D is for dummy, disorganized, dumbass and dumb luck

Again I win the award for the worst mother ever. I constantly feel like I am juggling 10 balls in the air and I'm about to drop them all . If reality, I'm lucky if I only drop one or two. This time it's fucking swimming - AGAIN. You would think I would know better by now. I was SURE I had the right registration date in my head. Positive in fact, but I thought I'd start getting my ducks in a row and check things out today. Imagine my disgust when I realized TODAY was the registration. For those of you who are thinking "good save - you were lucky to check it on the right day!" think again. Trying to get into swimming in Toronto is a competitive sport in itself. You have to line yourself up at 7am with your client numbers (good luck finding those), course codes and credit card info, and dial/refresh like your life depends upon it. If not, you are so screwed. There are 4 kids in a preschool swimming class, and trying to get your kid into one that's outside of working hours and before they go to bed… good luck.

I didn't have anything - my client numbers are at home, of course and I didn't even have the book at work. After a bout of self-flagellation, in desperation I decided to phone up and get my numbers and then see what I could crowbar myself into. I hit the jackpot in the shape of a lovely and competent operator. Not only did she get Calvin into a class, she got Jack in! I wasn't going to register Calvin without Jack (the prospect of that nightmare makes my head spin) so I am delighted.

There's an upside and a downside to the scenario, of course.

Down: They're not going on the same day, so that means two days of swimming performance.
Up: They did get in

Down: Jack's class is on the weekend and across town in Parkdale
Up: It's on a Sunday and STD will have to take him half the time.

It's hard not to find pleasure in the little things.

C is for Chaos

OK, C was going to be for complete, when I finished Sylvi, but I don't think that's in the cards.

The kids are driving me mad again so I did a bit too much yelling tonight. A thousand delays before bed and I had had enough. A few hours later I go up to get something and pass the cat on the stairs. I pat her on the way by and she's wet. Weird, I think.

I go do my thing, casually checking for spilled glasses of water, but I see nothing. I tuck Calvin back in and go to tuck Jack in. He's lying on the bed with the covers off, pullup around his ankles. Sigh. Then I start to notice that my left foot seems wet. And the covers are SOAKED. WTF? But his bed is only a little wet and his pants are barely damp. ????

Best as I can see, he stood up in bed, pulled down his pants, peed on the cat, covers, floor AND his stuffed alligator, and went back to sleep. It's not bad enough that I have one that talks, grind his teeth and occasionally walks in his sleep. Now I have one who pees in his sleep.

Can life get any better?

B is for bored

All I have left on poor Sylvi is 1/2 of one flower. I loathe knitting these flowers, simple though they are, but more than that I dread sewing them all on. That's all I have left so I am procrastinating like crazy.

I have been eyeing the Foliage hat pattern on Knitty for a while, but when Sarah stared wearing hers to the Purl I fell in love. It was beautiful, and knit out of the lovely Malabrigo, which I have in my stash. I have been trying to knit some of my stash up lately, so it was perfect. (We shall not discuss the recent additions to my stash that won't get knit up for years at this rate.)

So I stash dove and found this great Malabrigo clone, bought in my soaker-making days. 100% Purewool, single ply, scrummy soft. Green of course since it's foliage (and also since Sarah's is green). I'm nothing if not original.

Started Friday night, finished Saturday night, no modifications to needle size, unbelievably fun to knit. All projects should be so rewarding.

Guaranteed to make me look like a dork.

A is for Advice

I rarely have anything intelligent to say so as inspiration I shall work my way through the letters of the alphabet, trying to find something marginally relevant to say. So...

Per yesterdays entry and the spectre of Fairycakes rearing his head, I am looking to the Globe and Mail for advice. My Arian horoscope today reads:

Venus in your birth sign makes you even more romantic than usual, if that is possible, but not everyone seems pleased that you have allowed your heart to rule your head. Watch out that your passion does not get you into some serious hot water today.

Words to live by. Remeber the "I'm going to get fired" incident of 2007?.

Also - accomplishment. The knitting of Sylvi is finished except for two flower petals. I am supposed to be knitting mamma some socks for her birthday, but I can't leave Sylvi alone.

This is getting creepy

Through the joys of Facebook, I get the occasional email about job openings for which I am imminently unqualified. Innocently I click on the link, scroll through a few jobs, and then I see this:

Our client has an established presence in all global AIDS crisis zones including East and South Africa. They also recently opened a 36,000 square foot state-of-the-art lab in New York. Exceptional management team and board, the Vice President of Vaccine Development is former Global Vice President of Process Development at Sanofi Pasteur, the largest vaccine company worldwide.World class corporate (i.e. Pfizer, Bristol-Meyers, Google) and foundation (i.e. Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation) financing.
Position	Location
Senior Director, Regulatory Affairs	New York

I swear someone is messing with me.

Most rewarding socks ever

Plain socks, Indigo Moon (spring flowers in twilight?). Miraculously perfect fit. I really, really hope she wears them out.
We love you, Po.

11 degrees and dropping

Ah Sylvi. The bigger you get the more entrancing you are. Your fronts knit up like the wind (although the shaping could not compete with a late-night George Clooney movie) and I so cannot wait for you to be complete.

Blocking you was hard, very hard. How you resisted conforming to the shape I sought. I knew it was possible as I had bent the back to my will but you, gentle fronts and arms, were not blessed with as soft and spacious a blocking spot as he had. No, you were put on the knitting equivalent of the rack - the drying rack.

However, persistence won through - you are worth it, sweet Sylvi. Only 90 minutes of toil and you were in position. I truely expected you to be dry this morning, but circumstances have foiled us again. Damn furnace - I see your attempts at sabotage, but my good repair man will fix you up quickly and we will soon be blessed with warm drying winds again. As we speak, Berlin is sourcing an ignitor at great expense, but it's worth it for my red love.

I'm sorry for the rack, but there is no pleasure without pain.

Out out, damn hole.

For the love of all that's holey (har), why me????

Socks are not supposed to wear out so fast and I am sick of it.

That is all.

Yeeeeeeeee haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Look. Look! LOOK! It's a sock! A whole sock! With only one itty bitty mistake!

I worship at the ground of my machine.

Quality control? I don't see no quality control.

Less than a year after I made them, my first lace socks, the ones that started my love affair with Indigo Moon, have HOLES in them. Not little ones, from a nail snag or something, but giant gaping acreages of wear. I am NOT pleased. I can't figure out why the purple ones are still going strong (yes, I am totally jinxing myself) but these are crap.

Are my expectations out of whack? I don't think it's unreasonable to expect socks to last a while when it takes me MONTHS to knit them.

The picture of the heel (on the right) does not do the hole in the heel justice and the one of the toes is the toe I have not fixed yet. The other one was WAY worse.


I have decided subtlety is not the way to go. I'm fixing these puppies with something that shouldn't wear out so fast: the lovely and talented Noro. Cool colours and has the added bonus of reminding me, every time I wear them, not to use 100% wool for socks... ever.

I am very pleased with the final result, but it was a total pain in the arse fixing the heels. Picking up, short rows, math. Feh. I haven't worked up the strength to do the other sock, but I will. Someday.

Is it karmic justice that I was knitting these exact socks for the owner of Indigo Moon when mine imploded? We shall see how hers wear...

Sylvi is out of the "rest" pile and back on the needles (it was frightening how long it took me to find her - stuffed behind the couch in the pile of wool Jack likes to sleep on). It must be the warm weather threatening to appear before she is finished.

Quirky Nomads (or QN as it's called now)? Best podcast ever. She is so funny!

On a more interesting note, I think Lulu may be trying to make a reappearance. She's decided that "relationship" may not be for her, but is willing to give it a week or so of serious attention before she slinks sluttily back to orange. Troglodytes beware.

Look what I made!

I have not been so inordinately pleased with myself in ages! So much pleasure out of something so horrible. Maybe I should give it to my mother, as it's about on the level of a grade one mother's day project.

I give you... my first machine made sock (or some reasonable facsimile thereof):



The scale seems seriously fucked up. In case you need a better look:

Note the heel is half way down my foot and by my calculations this should have been a knee-high. Har.

As I was taking the photo I had a blinding revelation. Machine knitting is all about gauge. Know your stitch and row gauge, then you don't measure anything, you just count. (It's impossible to measure on the machine. IMpossible.) My gauge couldn't have been THAT far off, could it? Really?

cue bolt of lightning

Nope. But when you're knitting in the round, the counter counts each pass as a row, so a round needs TWO rows. When you think my masterpiece is shrunken by a factor of two, it's not really so bad. One might even say... pretty good.

Know any shrunken midgets with fat legs who need socks?

Slug

I give you the newest addition to our family:As you can see, the slug has crept into our lives quickly and seamlessly. See him here enjoying a hearty and nutritious post-swimming meal of McCrap along with the boys. He was even allowed to snuggle with Binkie! In fact, I was told to go get "Snaily" (what Jack called him before he switched to "Sluggie") from the car since Jack was sad and Sluggy made him feel better.

Quality use of a day of travel, no?

By the way, vegetables bite. Who wants salad when it's minus 10? Not this gal. But I hate DPNs too so you can't trust my judgment. Fat is the new thin.

Happy new year! Whadda ya mean, I'm too late?

Updates:

Sylvi was rocking along until I got to the fronts. Now I'm just bored with the seed stitch so progress is glacial.

My second pair of Embossed Leaves socks are almost done, thank god. I am NEVER knitting for someone I don't care about again, no matter how high the bribe. Plus my stupid socks are all getting holes in the feet. I am NEVER knitting socks with yarn the doesn't have nylon in it again. (like all the NEVERs? sure sign of imminent demise.)

I knit neckwarmers for my kids. Since I am parent of the year already, I sent my kids to school without scarves on the coldest days in history. They won't wear them. I thought neck-tuques might help. Actually I only knit one. The other one was the stupid red hat - I just ripped out the top and cast off again. Genius! Laziness rules the day again.


Tried knitting new mitts for Jack, but after fucking up three times I gave up in disgust.

Started the cashmere handmaiden hat, but hated the pattern given as it was just moss stitch (see Sylvi comments). Kill me now. I'm contemplating doing the straight part on my machine as then I can wear it before summer. Love my machine, BTW, but it's a huge timesucker. I could spend DAYS figuring it out. Maybe I can get the flu or something...

Speaking of timesucking, after knitting Cuddly a BSJ and Baby a dress, I decided it was much more efficient to sew stuff. Sure enough, I knocked off a silk (chosen by Calvin) dress for Barbie in the time it took for the kids to bathe. Damn, that Barbie is a classy chick when she tries.

My only NY resolution this year is to find myself an affordable housekeeper and keep her. I haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate cleaning the house. What a waste of time. (Oh yeah, and to try and use less commas and more pronouns. Lazy bitch.)

I've done my good deed for the month - I had my mom come and stay with me so she didn't freeze to death while the power was out. I am going to have to teach her some manners - she's been living alone too long. Sandwich generation indeed - I'm teaching my mom and my kids the same things.

Think happy thoughts. And drink wine.

Disclosure.

I have a bone to pick with the Harlot . While her blog is highly amusing, interesting and informative with respect to anything related to the fibre arts, I am going to have to take her to task regarding her cavalier attitude towards home renovations.

Now, I understand she lives in an ancient Toronto house, much as I do. She seems to have successfully undertaken several mammoth projects virtually on her own, with relatively little tooth gnashing, and the things that do happen are interesting and blog-worthy.

See, I think this is impossible. Where are the manic rantings of a woman who has been trying to fit something new into a house that has not a single 90 degree angle in it? That has multiple layers of wallpaper, usually still remaining only because they are a structural element of the house - certainly not for aesthetics. Where are the oddities unearthed like the second kitchen craftily concealed behind "that odd piece of paneling"?

I am not so lucky. I have spent the entire weekend trying to change a lock. (We shall not discuss the fact that I spent a previous weekend replacing one lock the insurance company deemed "too insecure" - comical to anyone who knows my ex's ability to close a door - with EXACTLY the same type of lock - and I had a billion keys cut.) A simple deadbolt. I've done it before. Piece of cake.

Except... it's impossible to drill a big hole over a smaller one without clamping another piece of wood on top first. Fine. PITA, but OK. But then the door hole kit I had previously didn't have the right size hole saw. Fine. Went and borrowed one from my neighbour. Turns out to be the same freaking size as the one I already have. Feh. OK, so I improvised (we shall not get into details due to the sloppy nature of my workmanship, but fuck it, it worked).

One day later, lock installed, just the deadbolt strike (?) to go. Nooooooooooooooooooo problem!

So my house is ancient. I think it's had the same lock for the past 60 years, but the wood has been... altered a bit. So when I come along to drill a 1" hole in the door jamb, there's basically nothing to drill into. I'm sure there's an easy way to do this that doesn't involve plastic wood, wood glue and the sawing of a thousand bits of wood to "fill" the 2"x 3" gap in my door jamb right where the strike is supposed to go, but please feel free NOT to point these out to me as I may have to make you eat the ten pounds of wood chips, shavings and scraps of shattered filler bits. Where were you two days ago? Keep in mind this is not a nice neat gap. It's a thousand steps from 1cm to 10 cm and every topographical variation in between. (Yeah, I mix my measurements shamelessly. Sue me.)

Anyway, the final fill piece snapping in two as I drove in the screws for the strike cover plate was the last straw. Another heavy application of wood glue and I threw up my hands and walked away. All I need to do now is put in the strike plate cover (again)(with bigger pilot holes) and I'm done. Piece o'cake.

Nothing entertaining, funny or interesting happened at all, but pity the first child who dares to throw their shoulder against that door.

Gratification

This is possibly the most gratifying Christmas present I've ever made:

I BAWLED all the way home. The tulipsocks are the nicest gift EVER! thank you SOOO SOO MUCH. I can't believe you gave them to ME!!!!! IM SO HAPPY. those are the bEst socks EVER - HANDMADE!

I could die.

I am slowly amassing a list of people for who I will and will not make things. Barb falls firmly in the first category. Merry Christmas.

Maybe I got ma mojo back...

Now that I'm one with the hood I can talk like a gangsta - yo. Word.

Ayway, Sylvi seems to be back. I tried again today. I boldly cast on with the 8mms, knit briskly for a couple of inches and then realized AGAIN I had neglected to slip the edge stitches. Sigh. Ripped back and started again. Then decided the gauge was too loose. Ripped back, and pulled the end out of my KP cable. Bugger. Perused the PPs selection of needles in a funk. Decided needle manufacturers were high. Thought in the interests of economy I would try the Chigoogy needles or whatever they're called. Bamboo, feh. But the cables were thinner than the Addis and the needle length was longer (what, does Addi think I like knitting on something resembling a short, fat crayon?) and the price is excellent.

Tried again. Actually, the needles are good. The cables could be better, but not impossible and at least they're thin. The bamboo actually works for me. Since I'm knitting on 6.5mms instead of something like a 7, I decided I have to do the entire gazillion miles of seed stitch continental. That should be interesting. It's not hard so much as awkward, and my hand hurts already, but we'll see how that goes.(Oh yeah, the black stitching is because I keep seaming up the stupid cuff the wrong way and it's too hard to pick out in red. I figure I can fix it later. Maybe. Maybe it will just be a nice accent detail.)

And look! It's christmas shopping! I vow to complete it this weekend, whether it kills me or not. The housework may suffer a bit though.
Now what on earth shall I buy myself? Whatever it is, I know it will be just what I wanted.

Word.

Wow. Sometimes things just take on a life of their own.

Like the slipper: take a mildly amusing giant sized slipper...Then stick it on someone's head - let's call her Barb - and give it to an underemployed person - let's call her Cathy - and the result....


Hi fucking larious.

Sylvi is kicking my butt.

While happily knitting away on the first sleeve chez Purple Purl, I happened to ask what happened if you didn't get row gauge. Just as a discussion point. I never measure row gauge. I figure if you get stitch gauge (or something resembling it) you'll be fine.

However, when it was revealed that I will probably run out of yarn if my gauge is whacked, I thought I'd give it a quick measure. I must be close, right> I'm using the right needles on the yarn specifically called for in the pattern. OK, so maybe I knit a little tightly, I was trying no to do so this time. Just to check.

Oh horror.

OK, stitch gauge is supposed to be 3 st/inch. I was getting about 3.5 maybe 4, but I could sure block that puppy into submission. Row gauge is supposed to be 4 rows per inch. I was getting… 7. Not even freaking close.

I took it home, washed the entire gauge swatch (that's the sleeve for the people who don't know how I feel about swatching) and blocked the living bejesus out of it. I practically had my foot on the ironing board for leverage yanking it into submission when I realized this was not a good sign. And yes, I surrendered. OK, I left it on the ironing board to dry in case she has a change of heart, but in my mind I have accepted the fact I will have to pull out my miles of seed stitch and start again. (Shall I mention the fact that my sleeve, which I had been patiently knitting and was not quite at the 10" mark was measuring at LEAST 12"? Definite issues there. How the hell are you supposed to measure something that grows so much? Yank the snot out of it each time? Sigh. Knitting things that fit is a novelty for me.)

I shall go up a needle size, because that's what Sylvi wants. And since Sylvi is such a lovely beautiful creature, getting gauge should be a good thing, right? It won't created a flimsy, holey garment that the wind just whistles through, will it?

No. Sylvi wouldn't do that to me.

Oh, and on a more comical note, are these supposed to look like this? I mean, I get the felting thing and all, but these are ridiculously huge.

Why I knit.

I was thinking this afternoon the question all knitters seem to ask themselves at one point or another - why do I knit? I can think of several reasons:

• Knitting doesn't talk back. If i ask it to do something, unless I'm the one screwing up, it does it.
• If I don't like it that day, I just rip it out
• If I don't want to deal with it's issues, I can stuff it behind the couch, leave it in the car or do pretty much anything I like with it.
• I am not responsible for how it acts when it's 18 years old. In fact people should be relieved if it reaches that ripe old age.

These are all compelling reasons. It restores order and sanity and some small measure of control to my life. However, there is another really good reason to knit.

I started knitting again to try and curb my tv snacking. It's difficult - not impossible by any means, but difficult - to eat and knit at the same time. Stuck in the house every evening I don't have much to do for entertainment (trust me laundry and housework are NOT entertainment by any stretch of the imagination) so I like to have a little reality escape by watching tv. No wonder I hate reality tv. That ain't reality, kids.

Now I have discovered another, possibly better, reason to knit: it's hard to knit when you're drunk. My life being the way it is I'd probably start drinking the moment I walked in the door and not stop 'til I was passed out on the floor. This would be a large improvement while dealing with the nightly performance of Thing 1 and Thing 2. I LIKE knitting, and I don't like knitting drunk. Good thing.

I don't know what to do. I cannot cope with my wretched children. Today I had to resort to unplugging the tv and carting it out onto the front porch. Really, it was all I could do to stop myself throwing it over the railing. Only the thought of picking up all the pieces of glass from my driveway stopped me. Every day I tell myself it will be better - they won't be so awful, I won't be so crusty, but it ain't happening.

And what a surprise. I average about 7 hours of sleep a night, in 2 or three hour chunks. Isn't this what they do to POWs to torture them? Well it's working. I'll give up my secrets, my chocolate, my children just for an extended bout of sleep. Great, I get to sleep every second weekend, but it just. Isn't. Enough.

Last time I whinged to my doc about being on the edge she said I should ask for help. Great. Fabulous. Got any volunteers? My mom won't take my phone calls and besides, she's tied up in her roll as full time babysitter to my brother's kids. So nice to have her in the city. Steve has already divulged the fact that he is outdoing himself in the parenting department by coming every second tuesday evening. Lovely, really that I get to go knitting, but I have to get the kids ready before he arrives, and when I get home I have to do all the other things I should have been doing; clean up, do the garbage, pick up crap... not much of a break.

AND IF THE TORONTO STAR COME IN MY HOUSE JUST ONE MORE TIME I MAY HAVE A MELTDOWN OF EPIC PROPORTIONS. I don't subscribe, tit, and I don't read it. If you're going to bring it in, PUT IN IN THE RECYCLE BIN, for the love of Pearl.

So tell me, if I start beating my kids do you think I could stop? I don't think so. That's why I won't go down that road, tempting though it may be. It's not supposed to help anyway. Feh.

So anyone who tells me I spend too much money or wool can just fuck right off. It's better than the alternatives.

Meet Sylvi, my new best friend.

Unnecessary use of plastics...