Fall Knits

Knitting update:

Have started Leif's christmas stocking. This is my first attempt at fair isle knitting, so I've had to frog it a couple times before getting the tension right. Mike had a go at it, too, and frogged his attempt as well. Now that I've got the hang of the stranding the whole thing is coming along pretty quickly, a couple inches an hour, except that I forgot to twist my yarns at the bigging of the second section and now there are a few gaps between the colors, so I might have to rip it back a few rows again. I've started working on a thank-you gift for a friend, which is all fair-isle, and kicking myself for not doing it sooner, for practice. Great pattern (the winter rose bag from Handknit Holidays).

Here's my progress from the other day:



It looks bunchy because of the ribbing on the end, but the stranding is ok now.


And here we are nursing in my knitting corner:



^__^

joy unbounded

The cat poo tea works! I could start a dairy and raise dozens of porkchop babies. :)

Mmm mmm.

155 (-4 this week, woos)

My office smells like rotten cat food. I think it is the used herbal tea bag in my garbage. Bleah. Is cat food the secret ingredient in Mother's Milk tea? Will sneak it out without telling janitor; came to work and found him scrubbing my exploded diet soda out of the staff fridge, and then a 4 year old threw up on the circ desk. He said 4 year old patrons can't be taken out and beaten, but managers can, so I will see to my own tea bags methinks.

...

Popping back in before my break is over to say that I really need better window coverings. My office is like a fish tank, and although I've taped up a few crap posters I found in a cupboard, I still have to sit under my desk to pump. On Friday Gavin wondered whistfully when he'd be able to use a pump, so I pulled up his shirt and stuck the suckers on him. It wouldn't do my managerial authority any good for people to peek in and see me milking my son. Unless I made it out to be a shush-or-be-pumped punishment thing. Maybe I could write a book curse to that effect and post it up in my window...

Anyway, I did mention that the hobos hereabouts are all weirdly good-looking, yes? I was sitting in the back room when a couple came in and sat at a computer. They started muttering about another guy who was leaving (sort of a pony-tailed John Cusack), and peeking about suspiciously, so I tried to get a better look at them. One looked like an Orlando Bloom and the other looked like a... well, I couldn't figure out what scruffed-up celebrity he resembled, but I discovered that my hand was pulling out the pencil that held up my bun. Oh nooooo! I was releasing my hair! Not for hobos! Somehow at that moment they sensed my hair-releasingness and both turned around to stare through the glass at me in the back room. I leaped away and dithered about until I dithered myself right into the bathroom and realized I was checking my makeup. Oh noooo! I had forgotten to put on makeup this morning! Which was ok, I firmly told myself, because I was not checking my makeup on account of weird library mens. Anyway, the nungas and hair might distract from the face, so I was fine. I came back out and they peeked around again. They were up to something. I decided to remove myself from view (and further ditherosity), so I headed into the stacks toward our janitor, who was up on a ladder cleaning vents. As I approached, intending to tell him to keep an eagle eye on the suspicious men-folk, I noticed Nerf ball smack-marks all over the window behind his head. I stood under his ladder and said (yes, of course I did), "I see balls." He looked down at me with an owl face. "Which is probably not what you want to hear when you're up on a ladder." Just then one of the men walked by and called to him, "Aloha, see ya man!" J. looked up, waved heartily, then mouthed down at me, "Who the heck was that?" I put my hair back up, babbled clarifications about window marks, and did not find out what the computer hobos were up to. Stupid Monday.

Hang me up to dry

I've heard that some forms of PPD are late-setting, hitting around the third month, but maybe it's only the high wearing off; I've been beset by shmoops more frequently lately, hitting suddenly in quiet moments and lasting about an hour before I busy myself with other things and perk up again. That seems consistent with how I've been most of my life, though, and not as bad at all as the past 2 years had been, so I won't point the big PPD finger yet. Might accidently get myself in the eye with it and then there I'd be, a depressed biscuit with a poked eye.

It got me yesterday twice. (Tried for three times, but that one was ruined when I drove by the fire station and saw that they had popped the head off the fire truck and had a couple of men sticking out of the engine, which looked like the truck was eating them and set me off into a laughing fit.) I drove back to work from lunch, the late-afternoon sun already sunk behind the mountain and the oceans to the east gray and luminous as I turned into the long sloping school driveway. I hugged the steering wheel and rested my chin on my arm, staring out to sea and coasting down the hill like I was being drawn into the water. The family of mongoose (mongeese?) that live beside the school were out in the road, teaching the baby to hunt for... gravel. They zipped into the bushes like they had been pulled by strings attached to their noses, so I smiled and broke the spell.

The second time I was sitting on the floor in my office, and looked at my sketchbook lying by my chair. I thought about the comic panel that's been sketching itself in my head, and suddenly came over with the badness. Drove home in the dark, letting the music play randomly. Evanescance started warbling about lithium (couldn't tell if she was for or against, but it sounded very dramatic) and I shut the car off in the driveway and sat there for a minute with the cab lights on before climbing out, locking the car, and being plunged into blackness. I turned and looked up at the stars, blazing like a billion little starry things, and leaned back against the car, cool beneath me like stone and soaking dots of rain against my skin. But I couldn't make the sky turn upside down, with me on top looking down, so I went inside.

And that's about it. Not too bad, really. Flashbacks about Mike that make little tinkly-glass noises in me. I guess if something happens to shatter a window, all the little bits need to come out before you can fit it for a new one. Unless it's a window on a space ship, in which case you don't need to worry about it because you've already been sucked out and imploded. Which you probably deserve if you have glass windows on your space ship.

157 (down from 180, and officially within healthy bmi range)

This morning I got on the scale, hooted, and dug in my drawer for the black capris I bought a couple weeks ago that were too small for me. They pulled up and buttoned neatly, and I bragged to Mike that I weigh less than him again (he has been doing the "can't get to fridge because there's a baby/kitten sleeping on me" diet and has a new wonky door gym thingie, so he's whittled down to 160). He said "ooo-wharr", so I think he liked the pants.

Friday, Friday, and I still don't have a costume for Halloween next week. Maybe I still have time to knit one of these:

growfs

"He's done with the copy machine, but it still says he has .40 on it."
"Ok, I'll just push the return coin button..."
"Oh, you can do that?"
"Yeah, but it'll spit out the money whenever it feels like it." *push push push*
40 seconds later - *ching ching ching*
"Here you go sir, it even gave you an extra 5 cents."
"Whoa, girl, that's better than McDonalds!"

aroo?



The Saturday that aged us 2 years.

In the mall bookstore, noon. 10 feet away from Gavin, spent one minute looking at books two shelves over. Turned to fetch Gavin from the children's section, found an empty seat and no child. Searched aisles, no child. Ran outside, scanned crowd, no child. Searched book store again, and again. And again. Asked cashiers. No child. Split up, Mike reporting to security and me running back into every store we had visited. Checked bathrooms. Asked cashiers. Ran to car. Ran to bus stops. No child. Ran back to security desk, Mike pacing with baby and no child. Described boy for tenth time; orange slippers, jean shorts, black shirt, shoulder-length brown hair, looks like a girl. Panic setting in, ran to play area, arcade, toy store, candy store, no child. Shuffling hobos and shifty-eyed men stood out in vision, families blurring into soundless colors, distant sirens piercing into brain with visions of hit-and-runs. Time bent into endless loop of distress. Legs cramping, beading sweat, took baby from Mike and took vigil while he set off into the crowd. Security guard lifted radio to mouth and started running. Information woman appeared suddenly in front of me with walkie-talkie, "We may be on to something." Security guard appeared at upstairs railing and grinned, thumbs-up. Gavin trotted by his side, nonchalant. Fear collapsed into relieved anger. "He was in Game Stop." "Mom, I saw a Lego Indiana Jones game! Can I -" "NO."

Yes, after all our talks about safety, kidnapping, and how to ask for help, Gavin had gotten up, wandered from the store, gone up the escalator, walked across the mall, and into the video game store (which we had never been in before). Trembling, we sat at the courtyard fountain and looked at the time. 2:22. Gah. More than 2 HOURS of horrors.

Frazzled, we set off to finish our errands; were stranded in Walmart while the car got new tires. Ate at the in-store McDonalds, a very sad thing. Crowd was stressful. Went to Krispy Kreme to allieviate stress before 2-hour drive home in the dark. Leif's diaper somehow sprung a spectacular leak and pee ran down my arm and onto the floor. Wiped floor with napkins while Mike changed the baby. Bought donut holes and a KK shirt for Gavin and tried to relax by the donut conveyor belt. Admired happy baby, accidentally poked him in the eye, left store with screaming injured infant. Feeling terrible about hurting my baby, tried to kiss him and accidentally knocked his head off my tooth. Joined baby in crying, Mike took infant and pressed my head to his shoulder. Gavin hugged my legs.

What a crap day.

Sunday was a day of healing; called mom, cleaned house to celtic music, baked cookies, drank tea, knitted with baby sleeping on chest, made chicken francais, poured a bottle of moscato into Mike, bathed and got the kids to bed early, croodled on couch, watched Bones, retired to bed.

Dreamed of people long gone.

And on the plus side, I lost 3 pounds over the weekend. That's for 2 hours of running laps in the mall, growf.

Monday. Drinking fennel tea to boost milks. Sleepy.

progressies

I'm a distractable driver at the best of times, and throwing an ipod into it only compounds the problem. I chucked it onto the passenger seat and let it play, and of course the first thing it did was reach into my chest and try to pull my heart out. If I wanted that, I would still be living in a place with radio reception. Daughtry got me all shmoopy with his "'til part of me is dead and in the ground"s, and I poked through a few random blog posts from the past couple years. For all that I crack jokes, the misery in those entries pours out the screen at me. It's hard to believe that after everything with the moves and job changes and new baby it's still been less than a year since Mike and I started circling each other and deciding to work on things. It was only 8 months ago that we moved back into the same apartment, 6 months ago that I stopped sharing a bed with Gavin, and only a month or so since the last nightmare. While the year before burned by at a painfully brisk rate, this past year has taken a small lifetime.

I haven't made any friends here yet, beyond niceties with my co-workers and regular patrons. There's a dad with a ponytail who seems like-minded, but I am wary of befriending man-persons, what with the whole Harry/Sally thing. I miss the men-persons I couldn't keep enough as it is. Ah, well, time will tie people together, it'll happen.

Shmoops.

Knitting notes

Plea for reason: people, I beg you - do not model knitted hats on doll heads. It is vair creepy and does not count as an "action shot". Unless the doll is being thrown from a window. Which it should be.

Tragically nerdly drinking game: watch all 7 seasons of Buffy and have a beer every time a character appears in hand-knit garment. Ok, right now we play this minus the beer, we just sing "knitwear knitwear who's got the knitwear?" and hoot when we see who's got the godawful chunky-yarned pullover every episode. Extra points for spotting the background extras in the previous season's garments (yeah, I noticed when Anya was wearing that beige turtleneck in season 4 that Buffy wore in season 3). Someone had a sweet commission as knitter to the Slayer.

Egads. Burying head in stash.


Reading: Handknit Holidays (shuddurp), Stop in the name of pants (yes, still - Georgia is my pumping buddy [ooer]), and some reference books about chickens and pug dogs. Halfway considering acquisition of pug dog just because they are so ridiculously hateful. That used to be how I bought shoes, though, and that resulted in the infamous green-tennis-ball-fuzz-shoe incident of 1998. So maybe not.


Oh, and unrelated to anything - this morning I pulled on a pair of jeans and couldn't get them buttoned before realizing they were Mike's. This might not sound like a good thing, but it is; Mike is all slender-like, so just the fact that I could fit my legs and arse into them speaks wonders. I might not be losing weight as fast as I'd like, but my body is still changing back into a normal shape. Woos and hoos! Still, it's damned annoying to weigh the same as him and be pudgy while he can be all svelty.

Misc of a rainy October

5 days on Oahu.

In short:

Drove car onto ferry, ate nachos, did not see any whales. Gavin spent the ride pretending to be a zombie and getting shot by another child.

Went to street fair, watched fire thrower twirl burning batons and then burn self on hot pavement in cruel feat of irony.

Was ungraciously greeted by RSCDS after more than a year away with shrieks of "You're late! Where's your mother?"

Knitted half a cardigan while listening to my mom's stories and drinking tea. Happiness.

Yelled at Mike for staying out late drinking at a 4-year-old's birthday party.

Bought green girly shoes that match everything and nothing.

Was defeated in Battle of the Overalls; spent years sneaky-like throwing out my mom's overalls. Mom spent years sneaky-like hiding her overalls from me. Coup de tet: she found the only size 6 overalls on the island, bought them for Gavin, and dressed him as her twin. Giant toddler twins. I give.

Discovered that our return ferry home didn't sail when we thought it did - stranded extra day.

Was yelled at by asshat Superferry manager and stranded yet another day. (paperwork problem = their error. Am formulating complaint letter against manager, wondering if "hambeast" would work as identification in lieu of name.)

Mike used man-logic to deduce that stranded-ness meant he needed to purchase a ginormous flat-screen tv.

Left a sausage on the Pali lookout.

Hunted for wine based on very muzzy recollections of a sympathy bottle given to me and consumed in one sitting during the peak of my pain and aggers in November '06; it was red, in a dark bottle, with a low-sitting beige label with no fancy logo/name. Surprising how few wines actually meet all those criteria. We speculated that the friends who gave it to me probably shopped at Costco, and lo and behold - it was found! Then we left it at my mom's, so we still don't know what it was. But it's at Costco, in the aforementioned bottle, costs $9.99, and is yum.

Woke up at 4am for the second day in a row, stuffed obese cat in carrier, left eldest child with grandmother, drove across Oahu, rode on boat for 3 hours, drove 2 hours home with screaming infant, and went straight to work until 7pm. Not recommended.

Gained 4 pounds.

Lost 2 pounds.

Death by Cute

Mother dropped off child and superfluous kitten in Kahului yesterday. While the man-person went to pick them up, I stayed home and spent the day knitting with a baby sleeping on my chest and watching Carnivale with a cup of tea and the cat snoozing in a patch of sunlight. Joy.

Mike arrived home with half the meat department of Costco. Gavin loved us up a bit and ran for his computer games, the kitten streaked and bounded through the house like she had on a jet pack. After hours of her savaging my ankles, I put away the dinner leftovers and suddenly found the house peaceful. Ah, she must have finally found a place to nap! I thought. No, she did not. Detecting a faint kitteny wail, I ran into the kitchen, whipped open the fridge, and out she popped. Fantastico, one day with the kitten and I've already closed her into the fridge. Naturally, she thought that was the greatest thing in the world, and now I have to wrestle her out of the fruit drawers every time I get something from the fridge.

By bedtime, the kitten (originally named Cece, then Zeze, then Intarsia, and now Sookie) was ready to curl up and suck on my earlobes while I nursed Leif to sleep. Somewhere around 3am I woke with the alarmed notion that something was terribly wrong with the baby, and looked down to see that, no, he had not transformed into a fanged demon child; Sookie had wormed her way between Leif's mouth and my breast, and was flipping back and forth, chewing on my nunga and using the baby's head as a scratching post. Luckily, she is small and fuzzy and crap at inflicting mortal injury, so I tossed her onto Mike and we went back to sleep.

About an hour later, in a sort of zombie half-sleep, I distinctly heard someone calling my name, twice, in a "wake up and come here" tone, and I jerked awake to discover that the house was quiet and dark and asleep. I later asked Mike if that had ever happened to him, and he said no, but I said that it happened to Kermit the Frog, and he did not seem to think this made things better.

Finally, too early, the kitten and the baby woke up for the day, and barraged us with cooing, meuwing, and adorableness. I explained that 5:30am was no time for cute, but they did not listen.



Grooog. Tired.