The Skinny Knitter

Friday, July 29, 2005

Think I like Pink Much?



It's been days, or possibly weeks since I posted pictures. I truly have been knitting away, trying to get some cute summer shirts knit up BEFORE I leave for Reggae on the River so I can wear them there.

See?














and













Ryan, take note that is your stitch marker I'm using!

After having a baby my tummy just isn't show off quality anymore, if you know what I mean. So the V dip is perfect to show some skin, but only the pretty parts. I'll just have to remember not to break loose and start moving & shaking, thus making the protective V move and shake also, exposing bare tummy which will also be moving & shaking.

So last night I was a total pooper. And I mean TOTAL pooper. I didn't go to the M's stitch & pitch game. I was exhausted after work, and driving into downtown Seattle, finding parking, and the whole mess that entails was too much for me. I had the hot ticket right in my hand, and I didn't go. I apologize to anyone expecting me, but I would have probably fallen asleep in the middle of a ssk, and when they panned the camera around during the 7th inning stretch it surely would have found the one passed out knitter.

My little man is heading into the dentist today, and getting quite the job done on him. You see, he ended up with really weak teeth, and that combined with the candy his mama fed him turned out to mean lots of cavities. No amount of brushing (and believe me, we brush that kid!) could take care of that combination.

We have had a few visits in to see this particular dentist. It's a pediatric dentist, so everything is made for a person of 3'5, including the toilet I had the pleasure of using. At the end of his first checkup visit he walked out saying

"But mom, I thought they had to do more work than that. You know, bubblegum flavored work."

He thought the dentist was the coolest and begged to go back. Well, he sure got his wish. Times 10. The next visit to work on one cavity the hubby was assigned to take on. I got on IM with him after the visit and asked how it went, fully expecting his answer to be Great! Wonderful! Piece of cake!

AWFUL.

He was actually so worn out that's all I could get out of him. I got the full story when we got home.

Apparently the cotton they put in his mouth to absorb the spit hurt Drake SO BADLY he felt the need to kick the hygenist square in the face, leaving a huge bruise on her cheek. And if the cotton wasn't painfull enough, they DARED try to drill his tooth and all hell broke loose. We had no idea Drake knew how to do a backwards flip right out of a chair. And he even included a few summersaults for the viewing pleasure of all in the room.

We thought maybe it was just a fluke, and we'd try another trip, this time premedicated. Premedication only works if it actually does something to your child. The medicine did nothing to mine. He was running around the house screaming "I feel kind of sleepy!!!!" Heh. Joke's on you.

So we had to resort to the last option available. General anesthesia. This totally freaks me out. So, today is the day. Hopefully he'll wake up cavity free, happy, and no dentists will have been harmed in the act.

Just send me some positive CALM DOWN vibes, please? I'm in total panicky freak out mode. And that's not good for someone who already spends most of their life halfway there.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

You choose

One of the joys of having small children is knitting them things. Because, you see, they are small, and so whatever you knit for them is small. And it takes a hell of a lot less time than a sweater for a man with a chest the size of my car.

So I regularly take requests from Mr. Drake, and he's even so kind as to help pick out the yarn. So it was no surprise when this week he came up and told me he wants me to make him a sweater. I must say I was a little surprised when I asked him what he wants it to look like and he grabbed my hand and lead me into the bathroom. And I was shocked when he reached in the linen closet and pulled out a towel.

And not just any towel. Oh, no.

This towel is a hideous gift from the MIL, a CABLED TOWEL. You heard me right. On one side the cables stick out in great tufts of terry, and on the other they are bald. I won't even go into detail why we rarely use this towel to actually DRY OFF, the word bald should just do the trick. And did she give us one of these towels? Nope, we own two of the great beauties.

They are usually hidden deep in the linen closet, behind the towels we use to dry off the dog. But when we get desperate (or when mama goes on a laundry strike) we have to resort to these towels, and it was during one of those desperate times that Drake discovered them. It was love at first sight. He loves the tackyness of them, tracing the lines of the bald cable with his fingers.

And now he wants a sweater designed after them. So being the dutiful mama I am, I pulled out the big book of Aran's and he found the perfect sweater in there. I used to really, really dislike Aran's. But lately, I've had a change of mind. They're really quite beautiful. But you know, I really prefer to knit stockinette, or ribing, or simple things. Because then I can do other things at the same time, such as, well....

1. Drive
2. Watch t.v.
3. Carry on full conversations
4. Read
5. Stuff my face

That's a pretty damn strong case for simple, eh?

Friday, July 22, 2005

What to do with myself

I just realized that our vacation to Reggae on the River is coming up, and soon. For any of you who have no idea what Reggae on the River is...check it out. It's become our once a year retreat, and what a retreat it is. The kiddo stays with my parents for a couple days of train rides, parks, and all the ice cream he can eat (or some other equivilent that will keep him quiet).

We spend day one huddled in an overstuffed minivan for the treck from Washington to California. It's mandatory everytime we come to a stop to hunch down otherwise risk being taken out by a cooking stove, or other such camping gear. Needless to say, the car ride is miserable. I am usually a big car safety nut, so knowing that I risk my life for the trip down just to ensure a hot breakfast in the morning scares me a bit.

This year however, the 11 hour car ride has different meaning. Last year I loaded up with books, so much so, that when we arrived at the campgrounds at 10pm, and tried to unload the van in the dark, books were flying out everywhere. The next morning when we unzipped our tent it looked like a Barnes & Noble had exploded in our campsite. This year it will most likely be the same scene in the morning, with one expection. YARN. Instead of Barnes & Noble, it will be Knitpicks that will have exploded in our campsite.

Can you imagine?!?! 11 hours of doing nothing but KNITTING. My brain is still unable to wrap around that idea. And if you add on the fact that it is just 11 hours one way, and three days later we get to make the treck again, that is 22 hours total of uninterrupted knitting time. 22 HOURS PEOPLE. Not including all the time I'll spend camped out in my chair at the festival knitting away & enjoying the music. I AM SO EXCITED.

Why can't it be time to go yet?

In other news, those of you who live in Seattle know that I have once again turned on the sprinkler to water my garden, because of course this morning it's raining. I've jinxed us once again. And the hubby and I even argued about whether I should water the plants or not, I siting that they were wilting and I DON'T CARE IF THERE'S A CHANCE OF RAIN, they need water TODAY. And him insisting that it "felt" like it was going to rain and not to water them.

And last, but not least, Drake decided to have himself a party.

When? Last night.

Where? Our house.

What time? 10 pm.

Why? Mom's asleep in bed, and dad's at a soccer game.

What to do? Oh, how about throw things all around the house, run up and down the hallway, torment the dog, throw his doggie bed upside down in the middle of the living room, get completely naked, and fall asleep with no blankets and the fan on full speed.

Now doesn't that just sound like a fun night at the house of yarn.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

Doggie Competition?

Do you ever have those inner competitions with yourself? You know, the "I wonder if I can make it an entire day without peeing?"

(I'll have you know, I did manage that one. My doctor just luuuved me when I came in the next day with a roaring bladder infection. BUT I DID IT.)

Or "I wonder if I can drink an entire gallon of water in one day." Who cares if you have to LIVE in the bathroom.

Or "I bet I could jump on one leg all the way to that corner over there."

I have these little competitions with myself all the time. Maybe I'm just a total quack, or a crazy competitive person, but I like to think of myself as normal. Everyone does these little things. Right? RIGHT??

Perhaps to give you a little insight into how competitive I am, I should share the story that has forever marred me in my friends eyes...the one involving the board game Sorry!. A few years ago when we were all in college our house was the hang out spot. When you have a 2 year old, it's much easier to ship him off to bed at 7 and enjoy the rest of the night....plus when it's time to head off to bed we would just have to walk down the hallway, not throw a passed out 2 year old over our shoulders and lug him to the car.

Once it was discovered that I would promptly pass out in the first 5 minutes if we watched a movie, board games were our best bet. We had a good stash of them and worked our way down to Sorry!. (BTW...If you ever want to play a good game, get Attack Uno. The first time someone brought it over they told the hubby to hold it up, look inside, and push the button. Cards came shooting out at him, barely missing blinding him for life. It is crazy how fun that game is.) Sorry started off nice....drawing cards and moving however many spaces the card tells you to. Everything was hunky dory until someone drew a Sorry! card. And they took me out. MY ONLY GUY! THEY TOOK HIM OUT!!

Some serious shit hit the fan.

Whenever I drew a Sorry! card I would look right in the eye of the person as I knocked out their guy with my own, sending it flying across the room. HA. Sorry my ass. I'm not sorry. HA. I was out for sweet revenge against everyone, and the sweet Sam image people had of me up until that point COMPLETELY disappeared that night. I even had one of my friends confess he was scared of me that night. He'd never seen anyone take a game of Sorry! so seriously.

And now I'm convinced my dear sweet doggy is getting in on the act. We've had this routine ever since he came to live in our crazy, house full of yarn. Every night before bed he hears me get up to go wash my face and does about 15 big doggy stretches to get himself ready to face the great outdoors that is our backyard. And he goes around, sniffing everything there is to be sniffed, pees, and comes tromping back up to the back door ready to come in and go to bed.

The last few nights though, he's done the doggy stretches, walked outside, sniffed around, and HAS NOT PEED. Maybe, it's because he's spending lots of his time in the afternoons out there. But I secretly think he's pulling my trick....let's see how long I can go without peeing. And make this lady crazy to boot.

I bet the neighbors get a good laugh listening to me beg the dog to "just Please, Please go pee. Come on, Toby. See that nice spot over there? Doesn't it look inviting?"

I heard the hubby secretly snickering inside last night and just knew all the neighbors were doing the same.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Revelations

Is there anything more surprising than realizing you've been wearing the wrong bra size for the past two years? I mean come on, it's only OTHER people who do such things.

We've all heard the statistic....over 80% of women are wearing the wrong bra size (or something like that). But seriously, not me. WRONG. Once again.

You see, my entire life barring pregnancy & nursing I've always been a 34B. Not that I've ever been measured or anything, but when I would try that size on I wasn't falling out the top, or having empty cups wrinkling through my shirt. So it was....34B.

And up until my birthday I though I was still a 34B. I kind of noticed my boobs falling out the top, but that's cleavage, right? And those angry looking red welts at the end of the day? Ah, my straps must be too tight.

Well, the dear hubby bought me a new bra for my birthday. A 34C. And whaddya know. No more falling out. No more angry red marks. It actually fits. I AM A 34C. Now, do you remember back in the junior/high school days when that would have been a dream. I always had two strategically placed mosquito bites, carefully covered by my white AA training bra with a bow in the middle that stuck out further than the mosquito bites. When I finally reached a decent bra size at 16 I was in heaven. However a 34C seemed totally unattainable.

If only I had known then the sagginess & bagginess that comes along with big boobs. Give me back the AA's.

Have I frightened ya'll away yet with way too much information?! I am just amazed at how comfortable a bra can be! It blows the mind.

Onto knitting. I like to knit socks for people, it's my thing. I have only made myself one pair, but that's because it's just not as fun to make socks for yourself. Sweaters, purses, cami's? Fun. Socks for ones self? Not.

So I started a little project to make socks for my parents. My mom loves homemade socks, and my dad...well, he just doesn't know how TRULY WONDERFUL they are, yet. He'll learn. I finished one sock for my mom, and had almost a sock done for my dad. I joked that they'd each get one and take turns wearing the mismatched pair. They looked at me and said HA, get working woman.

So I worked away until I though my dad's socks were ready for the toe decreases. I made him take off his shoe & sock to try the thing on, and the first words out of his mouth? Not, "oh wow, how nice!" Nope. He grabbed the very top of the sock and pulled it out. "This part is too loose."

For any of you who are not sock knitters, to get to the top you have to take out the whole damn thing. I pulled it off his foot and started ripping away. Frog city, here comes a sock just for you. When he realized what I was doing he made a mad dash for the sock, trying to save what was left, yelling the whole time "I was kidding Sam!" "It's fine!" Too late dear daddy.

So late last night I finished the revamped smaller sock, and I started it's mate this morning. I just dare him to say it doesn't fit.

Friday, July 15, 2005

Grrrrrr

I don't think there is anything more frustrating than wanting to get on blogger and blogger not wanting you. The rejection! I tried, and I tried, and I tried. It's like loosing your car keys and running around the house screaming...knowing those keys are somewhere secretly laughing at you from a totally obvious spot.

The worst case I ever had of this was when we were moving and there were boxes all over the house. I was late for a presentation, Drake was late for a field trip, and the hubby, wonderful key finder that he is, was out of town. What began as a careless look through my bag, key holder and table turned into an all out frantic race through the house. Had I packed them? Were they hiding in/under/around a box?

I finally collapsed, crying on the couch while Drake tried to console me. Those damn keys were nowhere. They must have simply walked away during the night. I couldn't stop crying and whining. I finally got up, dragged myself over to my purse to look one last time before giving up. And what do you know? They were hiding.

Blogger did not want me today and I'm fighting back. It was a hard battle, but I'm here. No more "page not found" messages for me. Nuh uh. I'm gonna fight for this one. Even if I have nothing enlightening to say.

Please be thinking of this us weekend. You see, the hubby's parents decided they were sick of their old house and needed a new one. A bigger one. To hold all their crap. They are the sort of people who save the box to the blender they no longer own "just in case". They have every Berenstein bears book from the hubby's childhood saved for Drake. In a box somewhere, and not a clue where to start looking for it. They have lived in this house for over ten years.

Just to give you an idea of the pain we will be going through.

The hubby volunteered us to come help with a garage sale this weekend, and moving all the crap that's left the next. To be fair they have helped us move in the past, but I DO NOT HAVE ORANGE & GREEN FLOWERED SHEETS SAVED FROM 1972. She does not know this yet, but those sheets will no longer be on the premises after this weekend. Along with quite a lot of other things.

I had the pleasure of meeting
Ryan for lunch & a ticket/money swap. She's such a doll, totally sweet & nice. And she has the cutest little nose I ever saw. She even brought me this










As a present for my birthday, handmade my hers truly! How cool is that?! We got to chow down on yummy pasta & compare notes on our knitting. I had a few socks for my drive home in my bag to show off, even if they were nothing special. I even found out TMK's real name and am sworn to secrecy. Oooohhhhh.

Yesterday we were out digging in the massive dirt mound in front of our house. You know, the launching pad in case anyone misses the stop sign? That one. It is enormous. Huge. We have a few little baby plants scattered throughout it hoping they don't look too pathetic.

Well, the nice lady from across the street with the most amazing garden casually asked if we would like any plants. Think we looked pathetic?!? She was so sweet, and took us on a guided tour of her gardens. Yes, GARDENS. She has this whole garden mecca behind her house. It's so amazing I couldn't stop myself from oooohhhing out loud. I mean Better Homes & Gardens worthy. She led us around, pointing out plants we could take. I mean massive, entire plants. It will take wheelbarrows & lots of work to get all those plants planted, but I'm so excited! I'm always amazed at people's generosity.

But then again, what goes around comes around. Think she'd like a little knitted bag?

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

White HOT Pants, Literally....

Whew, what a birthday that was. I'm still recovering. Shopping? By myself? That takes days to get off the high from. The hubby had a good laugh at me. He came home and I was in a black slip dress and flip flops. He asked me, shocked, if I was actually going shopping "In THAT?!" I explained to him what every woman instinctually knows. A slip dress is easy to get in and out of and flip flops you can stand on, instead of the dirty dressing room floor. He had a good laugh at my planning.

So off I went to flit around without constantly looking behind me to make sure my slow, non hand holding, child was still there. He insists on walking just enough behind me to make me nervous, but not enough to warrant yelling at him.

Anyway, I found the most perfect pair of pants at Ann Taylor. For those of you know don't know, Ann Taylor is having a big additional 40% off sale. I got the most beautiful white lined pants for $35 buckaroos. Run, I tell you. Good deals.

I was so excited to pair them with my new black & white polka dot shirt. I though I was pretty hot stuff walking across the lobby and into the elevator, that is until a very nice woman stopped me and pulled me aside to discretly tell me I had a giant PRICE TAG sticking out the back of my shirt. Oh ya, forgot about that.

I ripped it off, and went back to being hot stuff. If I only knew how short lived that would be. I made it through half a cup of coffee & a Costco muffin when my phone rang. What happened next is all in slow motion. If I could imagine music playing it would be that tune from Sesame Street. You know the one that plays when the muppets are in slow motion? That one.

The phone cord dared to wrap around my coffee cup and as I pulled the phone toward my face I watched in disbelief as that damn cup flipped up, spun around and splashed coffee all over my beautiful pants. And by all over, I mean ALL OVER from the knee down. I stood in the storage/kitchen room of the office, in shock.

GOOD GOD, how did this happen? And what the hell do I do? Before I realized it a whole circle of girls I work with came in and stood back in horror. We had a quick brainstorm and the best solution was to run the pants under cold water to get the stain out before it dried.

"Do you have any other pants?"

Um, I regularly carry other pants with me, RIGHT?! HA! Even when Drake was a baby I'd find myself with a blow out diaper and no clothes. We'd show up somewhere with him wrapped in the blanket and a strong smell of poop eminating from our car. I have no concept of preparedness.

So I climbed onto the counter and put both legs in the sink. My boss sat there and rubbed my pants, freezing cold water pouring over us from the faucet. I tried to see if we could do kinda warmish coldish, but the anwser was a strong NO. It had to be FREEZING cold. I then climbed out of the sink and realized in the process we had run cold water up the back of my pants and they were plastered to me from my ankle to my waist. WHITE PANTS PEOPLE!! Not a pretty picture. And remember, I work in an office full of people in Ann Taylor and expensive dress clothes. Why am I always the one who manages things like this???

But I did manage to save my one pair of Ann Taylor pants. I had to sit at my desk for a few hours with the bottoms of them dripping water all over the floor. And with them just a leettle bit plastered to me.

And in the middle of all this I'm remembering I'm meeting
Ryan for lunch. And I've never met Ryan. And she's going to think I'm a total quack showing up like that. But here's where the story gets really good.

We had arranged to meet up for lunch and so I could pick up my tickets for an M's game conveniently created for knitters called "Stitch 'n Pitch." Knitting and baseball, perfect. Baseball is so boring, the knitting keeps you entertained. I printed out Ryan's directions and set off.

She told me to follow the one street all the way up to another. Turns out the one street does not meet up with the other the way I came. A few turns later, and wala, I had it figured out. Her next direction was turn LEFT, and look for the building with red curbs, 3 driveways down. I turned left, waited 3 driveways and turned. It was a restaurant. I, for some reason, don't think Ryan works at a restaurant. Maybe she got her driveways mixed up.

Next clue. Red curbs. I start driving up and down the street looking for red curbs. THEY'RE ALL RED. She mentioned her building had some stucco so I figured what the heck, the La Quinta Inn is stucco, maybe she's a big wig there. La Quinta was driveway #4, it's easy enough to mix up 3 & 4. So I went in to the front desk where I found a lady with a few missing teeth. I asked if a Ryan worked there and was told a resounding no. Thank god. I didn't want to imagine sweet Ryan working at La Quinta Inn.

That was the last straw to me and I made the sad trip back to the office with no lunch, no meeting Ryan, and no tickets. I found an email from Ryan waiting for me asking what happened, and when I told her the details she gently said I must have accidentally turned left. I had to make a quick reply gently reminding her SHE TOLD ME TO! She apologized profusely and we're on again for later in the week.

And Ryan? RIGHTRIGHTRIGHTRIGHT.

Monday, July 11, 2005

Does life get any better?

Than a Coldstone ice cream cake on your birthday? And the sweet hubby taking you out for lunch, and then promising to take you out shopping after work? The same hubby who happens to HATE shopping. Like my MIL said....it's MY birthday so he can't even make me hurry up.

It's just too bad that in the grown up world we can't stay at home and play all day. Remember those days?! And to think back then all I wanted to do was drive a car and go to work...I thought it all seemed so...so...cool, and grown up.

Like the hubby said on his birthday....I wish everyday was my birthday. It's so nice to have everyone bow down to your every whim. Maybe, I guess, you might get sick of it, but damn it'd be nice for a week or two.

Friday, July 08, 2005

Happy Thoughts

I am so excited to show you pictures of my stash run at the Skeins sale. I was thinking yesterday, you know, they have places for alcohol addiction, drug addiction, and just about any addiction you could dream up. But do they have a place for yarn addiction? Because I would have to admit myself.

It's getting THAT BAD. Proof? (And please notice my beautiful backgrounds I so carefully planned out. Even if it meant getting my yarn slightly dirty.)

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(for the Perfect T from Magknits: 8 balls)


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(Button up sweater for the little man: 6 balls)


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(Who knows (yet)??: 10 balls black, 7 balls red)


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(Socks for mama: 2 balls)


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(Ribbony yarns for summer tanks: 10 skeins blue, 12 skeins white)

Believe me now? (and that's just from Saturday's run) Lock me up.

I find myself pondering when I can sneak away and head to another yarn store. What excuse can I come up with this time to NEED to be in downtown Seattle between the hours of 11-4? And better yet, an excuse I haven't used yet. The hubby's starting to see through my "just because" excuse, and poor Drake has been used once to many times also. But anyway, yarn diet. That's what I keep telling myself.

Everyone in my family has very addictive personalities. We're all a little like cookie monster. C-O-O-K-I-E-S. My brothers? They started smoking and have tried over and over to quit. Same with my dad. My mom goes through fits; quilting, knitting, baking, sewing. I never tried smoking, don't like alcohol all that much, but YARN. GIVE ME YARN.


My birthday is this next week, and my son is convinced that on my birthday I will officially be "Old." I love it when you tell your child what year you were born in and their eyes get big and round, unable to comprehend there were years that started with 19__. "You mean you were born before there were 2000's?" Why yes, I am THAT old. I will no longer be mid 20's. I'll be midish to late 20's. I don't know why I'm so surprised that I'm getting older, but I really am.

In my head I'm still the hot little 18 year old with perky breasts, flat stomach, and wearing a size 1. I just can't wrap my head around the fact that I've had a child, must wear "uplifting" bras, have gained 20 pounds, and my stomach can no longer be described as pretty (and definitely not flat). This whole coming of age thing, I swear, is harder on the mind that the body.

Which could explain why I looked in the mirror last night and had the sudden urge to run in place in front of the tv for excercise. It dark, we don't have a treadmill, and I was so frightened I decided I must do something. That is, until I collapsed on the floor in a panting, sweaty mess and reached for the shortbread for strength. And courage. Did ya'll know shortbread gives courage? We've uncovered the mystery behind the strength of Scottish warriers. Shortbread.

I decided I'd just get up early and go running, but we all know that didn't happen. I swear, my brain is programmed hit the snooze button. It has no idea how to just get up at the first buzzing. So hopefully this weekend will find me out running around the neighorbood. And if you see a woman with short dark hair collapsed on the sidewalk, please be kind enough to scoop her up and give her some shortbread.

Thursday, July 07, 2005

Why?

My god, such a profound sense of sadness & loss woke many of us up here in the states today as we sat glued to the tv or radio and heard about the London attacks. I don't know one person closely in London so I wasn't bombarded by the instant fear of "I hope so and so is okay", but I was hit by the cruelty of it.

Why do people feel the need to hurt others? How can one person's heart be so filled with hatred that they have no room left for love, kindness, humanity?

Maybe I'm naive, but I have no understanding of how anyone can hate so strongly. But who am I to be speaking? I can walk into a grocery store and buy all the food I want. I can walk around on the streets without a worry. I can be indignant when I am spoken to rudely. Not many have the freedom of that.

I have a real love for England & Scotland. Surprising, considering I've never been there. I remember being 5 and wanting desperately to have an English accent. I practiced, and practiced, driving my mom nuts trying to perfect it. I watched Mary Poppins so many times I could repeat the whole movie on command. My favorite author is Rosamund Pilcher, and when I found out there was a British market in my town I promptly got in my car and drove down to check it out. My dream vacation? Not to some hot, tropical spot, but to start out in Cornwall, and drive up through Scotland.

My heart goes out to everyone who lives in that beautiful country, and know that there is someone in Seattle, WA thinking of you today.


p.s. I took lots of great shots (HAHA) of my stash from the big Skeins Ltd sale, but I'll post em tomorrow.

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Yard Work from Hell

I know that everyone thinks a big spacious yard is cool beans. But I am here to tell you THEY'RE WRONG. I'd much rather have a spacious house; carpet does not require weeding. And vacuuming? Much better than weeding.

We have tons of open space, grass, flowers, and lots & lots of flower beds. Just in case you didn't know, flower beds require constant weeding. You finish one end and it's time to start at the other end again....a practice in futility I tell you.

The thing is that we live at a T in the street and everyone has the pleasure of looking into our yard and either Ooohhing and Aaaahing or saying "Holy Crap what are they doing with their yard?!" Lately we've been causing heads to turn, people to take off their sunglasses to take a closer look, and jaws to drop. And not in a good way.

We had 17 yards of dirt delivered a month (or possibly 2) ago and you people have NO IDEA how much dirt that is. I had no idea until a industrial size dump truck pulled up one Saturday morning to dump it's entire contents into our front yard. We watched in awe as it lifted it's back end up to the power lines and our front yard was buried under a massive pile of dirt.

We have this great plan to make a nice raised flower bed to shield our yard from strangers eyes, and make a nice launch pad should anyone miss the stop sign and come barreling for us. It took us all day to wheelbarrow dirt from the massive pile and spread it out. By the time were were finished all we wanted was a DQ Blizzard and an hour in the hot tub, we could care less what the hill looked like. So for the past month it's been a hidous mishapen lump.

Yesterday we decided we were sick of it looking so awful and really got to work on it. We smoothed it out all nice and neat, made way for the water meter, and threw some plants in. I really think my brain is out to get me because afterwords all I wanted was a DQ Blizzard and an hour in the hot tub. We're programmable!

Even after the hot tub, this morning I woke up and realized I have muscles in my back. And my stomach. And my neck. And arms. And they all hurt. What I wouldn't give to sit at home all day today and knit. And ask myself again why we didn't just hire some landscapers.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

The Insanity

The insanity that is knitters never ceases to amaze me. That, and the insanity of 100,000 people letting off fireworks in my neighborhood after 11 pm. All you evil firework blowing up people do not make this mama happy.

On Saturday there was a super duper yarn sale at the local LYS. And by super duper I mean INSANE. Everything was 40% off, and that surely justifies standing in line for a hour and a half waiting to give them my money. For anyone who was there I was the one with the bright red face covered in a sheen due to the fact I decided it was cold enough to put a sweatshirt on. Sure, outside maybe. But in a small shop full of rabid knitters? Bad idea.

I was also the one who cast on a project and had a few inches finished by the time I handed over my Visa. The ONLY ONE!!! I was sure other people would start knitting, I mean what better time is there than standing in a line. And by line I mean a not moving one inch line. But nope, I was the lone novelty....people were pointing at me. I can only imagine what they were saying. Were they criticizing my technique? Were they admiring my incredibly red, sweaty face? Oogling over the piles of yarn I ran around wildy scooping into my bulging bag(s)??

The only comment I got out of the hubby when I finally arrived home was "wow, that must've been some sale."

You think??!!

I am somewhat regretting how crazy I went though, because I spent my yarn budget for at least the next 6 months. What am I going to do with myself?!?! Yarn buying is my de-stresser. When I feel like my eyeballs are going to burst from looking at Excel spreadsheets, I go on over to
Knitpicks or some other life saver and just stare away, plotting what I cannot live without. And now I must LIVE WITHOUT.

Will I make it? The next few months will be a real test.

I have been mysteriously missing for the past few days, no? I have been in a world of work, work, and more work. Work at home, work at work, work on my brain. I was brushing my teeth this morning and suddenly work popped in.

WORK DOES NOT BELONG THERE.

I should be able to brush my teeth in peace. Needless to say, work has been insane. I have help arriving next Monday, but making it till then is questionable. There is sooo damn much on my shoulders right now. And all I really want on my shoulders is a nice tank top and a cool breeze.

This weekend was an awesome break though. Time for cold drinks, yard work, knitting, visiting friends & family, and sleep. Sleep is the cure. all. It makes everything better. When I woke up on Sunday I knew I was feeling great, but only when I learned it was 11:30 did I realize how great life could be. I. slept. till. 11:30. UNINTERRUPTED.

Yesterday was a beautiful day here in the Seattle area. Quite warm (bordering on hot), sunny, and not a cloud in the sky. I made sure to slather myself with sunscreen, but got a shock when I looked in the mirror this morning. You see, I did a fabulous job getting the sunscreen on my arms, chest, shoulders, face. But I seriously neglected my back. Not my whole back however. Just bits and pieces of it. So I have great white streaks all over my back surrounded by bright red. Oh, it's a pretty sight I tell you. So pretty I probably would post a picture of it, if I could figure out how to take a picture of my own back.

All in all it was a good 4th though. Drake loved the fireworks and even stayed awake till the wee hours of the morning to join the others in late night firework lighting. I went to bed with a pillow over my ears while the hubby handled that one. Heh.