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?

Last day of Art Camp. Company Picnic.

Skip and Kelly had their last day of Fine Art Camp last Friday. I dropped them off (on time! Go me!), and then went on a cleaning/packing bender.

All the rooms are company-ready. Last of the laundry's done. And put away! All the bags are packed. I know I've forgotten something. Probably many somethings (in retrospect, I can now say that list included - but is in no way limited to - my deodorant, rechargeable batteries, Ken's socks, a warm shirt for me, and Skip's swim trunks). I took out trash that I've been meaning to take out for ages. I cleaned the neighbour's kitchen under the bird cage, even.

At noon I dropped by Fine Art Camp to snag Skip and Kelly a little bit early. New Hip Company's Family Picnic started at 12, and it was only going until 4. I wanted the kids to have as much of the experience as they could have (not to mention that I didn't want to miss out on the great food, and any other adult goodies that might be coming my way).

We were a little tight for time (only because I'd made it so - I'm sure the kids didn't really worry whether they were an hour or two late for the NHC picnic), so I was thinking that it'd be a bit of a smash-n-grab for getting the kids at camp. I showed up, the teachers having been warned that I'd be an hour early (and they were OK with it, even though that last hour was going to be spent in rehearsals for Skip's drama and Kelly's dance, which would be happening that evening at the Big Show), to discover that Skip had been transformed.



Yikes. And that makeup was HARD to get off. I tried wet paper towels (their first suggestion), then moved to some dish soap that was handy, adn finally had to leave the place with a fist-full of baby wipes. Not only had Skip completely transformed his head and neck, he'd also completely made up his left arm.

We went straight to the New Hip Company picnic. They'd taken over a local outdoor concert venue, and had made the place up as Alice in Wonderland.

So Kelly (still in stage makeup, though not nearly as radical as Skip's), got to meet Alice...


...and the Mad Hatter...


...and the King and Queen of Hearts...



...while Skip went up and down a climbing wall to his heart's content.


...and I ate to my heart's content. There are no photos of THAT spectacle...

---

On the way home from that party, Ken and Skip took a detour (we divided up the kids so we both could take advantage of the HOV lanes) past some geek-gadget place, because he'd found the Ultimate Deal on some GPS system, and thought it'd be fun to have on our trip (which, at that point, was beginning in less than 12 hours).

I took the Wees home, and gave them a bit of supper, and found the clothes that Skip would need for his role in the evening's production, and then we met up again at the Fine Arts Camp, for the Grand Finale Show.

Wouldn't you know it, my batteries died. Stone cold dead, the minute after I took the first picture of Skip in the back of the crowd during the drumming number. It was like a kid's version of Stomp. Not bad for a week's worth of instruction.

I was so bummed about the battery thing, though. Kelly was the cutest little pirate you've ever seen, and I have no record of it. And Skip was a sea monster, in a most creatively constructed costume. The instructors there are all geniuses. I swear.

Anyways, we beatled out of there as fast as we could, and got the kids home and into bed in their Travelling Clothes. Tomorrow would be an early day, and I wanted them to get as much rest as they could.

If only I'd taken my own advice.

I was packed, and ready, even. WHY did I think that doing some knitting (to relax me?) while watching "Psych" and taking out more garbage and putzing around in the house doing "last minute things" until 11 was a good idea?????

Anyone? Anyone?
Buehler...? Buehler...?

Oh well. At least I didn't have to worry about where the passports and birth certificates were.

I crashed around 11, making sure (for about a dozen times) that my cell phone's alarm was set to go off at 3:45am.

Because I'm crazy like that.

Doesn't EVERYONE start their vacation at 3am?

26/52 ABC *P*

P is for...



PIRATE


And not just any pirate.

That's Dread Pirate Skippy... er, I mean Roberts.

My New Boyfriend

So, on a complete lark this morning, I decided to take the kids up to The City.

I'd read in a diarist that I'd found on the front page that there was some "event" happening up at City Hall at noon, and it sounded like a fun thing to peek in on. I had no idea what exactly was up, but I thought it couldn't hurt.

So at 10:30 I piled the kids into the car (up until that point, Ken and I had been talking - he was working from home this morning - and I'd said I'd take the kids to Bair Island to get them out of his hair) stuck some sand toys into the Pilot (in case we ended up heading out to the beach afterwards), and zipped up to the city.

The main thought, though, was to take the kids to this play park that Nate had found back in June when we were waiting for Skip to finish rehearsing with the symphony. It's this cool dome thing made out of rope. And we got some good play time in on it:






But our first order of business (after finding a completly ROCKIN' free parking space) was to head down to City Hall.



We walked around, and had a little civics lesson from some toothless crazy-lady, on how Lincoln's Spirit lives in this statue (because LOOK at his eyes, they follow you!) and keeps San Francisco free of slavery, or something, while I was taking this photo:


And then the kids started getting whiny, and antsy, and there really was no sign of this 'special event' that I'd read about (only cursorily, alas) in this diary that had been up on the OD front page for a nanosecond, so I was thinking that I probably dreamed it, and it was probably all for the best, because the last thing someone needs is to write about some good work that they're doing, and then have some crazy-lady OD-stalker show up going "I read about this in your Online Diary, and now I'm stalking you. Here, meet my kids."

So then there was the spectre of walking around the ENTIRE huge City Hall again, and curiousity got the better of me.

I wonder if we could just CUT THROUGH the building....

Nate was whining so loud, I thought someone was going to call security.

"I don't want to."
"My legs hurt."
"I don't want to climb the stairs."
"My arm is tired."

The list goes on and on.

But I peeked in the door, and there was this crowd of people going through this one metal detector, and a security guard sitting at a second detector all alone.

He waved at me, and called me over.

"Um..." I started, all idiot-like, "Are we allowed to be in here?" I asked.

And while he was answering, he was waving Skip, Kelly, and Nate through the metal detector, and handing me back my purse, "Not only can you come in, you're welcome to take pictures, too!" he exclaimed.

I guess they deal with more ignoramus-esque tourists than me. Perhaps on a daily basis. So kind. So knowledgeable.

And before I knew it, we were inside the cool marble halls, and the kids were running on ahead.

Children were singing in the distance. We followed the sounds.

And entered the rotunda, where the sound rolled around, and echoed, and was superb. Angelic.

There was some special event, for sure. It was INSIDE. Who knew? I'd been looking outside for it.

I looked around. There were two rows of chairs laid out in a circle, and the stairs going up to the upper floors seemed to be acting like a stage. I think it was some African-American heritage thing, involving children. Kelly pulled on my sleeve. "Mom," she whispered, a grin on her face "everyone's black except us!"

I looked around. She was mostly right. But there was one other guy who wasn't black. I tried not to look lost, and when he looked over, I gave him a nice "do you feel as conspicuous as I do?" sheepish grin.

And then the woman who was emcee-ing the event said "And now, ladies and gentlemen, our Mayor, Gavin Newsom!" and the applause burst out, and the guy that I was grinning at stepped up to the mike.

Ok, dumb bunny? That's me.

I'm just glad I didn't say something like "Are you Canadian? Because you look REALLY familiar!"

But you know, he's really quite a hot property in person.

Ladies and Gentlemen, my new boyfriend, Mayor Gavin Newsom.

(please excuse the crappy photo. No flash and a teeny lens on the camera)

Running the Brown Trail

No, this is not a potty entry, if that's what you're thinking. Just get that out of your head.

This summer, while Skip is home (when he's not at camp, or on tour), he's "earning" his computer time. Time spent reading garners him computer minutes one-to-one. Time spent actually concentrating at piano practicing garners him computer minutes at 3-to-one.

And time running the brown trail (a path through the wild canyon space behind the house - aka Mountain Lion Territory) gets him two-to-one computer minutes.

Whether he wants to or not, I've been making him run the trail at least once a day. I think he's got great potential as a cross country runner, and why not get him in shape for the Middle School Cross Country tryouts in August?

And besides, it gets him out in the sun, it gets him active, and it puts him just one step ahead of the "I spent my ENTIRE summer sitting in front of a computer/video-game/tv" crowd, right?

I just realized the other day (Um, Saturday morning? Or maybe Sunday? The previous Sunday? Yeah... that's it. Golly, that time just flew past), that he can completely leave me in the dust. I was walking the Brown Trail with him, and he was all pouty that I was walking too fast, and the wind was blowing and making him cold, and this was no fun at all, and so borrrrrrrr-eeeeng, so I suggested that he run. "Look. You can run away from the wind, thus avoiding the chilling breeze, you'll be firing up your internal furnace to warm you, you'll get done in a fraction of the time it'll take to walk, so it'll go faster, and you'll be less bored, and you might even pass me, so you won't have to worry about me setting a pace that's too speedy."

Suddenly, he was off, and I was off chasing him. I kept him in my sights for about a quarter of the trail, and then I had to stop. Good grief, if I hadn't, they'd probably find my cold hard corpse lying prone in his dust. Yes, I am not in the same shape I was when I was a middle-distance runner in Junior High. *thinks back*... 29 years ago...

So I'm sending him out to run the trail by himself.

And then I'm having him 'babysit' Nate, while I run the trail by myself.

My goal is to be able to run the whole thing by the end of the summer. And if I lost a bit of weight? That'd just be icing on the cake... which will be made with applesauce instead of oil, and will have fat-free, sugar-free frosting.

Yesterday was my first "serious" attempt.

I ran a bit, walked a bit, jogged a bit, panted-like-a-winded-old-geezer a bit, and made it home in 12 minutes and 12 seconds.

Today, I took another stab at the trail. A bit more running. A bit more "ouch! What are these shooting pains in my shins?" thoughts. A bit less panting, and I hope a bit less wheezing.

I surprised 5 bunnies. Two adults, and three babies, at different points on the trail. What a hoot. Next time, I hope I stumble (well, not REALLY stumble) onto some quail.

And when I got home, and stopped the stopwatch, I'd shaved nearly a full minute off my time.

11:17.

I know that Skip can do the thing in just under 10 minutes. Probably even LESS if he really put his mind to it.

I've got a ways to go, but I'm on the right track.

Once I get under 10 minutes, I'm gonna take a camera on the run, and take y'all along for the ride.

26/52 ABC *I*

26/52 ABC *I*

5/2/2006

I was wracking my brain, until I realized that I'd blotted out a big giant part of my past.

What was I doing back in 1987?

Why, I was an entomologist. Sheesh. There should be INSECT photos galore... somewhere...

Until then, we will subsist on the more recent fare.

INSECTS!!!!!


One of the zillion ladybug beetles that we came across in the mountains above Death Valley.




And YUM! Look at the size of that praying mantis that was waiting on the door of our cabin.


And yes, ants are INSECTS, too, but I think I've got MORE than enough photos of ants in my diary, don't you?

So instead, a little bit of the OTHER social INSECT scourge...

TERMITES!

And a double bonus, because their order is ISOPTERA! Another I-word.

26/52 ABC *H*

26/52 ABC *H*

5/1/2006

I'm a little behind.

But here's what I came across in my last few weeks of photos.

H is for...



HAMSTER. (hmm. I hope I didn't use this shot for G is for Gentle)

H is for...



HARNESS. Yes, that's me (a bit blurry. Sorry.) in the HELMET, too. This was one of the activities that was available on the Women's Retreat that I went away on this last weekend. I am getting ready to go HIGH in the trees.

Seee?


That's Toni, HANGING in HER HARNESS.

Oh right!

H is also for...

HIDING (because what better place to HIDE an orange Easter Egg than on the Resurrection Orb...aka leftover Halloween pumpkin)


And here are the mighty HUNTERS


OH, and because I seem to be in photo-overload mode, here's one last shot

HIDING with HER HOMEWORK