Word of the day

November 20, 2011

Aawww, freak out! It’s a KNITTING POST! Woop, woop!

Hold on to your cats, spinsters, we’re gonna get wild up in here.

It’s that magical time of year, again. It starts with the leaves changing colors, and it ends with me rocking quietly in a corner and vowing that we’re going to celebrate Christmas like Buddhists next year. (We will all stare at a wall and contemplate the freedom of not wanting, having, trying or doing. And come December 19th, that will sound like the best bloody Christmas miracle.) But it’s still pre-Thanksgiving November, which means that I haven’t yet hit the wall. The wall, you ask? The wall that is that crushing realization that once again, I will not succeed in making hand knit gifts for everyone I know; I will fail to make the 7 kinds of Christmas cookie that define the season in the Martha part of my brain; I will forget how long it takes to write Christmas cards, resulting in dashed signatures or late arrivals, or both; I will struggle to find the time and Rockwellian enthusiasm for decorating the tree, knowing that every ornament we hang is just one more I have to pack away in a few weeks; and I will develop a Pavlovian response to the ringing of bells. Of course, instead of drooling, I will involuntarily lower my eyes and move furtively away from the Salvation Army volunteer.

But I digress.

A lot.

Hey! New word: digracious. Adj. Easily distracted. Talkative, but without focus. Also: possessing the tendency to overshare. Also, also: probably what I should have named this blog.

Whoops! There I go again. Getting all digracious  on you guys. You’re welcome for that word.

So, it’s that magical time of year, when the holiday spirit has gripped me, but is not yet squeezing the life out of me. And I am knitting. Furiously. Do I know you? I probably have a little project that I’d like to make for you. Socks, felted slippers, thrummed mittens, a hat, scarf, or if you’re really special, a sweater. (And by really special, I mean Jesus and midgets.) (I haven’t the patience to knit large garments.) (Dan lacks a sweater, and a number of sock mates.) (Around here, it’s never the same sock twice!) (ba-dum bum ching!)

As a result of this neurotic urge to knit gifts for everyone I know, I have half-finished knitting projects covering my desk. It is a miracle I can even reach the keyboard, and my arms are resting on 5 needles. Of different sizes. (Non-knitters, this means I need a damn intervention.) I am taking a break from knitting to write this. And consequently, I probably won’t take a pee break until Tuesday. Maybe Wednesday.

Must. Knit. All. The. Things.

Furthermore, the weather is not playing around anymore. It is getting what we in the South call “cold as a snake’s legs*” (and what everyone in the mid-west calls “almost too hot, where are my shorts?”), and my child needs a hat. I knit her a dah-arling hat last winter. I purposely knit it two sizes too big thinking that I’d get a pass on knitting a hat for her this year. Behold the cuteness of a six month old (gloriously non-motile!) baby:

7 months old!

And behold my little Stewie** in her hat this winter:

Uh-huh. (These pictures stink, but my kid won’t stand still for an instant, and my needy dog was attempting to apply his body to mine in almost every shot.)

For comparison, here is a random adult’s head wearing the same hat:

The heck, kid? You’d better be growing enough brain in there to solve the world debt crisis AND climate change. That is what hat knitting costs in this house. Be glad I buy your sweaters. (Dan, you want your sock-mates? You owe me a teleporter.) (People, that is called LEVERAGE.) (You can thank me in person for the teleporter.)

Next post: The “toddler” hat I knit for Ivy. Followed by the “bucket-sized” hat I knit for Ivy. Followed by a detailed account of Ivy’s birth story, including the part where the OB told me that she was literally holding pieces of me together when the head was crowning! It was awesome.

I’m exaggerating, of course. With all the knitting I have to do, I won’t have time to write a damn thing.

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*I made this up. But it does sound rather Southern, doesn’t it? Promise that if you ever say “colder than a snake’s legs,” you’ll say it with a thick southern accent? And really, I don’t think inserting a ‘hoo-doggie’ would be going too far… Granted, I’m fake-southern. But gen-yoo-winely digracious! Hoo, doggie!

** Fellow cave-dwellers, this is a ‘Stewie’:

Ivy is 18 months old!

November 8, 2011

Where did the time go? Where did my baby go?

Ivy is walking, running, jumping, and she can say about 25 words. She has a sense of humor, and she is kind and affectionate. Or mercurial and imperious. Depending on the day. Her favorite thing to do is to put on her shoes and go outside, and she will happily walk herself to the park. Close friends may remark that her sense of direction outpaced mine about four months ago. Her favorite food is tomatoes, and she should be watched carefully in the produce section of any grocery store. She is a joy.

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