Christmas Eve in Photos

We had a big dinner at Ken and Toni's house.  I love going OUT to a family dinner, and not really being responsible for the Kitchen Bits.

But we brought lots of food, anyways.

A few hours before we were scheduled to be eating, I suddenly got this wild hair that I should bring rolls.  And not just any rolls.  The Spectacular Rolls from Pioneer Woman.  They were 'no kneading required', and seemed to fit the bill, especially as it looked like you could make the entire thing and just dirty a single stock-pot on the stove.

Deal me in.

There was only one moment of crisis when I thought I'd run out of flour, and another moment of crisis when I nearly ran out of sugar, but otherwise, things went off without a hitch.

And then, as the Pioneer Woman would say "The punks got involved..."

The rolls are composed of three little walnut-sized balls of dough, put together into a muffin pan.  Within minutes of me getting my hands dirty, I had two helpers, rolling the dough-balls.
    

And once things had been explained, Kelly took over...

"Here, Nate, this is how you make the buns..."


And then I didn't even have to get my hands dirty, as they quickly figured out how big a walnut was, and could pinch their own dough balls without help.

I love being a supervisor..


But all was interrupted when the FedEx truck pulled up.

Ooh!  Aah!  A foodie gift from one of Ken's brothers.


And the best part about getting a big, exotic gift?  Why, when you're a kid, it's ALL about the box.

---

But before you knew it, it was time to get dressed and go over to Toni and Ken's for Christmas Eve dinner.

Oh, my children have the BEST table manners...



Uh oh.  Whatever stung Kelly seems to have infected ALL the children...


Hmmm, and Nate even grew a set of antennae.


They had an advent wreath, and Nate was allowed to make fire!  We didn't burn down their house, so I consider it a success.

And then it was time to sing for the Birthday Boy


and exchange presents.

But by this point, I was getting a bit antsy, because just before we'd left to go out for dinner, our pastor had called to ask if I'd mind if he switched up the Midnight Service a bit... he'd heard that we had the piano music for the Peanuts Christmas Special, and wondered if I could do that "Christmas Time is Here..." song, and if I could do it  more jazzy and subdued, and suitable for candles and low-light, and clubby. 

Um, yeah, I'll get right on that.

So i really wanted to get home to practice the piano.

It was like herding cats, but I finally got us out the door by 8:30.  We came home, and gave the kids their Christmas Jammies.


And while Ken put the kids to bed (where they'd hopefully sleep for a little bit, and then he'd wake them up to take them to church for 11pm), I sweated it out on the piano for an hour before heading off to church to practice there.

I shouldn't have worried.  People talked through much of it, and really, they were probably more taken with the candles, and the lights...

This was the stage.  I'm just off to the left on the piano.


The perfect ending:

The Christmas Story. Retold by Nate.

This year, I was caught in a weak moment and bought yet another Nativity Set.  My logic was that Nate has no 'decorations' in his room, and maybe if he was in charge of decorating, he might be more inclined to keep his room a bit tidy.

So, once home, Nate and I cleaned up his room, and made a big space on the top of his dresser where he could set up the Nativity Scene, and act out the story as many times as he wants.

Here we have the Holy Family, so happy and rosy-cheeked:


But what's this?

The Wise Men seem to be wiser than we think.  Ahead of their time, one might even say...



Yes, they're arriving on ATV's.

But wait.  There's more.


And there were in the same country, shepherds, abiding in the fields...



...keeping watch over their scorpions by night...

This Nativity Set seems to have a bit of a lack.  There is no angel.  But Nate improvised.  I will spare you the photo of Ned Flanders standing up on top of the clock radio.  When you push the button on his back, he says "There's always room for one more Flanders", but, as Nate says, "That's just another way of saying  'Fear Not!'"

4000 Words

If a picture paints a thousand words, here's a 4000 word story from Skip:

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2:00pm



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3:00pm



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3:10pm



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3:15pm



And here's more words:  He's not stopped grinning like a complete LOON since I cut it all off.  He keeps thinking of people that he can't wait to *surprise* with his new hair.  And I wish I'd taken the camera to Kung Fu right after this haircut.  The looks?  Hilarious!  People were doing MAJOR double-takes.  And a couple of the parents even stood and applauded when they realized who he was.  He's completely JAZZED about the cut.  And the hair gets mailed off to "A Million Inches" tomorrow.  It's not quite long enough for Locks of Love (wigs for kids with alopecia), but *IS* long enough for Million Inches (wigs for women who lose their hair from cancer-chemo)

Merry Christmas. From Nate

OK, so here goes with my first attempt at being part of the YouTube generation.

I really need some video editing software.  I guess I should go see if anything came with my camera...

This was Sunday.

Merry Christmas, from Nate, and his family, especially his mother, who never got around to writing a Christmas letter,

Feed the Fountain, Move the Mountains

Nate's going to be performing in the Christmas Pageant of the Church associated with his School on Sunday. If I were a good mother, I'd be working with him on all the memory work that they'll be doing. But I am not. I'm throwing him to the wolves, and hoping that he's got a memory like his brother and sister.

But that doesn't mean that my beloved daughter doesn't feel the need to step into the gap, and make sure that Nate knows all the words to all the songs.

The other night, we were driving home from somewhere, and she got a little bee in her head that she needed to make sure that Nate knew all the words to "We Three Kings".

All well and good... if she knew the words herself.

But she is nothing if not confident...

So this is what I hear, floating back from the back seats of Homer, as I'm driving in the dark.

"Now, Nate... repeat after me...

We... three kings... of ORION are.. [oh look. They're so wise, they're stellar!]

Bearing gifts... we travel afar... [well, that's pretty close]

Feed the fountain....

Move the mountains...

Following yonder star..."

I've gotta say, I love that line. From now on, I think I, too, will sing "Feed the fountain, move the mountain..."

---

Skip went out last night to the annual Youth Night Out at church.

I picked him up at 8:30 this morning.

He now holds the dubious crown of "ONLY KID WHO DIDN"T SLEEP ALL NIGHT"

That's my boy. Already in training for the all-nighters he will want to pull in college.

I let him sleep until about 3 this afternoon, and now we'll see if we can get him back into bed before midnight. It might be time to bring out the warm milk, and hope it does its magic.

But first, we'll fill him full of sushi.

---

Ken took the Littles out this afternoon to decorate cookies at the home of one of his colleagues. Nate's all in a tizzy because he's FINALLY old enough to be included in this exclusive event.

And while they were out, I finished off one of the 'homemade' Christmas presents that's in my queue.

So now there are penguin-print flannel jammie pants under the tree for Nate.

I've got some pirate-map print flannel to make a set for Skip, and this afternoon, while out getting more wrapping paper, I stumbled onto some FANTASTIC fabric that's Disney Fairy print.



And so, tomorrow, we'll see if I can't pound out a pair of jammie pants for Kelly.

---

Eek! is that the time? I was supposed to already be at the sushi place with Skip.

Second Concert

Second verse, same as the first.

A little bit louder... a little bit worse...

Ok, it wasn't worse. It was actually shorter.

And there were no surprises.

But good golly, miss Molly, the 'senior chorus' performed first... and I was truly expecting something better than last night's "junior chorus"...

You'd think, right?

Don't know what happened. Maybe it was the unfortunate placement of one of the microphones? There was one kid who couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. I never quite put my finger on which kid it was (I was sitting way across the auditorium, and regrettably close to the speaker), but that microphone picked up EVERY sour note (and there were many) that proceeded out of his mouth. Poor Ken, I thought he was going to turn inside out from trying not to visibly cringe.

But soon, it was time for the Jazz Band to hit the stage. We'd moved to the Jazz Band side of the auditorium, and I was sitting nice and close. I had such high hopes for the photos that I could take...

And then I realized that Skip was going to be sitting BEHIND the rank of saxophones, and... what? Who put a set of vibraphones between me and the rhythm section?

Argh.

But I have a good little video clip of one of the songs. Maybe I'll try to figure out how to post to YouTube....

So once again, I have nothing to show for the actual event, but I pulled Skip aside during the intermission.

Say Cheese.


Oh, and Skip?

Hanson phoned.

They want their hair back.


psst. See that bass he's holding? It belongs to the school.

In 12 days?

He'll have his very own. Made of bright shiny awesome red, even.

It's hiding in my closet right now. I can hardly wait to bring it out and play it!!!!!

First of the Concerts

Last night was the first of the Middle School Music concerts.

It kind of tickles me that there are so many musical things going on at the school that they can't do it all on one night.

It kind of tickles me that Skip has his fingers in so many musical pots at school.

It kind of chafes me, though, that the groups that Skip plays with don't all perform on the same night.

So last night was the first concert. And Skip was in two of the groups.

[insert the basic you're-all-tired-of-hearing-it overly busy running around daytime events here]

When it came time for the concert, I wasn't home yet, so it was up to Skip and Ken to get themselves together (dressed in concert garb, hair out of the eyes, take all needed stuff (INCLUDING all the decorated Christmas Cookies that I'd made for the bake sale), and get to the school by 6:25.

My menfolk, they are a well oiled machine, so that went off without a hitch, except for the txt message that I got while I was leaving gymnastics with Kelly, that said "All is well, except Skip doesn't have a jacket". Normally? This would not be an issue. We *do* live in California, after all. But, just because God didn't want me to gloat over my New Brunswickian BFF's frosty plight too much, He made sure that we've been having to scrape ice off our windshields in the mornings, and by the time the concert started, the air temperatures were dropping into the low 40s. A tuxedo shirt really doesn't offer a lot of protection, especially if you are a 12-year-old boy, and think that wearing a white undershirt under said tuxedo shirt would be un-cool. Fortunately, there was a tiny window of time, and Kelly and I were able to swing home and snag a jacket for Skip while Kelly changed out of her "I'll just wear a leotard and flip-flops after getting out of the shower with wet hair and then run to the gym" attire, and into something more winter-suitable.

Because Ken had to be there so early with Skip, he actually had pretty nice seats, and I didn't have to beat my way through the shuffling crowds and bring out the Evil Eye.

I'll spare you the re-telling of the sets with the Orchestra, and the Junior Choir. They were fine. really. Just long. Kelly now wants to play the cello, AND sing in the Junior Choir when she gets to Middle School.

Then there was a brief intermission while they got set up for the "Rock Ensemble" (their title, not mine). This is the guitar elective class that Skip's had since September. The kids that play in the winter concert are the kids who took the elective in first trimester. I don't think that the other trimester classes have an opportunity to play at a concert, because the Guitar Band only plays in December. For the Guitar band, the kids were asked to wear 'some combination of black, white and blue", and so there was a sea of black head-to-toe rocker dudes... and Skip.


Don't you like how he brings an element of class to an otherwise somber and casual event?

(The 'who's the girl in the tuxedo shirt' comment from the bleachers behind me notwithstanding)

There's a guitar phenom just off camera to the left. He's the secret weapon in the jazz band, and, according to Ken, who volunteers with the jazz band one morning a week, can play guitar better than he does. You can't see him, but he's playing a 12-string, and doing it with great facility. It was really fun to watch him. I think Skip might idolize him just a bit.

So the Guitar Band starts playing their numbers, and the 8th-grade Phenom gets a little bit of the spotlight (well-deserved, the kid can really play), and it's generally an enjoyable set, the 'rock-n-roll choir' standing behind them singing the Greenday songs notwithstanding. (hello, 'notwithstanding' is my new go-to word of the day). Skip keeps looking over at us with this little smirk that I can't read. He must really be having fun with his guitar cronies.

And then it comes time for the final song, and the teacher turns to give a little introduction. Behind him, I see a little activity... it's the Phenom, handing Skip his guitar. And for the last song, Skip, with a grin like a Cheshire Cat, has the spotlight with the 12 string guitar.

I nearly cried. And of course, I was too blubbery to take a photo of the performance. So you have the 'aftermath' shot.



By this point, the Littles had pretty much lost their composure, so Ken offered to take them home and put them to bed, and I got to sit through another long set while the Junior Band took the stage. That also was enjoyable in the main. Maybe because I didn't have to keep a squirming Nate quiet.

But I wasn't there to watch the Junior Band. I wanted to watch Skip's final performance, and then get outta Dodge.

Whew. Here they come!

And look! Skip's First Chair. (sorry. Bad photo, zoomed from FAR away, with no flash. But hey! I couldn't have done that with the old camera, so I think this is a pretty sweet shot)


And oh look! Dad didn't make him wear SOCKS.

But wait! There's more!

Skip didn't tell us he had TWO surprises for us at the concert last night.

First, was the 12-string guitar playing.

Second?

Halfway through their keynote piece (The Halo Theme), the music gets kind of quiet, and a single trumpet cuts across the murmur, like a beacon from far away.....

Yup. That would be Skip.

The little stinker! He never told us, so I only caught the last 8 seconds of his solo, as I was stumbling around with my camera, trying to get it into video mode.

It was a proud evening to be his mom, I'll tell you.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat. I'll be back there tonight, watching Skip in the Jazz Band... and bringing more Christmas Cookies for the bake sale. I'd better get going on those right now, or the frosting won't be set up enough to package.

Because I want to be on a first name basis...

...with the doctors in the local Emergency Room...



Nate. You'll give your mother a heart attack. Or at least grey hairs (more of them).

ps. That's NOT skip in the black. You can tell immediately, because he's wearing jeans. [And from this angle, they look like the kind that a kid would have to pay fifty-plus bucks for at some swank skate-boarding store.] You can also tell because his hair isn't shoulder length. Oh, and because he's interested in skate-boarding. Skip would rather poke out his eye.

So that's Nate on Skip's skateboard. I'm glad someone's getting some use out of it, although Skip *did* have fun building it at Christmas.

---

I am currently taping the first few episodes of the "French in Action" series. I remember watching it when I lived in Vancouver, and was getting ready to move to Quebec. I wonder if my kids will think it's just too lame to watch.

---

Mark my words. TODAY is the day that I get my house back under control.

Remember when it was "when school gets out, and i have some time in the summer without having to drive everyone everywhere and volunteer at everything." THEN it was "Once the holidays are over, and I can get all the suitcases away, and get back into a routine..." and THEN it was "OK, I'll wait until school starts, and THEN I'll have all sorts of time to get things put back where they belong.."

Well, NOW, it's NOW.

Except that I'm pooped, and I really need to put the groceries away and just have a little nap. And then it will be time to get Kelly, and then swing by Skip's school to see his old teacher who wants to run the Knitting Club after school on Mondays, and then head over to get Nate at his school, then back to Skip's school, because Cross Country will be done, and then pop home to get dinner started and homework done, and then off to Kung Fu, but first I've gotta check to see if tonight's the monthly Gem Society meeting.

Oh crap. I think this past weekend was the Gem Society show, and I was supposed to work security for it.

Crappity-crap.

---

Note to self: Mail your father's birthday card today, so it has a chance of getting to him on time. And while you're at it, mail your folks' anniversary card, too. It's only 3 days later.

---

Il mange
Elle mange
Je mange
Nous mangeons
Vous mangez
Ils mangent

French in Action runs in the background. I sure hope it's like riding a bicycle. Or is that "bicyclette"?

---

First things first.

I need to take out the trash.
Yes. It's an exciting life I lead.

Flock of Skipgulls

I've been having 80s flashbacks lately.










I can't figure out why....




And he ra-a-an
He ran so far awa-a-ay

Poor kid's not running on much sleep this morning.

He's been getting ready for his trumpet audition this weekend. It was supposed to be last Friday, and of course, he left the preparation until the last minute, which involved changing his audition piece at the Very Last Minute, and then deciding that it was probably good enough if he just schlepped through it. I gently reminded him about how hideously he'd performed at the Getting Into Honors Band auditions last spring (ie, he'd done NO preparation, and then hadn't made Honors Band, and spent nearly a week moping after school was out), and so this time, he really put some muscle into things. Fortunately, the band teacher ran out of time, and re-scheduled the Chair Auditions for today.

So it wasn't enough that he play one of his current band pieces. Nope. He had to scrounge around in our piano collection, snag a jazz book, and pick one of the moody blue numbers. No worries that the second phrase is at the extreme upper end of his abilities... or that he had to transpose it. He thought it sounded cool, and the sort of thing that would be good for an audition.

And that's what we've been listening to all weekend. And Ken's really stepped up to the plate and taken on the role of Trumpet Instructor (he'd seriously considered being a Band Teacher when he was finishing up high school - before he got all the physics/math scholarships). Good thing, because what I know about trumpets can be contained in the drop of spit that is shot out of the vent-hole when the trumpet's being cleaned.

So after all his diligent playing, when bedtime rolled around last night, and the trumpet was finally put away, he asked if he could just read a book in his bed for a bit before Lights Out. Sounded like a good idea, so Ken and I said sure.

And then we both thought the OTHER parent was going to go in and tuck Skip in.

I went downstairs and did 3 loads of laundry.

Ken went into his office, and worked on a backlog of Top Secret computer stuff.

And we both freaked out at 11:45 when we realized, as we were shutting the house down for the night, that Skip's light was still on. Poor bewildered kid. He had no idea.

And now he's dragging around on his way to school.

I felt so guilty about it that I handed him a Coke for breakfast. If I'd had a Starbucks Doubleshot, I would've handed him that instead, even though I know he would have turned his nose up at it.

I just hope he can wake up enough to rock his audition. It'd be a shame if he was disappointed this time, too.

And he ca-a-an
He can, his trumpet pla-a-ay
He's the ma-a-an
His jazz horn makes them swa-a-ay
Gotta get an A....

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.