Laugh

I once worked with a woman who emphatically warned me not to marry a man who I thought was funny. She was the sweetest little woman with the sweetest little husband. They had the sweetest little family, two sweet tow head girls. And they owned an ice cream shop. Could their lives have been any sweeter?

I worked in that ice cream shop for the longest time. It really was the best gig in town. I had gone the fast food route. I don't recommend it. My skin suffered from all the grease. My hair constantly had a smell of overcooked meat-like substance that wouldn't wash out no matter how many times I scrubbed it. It was as if the odor had infused with the grease in the air and bonded to create some kind of super-coating on my person, an outer shell of ick that never washed off. Mmmmmm, outer shell of ick.

But the ice cream shop was different. There was no grease to be seen. Instead I came home smelling of vanilla waffle cones. Mmmmmmmmm, waffle cones. I ate my weight in ice cream each week, but being young and lucky I actually lost weight on my all ice cream diet. How I loved that job.

One day I was in the back when the husband came through and made what was, by all standards, a lame joke. He laughed and laughed at his perceived cleverness. The wife smiled at him fondly, rolled her eyes at me, and imparted her wisdom.

"Mamma, never marry a man because he makes you laugh. After a few years you'll realize he only knows so many jokes, and they're not that funny."

I thought of her words often. I shook my head at how wrong she was. I loved to laugh. It is joy transformed into sound. It is all the good emotions a body can feel pouring forth in a happy noise. True laughter is infectious and grows. It is what makes life so beautiful and bearable. And I'll admit it, I laugh at everything. I'm prone to laughter at the most inappropriate times. Why wouldn't I want to marry someone who made me laugh?

As the years slipped past I became painfully aware of how much I no longer laughed. My life held little joy. And one day I finally pinned down the cause. I was with a man who didn't laugh. I can't explain why but he just didn't laugh. And he didn't make me laugh. Our life together held no joy. That is no way to live.

The day I left him is the day I met my husband.

And how he made me laugh.

I stayed up all night with him laughing that very first night. I couldn't sleep. I just needed more, more of his voice, more of his smile, more of his jokes, more of this long forgotten feeling. And we laughed our way through the next day. And the next. We were married four months later.

And I've come to realize something: that sweet ice-cream shop owner? She was a little bit right. He does only know so many jokes. And I know them all by heart.

But he still makes me laugh.


Edited to add: I stand corrected. I typed this up Sunday night. On Monday The Greatest told me a shocking off-color joke that I won't repeat. As he smirked over my horrified giggles (yes, I laughed at the distasteful joke, I told you I laugh at inappropriate things) he declared "You've never heard that joke have you?" And no, I had not. He's still got a few surprises left in him. How I love that man.

Apologies

When we threw out Pork Chop's Birthday Flowers it occurred to me that it really was time to update the old blog. How it has sat, forlorn and un-updated, for a full fortnight. The last time my blog was this boring I was pregnant and entirely too sick to sit upright at the keyboard. Let me assure that is not the problem this time around.

It isn't that I don't have finished knitting projects to show off.

I do. Believe me I do. I'm disgusted by how pathetically small my list of finished objects is. FOUR?!! Only four so far this year? Really? I've finished so many more. I've got a stack of sweaters in my closet that are just one good hair day away from debuting in the blog. Note to self: go wash hair.

It isn't that I don't have stories to tell.

I do. The children are an endless supply of blog fodder and random mischief.

And it isn't that I don't love all my readers.

That isn't it AT.ALL. Believe me, I LIVE for your comments. I really do. (So keep 'em coming, they make me so happy /shameless begging)

No my problem has something to do with this tiny princess.

She is absolutely convinced she is a fish and must spend every possible waking moment in the pool. In just six weeks she has graduated from the floatie with the straps in the bottom

to the ring floatie

to water wings.

I'm telling you. It takes more effort to make sure this one survives the day than all the other three combined.

More blog posts to come as soon as I can stop dripping all over the keyboard.

A Special Day

Yesterday was a very special day.

It was the nine year anniversary of the day I officially became "Mommy."

It was an extra special day nine years ago, and an extra special day yesterday.

Nine.

Such a big girl.

No longer does she ask for dolls and ponies.

Her birthday list was full of books and clothing requests.

She is more amazing every day.

Nine.

Half-way to adulthood.

If who she is now is any indication, I love who she is going to be.

Smart, hilarious, generous, polite, caring, beautiful. She is better than I dreamed she would be when I was carrying her in my swollen body.

We bought our little bookworm the Harry Potter collection for her birthday. She loved it, but we were out shined when Grandpa's present arrived. My Father sent her flowers for her birthday. 100 Blossoms. Can't top that. I did find her reading Harry Potter out loud in her bedroom. She told me "I hear it's good to talk to flowers, so I'm reading to mine." Could she be any more love-able?

Seduced and Betrayed

I wrote this post a week ago, but I've been so bereft by the entire affair I haven't had the heart to edit and publish it. I also haven't had the heart to knit since.

So the Evil knitting continued to grow

I'm almost ready to start decreasing for the arms.

The decoy knitting was buzzing right along as well

I'm almost ready to knit the heel (turn the heel? create a heel? what is the proper knitterly way to say that?)

Then I was seduced by something new.

I'll admit it. Some young pretty knit turned my head with all its fancy white lace. It was new and different. It promised me romance and I was instantly smitten.

Admit it. You're intrigued by this sweater too.

I couldn't help myself.

The obsession took hold and I HAD to knit this sweater.

Never mind the fact that I'm supposed to be showing my undying love for my husband by secretly knitting him a sweater with the World's Worst Yarn(tm). Never mind the fact that I am stash knitting and I don't have a sweater quantity of yarn left. I had some left-over white acrylic baby yarn. Almost a full skein as a matter of fact. I know from experience that I could "kill" this particular yarn and achieve the lovely drapey qualities of the alpaca the original design was knit with. This yarn could work for this sweater. Never mind that fact that I have four children and I would be INSANE to wear a white sweater, or anything white for that matter. Never mind the fact that I live in the desert and it is a billion degrees outside.

Like I said, I couldn't help myself.

I just knit a little gauge swatch. Just a bitty square of knitting to see if the yarn would even be a good match to the pattern. Only a tiny square.

It isn't really cheating on my husband's sweater if its just a gauge swatch right?

But I got gauge. I got perfect gauge, row and stitch count exactly. This never happens. Something is always off a little bit. But not with this gauge swatch. It was perfect.

I couldn't stop myself.

Before I realized what I was doing I had cast on for the sweater. I knit, and I knit, and I put the sleeve stitches on waste yarn and I knit and I ran to Wal-Mart of another skein of yarn, and I knit and I knit and I picked up stitches for the collar, and I knit and I knit and I frogged ten rows, and I knit and I knit and I knit. And then I bound off.

Of course that three day marathon of Burn Notice on USA Network didn't help matter. I loves me some Micheal Weston. It was the perfect excuse to sit on the couch and knit.

Before I knew it I had knit the entire body and collar of the sweater. All that was left were two tiny short sleeves. I was inches away from perfection. All that promised romance would be mine in mere hours.

I tried on my unblocked sweater to revel in the white glory of lace I had created.

Ummm, yeah.

No.

I should have chosen a size larger, possibly two.

Into the frog pond I go.

Cheaters never do prosper do they?

Friday Loving

I'm loving....

Big Puffy Clouds

Pool Parties

with the accompanying laundry.

I love my new flat iron. It means curls,

Curls,

And more Curls!

And I'm loving her new "cheese" face for the camera.

And finally....

I love angering the cat.

Real blog posts coming soon!

See Mama Sew

So I decided to try my hand at pillowcase dresses. Pork Chop could use some new nighties (I'm not exactly sure when her legs became a mile long, but they are.) And the other two, well, they're just so cute how could I not. I'm feeling lazy so I'm not going to bother linking to a tutorial. Just google "pillowcase dress tutorial" and roughly eleventy billion links will come up. All of them say about the same thing: cut a "j" for the armholes and stitch that bad boy up! They're quick and easy. My only word of advice is to ignore the people who say to double fold and stitch the armholes. You'll save yourself a world of frustration if you use binding instead.

This is the only one actually sewn from an old pillowcase.

It was intended to be a nightgown but Pork Chop loved it so much she wore it to a church activity last night. She told every one "Can you believe she made this with a pillowcase?" I'm glad she likes it.

This was sewn with just regular fabric.

Lucky for me it is easy to duplicate the shape of a pillowcase. I asked Bird if she would like a nightgown, a dress, or a shirt and she choose a shirt.

It might be a smidge on the short side. The length is perfect now, but might be too short next week. *shrug* She loves it, and isn't that all that matters.

Sweet Pea's dress was sewn from fabric as well. I love this fabric and was saving this square for just the right project. I even tried to get fancy with embellishment, I'm still undecided as to whether or not I like it.

Sweet Pea is ambivalent about wearing her dress. She is actually rather picky about her clothing. If she doesn't like her shirt she will pull at it and grunt at you until you give her a different one. Honestly, the kid prefers to be naked and has taken to removing her clothing (including her diaper) as often as she can get away with it (i.e. hourly). Sometimes she is lucky she's so cute.

She did enjoy being outside and smelling the green things.

It made her very happy.

We went to the playground after our "photo shoot", and that made her sad.

Meaty didn't get anything sewn for him. Poor neglected boy. But he didn't seem to mind.

He amused himself trying to stomp a "jumping ant" (whatever that is)

All in all I considered it a very successful morning.

Just Passing Through

My secret Evil knitting grows.

As does the decoy knitting.

He doesn't suspect a thing. *insert maniacal laugh here*

AND I stitched up a dress for Sweet Pea during nap time yesterday.

I've taken a photo shoot of all the sewing I've been doing, but it will have to wait. I've only got a moment. I guess really I'm blogging to tell you I don't have time for you.

Classy.

That's how it starts and the next thing you know I'm breaking up with you via text message.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

And The Star Spangled Banner Truimphant Shall Wave

O'er the land of the free, BECAUSE of the brave!

I wish that sentiment were my idea, but I stole it from a friend. We must always remember what we have been given, and the price of such a gift.

Something Wicked This Way Comes

An observant reader might have noticed that I've been knitting a lot of sweaters lately.

Yup, I live in the desert. Summer has just arrived bringing with it temperatures of over 100 degrees. And I'm knitting sweaters.

An observant reader might also have noticed that I don't appear to have any new yarn coming in so to speak. That's right. I've been stash diving.

Now my stash has never been particularly big. I buy yarn with a project in mind, knit the project, and wonder what to do with the tiny left-over balls. But every once in a while I get lots and lots of yarn just because its pretty. It would appear I've run out of pretty yarn. I've still got sock yarn. I've got sock yarn for at least another seven, maybe twelve pairs of socks. But sweater quantities of yarn? Not so much.

To appease my inner sweater knitter yesterday I found myself knitting this

Yup.

This.

This is the only sweater size quantity of yarn in my stash.

One might recognise this as dun, dun, duuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnn: Evil. This project first made its debut here . Yes. I do realize that would be March of 2005, over four years ago. My oldest work-in-progress (not counting the children).

I don't want to drag up painful knitting memories, but I feel some explanation is required for those of you who haven't been hanging on my every word for the past four years (have I really been blogging that long?!!!). A brief synopsis of this project looks like this: My husband choose the World's Twine-iest Most Painful Yarn EVER(tm) and told me to knit him a sweater and then refused to find a pattern he liked. No. This mythical perfect sweater must be conjured out of thin air using yarn that actually removes the skin from my fingers as I knit. And it must be perfect.

But no pressure there.

I once made him a quilt. We carefully chose each fabric together, picking out just the perfect color combinations to create each square. It took me a months to piece the top, hand stitching the entire thing. Then it sat. I couldn't decide if I wanted to hand quilt it or tye it. He wanted it tyed but it seemed like sacrilege to tye a hand sewn quilt. So it sat. For five years it sat. Finally The Greatest decided to take matters into his own hands and tye the darn thing himself. Which he did. And now he uses that quilt almost everyday. He teases me that he's going to have to give up and knit his own sweater as well.

As I approach the five year mark with this sweater I've decided I need to suck it up and knit. I'm using Leo as a pattern guide. In a perfect world I would just be able to knit this pattern but The Greatest wants 3x2 ribbing not 5x3 ribbing, and yes, it does make a difference (in his mind it makes a difference). And the collar isn't right. And he doesn't want it to be that fitted (although he'd look so good with it fitted like that). But it is HIS sweater, so I suppose I should knit what he wants to wear, not what I want to knit.

I've decided to surprise him with this sweater, so he can't know I'm knitting this. One would think it might be difficult to secretly knit a sweater for someone you live with, but it turns out its not. I can blog about it because he doesn't read my blog. The summer has started and there is the ever elusive off-duty work to be found (HALLELUJAH), so it turns out there are hours and hours and hours and days and days and days where I won't see him. Plenty of time to knit a sweater.

Of course I must have a decoy project to knit when he is around, because if I sat around not knitting he would know something was up.

I've got it all covered.

P.S. SEND MORE YARN!

Housewife or Borg, you decide

This is eerie...

That my friends is the bottom of my knitting bag. I don't think I've seen it in years. My poor row counter and mp3 player look so lonely lying there. At least they have each other for company. I wonder if they're cold with no half knit woolly projects to cuddle. (note to self: you might want to vacuum the bag out before you take pictures of it next time. Nah, I'm just keeping it real, cause that's how I roll)

I feel slightly unsettled with no projects in my bag. I know how this happened, but I still don't understand how this happened. Like when my friend got pregnant after her husband's vasectomy. She knew how she got pregnant, but she didn't understand how she got pregnant. Oh the mystery of the known.

It started with my knee (the knitting, not the pregnancy).

Yesterday my knee throbbed. I've got what I think is arthritis in my knee and life is so much worse for me when there is moisture in the air. And we had a doozy of a thunderstorm Thursday night. Friday morning was surprisingly cool, with a touch of precipitation. It felt like a spring morning back home. It reminded me of camping and how the air was always cool and full of dew at dawn. I always loved that moment in the morning before the heat of the day descended. What should have been a refreshing change of weather was instead agony. My knee ached and throbbed and screamed at me each time I moved. I tried moving around all morning, doing my general cleaning and such (see here )to see if I could "shake it off" so to speak. Around 10 I gave up. Moving made me feel like crying. I felt on the verge of a migraine so I couldn't take pain relievers (too many will push me over the edge into a migraine). I decided the only thing to do was sit on my butt for the rest of the day.

But I can't just sit on my butt and do nothing. It feels so wrong. That's why I took up knitting in the first place, so I could sit on my butt all day but still feel productive. I can't fully relax unless my hands are busy. I'm so odd.

And productive I was!

I was a woman on fire. I did so much I'm wondering if I might in fact be part machine. Am I a Borg? Some kind of monstrous alien sleeper cell masquerading as a mild mannered knitting house wife when in reality I am poised to kill and conquer mankind at the flip of a switch? I looked for a USB port in the shower this morning. I couldn't find one, so I think I'm still human, but only time will tell.

That impressive stack of crafting contains five finished sweaters, one scarf, a nightgown and a tank top. All the knit items just needed a little finishing work. The sewn items were cut and finished yesterday.

I'm telling you, sometimes I impress myself.

Of course all this productivity led to this

for dinner.

But no one seemed to mind.