Science Content

Because I am trying to be The World's Coolest Mom in the eyes of my quickly-becoming-jaded eldest son, I took him out on a shopping excursion yesterday.

"Shopping? We have to go SHOPPING?" he whined.

"Yes, dear. Because I can't count on The Littles to help me out at the grocery store, and I know how much you like to go shopping for meat..." (my son, the vegetarian)

After a quick trip to the Chinese Market (hey! Where else can you get beef tenderloin for $7/pound?), I headed back for home. Mr. Grouchy was slouched down in Homer's passenger seat, playing with the seat warmers while I cruised slowly past the mall. (oh, did I mention that the car now has a name? Yes, it's Homer... the Odyssey).

"Honey, do you think we should go shopping at the mall, just you and me? Maybe you could look at overpriced jeans, or skateboard-and-skull branded oversized shirts. Or we could just sniff all the pretty smells at the soap store..."

He laughed, "Yeah, I need to stop by Hello Kitty." He was getting the joke. Whew.

But it was not the mall we were heading for after the groceries were bought.

It was Mollie Stone's.

Yes, another grocery store. But this one wasn't for food.

This one was for SCIENCE!

Because yesterday was the day we became Backyard Scientists.



Hello, Dry Ice!!!!!

A bowl of cold water...



A bowl of hot water....


And a weed that didn't have a chance...



And hey, look what you can do when you put dry ice into a deflated balloon and tie it shut.


(you can still see the little white nugget of dry ice inside the balloon. It's floating in a pan of warm water)


Experiments in Carbonation:



That's room temperature lemonade, two identical glasses. One with a little nugget of dry ice (thumb sized) dropped into it (on the right), and one with a large nugget (deck of cards size) dropped into it (on the left).

We then did taste tests. Both were chilled, but the one on the right (little nugget) wasn't AS cold, and it tasted just like lemonade. The one on the left, though, was REALLY cold, and had effervescence. Not big bubbles like soda, but some tingly feeling on the tongue. Really quite fun.

Of course, you can only say "Don't touch, don't touch, don't touch" so many times, before SOMEONE has to say "Well, I wonder if -70C is REALLY all that cold..."


Yeah, kid. You thought licking a flag pole in winter hurt? I'll see if I can take a photo of his blister later today.

We all had to wear 'safety glasses'. For the little ones, that meant sun glasses if they wanted to come outside and watch the experiments.


So, Skip. How am I doing in the Mom Department today?

"Yeah, mom. You really are The Coolest Mom Ever. At least today."

Resistance was futile...

...she wanted to be assimilated.



Classes start for her tomorrow morning.

Why we didn't get an Acadia

When Ken first presented to me a list of cars that he thought might "be a good thing to replace the Pilot with", (which, at the time was like saying "Hey, I think we've got too many sons, and I thought we could maybe replace one of them with a daughter"), one of the potential candidates was an SUV called "The Acadia".

Oh, the critics seemed to give it a lukewarm review, almost damning with faint praise, as it were, but a million years ago, when I'd been a MUSH denizen, I'd had a dashing character, a foreign prince, who sailed into the Mush-land on the 'Good Ship Acadia'. [ed: Er, I just realized that it wasn't the "Acadia", it was the ARCADIA. A lot of difference when one drops the R.] As a result, I'd already decided that I loved the vehicle, based on the name alone.

Yeah. I also am entranced by 'sparkly things'. Sue me.

So Saturday rolls around, and we're on Round Two of the 'search for a new car' quest. (note: Not on a "search for a nissan Quest". The Nissan Quest didn't make it onto the short list. It looked like a breeching whale, and the back end looked like it had been pinched. Not good. Yes. I also judge cars based on what their rear end looks like. Years back, I rejected the Audi AllRoad straight off the block because it had a 'fat butt'.)

Anyways, Round Two. And the first thing I want to see is the GM Acadia.

We head up to the Big Auto Strip, and pull up in front of a sparkly-shiny GM dealer. Ooh. Aah. And there on the podium, light shining down from the heavens, is The Car. Oh. Deluxe! It had it all. Oversized dual skyscape sunroof, the best fuel economy of 8-passenger SUVs, 5-star crash rating, front coil-over-shock suspension, heads-up display... oh!

As I'm walking up to the car that Will Be Mine, I am spotted by Brian, the Sweaty Eager Sales Dude. He aims to head us off at the pass. But that's OK, I just need him to introduce himself and then point me to where I need to sign on the contract. The Acadia, it is calling my name...

But...

But...?

What's this? Brian isn't looking at me.

He's looking PAST me. At Ken. And he walks right past me with his hand out. "Good morning! I'm Brian. How can I help you?"

Ken looks at me, and grins a little evil grin. He holds out his hand "I'm Ken."

I hold out my hand. It's hard to miss. I'm waiting to meet Brian the SESD, and let him know that I'm ready to drive that Glorious Acadia off the lot today.

But Brian has other plans. "So.. Ken... what is it that you're interested in today?"

I can't resist. I step in front of him, my hand held out (still). "...and I'm Kemma. Ken's not really interested in anything, so you probably want to talk to me, as I'm interested in the Acadia."

I have obviously stopped him right in the middle of his schpiel. He grinds to a halt, and looks stunned. He looks at my hand. What is it? Oh, it's a hand. What should I do with it? Oh, maybe she wants me to shake it...

He shakes my hand. It's a pretty limp shake. This is not part of his routine, I guess, because what does he do next?

"So... Ken... your wife seems to like the Acadia. What do you think? Do you see it working for your family?"

Seriously, I thought Ken was going to dissolve into a fit of giggles right there before my eyes. It was all I could do to not pull out the laptop right then and there and start blogging about Brian the SESD's behaviour. But Ken, he is made of sterner stuff, and he pulled it together to say that really, he just wanted to see if our 3 kids would fit in the Acadia, and if the back row would have enough room for Skip, child whose legs grow an inch a month.

No sooner had we gotten the kids into the Acadia, than we were graced with the presence of Brian the SESD's manager. He could smell The Sale in the air, and wanted a piece of the action. Actually, he was probably there to try to bail Brian out of the hole he'd just dug himself into.

Me: We like to take 2 or 3 excursions per year into the back country. What sort of ground clearance does this creature have?

Brian (looking around a bit, as if perhaps he might find a little 'Ground Clearance: x-inches' note stuck to one of the door's surfaces): Oh, you won't find a better ground clearance...

Me: Yes, I'm sure. But what is it?

Brian: Um... Well, it looks like it has probably close to three feet...

Ken desperately tries to turn his explosive guffaw into a coughing fit at this point.

Me: Brian, *I* don't have three feet of ground clearance. Here... a minivan has about five or six inches of clearance. I think our Pilot had close to 9. THAT is a good number.

Brian: Oh, sorry. I think it's somewhere around eighteen, then.

Brian's boss: Oh, you mean GROUND clearance... the Acadia has 8.5.
(note: Actually, it has 7.4)

Brian's boss, continuing: But from listening to you folks, I think you're looking at the wrong vehicle. What you *REALLY* want to be driving is a Hummer....

Did y'all hear that screech on Saturday morning? That was the sound of the earth as it stopped turning on its axis.

Me: No. I do not REALLY want to be driving a Hummer. I am not IN the Hummer demographic, I do not live in a Hummer-friendly neighborhood, and I am not made out of money.

Brian's boss: Oh, you think it's out of your league, but it really isn't.

Me: No, I didn't say that. I am saying that I care more for frugality and conservation.

Brian's boss: Conservation? Well, I can show you studies that PROVE that the Hummer is more environmentally sound than the Toyota Prius.

(um, WHEN did I say I was looking at comparing a Toyota Prius in my short list? I wasn't.)

Ken (who'd been REMARKABLY quiet up until this point): I can show you three thousand Google employees who would disagree with you.

Brian's boss: Surveys don't lie.

Ken: Surveys can be made to say anything you like. I've read the report that you're referring to.

Brian: But Kemma... look at this wonderful feature here. Do you know what a Heads Up display is? Let me explain it to you...

Me: Oh, where it's projected onto the windshield? Nice feature. I don't need it explained.

It was at this point that I finally got a glimpse of the sticker on the Acadia.

Yes. I knew it was at the top end of what they had available.

I just didn't realize HOW top end. Nearly FOURTY-NINE THOUSAND dollars? Um. Not gonna happen, folks. Not even if the sales guy had been Nice and Knowledgeable.

Egads! It was enough to put Skip through AT LEAST a full year of college.

We couldn't get out of there fast enough.

And THAT is why we didn't buy the Acadia. I think there are enough reasons here to last a lifetime.

First Day of School

I'm such a slacker.

I nearly didn't get this shot. We were piling into the car, and I had to go and snag Skip's friend, and Skip's school opened early, because you had to go into the gym to find your homeroom assignments, and yes, I'll admit I was doing a bit of the headless chicken thing, and whoops, while Kelly just has a half-day, Skip will be going the whole day, running through all of the courses, rather than on the usual Wednesday rotation, so he'll need a lunch, and I haven't got two slices of bread to rub together, so what am I going to make him...

We were in the car when I realized that it was the first day of school, so I made them all pile out and go stand on the front lawn.



And here we have a shot of Fasion Sensibilities in a Nutshell.

Nate: I'm a surfer dude, with my flip-flops that I stole from my sister, and a "Big Z" branded surfer shirt to go with my shorts that I don't care at all are hand-me-downs from my brother. Like my spikey hair?

Kelly: I have spent the last week deciding what I will wear today. I have pulled out a number of outfits, and I have chatted with my two BFF's about what they will be wearing, and even though Kate had to move away, and is going to a different school, she promised me that she would wear her chocolate brown knee-length lace-edged tights on the first day of school, so I will too, and Adria is wearing her chocolate brown tights, even though she has a different shirt from me. And this is why, last night at bed time, I had a complete meltdown, on a par with that of any unbalanced hormonal teenager, when I couldn't find my blue-and-brown baby-doll shirt which is the ONLY one that will go with these tights. Yes, you told me NOT to wear it before school, but it's so soft and beautiful and lovely that I had to wear it Just That One Time, and I know that I put it back EXACTLY here, so I wouldn't lose it, but I might have put it there, or maybe even THERE, but I didn't put it THERE, which is where you would have picked it up from if you had taken it to do laundry, so that means that SOMEONE STOLE IT because they want me to spend my first day of school wearing nothing but an UNDERSHIRT. Oh... you hung it up in my closet? Wow. Who looks in a closet for a shirt? Now, where did I put my new Hello Kitty tennis shoes... Oh, and I went through my earrings, and found a pair that go PERFECTLY with this top. Aren't they pretty? And there are hair clips that match!

Skip: No, I will not pick out an *outfit* for the first day of school. *eyeroll* I am NOT like Cole. You know he made his mom spend FIFTY DOLLARS on a pair of jeans that look like something you'd buy at the thrift store for $2.50? Yeah, he wouldn't wear them if he thought they came from a thrift store. And I bet he's going to wear his super special used-up-all-my-allowance hoodie jacket, too. And maybe his completely dorky ball-cap. On sideways, so he looks like an idiot. You know it's gonna be 80 degrees out today? And he says *I* have no fashion sense. Like I care. I probably shouldn't have worn the pants, even. No, I don't care that the pants are too short. I don't see them. They looked fine to me. Do they bug you? Is this Dad's shirt? Um, I don't think so. Yeah, it's big, but I don't think Dad has an orange t-shirt, unless it says "Google" on it. I don't think it's on backwards... lemme check. Nope. Hmm. Actually, there aren't any tags, front OR back. Hey! Is this from the thrift store? Pretty cool. Do I have to have this spray gel in my hair? I can see fine through the fringe...

---

And just like that, the first week of school is done.

Let the record show that I am *NOT* the PTA president, nor did I sign up for any PTA posts. Neither did I succumb to the pleas to become a Room Representative, or serve on the School Site Council.

I do feel rather free.

Interpersonal School Dilemma

Back story:


Last year, Kelly had a little boy in her class, let's call him Tony. I wrote about him a few times. He was the one who, on the first field trip that I drove, taught Nate that "There's an F word, and there's an M word, and you can SAY the M word and not get in trouble but you'll get in trouble if you say the F word, and if you say the M word AND the F word? Then you get in REAL trouble..." Yeah. Great conversationalist. Oh, and his conversation is peppered with "God this" and "Dam that" And trust me, he's no Christian fundamentalist conservator of beavers and their structures, either. He reminds me of Skip's friend Cole, back in the good old days of "I can feel the poo coming out". A little smaller, a little scrawny, a lot mouthy, willing to do crazy things for attention, whether it's good or bad attention.

I know his mother. She works at my favourite grocery store, so I see her quite a bit. She always seems semi-flustered and overwhelmed, so I usually try to say something quick and funny, and mention something good that I saw her son doing at school, should the topic arise, because I was in the class several times a week, and she just can't make it onto campus because of her work schedule.

Now the story:

Last night was Back to School night for Kelly's school. I was working at one of the Volunteer Sign-up tables. I talked to pretty much every parent that came through the doors. Usually there was a bit of a crowd, and sometimes a line-up. I brought Kelly with me, as Toni had volunteered to take Nate and Skip to Kung-Fu, where Cole was having a 'free introductory lesson' (read: 'we will give you a free lesson, and then do the hard-sell to try to get you to sign up for 10 months, or, if we're LUCKY, we'll snag you for the 3-year commitment'). Kelly was having a grand old time, helping out the volunteers, setting up the tables, distributing pens and high-lighters, and meeting her friends, when they'd show up with their parents. She was inside, she was outside, she was showing people where they could find the New Class Lists, so they could see who their new teacher was. She was being an all-around mini-me.

I was so proud.

I saw Tony and his mom come in, and I smiled from across the room and waved at her. I don't think anyone else did. She came over to say hi, and we made a little bit of small talk about how her summer had been. I grinned at Tony, "Have you seen who your teacher is yet?" I asked. He shook his head. I pointed towards the door, "Kelly is outside, and she'll show you where the lists are." And with that he scampered off, and his mom started filling out all his paperwork. Good grief, there's a lot of paperwork.

I lost track of her for a while, and kept signing folks up for various volunteer gigs.

A few minutes later, Tony's mom came back to my table, and stepped behind the table, Tony in tow.

"Tony would like to tell you something," she said in a low voice.

I was helping out a new Kindergarten parent, so I finished up there, and then turned back to Tony.

"He wants to tell you something about Kelly" she re-iterated. "It's important,"

My mom-radar kicked into gear. Was she hurt? Is everything OK?

I smiled at Tony, imagining that either Kelly was hurt, or he was going to confess his deep and undying love for her. He had that sort of look on his face.

He leaned in. "Kelly just said "Thank GAWD that Tony's not in my class!" and then she walked away from me. It hurt my feelings." He batted his lashes, and turned his sad little innocent doe-eyes up to me, looking for all the world like he'd just lost his best friend.

Hmm. Does anyone else see anything wrong with this story? Because I sure did.

I smiled sadly, trying to look very concerned, "Did Kelly actually say THOSE words to you, Tony? This is important."

"Yes. And it hurt my feelings."

"Wow. Those are some strong words. You know, Kelly knows that those words are never said in our house unless we are praying."

His mom cut in, "He just wanted you to know that he was hurt." And she turned Tony around, and walked away.

A few minutes later, Kelly pranced up to the table. "Hi mom. Are you getting lots of volunteers?"

"Honey, Tony and his mom were just here, and he said that you said something cruel to him. Did you and Tony talk at all outside?"

"Yes, mom. He asked about our class, and I said we had the same teacher."

Hmm. So there you have it, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. Not ONLY did I think that the words my daughter were reported to have used were words that she wouldn't use, it turns out that THE KIDS ARE IN THE SAME CLASS.

He's a dirty rotten liar, and I want to kick him.

And now his mom thinks that my daughter is a "Mean Girl" ^tm, and I hate that.

It was all I could do this morning to not go prancing over to her and say "See? They're in the same class. Your lying little scoundrel has pulled another one."

But that would be being petty. I think I'll just key her car the next time I see it.

Nearly Lost in the Noise

I almost forgot, what with all the youth excitement of the weekend, Nate took another step towards becoming the Blond Bruce Lee.



Hello black stripe on the Yellow Tiger belt.

I had taken him to Kung Fu on the way to get groceries for the youth party, and was sitting merrily on the sidelines, knitting on Kelly's SECOND purple knee sock, when the Sihing said "Let's give a big hand for Nate! Congratulations!" And I looked up from my knitting to see Nate standing in his horse stance, getting the stripe on his belt. It was all I could do to drop the knitting, rifle around in my purse, and get the camera out in time to catch this rather blurry shot of his Hi-Ya victory kick.

It seemed awfully soon. Didn't he just get his yellow tiger belt?

So of course, I was completely unprepared yesterday afternoon when Skip got called up to get the stripe on his golden belt. The camera? Sitting here beside the laptop, downloading photos.

Good thing Ken walked in the door just in the nick of time with his camera phone.

Now I just have to figure out how to get photos from that to me.

---

Today is Nate's "Meet the New Teacher" visit.

She's coming to the house.

AAAAGH! The place is still torn up from the youth party on the weekend, AND I've got everything out for Kelly's back-to-school night for tonight, and the Library Volunteer poster is spread across the front table, because I'm setting it up for sign-ups at tonight's event, also.

Oh, and the laundry is breeding by the back door.

Will Nate want to show her his room? I sincerely hope not. It's still a transition-area from when we put the flooring in Skip's room.

Hmm. I've got an hour and 12 minutes. Better start prioritizing.

I'll start by making butter tarts.

---

I have NEVER laughed so hard.

Do you folks watch Top Gear?

I swear, it brings tears to my eyes, it's so freakishly funny.

And I can't remember the last time I was positively GIDDY to discover a show was being brought back for another season. Last week, when I saw the ad on BBC-America that a new season of Top Gear was starting on Monday evening, I went dancing and prancing about the house like some sort of loon.

Last night? The three guys made amphibious cars. I thought I was going to pass out, I was laughing so hard I couldn't bring myself to inhale. I laugh so hard that I weep, and then my nose runs, and I get congested and cough like some smoker, but it's really cathartic, even if it sounds grosser than gross. Ken, when we watch the show, just starts off sitting on the floor because he fell off the couch from laughing the last time we watched it.

Oh good grief. I just discovered that I can watch the clips online.

I... Am. Doomed.

Go here. Go to 'choose video' and scroll down. Watch 'Amphibious cars" parts 1 and 2, and tell me if you aren't just about ready to die from laughing.

I'll wait. I'll be here, fanning myself, as I watch it AGAIN.

The Suite Life...

Saturday, we hosted the Summer Wrap-Up event with the youth group from church.

The youth leader also happens to be my barrista at my local Starbucks, so there is a wonderful synergy that swirls around things.

Things were set to start at 4pm. But the youth leader, who I will call Starbuck... because I can... (and because if I called him "Aaron", then all you would have to do is come to the Bay Area, find a Starbucks - there are only a FEW - find the barrista named Aaron, and then you could stalk me, and that wouldn't be good) said he'd come at 2pm and 'help set things up'. What's to set up for a 'come on over and hang out for 4 hours' sort of youth bash, I thought. But I've been wrong before, so I said "Sure, come on over at 2 and you can 'set up'."

So 2pm rolls around, and finds us nearly ready for guests, except for the fact that the back yard still looks like 4-year-olds live here. (oh, and the grass is brown, and the hedges really need to be trimmed, and honestly, if I was having REAL guests, I really should do something like get some landscaping done, bla bla bla.)

[Oh, and did I mention that at the last minute, I *HAD* to move the furniture all around? Yeah. It's a disease. But goodness, did I find bad dust bunnies hiding behind some of the stuff we moved around!]

But to the entry title...

The doorbell rings, and it's Starbuck and two teenagers that he'd given a ride to. They're here to help Starbuck set up for the party. I introduce myself, and the reply...

"I'm Zack...." and "...and I'm Cody..."

Yeah, yeah, I might have let that one pass, if I hadn't just turned off the Disney Channel, where "The Suite Life of Zack and Cody" was having a marathon.

Me: "No, really. What're your real names?"

They blink. "Um... I'm Cody and he's Zack. Well, Zackary, but..."

I start to laugh. "Whoops. My bad. I thought you were trying to pull one over on me."

And so we started setting up for the party. My suite life with Zack and Cody.

And what was the party?

Why, they'd brought over water balloon launchers, and there was to be a war.

The yard wasn't big enough. We went out into the street, Starbuck and me, and he said "You know, this probably isn't big enough either. I'd be worried about the kids breaking windows..."

WHAT?

So we did a test-shoot off the back yard into the canyon.



Yup. WAY too dangerous to be shooting them down the street. Those things FLEW.

With a bit of practice, we were able to finesse the launchers into over-the-house war machines. I just had to keep my eyes on folks that they didn't aim too low. Fortunately, no windows were harmed in the over-the-house war.

Even Kelly was allowed to join the "Big Kids" for a few shots.

*actually, that shot ended up hitting the side of the house SQUARELY between the computer room window and Skip's window. It was a close one.*

Apparently the water-balloon launchers are a one-man operation. Or that's what they're sold as.

The kids didn't have quite the height or strength to pull it off, but Ken gave the kids a demonstration, vaulting him into "Coolest Dad" category among the high schoolers.


And then we sent a few guys down into the canyon to act as "Targets", and the kids had at it.



There was little success, and then suddenly Skip came up to shoot, and he caught a lucky breeze (the wind HAD been blowing the balloons too far to the right to hit the target boys), and he nailed one of the guys square in the chest.

I took my life in my hands taking this shot. Heh.


Much fun was had by all... even when we sent them all out after the food and said "No more food until you've picked up 20 busted water balloons from the yard and canyon."

Hmm. There may have been a little bit of Guitar Hero action...


And some games.


The game they're playign is called Ubongo. Does it speak to my "Life With A Geek" that I keep calling the game "Ubuntu"?

OK, it wasn't all sweetness and light. One of the boys found the sand at the side of the house where the local cats have been piddling, and decided to swipe some of it on another unsuspecting boy's shirt. That was gross. And then the same boy got into the sugar-laden sodas, had one, and then had a sugar-induced seizure. I've never witnessed a seizure, start to finish. Oh man, that was fun. Apparently, on his medical release form, it says "No sugar." Hey, that would've been good to know ahead of time. Er, and then a basketball went over the fence into the neighbour's yard, and two boys just went launching themselves after it. Hello? Nice to meet you, Mr. Neighbour. Sorry, I should have warned you about the party. And one of the water balloons vaporized on launch, and the breeze took it into the other neighbour's yard, JUST as Mr. Other Neighbour was getting settled on his patio chair with a nice big foofy drink and the Saturday paper. Yeah, that'll teach him to try to enjoy his own yard when there's a youth party going on next door. Whoops.

And while the guys were all hot for the water balloon launchers, the girls were a more delicate breed.

So we got Midnight out, and played with him.


Note to self: Mascara and lipstick!!!!!

So, in conclusion.

No blood was shed.
We didn't run out of food.
The high school senior boys think Skip is cool because of his Uber Guitar Hero Skillz.
The police weren't called.
And we didn't run out of food.


I'd call it a success.

Week of Suck: The recap

Well, I'll be glad to see the end of this week.

Let's recap, shall we?

1. Monday, Kelly gets hit in the head with a rock at school. Yes, it's an accident, and she's a brave little trooper, but... Blood! Yay! Scabs!


2. Tuesday wee hours, Nate wakes up unable to breathe. Oh, I forgot to write about this. Or maybe I was blocking it from my brain. There go two or three hours of sleep while I cradle him in the bathroom next to the shower, hoping the steam will help him get some relief.

3. Skip witnesses (and is nearly a victim of) a horrific accident.
He says he's OK, but I can't help but steal glances at him when he thinks I'm not looking. Is he *really* ok? He saw a very gory and violent scene. When my mind wanders, I still think "What if he'd been standing *there* instead of going *here* when that big car did *that*?" Yeah. Active Imagination: The Dark Side.

4. I got an email from my father in law. The subject line had one word: Cancer. He has colon cancer, a tumor that's too big to operate on right now. Ken and I would feel horrified and defeated, except that Fred Sr. has this incredible attitude of hope and gratitude for his long and pain-free life (so far), that it's contagious. But it still sucks.

5. And the icing on the Cake of Suck? I just went into the bathroom, sat down, and the toilet seat broke off and skidded off the bowl, sending me flying. I oughtta sue! *shakes fist at the toilet*

Oddly enough, I still feel like smiling today.

May you all find something to smile about, too.

Oh say, Can You Hear?

Last night, Skip and Nate and Ken took the Caltrain up to the city, so Skip could run out onto the field at the baseball park (PacBell? ATT? SBC? What's it called now? Who's sponsoring the big sign, anyways?) at 7pm and sing the national anthem before the Giants came out to take on the Rockies (we will not speak of the game's results, you hear?)

While Skip was waiting with the other boys to go out onto the field, one of the Rockies came up to him and gave him a little Baseball Quiz, and then handed him one of the balls they were practicing with.

Woot! I loves me a souvenir.

Anyways, while they were up in the city, I was picking Kelly up from her Kids Choir rehearsal, and then going down to church for Band practice. Kelly had a book, and would read (and try to NOT whack her head and split open the rock-hit wound again - yes, again. Seems that part of her head is what usually lands first when she walks into walls. Who knew?). We pulled into the church parking lot at 6:55, and while the rest of the band members were bringing their gear in, I sat in the drivers seat and knit, and listened to KNBR, waiting for them to announce the Singing of the National Anthem.

that's the cool thing about the radio. On TV, if you watch a professional sports game, you RARELY get to see the anthem. Well, maybe you see more in the indoor games, because I seem to remember seeing a lot of "O Canada", but that was hockey, and maybe the CBC is more nit-picky about playing the anthem for the TV audience to see. But on the radio, they ALWAYS play the anthem.

[Oh, what was I knitting? It wasn't socks! I know, you're flabbergasted. But there's an emergency in the Baby Security Blanket world, and I've gotta put on my super-hero cape, and come to the rescue. Maybe I'll take a picture later... if the rain EVER STOPS this morning.]

So I got to sit in my car, and knit, and shed a few Proud Mom Tears when Skip's group was announced, and the singing began. Oh, they sound just so good to my ear, and Kelly sat beside me and said "You know, I think I can hear Skip, even!" which was very kind of her, but was probably not entirely true.

---

STAR testing at the schools this week. Skip and Kelly are both writing the tests. They love it, because to them (because they're freaks, apparently) tests are FUN! So this is a fun week. And next week (more tests!) will be fun, too.

For me, it's a nice break, as the testing happens during the hour that I would normally be teaching knitting at the Middle School.

Really, if I was going to take FULL advantage of this break, I'd be doing things like CLEANING MY HOUSE in that hour, instead of frittering it away online.

---

Speaking of frittering...

I just spent the last hour trying to bring my littleknits.com online shopping cart contents down to UNDER $200.

I was a little footloose and fancy free as I was tossing stuff INTO the cart, and now I really must show some restraint, seeing as even the richest (and craziest!) knitting person I know really wouldn't buy $500 worth of yarn.

So now my shopping cart is under $200, and I'm trying to justify the contents.

1. This will be a gift for so-and-so.
2. This will be a yarn-gift for the knitting teacher. She'll need some new sock yarn for the summer.
3. This is for a gift that I promised another friend at Christmas. And if I start now, it'll be ready for NEXT Christmas.
4. This is for a KAL (Knit-A-Long) that I want to join.
5. At this price, I *really* should get two of these. I know I'll go through it!
6. Skip wants to take the Textiles Elective track next year, and he'll need this yarn to make his first project.

And so the list goes on....

Really, I should just admit that I have a problem, and move on.

---

I think I mentioned in an earlier entry that Skip has discovered High Jump, and is loving every minute of it.

I think I also mentioned that I'd said that he's not going to be winning any awards, but I love that he's just doing something that he enjoys...

Well, he was practicing yesterday (with the 8th graders), and (so the story goes), he clipped the bar with the back of his trailing foot, after going over, knocking the bar down.

The coach says "Too bad you clipped that. If it had stayed up, you'd have had the 6th grade record"

So....

Today, I'm off to find him some light-weight jumping shoes (good GRIEF. my initial typo was 'humping shoes'.! I'm mortified... but not mortified enough to keep that to myself, apparently).

Today, Ken's asking around at work for Skip. Apparently, on the miscellaneous mail board, folks LIKE to hear 'offbeat questions', and so Ken's going to ask if anyone he works with has ever been a high jumping coach. No telling WHAT Skip might be able to accomplish if he actually had a LESSON or two in high jumping.

Knitting Frogs say...

What does a knitting frog say?

Rip-it... Rip-it

I was working on the light-blue socks. And I was making really good progress on the first sock, too, if I do say so myself. And then, while sitting and waiting in my car for Kelly to be done with school yesterday, I took a good hard look at it. Oh, I should've done THIS, and I should've done THAT, and if I'd been thinking, I would've done thus and so...

Yeah, only a true knitting knit-picker would be saying that stuff.

Oh, sure, it looks great, but the more I looked at it, while sitting in my car in the pick-up line, the more the errors just jumped out at me. And before I could change my mind, I turned into the knitting frog.

Rip it.
Rip it.
Rip it.

I took it all the way down to the ribbing:


Those loose stitches actually look kind of pretty, don't they?

So I took it all down, and then I started again. And I made all the modifications that I had wanted to from the get-go.

And now I'm happier about it.

(can you believe that's the same yarn? That's the difference lighting makes. Hoo boy)

Last night, while waiting for Skip to be done with youth group, I managed to finish the leg, and go about half way through the heel flap.

But I'm fickle. I'm a fickle, fickle girl.

My eye's on the Trekking XXL yarn, now. Maybe I want to have another pair of socks on the needles at the same time...

Ken's off on a fishing trip this weekend. Nate and Kelly have gymnastics, Kelly's got soccer. I promised to take Skip to a brass quintet jazz concert on Saturday. And Skip's got a track meet... there's just oodles of opportunities to put mileage on a new pair of socks. If all the carpooling driving doesn't kill me first.

Decisions, decisions

I'm getting ready to knit my first pair of "Gift Socks". My friend has told me that she's partial to 'periwinkle blue', so on the weekend I went out looking for periwinkle blue sock yarn.

Easy peasy, lemon squeezy, right?

Wrong.


Good Golly, Miss Molly, they've got every shade of clown-stripe sock yarn, and a zillion types of darkish heathery shades, and earth tones galore, but Periwinkle? That's like the holy grail of sock yarn, apparently. After perusing FOUR knitting shops, I came away with the following candidates:


Option #1. Regia Cotton in a shade I'd call more baby-blue than periwinkle. Shade #152, for those of you who like all the information. It'd be great 3-season socks, as the wool content is pretty low.



Option #2. Mountain Colors Bearfoot. This stuff feels pretty much like petting a teddy bear hamster. Lovely and soft, but it's still got the 15% nylon for durability. The 60% superwash wool and 25% mohair aren't hurting anything, either.




Option #3. Socketta, in a lovely non-periwinkle shade that's pale blue, a smidge of pale green and a bit of tan and white. High cotton content again, which I'm loving on. If I don't give these to my friend in this gift-sock incident, I might have to gift myself with them.



Option #4. Trekking XXL. 75% wool, 25% nylon. This, too, has a lovely feel, but not even the pretense of being 'periwinkle'. But I'm really liking the colourway. I think it's a little darker in person than this photo makes it out to be.


Now I just have to decide....

I'd like to cast these puppies on tonight while watching another Danger Man episode.

Gonna Have to Face It...

...I'm addicted to socks.

My lights are on, but I'm not home
My hands... are not my own....
My heart sweats, my body shakes
Another row is what it takes

Whoa, I like to think that I'm immune to the stuff...
Closer to the truth is that I can't get enough...

Oh, you don't like bowdlerized Robert Palmer? How about Salt N Peppa?

Let's talk about socks, to-night
Let's talk about left... and right
Let's talk about all the good yarns
And the bad yarns,
That may fight
Let's talk a-bow-out socks...

After having a fairly good time with the test sock last week, I decided to just jump right in and knit my first pair.

I picked that colour-shift yarn that I bought at Stitches the other weekend.

And then, on Tuesday, with the knitting class all swept up in a Writing Exam for the morning, I had a bit of time on my hands... so I just bit the bullet, and cast on.

I used the 'sock cheat sheet' from the Yarnharlot's book "Knitting Rules!" and decided I'd just knit it stock, not worrying if it's actually gonna fit me. This pair will be the 'pattern' pair, that I examine after they're done, and try to extrapolate from there what I *should* knit from here on in...

I figure, if I'm good, I might have a sock done by Easter.

Ahem

Perhaps, now, if I'm good, I might have a sock done by tomorrow...

They're addictive. What can I say? I spend my time thinking "I should knit just ONE more round, and then go on to do something else." or... "Hey, I've ironed ONE shirt, I should reward myself with a few rounds!" or... "Well, the boys always take books into the bathroom, is it SO silly of me to bring my sock into the potty with me?"

Yeah. Intervention time, right?

This was yesterday afternoon:
Look at how the colour's moving from the green-and-purple, through green-and-yellow to green-and-red, and now I'm back at the yellow again. This is out in the sunshine, on the playground at Kelly's school. She wanted to play with the after-school-care kids, so I just sat out in a sunbeam, and knitted. Drew quite a crowd, too.

Today, I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to Try It On.
le sigh
It's at this point that I curse my size nine-and-a-halfs. If I was a nice petite size five, I'd be nearly finished the sock now.

I'm already seeing things that I would do differently, dimensions that I would change, but there's NO way I could do that without making a pair straight from the pattern first.

But just wait until I break out my hand-dyed sock yarn for the NEXT pair!

Fix My Breasts

The big all-school variety show is coming up this weekend.

Kelly is beside herself with excitement.

She's going to be a mermaid.

For the last 2 months, we've been at weekly rehearsals for the "Mermaid Number", and she's been doing lunch-time rehearsals for the Chorus.

I think I'd written about the Mermaid Costume Follies. Fortunately, after I put together 16 quilted mermaid tail fins, my work was done. I shouldn't have worried. There were plenty of other willing hands to put together the remainder of the costumes.

On Sunday, they had their last rehearsal, turning the street out in front of Julie's house into a big taped-off stage.

And then, once they'd gotten all their moves right, we went inside, for the final fittings of all the mermaid costumes.

They looked DARLING! I'm amazed at how cute everything turned out. But there's just a little bit more to do. The costume consists of this long extravagant mermaid tail, worn over top of a flesh-toned body suit. Sewn to the body suit is a little bandeau of stretch velour in a variety of undersea-costume colors, as a sort of bikini top. The finishing-touch job was to do a bit of hand-sewing to tack the "bikini top" up on the bodice of the body suit, to make it look less like a strip of elastic wrapped around their body.

Kelly was getting her costume on to show Daddy after supper on Sunday, when she looked up at me, and loudly, in a lull in the conversation, announced "Mom, you've got to do SOMETHING to fix my BREASTS"

"what?" I ask, as all the boys stop chewing and look over at her.

"You know, mom. Fix that part that covers the BOOBS."

Say WHAT? I hope you're not using that sort of language around school, honey.

Ohhhhhh, you mean fix your "BRA"? Or the "BODICE" of your suit? Yeah, let's make sure we understand what all those B-words really are, ok, and which ones we might want to use more, and which ones we might want to use *less*.

Here she is, breasts all fixed up fine.

Adventures in Dyeing

Oh man, I'm out of control. Yarn! Dye!


First it was KoolAid dyeing... (did you *KNOW* there's a little second-hand-esque store near me that was selling packages of KoolAid for THREE CENTS EACH? Maybe they were past their expiry date? Does KoolAid expire?) Just mini-skeins, mind you. I wasn't going to go nuts or anything. I was testing out the procedure ahead of time, so I'd be able to help the kids in my Textiles class. That was all. I didn't need ANY more hobbies. And I didn't need ANY more yarn. No. No way. No how.

Anyways, it was WAY more fun dyeing with three-cent Kool-Aid packages, than it would've been with twenty-eight cent packages. The thrifty-voice in me would've been dying while I was dyeing, if that had been the case.

So here's my Kool-Aid dyeing experiments...

Gus, the plastic Golden Hairy scorpion (that Nate bought in Death Valley at the end of September) was sure to get in on the action. I think he liked the Tropical Punch the best, seeing as there wasn't a 'prey coloured' skein.




Then, once I was rolling around in my nice warm-toned Kool-Aid dyeing prowess, it was time to bring out the big guns. At first, I was just dyeing mini-skeins, because that is what I'd be dyeing with the kids in the 7th/8th grade textiles class.


Of course, once I'd done little mini-skeins (butterflies, really), it was time to move up to midi-skeins. Just enough to knit a swatch and go "wow, that's a great colour, why didn't I dye more of that?"

(gotta love this one. Berry blue, overdyed with grape-berry blast. Really, I just sprinkled the grape-berry KoolAid powder over the blue-dyed yarn, and stuck it back in the microwave for another 2 minutes. LOVE this!)







And this was a lovely little experiment with the leftover orange KoolAid from the first experiment, mixed with... um... I think it's the leftovers from the black cherry. Not a lot of dye left in the Black Cherry. I haven't knit this up yet.







And then my Knitpicks order arrived. And with it, a ginormous skein of plush fingering-weight bare yarn. A WHOLE skein. Over FOUR HUNDRED YARDS... what to do? What to do...

Oh! I just realized I never took a picture of the vivid blues and greens and yellows of this once it dried. Truly, this has GOT to be my next project. Just as soon as I finish the fisherman gansey for Ken for Christmas, the three pairs of Fetching fingerless gloves that I've promised as Christmas presents, and the extra boutique knitting that's been ordered since the Boutique Weekend.

Note to self: Photograph the DRY skein of the cool sock yarn that you made. If only for posterity.

44th

It is Cross Country season.

I've been quietly (and not so quietly) nudging Skip in the direction of signing up for the Cross Country team. Hey! It's a sport. He can do it BY HIMSELF, so he doesn't have to worry about idiots on the "team" who have pushy parents, or who have bad sportsmanship, or who belittle other members of the team, bla bla bla. Not that Skip's ever been on teams like that, she says, looking skyward and whistling...

Anyways, Skip's not really much of a team player. He's the Lone Wolf. And finding a sport that works for him isn't all that easy. So when Toni called to say that Cole had signed up for the Cross Country team, I started putting the bug in Skip's ear.

"Hey, your BFF is going to be running cross-country. Wouldn't it be a fun thing to do together?"

"I hear if you're on the cross-country team, you don't have to run so many laps during PE..."

"Hey, that cross-country coach is really a flaming hunka-hunk o' burning manhood..."
(oh right, that was what I said to Toni... never mind)

And Skip seemed mildly keen. At least he didn't dismiss the idea right out of hand.

Every day when he'd come home from school, I'd ask about Cross Country.

"Have you signed up yet?"

"Oh!" he'd say, as he slapped his forehead. "I forgot to sign up. I'll do it tomorrow."

Eventually, I stopped asking. He obviously wasn't as keen on things as I was.

So imagine my surprise when, last Friday, he said "Oh, mom. Don't come and get me at 3 on Monday. Cross Country practice starts, and I'll be running until 4."

The mind boggles. It really does.

Monday rolls around, and I'm one of the proudest mothers on the planet. My son, under his OWN steam, signed up for Cross Country. *preen preen*. I didn't have to go in and be the meddlesome parent and ask to speak with the coach, and hand over Junior's orthopedic shoes, and special vitamins, and request that he put on the sunscreen, and only run in the shade before 4pm.

(yeah, like THAT would happen! If I did that the coach would NEVER be my friend... [see previous entry])

So I snag Nate from his school, and then I snag Kelly from hers, and we go home to wait until 3:45, when we'll drive down to Skip's school, and watch him finish up his first Cross Country practice.

At 3:45, I've just given the kids the one-minute-warning: the "You'd better go potty now, or be prepared to hold it until 4:30" shout, when there's a rustling in the garage.

A mouse?
Nope. Bigger than a mouse.

A rat?
Nope. Bigger than a rat.

And then the garage door (into the house) bursts open, and Skip is standing there, face flushed, sweaty, and out of breath. He's carrying his trumpet, and has the 89-pound backpack on his back.

So much for Cross Country, I think.

"Mom!" he moaned, looking completely forlorn and bedraggled, " I forgot! I walked home, and I got to the [regional cross country track - which is right across the street from us, basically] and saw the high-schoolers running, and then I realized that it was practice, and I missed it!"

He slumped down on the floor beside my computer, and looked miserable.

It was now too late to go back and get in on the practice. What to do?

I quickly emailed off an apology to the coach (only a little teeny bit of the meddlesome parent coming to the forefront), and asked if Skip would still be welcome at the second practice (which was Tuesday - they practice every day after school). And then I told Skip that I was really quite impressed that he'd managed to walk ALL the way home from middle school WITH a full backpack and trumpet, and had managed to do it in under an hour. It's probably two miles. Maybe more. And it's ALL uphill. And then I gave Skip a big Gatorade, and some palmiers, to drown his sorrows.

The coach emailed me back in the evening. Of COURSE Skip was still welcome on the team. "Runners seem difficult to come by, and we take ANY and ALL, whenever they can show up!"

So Tuesday, just in case, after I'd picked up Nate and Kelly, I took them down to the Middle School, where we hung out after the final bell, just to cut Skip off at the pass, should we need to.

It was unnecessary. He came charging out of the boys' locker room in his full school garb, ready to take on the world. And he was smiling.

Yup. He was on the team.

---

Yesterday was the first Cross Country meet of the season for Middle School.

Skip went into it having had a SINGLE practice (which consisted of running around the neighbourhood near the school, and out into the open space by the lake. Nothing that really prepared him for the actual race. But hey! You've gotta get your feet wet sometime.

At first, there was just a lot of milling around, waiting to see what was going to happen.

Then the older kids ran, with Skip and his buddy Cole cheering them on.


Then it was time for the 6th Grade Boys to line up.

Aaaaaaand, they're OFF!

Once around the track, then out into the wilds surrounding the school...

Looping around up in the school grounds, and finally back onto the main field, for one last trip around the track before heading to the finish line...



He was not happy how he finished, but I couldn't be more pleased.

He FINISHED THE RACE!

I don't care that he came in 44th. This was his first time EVER running ANYWHERE, and he actually RAN the whole thing.

His buddy Cole, hopped up on some honey-and-caffeine creation, left him in the dust and came in somewhere in the 30s. I swear, that kid has boundless energy. A bee-bee tossed from a slingshot couldn't have caught up to him. (or bounced off of obstacles with quite as much vigor, either). As I was waiting for Skip to finish, I heard Cole's dad reading Cole the riot act about Good Sportsmanship and How You Better Not Gloat Around Skip If You EVER Want To Play X-Box Again. Heh.

As I was walking away from the field with Skip, I put my arm around his shoulder, and told him that I nearly burst with pride, watching him finish that race, and that I was so proud, and how this is a GREAT way to start the season. He's got his own personal "best" time, now, and he's gonna have a great time watching himself beat that time. And next time, if he comes in 39th, he'll have made such a huge improvement, I might just bust a gasket right there from all the pride overload.

He still was feeling a bit down. Fortunately one of his mentors from his Boys Chorus was running in the 8th grade event. That boy finished 2nd. Skip really looks up to him. And while I was walking back to the car, I saw Marco pull Skip aside and say something to him. Whatever it was, by the time Skip got in the car, he was grinning like a fool, and he even joked on the way to rehearsal (yes, it was a full day yesterday! and hard on the sinuses, driving 2 pre-teen boys who'd just run 2-mile cross country races... 'open a window!"), and left the car with a smile on his face, and a spring in his step. Maybe it was the endorphins kicking in, but it's been a long time since he's really been enthusiastic about singing practice.

I think this is the start of something great.

I just hope he doesn't think he's gonna be taking ME with him on the 2-mile runs he has to take over the weekend. I'm here for encouragement and cheering. NOT as a running buddy.

At least, not yet.

Ten True Things

I blatantly stole this from Finn. She's my hero.

1. Tomorrow is Talk Like A Pirate Day. Get out your eye patches and swashbuckling garb, to help you stay in character. Arrrrrrr.

2. I'm in Too Much To Write About mode. It renders me helpless. Sort of like how I'm standing in the middle of my house (which looks like a bomb went off in it) and thinking "I should clean, but I don't know where to start." If only there were a "Ten True Things" for housecleaning.

3. We leave on Saturday morning for one last camping trip at the Boat Club. More photographic evidence of the kids enjoying the water should ensue.

4. My inlaws arrive SUNDAY AFTERNOON. Did I mention that we're CAMPING on Saturday? At a place that is FAR AWAY from our house? And cf. point #2 up there, too. I am in deep poo. Up to my eyebrows, and maybe beyond.

5. I love the ring tone on my cell phone. It's one of those old-style telephones from the 40s. It rings like I remember my grandparents phone ringing (except theirs was a party line, so you had to listen to whether it was one ring, or two quick rings in succession, before you picked it up.) I like it because nobody else has one of those "Who's got the ancient telephone?" rings, so I always know it's mine.

6. Death Valley looms on the horizon. My inlaws are arriving so that we can all go down to Death Valley for the end of next week. Pulling the kids out of school, driving like maniacs, and crossing our fingers that it's not 119F (where F stands for Freakin' Farenheit Furnace) degrees when we get there.

7. Obligations expand to fit the free time of my life. I sent Nate off to school two weeks ago. Didn't I? By normal calculations, that gives me 3.5 extra hours of "Free" time every week day. So why does my house look WORSE than before the end of summer, when I had three kids charging through the place, dropping little bits and bobs that were like land-mines for the tender insteps of my bare feet, and eating sticky things on the furniture? I'm embarrassed to even let the kids have play dates, it's so untidy. And you'll notice a distinct lack of entries, here, too. yes, all that "free time" (cough) should've given me plenty of opportunities to update the old diary. Not happening. I need a personal manager. Someone to answer the phones for me and say "NO, I'm sorry. Mrs. Parker canNOT tutor yet another child who is behind in reading." and "No, I'm sorry. Mrs. Parker canNOT cover another shift in the library." and "No, I'm sorry, Mrs. Parker canNOT teach one afternoon a week, even if she is allowed to bring her youngest, who only has school in the mornings." You get the idea.

8. Skip has positively blossomed since hitting Middle School. He is excited about school (90% of the time, as opposed to Absolute Zero percent of the time in 5th Grade). There are still some rough patches, of course. I just hope the rough patches get smaller rather than larger.

8a. Skip's teacher emailed me. She loved my Million Word Essay. I need to email her back and ask if I got an "A".

9. I have returned to obsessively tracking a box full of yarn that is being shipped to me. Inside? The yarn for my very first "knit-along". I'll be knitting THIS. I kind of have butterflies, as it's a bit ambitious. At least for me. But I'm hoping that the 'cloud of witness' who are also knitting along will keep me on task, so that I can have this as a finished object sooner, rather than later.

10. I gained back a few of the pounds lost in last season's Healthy Living Fest. I blame it on the Unhealthy Eating Fest that consumed (pun intended) the last four weeks. I am back on the wagon, even though there is two pounds of guacamole sitting in my fridge, calling my name.

Eleventh True Thing: This entry contains no photographic content. It's been a while.

Socks on Steroids...

Ah, the Harlotty goodness that was yesterday...

I managed to navigate my way to Full Thread Ahead without incident, and actually got there before the doors opened at 2:00. There were only about 15 people in front of me in line, too, which was a big surprise for me.

I thought I'd be braving the crushing mobs...

I guess knitters can be laid back if they want to be.

Got into the store, and got my book-signing ticket. Woot! I was in the first wave (you were assigned a wave, for which half-hour slot, post-Harlot-chat, you were to line up to have your book signed. Very civilized, I thought. And quite convenient, as I'd sort of told Ken and the kids at noon that I was "...just going to pop down to Los Altos and have an author sign a book that I was reading..." which was already pushing the bounds of their Toleration for Knitting Addiction, and the thought that I might have to phone and say "Well, the Yarn Harlot is speaking at 5:30, and then I won't be able to have my book signed until after 8:00" might have been more than their non-yarn-addled brains could process.)

So then I was floating around the yarn store with a bunch of time to kill, and good golly, WHAT to do with my time....

*whistles*
*looks around innocently*

OK. Three words: Alpaca. Silk. Soy.
(and if you think that translates into only 3 skeins...? Ha!)

I checked my watch as I was cashing out (and picking up the Yarn Harlot's latest book) and I realized that I'd need to move my car (two hour parking slots on the street. Who's idea was that? tsk tsk), so after a quick trip back to the Pilot to unload my new stash, I was off on a little tour to find a 3-hour slot. Under the blazing sun, I actually found a spot that was not only shaded, but was spitting distance from where they were setting up the chairs for the afternoon's talk. So while I watched folks set up rows and rows and ROWS of chairs under the hot-hot sun, I sat in the cool of my car, and organized my knitting bag.

Again.

What if I was sitting there, knitting my own business during the chat, and suddenly the Yarn Harlot was beset by mosquitos? I better keep my Off Deep Woods wipes in the bag. Then I could swoop in to SAVE THE DAY....

What if I'm sitting there, knitting my own business during the chat, and suddenly the Yarn Harlot breaks a dpn while she's knitting at the front? I better keep all those stray double point needles in the side pocket of the bag... just in case...

What if I'm sitting there, knitting my own business, and someone makes a comment about Handmaiden Sea Silk? I'd better keep my sea-silk shawl in my knitting bag, so I could pull it out, and let them sniff the wonderful sea-side smells of the yarn...

And so, as I tried to whittle down my 40-pound knitting bag, I was thwarted at every turn. Of course, it was a given that I'd keep three extra sets of batteries in the side pocket. It would be an ABSOLUTE tragedy if I got up to my turn to hold the Travelling Sock, only to have my camera die an unnatural death...

So it was with GREAT difficulty that I only managed to kick 8 skeins of yarn out of my knitting bag before I re-applied the lipstick (gotta look great for the crowd shot that I knew she'd be taking from the podium), and stepped out to prowl the venue and try to get the Best Possible Seat.

Did I mention that the sun was beating down? And that it was still two FULL hours before the talk would begin?

But we knitters, we are made of sterner stuff. This was T-minus 2 hours, and already nearly half the seats are filled. And that doesn't count the first FOUR rows, which were reserved, but for who knows who. I wonder who you had to know to sit in those posh four rows... I could've gotten some GREAT shots if I'd been sitting up there.


And yes, we are all knitting. And many of us (younger) knitters (and I use the term 'younger' with impunity, as I'm lumping myself in that group, when, really, I'm probably past the mid-point, age-wise) had "Hi! My Blog is..." nametags on so we could all find each other's KNITTING blogs.

(good grief! Note to self: Smile more.)
And yes, you'll notice I wore the "look at me! Look at me!" bright red "Canada" shirt. Bold and needy. That's me.

And everyone.... I mean EVERYONE was knitting one of two things: gigantic lace projects out of spider-web silk, or socks.


And if they weren't knitting those things, they were wearing them...


And I suddenly felt VERY out of place. I had no sock. I had no lace.

But I had a DIAPER SOAKER! And it looks VERY much like a sock. An extremely large sock. On steroids.

So I pulled out that soaker, and I started knitting on it, and people started giving me That Look. You know the one. The one that starts off all nice and interested, and quickly shifts through shock straight to pity. It took me back to my days in the hospital immediately after giving birth to Nate, where these new moms would come shuffling down the hallways, proudly pushing their little 5 and 6-pound sweeties, wincing about how difficult the birth had been, bla bla bla, yadda yadda, and then they'd see me standing there with twelve-and-a-half pound Nate, "yes, he came out the natural way, no I was not diabetic, and no, he wasn't overdue" standing there, and I'd get that same look. The "oh, we have something in common... no wait a minute... that thing is HUGE... oh, you poor dear, what did you do *wrong*?" look. Like I hadn't swatched him before I went into labour...

And we sat. And we knit. And the sun beat down all around, all around, and the sun beat down all around.

I think by the time 5:30 rolled around, I was a little puddle. But we were all jazzed when someone peeked out of the balcony above the shop.


And then, after some games and give-aways... (oh put me out of my misery. I won't be winning 'who's wearing their own Potamous socks [the designer was in the audience], or 'who's got the most stitches on their needle' [gotta be finishing a lace shawl to be in the running for that], or 'who's using the most unusual thing as a stitch marker' [stitch markers? What are these 'stitch markers'?]. So just bring on the Harlot, and let us laugh, already!) she came down stairs and the fun began.

First, she had to take a picture of the 400 of us, with her sock in the foreground...


And then she started talking, and really, it was like having her read her blog out loud. She writes just like she talks (or vice versa), and she talks JUST LIKE ME.

Well, ok, she talks just like I used to... before California swept much of my beloved accent out of my speech patterns.


And the sun went down, and all of us who'd been sweating up a storm while sitting in the hot-hot sun, suddenly were shivering with our teeth chattering. And the people who had been knitting on the big bulky projects that I'd been laughing at while the sun was out, suddenly looked nice and toasty warm under their giant mohair lace projects, and I was jealous.

After making us all laugh until we cried, she then retired into the store to sign books.

(for those of you who read her, the closest thing to me is the Dale of Norway sweater that she knit for the knitting olympics, and the next thing (all autumny coloured) is an Icarus shawl that she just finished before coming on this latest tour. I think the designer lived in Utah, and she had to have it to show her). And she's the NICEST person close up. She was even knitting a few stitches on folks' socks if they handed them over. Now THAT would be something....

And then it was MY turn, and I got all nervous and mile-a-minute talking, because I didn't want to take up any of her time, and I knew there were 388 people behind me in line, and I just started rambling, and in my attempt to NOT take up her time, I'm sure I just took up WAY too much time, and probably looked all nervous-stalkerish, and stuff. And I couldn't look at her while I was taking my diaper soaker out of my knitting bag, because I wanted to take a picture of the Petite Ballerina Sock beside the Oafish Sumo Wrestler Sock...

But I still heard her GASP, with a "What the..." as she saw the size of what one would ASSUME would be a sock, and it was all I could do to not say "Why yes, my husband has VERY large.... feet." but instead, I assured her that I wasn't a complete failure in the gauge department, and it was actually a diaper soaker, and not a sock, and I didn't have to let on that I'd never turned a heel in my life, and was afraid to, and that's why I had this, and not a beautiful little petite jaywalker sock to share with her.

(and could I have planned it any better? It's almost like they MATCH!)

And then the store owner took my camera from me, because, in her words "I'm a control freak, and I don't let ANYONE else take pictures here, because I want your picture to be perfect"

I think it's important that I frame my "perfect" picture with the Yarn Harlot. Perhaps with my double chin cropped out.


The sock inspires me.

Harlotty Anticipation

Gracious.

I have spent the entire morning flitting around like a moth.

Ooh! Sparkly things.
Ooh. Take a dish out of the dishwasher.
Ooh. Put more laundry in the washer.

OoH! Change into the Marc Teatro "Canada" t-shirt, so that the yarnharlot might notice me at her book signing this afternoon.

ooh! Is that too much? Maybe I should go with the plain turquoise shirt and white cardigan....

Ooh. Wander around and pick up random pieces of should-be-recycled paper, and put them back down again.

Ooh! Gardeners are here. Quickly run out to dismantle the tent that's been airing out in the backyard.

Check watch. Is it time to go line up to hear/see the yarn harlot yet? (She's speaking at Full Thread Ahead in Los Altos this afternoon, and I've had my RSVP in since about 3 minutes after the notice went up on their web site this spring.) Oh man, it is! It's time! And I've not started a sock! Tragedy, truly. I guess the half-finished diaper soaker will have to do, and I'll claim that I'm Achillephobic (afraid of turning heels), and hope that she takes pity on me and still lets me take my picture with the travelling sock. Ooh. Or maybe I'll throw the half-finished Sea-Silk shawl into the knitting bag, and sit in the back row and inhale its surfy goodness.

Knitting bag. Check.
Knitting projects, comma, seven. Check. (You can never have too many things on the go. And besides, the line-up to have her sign my book might be long. I might actually finish something, and wouldn't it be awful if I didn't have anything else to work on while I waited?)
Pen (for her to sign my book). Check.

Book....

Oh crap. I knew I forgot something.
Better jet off now and go buy her book. Wouldn't I look like a fool, eh?