles. So while this yarn is a bit of extra work (extra end to darn in, must find just the right pattern), I find it worth the effort.

And because I know it's expected required

Something else I'm gonna blame on the baby

To save time we'll get this part out of the way.

Yes I know she is the world's cutest baby. EVER. She would have won Regis and Kelly's cutest baby in America contest in a heartbeat, but she was missed the age requirement by something silly like two weeks. She's irresistible and I'm heartless for ever thinking a mean thing about her.

But mean things I do think. I know. Heartless. Someday my children will all be in therapy. I've learned to accept this about myself.

Being the Tiny Terrorist that she is, Operations Mommy-Will-Die-A-Slow-Painful-Death-But-Only-After-Being-Driven-Insane-From-Severe-Sleep-Deprivation continues as planned. We are entering the seventh month of no sleep. Most days I feel like a walking zombie. But an exceptionally well-trained zombie as I automatically keep the vacuum, washing machine and dishwasher running, maintaining some standard of living around here. Heck, some days I even manage to cook a decent meal with vegetables and everything. Although lately it's simply too hot to cook. Deli-style sandwiches are my friend. But that's neither here nor there. Back to the zombie. I am a zombie. So the following story is not my fault. It is the baby's.

I was cruising the Internet knitting sites (because looking at the Internet is infinitely easier than actually interacting with yarn and sticks) and I found these shoes.

I know. So cute right? I have a love of Chucks that goes deep. You can not even begin to understand (unless you are a grunge child of the '90s, then you might get it). But at $60.00 these shoes are a little pricey even if they did make me feel nostalgic and young, even if they would have looked so cute with my hand knit socks.

But a few days later I was on Tammy Knits blog where I saw these

And only $15.00 with FREE shipping. It was love. True love. I loved the texture, I loved the strap, I loved the heel. I even loved the sock in the shoe, but that wasn't for sale. I'm not precisely sure what happened next, it's a bit of a blur, but a shopping cart might have been filled, a credit card number might have been entered. It's all fuzzy. But a week later I came home from the library and found these on my front step.

I fell in love with the look, but oh-my-goodness, they're comfy. So sleep deprived I went on a $15.00 spending spree and got a pair of the world's comfiest shoes that look super cute with my hand knit socks. I'm thinking the baby, although evil intentioned, might not be a criminal mastermind. Here's hoping Boyd never takes her under his wing. The current score?

Sweet Pea: 2482
Mommy: 2

Victory is SWEET!

Now I'm just showing off

I hate to brag, but I do have the cutest baby in the world.

Real blog posts are coming soon, but since I've moved the baby from our room into the only other avaliable spot in the house for a crib, the computer room, one can see how this might cramp my "blog while the baby naps" style. But there's knitting, and plotting against me, and cute children, I promise.

I blame the baby

I know she's cute. I mean, who, honestly, who can resist this sweet little face?

And those chubby rolls? She's irresistible!

And it's a good thing she's so cute and charming, because she is devious! DEVIOUS!!!

Sure it starts out innocently enough. It all began with one messy baby face from a nice bowl of oatmeal (actually that picture might be peaches, I used my really good oatmeal face the other day, but the idea remains the same: messy baby face).

I don't know if you're familiar with baby oatmeal, but it is a close cousin of cement. But a low grade gritty cement, one you don't bring home to meet your Mamma. This stuff dries almost instantly and requires a power washer to remove.

Now my baby is simply to sweet and dainty to use a power washer on. Just look at her, she's sturdy, but a power washer might break her. She needed something as sweet and dainty as she to scrub her kissable cheeks clean. Enter a hand knit washcloth.

Just a quick thing I whipped up one evening after Sweet Pea had gone to bed. Pink befitting the princess she is. And covered in hearts, cause I lurve my baby! It takes the oatmeal off with minimal scrubbing and even uses the gritty texture of the oatmeal to exfoliate her baby cheeks making them the most kissable baby cheeks on the block. It's a win-win situation.

Or one would think.

I told you the baby is devious. She is cunning. She uses that angelic innocent face to plot against me. I just know it.

That silly little washcloth became the source of many tear from another tiny princess.

My Sweet Bird. (yes I know I am greatly overusing the word sweet. Whatcha gonna do about it? I can't help it. My girls are the physical incarnation of the word sweet.)

Bird crawled into my lap a few night later and started to cry. She wanted a washcloth too. My heart was instantly a puddle of goo, guilty goo. Who knew knitting the baby something could cause such hurt feelings? I guess I've been officially welcomed into the world of baby jealous. The situation was easily remedied. Bird and I logged onto ravelry and she picked out a very special pattern for her own very special washcloth.

Flowers for my Bird.

And to head off any future hurt feelings

A train for my train-lovin' Meaty.

And a crown for the queen princess Pork Chop.

So all this knitting is the Baby's fault. I blame the baby.

But while one messy baby might have plotted to create drama within my happy family and cause me to knit four finished objects in one week, I think this plan backfired.

Now each child has their very own custom knit washcloth. And each time they use it they feel special and know Mommy loves them enough to take the time to make something just for them. And *poor* Mommy. She just *had* to spend an entire week knitting washcloths for her children. I'll tell you it was such a *chore* but I muddled through it somehow. I think this round goes to me.

So if you're keeping score the official tally is

Sweet Pea: 2,389
Mommy: 1

I feel good about this.

Hi Grandpa!

I like a sweet potato best, but oatmeal with applesauce is pretty yummy too! As you can see oatmeal with peaches is best used for fingerpainting. It is not fit for baby consumption.

I has a flavor

Just for the record...

First let me apologise for the quality of the pictures. I've grown so spoiled with my rebel. I'm just used to taking a certain caliber of photo, namely, photos in focus. Not to beat a dead horse, but the broken camera is causing me no small source of frustration. But Bird is totally sorry.

I snapped this photo this morning after she asked if she could take a picture and I reminded her that she broke the camera. You can see how bad she feels. Who can stay mad at that? Certainly not me.

On to the knitting...

I totally kicked the yarn's butt.

It wasn't even a photo finish. I totally smoked it!

Then I turned around and knit this for a friend.

Janelle was right, once you knit one of these everyone wants one. It's a good thing they're so fun to knit!

Then I spent over forty hours knitting this

Then to cleanse my palate from all that lace I knit this for Sweet Pea

She's just started oatmeal and needs something as pretty as she is to wash the oatmeal mess. If you look carefully through the blur you can see the hearts on it.


And I knit these for some friends

They are expecting their first child. We couldn't be happier for them.

And I've started knitting this

What can I say, I'm on a lace kick, and is there anything more feminine and romantic than white lace?

I've been a knitting machine! Careful observers will notice that while I have completed all this knitting I have failed to weave the ends in or block a single project. Bad knitter. I working under a bit of stress here. We've been waiting to find out something fairly large. Something fairly large, and good. But until we know for sure we're in limbo, and I hate limbo. I just want to make a plan and roll ahead with it. I hate spinning my wheels waiting. We all know how well I did a few summers ago when we were waiting to hear about the big job change/move (and by "how well I did" I really mean, "how well I didn't do"). So to pass the time I'm knitting with a vengence. Weaving ends and blocking just doesn't sooth my nerves, plus my blocking spot is currently housing Meaty's Geo-trax collection. I should try to take a picture, it seriously takes up the entire living room and hallway, it's threatening to grow into the kitchen. I've got to find that boy a different hobby. His train collection is larger than my yarn collection. But I digress. There's no point to my rambling really. Just knitting, feeding hungry baby oatmeal, and waiting, waiting, waiting.

Pondering

Isn't it the worst when one is knitting a project and as the project nears completion it becomes unclear whether one does in fact have enough yarn to complete said project. And why is it that the closer one gets to discovering whether one will in fact run out of said yarn the faster one tries to knit the project? It is as if a tired knitter thinks she can finish said project before the yarn realizes it wasn't long enough to finish said project. As if the yarn has a time limit and if she can finish the project before the buzzer goes off she'll have enough yarn. And when said knitter gives in to exhaustion and goes to bed for the night with only two rows (two very very long rows, taking half an hour to knit at a time rows) and a bind-off to knit she will inevitably wake to discover the ball of yarn has shrunk overnight and is in reality too small to finish her project. My fingers are crossed as I try to carve out an hour or two to knit today. But my heart holds no hope. I fear I shall run out of yarn three-fourths of the way through the bind off. It will be a photo finish, that's for sure. I'll keep you posted.

A Trip Down Memory Lane

Well, with the broken camera and all I'm feeling limited on my blogging options. I can blog without pictures. It will only get boring after the first three or so posts. I like to write. I think my writing can be interesting if I've had more than three hours of sleep that night. But I don't think it's strong enough to stand on it's own without some photographic support, either of the knitting or kidlet variety. As a second option, I can blog with my slightly blurry pictures. Hey, my kids are cute, even if their edges are fuzzy, as seen here. It's not the worst option in the world and no doubt one I will frequently employ. I will have to put disclaimers by the pictures that it is indeed the pictures that are bad, not the viewers eyes. I wouldn't want to be responsible for causing anyone to have unnecessary eye exams. Or, as a third option, I can blog about some of that stuff I never got around to blogging but took great pictures of in anticipation of blogging. It's kinda a win/win proposition. I still get to blog with great pictures, and show off my fine-ass knitting. Where's the downside to that? (Actually I thought of a downside, but I'm not pointing it out, let's pretend all is right with the world) For now, for reasons that are all my own despite the downside, I'm going with option number three. Let me present: Tiny Baby Pants!

Photobucket really sucks since they upgraded. As usual, you must turn your head to the side for maximum Awww potential.

That is Sweet Pea at the hospital all dressed and ready to go home. Each child has had a special outfit to come home from the hospital in. Upon outgrowing said outfit the outfit has been cleaned and preserved for future generations. (Funny side note, Bird was nine and a half pounds. She came out of the womb already having outgrown her coming home outfit. I had to send The Greatest home for a new outfit. His choice in heirloom outfits is decidedly different than mine. But such is life.) I decided my sweet desert bunny would come home in something hand knitted. I fell in love with the idea of baby pants. Sweet tiny baby pants. I started with this pattern. But removed the pocket and added picot edging to the hem and waiste band. After all, I was having a girl, she could come home from the hospital in pants, but they must be girly pants. The yarn is Knitpicks Shine(back before it became Shine Sport) in Apricot. I originally bought this yarn to make a sweater for me. But after several failed attempts I banished the yarn to the back of my stash. Soft cotton pants for my baby seemed like the perfect new life for this poor yarn. I still love the color, but it never knit into anything that looked good on me. I guess it wanted to be baby pants all along. Add a matching hat and you've got a cute outfit. I also knit the baby socks using the birth foot prints from my other chidren as a guide, crossing my fingers that they would fit a newborn.

And they did! The socks featured a tie at the ankle mimicing the tie at the waiste on the pants. They also featured a picot edge at the top, but all that is covered by the pants. You'll have to trust me, it was all co-ordinated and super cute.

As a newborn Sweet Pea wore these pants often. As a tired Mother I washed these pants in the washing machine with the normal laundry (warm, super hard cycle to get out all the kid dirt, instead of cold, handwash cycle to not ruin the hand knits). to my delight they survived and came out better. All that beating made the cotton baby soft. I love these pants. And the best part? They're now capris!

This picture was taken on Mother's Day. One of the last pictures I took before the camera gave up the ghost, or autofocus as the case may be. These pants are enjoying a longer shelf-life than the usual coming home outfit. But the yarn seems up to the task. And when they're well and truly outgrown I shall weep just a litte, then pack them away for Sweet Pea's children.

Is it bad that I love little knitted baby pants so much I've already knitted a 12 month size pair of juju pants, just waiting for the winter?

Ready for some Baby Cuteness?

Does it get any cuter than this?

I can take pictures with my camera if I turn it to manual focus, which as you can see, I'm not very good at. The children rarely hold still long enough for me to really get the focus right. But my baby is so cute, she looks good even when she's slighly fuzzy around the edges. I'm sure if I knew how to work the other fancy thingies on my camera I might get better at the focus thing, but that seems like it uses a lot of brain power. I don't have any spare brain power lying around right now. Mostly I'm just hoping I can get the camera fixed for my birthday. Until then I worry about all the events that will pass us by without a decent camera. *shrug* Such is life.

The hat is my own design. Sweet Pea loves the pool, but needed something to protect her poor noggin from the desert sun. I live in fear of a baby with a sunburn. A cotton hat seemed like the perfect solution. Just a basic hat with a picot edge and a large pink flower simply because I can. I mostly winged it and I'm thrilled with the way it turned out. It's actually cuter than it looks in the pictures, but with my mad camera skillz (yes skillz with a z! cause I roll like that) that's the best we're getting of my mad knitting skillz for now. I love it so much I slap the hat on her head anytime we leave the house. It makes her smell vaguely like chlorine, the poor child. Someday she will need therapy for all the things I have done to her in the name of cuteness. But except for the hat I let her skinny dip, so there's that on my side.

Speaking of rolling, Sweet Pea has taken up a new hobby: rolling! She can roll from her back to her front. She can't quite make it from her front to her back. She starts then it feels too much like falling so she stops. But she can roll from her back to her front like nobody's business. She rolls then waits for the applause. If we make the mistake of averting our eyes from the Sweet Pea show for a second and fail to cheer she gets very upset with us. And she isn't afraid to let us know. So my days are now spent watching her roll, cheering, and rolling her back onto her back, and doing it all over again. It's not the most exciting show, but who can resist this sweet face?

For my Bird

Happy Birthday to my big girl Bird!

I'd like to show you a picture of her on her birthday, looking so big and cute. But I can't. She broke my camera last week. My expensive-takes amazing pictures-love almost as much as I love my children camera. I haven't forgiven her yet, but I'm close. After all, it is just a camera, and she is my very special Bird (ok, maybe I have forgiven her, but I'm still sad about it).

So while I can't show you birthday pictures I can show you a few shots I got when we were swimming with The Greatest's Grandmother last week, before Bird broke my camera.

And photobucket is being a brat, so you're gonna have to turn your head to one side to see them properly. Grumble, grumble, grumble, stupid photobucket, grumble.

There are so many things to love about Bird. I love all my children, but as any parent knows you love them in different ways for different reasons. Here are just a few things I love about Bird

She's so funny, just naturally bubbling with giggles. She's joy personified.

She's my dreamer, we often say she floats through the house in her own little world.

She's got the biggest imagination I've ever seen. She's rarely a little girl, she's always a puppy, or a baby, or a walrus, or a baby walrus. She loves to pretend.

She's got an amazing ability to wrap people around her tiny finger. It's funny to watch The Greatests friends, these hardened Law Officers, fall all over themselves to do something Bird has asked them to do. She's the only person I have ever met who can successfully bat their eyes. I must teach her to use this power for good.

She loves everyone, and everything. Her world is truly full of sunshine and rainbows and soft puppies, and all things that are good.

I'm so proud of the little girl she has grown into, this tiny princess of mine. She is smart, and funny, and brave. She can be shy, overwhelmed, and quick to tears. There is so much she is going to learn in this world, and so much she is going to bring to this world. I'm grateful everyday that I get to be a part of it.

Happy Birthday Bird!

This is all the baby's fault!

Today I have officially reached my limit. I know it is hard to stay on top of everything when you have a new baby. But really. Things are just getting out of control around here.

It started with the baby clothes. At four months old and over 13 pounds there is just no need to keep newborn clothes in her limited closet space. So the clothes sorting commenced. Only a few tears were shed as I packed up the impossibly tiny wardrobe of my last newborn child. Out came the 3-6 month clothes, looking so large compared to the newborn things. My baby is getting so big.

Once her clothes were all neat and orderly again, lined on her shelf in neat pastel piles, I looked around the room and was stunned. In sharp contrast to the neat shelves the rest of the room was, to put nicely, a disaster area, possibly one requiring federal funds for the relief effort. I then realized I had made a monumental mistake. I had made a clean spot.

I looked around the room with a critical eye. Dust, dog hair, piles of paper. It wasn't pretty. To escape what was before me I left the room (if I can't see the dust, it doesn't exist right?) But this too was a mistake. Each room was worse than the last. Tiny fingerprints on the walls. Legos everywhere. And the shedding animal hair. Do people really live like this? Do we really live like this? My eyes were open to the truth. My house needs a thorough cleaning. I thought I was keeping up with the daily work fairly well, but I now realize I'm not.

I will return when the house is clean. If I include the time I can't spend cleaning because I am nursing the baby, or cooking for the other children, or taking our necessary daily dip in the pool

I figure the house relief efforts should only take three weeks. Or was it three months? I was never very good at doing math in my head. And since I can't find a pencil head math is all I got right now. If you don't hear from me soon send a rescue party. I'm probably lost in the garage searching for Bird's summer clothes. And please equip the rescue party with yarn. I might be huddled in the corner mumbling and trying to eat my hair. A condition like that can only be cured with yarn therapy. I will need lots of soft soothing yarn. Yarn and magic erasers. Thank You.

Coming Up For Air

I should never let an angsty post sit for so long. I know many of you worry. And I don't mean to worry anyone. I'm just writing what I know to be true. Sometimes I blog simply because I like to write. I like to string words together. I like to organise the words to create pretty pictures. I like to tell a story. Just like I think knitting is magic, I think stories are magic. I like to create magic.

But unfortunately I have to write what I know. No made up stories in me. Everything is true life. And sometimes I think my most powerful words come from a painful place. I think the need to dissect an emotion, distill it down to its very core is more prominent in ugly emotions. No one needs to over think happiness. They just feel it. They enjoy the moment until it passes. Stopping to say "Now why am I really happy" might just ruin the moment. Nope, no need to over think joyful emotions. But ugly emotions, they tend to beg for introspection. Rest assured I'm all done being introspective. I have purged and moved on. My focused has shifted from self-analysis to more important things like catching up on laundry, hugging my children and pondering whether I should get bangs.

You can all thank my Father for today's post. He called me begging for more blog posts. I told him I was rather busy with things (pondering bangs has taken up quite a bit of my time), but I promised him I would try to blog on Tuesday. Never mind the fact that the Tuesday in question happened to be Tuesday, April 15th. Today is Tuesday (right, it is Tuesday right?) so this totally counts. Right?

And since this is a Grandpa inspired post, I shall give the Grandpa what he's here for: GRANDCHILDREN!

Sorry two are sideways. Photobucket is giving me fits, and I've got limited time to mess with this, Sweet Pea will be waking up any minute now. I'll fix it later if I can. And I promise, knitting is coming. I've got one hot mess to show off!

And FYI, I've come down firmly on the side of no concerning the bang issue.

So today's the second anniversary of the day my Mom died. It's a very surreal kinda morning. Last year was surprisingly easy. I thought to myself (and this might sound callous) "She's already dead. What more can they do? They can't take her away again." And my day was quiet. I played with my children. I ate lots of chocolate. I sewed like my Mom did. It wasn't a great day, but it wasn't the worst day.

But this year is subtly different. There's nothing about today that is different from yesterday. I woke to the same giggly baby kicks I awoke to yesterday. The same pretty girl was standing by my bedside with yet another crazy question that made me internally groan wondering why these things could never wait until the sun was up. (Why does she only ponder the nature of the universe before six a.m.?) I'm sure when all my children are awake my house will be filled with the same laughter, hugs, whining, and occasional tears that make every day simultaneously different and mind numbingly the same (behold the joys of motherhood!).

Yet this morning is harder than yesterday. Harder than last year. It is almost as if I didn't realize until now how completely permanent this situation is. Nothing in my life has been this set in stone. I will never see my Mother in this life again. That's it. Never again. There is no miracle. No do over. No one will save the day in the final moment to change this. The time for miracles is past. And every day that marches on, every turn of the calendar, makes this clearer in my mind. And it just isn't fair.

Time marches on. Life moves on without her. In theory this is a good thing. We can not wallow in grief. She wouldn't want that. But not a day goes by that I don't think of her. Not a day passes that I don't miss her. It usually doesn't descend into wallowing, but sometimes the ache is sharper than other times.

Today is it razor sharp.

I miss my Mom.

But don't worry. I won't sit and wallow today either. In a fit of insanity, knowing full well what today is, I told my friend I would watch her two year old twins today. I love them, they're excellent children, but they're lively in a way my older children have outgrown. I must go lock the yarn cabinet and put away the step stool I keep in the bathroom. They should be here in an hour.

Whatever day today turns out to be, it will not be dull.

And life marches on.....