Advent Conspiracy

Found here, thanks to someone new following me on Twitter.

Favorite Moment | Hell in a Knitting Basket

Oh, dear. What a week. I have been quiet for many reasons, not the least of which was the implosion of my internet service on Monday. We were able to get things partially squared away by Wednesday, but we are still unable to get the Mister's PC communicate with my Mac/Airport Extreme router--or at least that's what I think it's called. This means if I have to use our backyard office if I want to do anything internet related. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the peace and quiet, but I can't leave the kidlets inside unsupervised because they might eat the dogs.

Speaking of kidlets, Mikey has been sick, although not terribly so. We've been up a few times with him the last two night dues to fevers and runny noses, but nothing serious enough to prevent him from obsessing about dinosaurs. This morning, while I was changing him into some fresh pajamas, he perked up enough to point out the manufacturers had made a most embarrassing mistake: Tyrannosaurus Rex has two fingers, not three like depicted in red, iconic glory. Three fingers is clearly an Allosaurus, which predates T-Rex and is really something any pajama-maker worth their snuff would know.

And while we are on the subject of pajamas, I finally broke down and had a sleep study done. I thought I was a light sleeper, but I didn't know the half of it; I have severe sleep apnea, and must now sleep with a cpap, also known as the world's sexiest oxygen mask. I only exaggerating slightly when I say it looks like this.


I have yet to wake up feeling magically refreshed as promised, but I've had interrupted sleep due to the aforementioned paleontologist. I'll reserve comment, for now, until I have at least two full nights sleep under my mask belt.

Lest you think my week centered around sick beds and sleep masks, I did venture out for a lovely lunch with Ms. Kara on Tuesday. She got to witness firsthand Nico's latest trick: food compulsions. Familiar foods (nothing new, please!) must be eaten in groups. There is no mixing allowed. No crazy touching of the chips with the strawberries! While you're at it, don't you dare offer a chip when he is clearly having a chicken tender moment. Sacrilege! And did you know you eat chips with a dinner fork? Of course not. You are uncivilized. Sometimes I look at Nico and wonder how I gave birth to such a persnickety child. Then he'll take the frosting off a cupcake and use it to moisturize his cheeks. Welcome home, son.

So this week our internet asked for a bail out, Mikey caught another cold, I learned I am awake more than I am asleep, and I ate lunch with my best friend and the next Howard Hughes. While not the best of times, it certainly hasn't been the worst of times, either. We have a roof over our heads, no one has been laid off (knock. knock.), and we are are happy and healthy. And, besides, if it wasn't for that little internet snafu, I might not have been able to do this:


It looks wonky, but they assured me at the yarn shop everything is as it should be, which, coincidentally, describes my week perfectly.

Things I Hope to Never Forget | The Outdoors Man

Is there a little boy out there who does not love tents? I think not.

Favorite Moment | Hope and Change

Those of you who have written Favorite Moments know they are often simple and ordinary. Consequently, these moments are often difficult to encapsulate with mere subjects and predicates--or even my beloved adverbs--because while the moment is mundane, its impact on the soul can be magical. For those moments, a string of words makes a paltry net.

Hope and change. Two words on a string that have transcended their once rudimentary place in the dictionary. They now define the future of a country that, until recently, remained shadowed by the stigma of racism. They symbolize the belief of the majority of the nation, and balm the incertitude of those who retain misgivings. They unite and divide and speak volumes, but to me they are so much more.

I find my hope in two pairs of eyes, one gray and one brown. And change, well, I see that frequently in a new word, a new skill, or a new passion. My favorite moment for me happened not at the national level as one would expect, but at the dining room table in a red-brick ranch in a drowsy, if not sleepy, town southern California.

I found my favorite moment in a bowl of apples.

And the dinosaur footprints on the table.

After lunch and acrobatics on the school swing set.

The milestones in my life shape me, but I am built on the moments that on their own amount to little. I am surrounded by hope every minute of my day, and I create my own change. God help me if I one day fail to see the hope in playdoh and apples. Should that day ever come {doubtful} I will go looking for it tirelessly, until I come up empty.

The Health Nut

Much can happen while you are putting away laundry, and it's never a good sign when you call poison control before 10:00am. Of course, my day started hours earlier when Nicholas started chirping away in his crib at 6:00 am this morning, a solid 1.5-2 hours ahead of schedule. I looked at the Mister and said, "Today is going to be a bitch."

I should buy lotto tickets.

As expected, Nicholas has been a bear all day. Crying, refusing to eat, crying, wanting to eat, crying, not liking what I offered to eat, crying, still wanting to eat, and did I mention crying? I made the mistake of giving him the box of cereal to play with while I got him a bowl; he promptly emptied the box onto the floor.

He climbed the beds and tried to take apart the blinds to see how they worked.

He brushed his teeth for 45 minutes.

He colored at the table, but then got frustrated and swept everything to the floor.

He pulled a stool out of the bathroom for the sole purpose of dancing atop it in the middle of the kitchen.

He took the stop out of the third bathroom sink.

He tossed all the soap dishes in the sink.

He opened the refrigerator repeatedly, hoping to find something appetizing.

He climbed onto the dining room table and started chewing on the fake apples.

I was pulling him off the table (and only barely yelling at the top of my voice) when Mikey came up to me talking around an open mouth quickly collecting saliva.

Mikey: "Mu. I neh wa-uh."

Jules: "What? What's wrong with your mouth?

Mikey: "Wa-uh!" pointing furiously at his mouth.

Jules: "Water? You need water? Why? Did you eat something?"

Mikey: "Uh-huh. Eeese."

Jules: "Cheese?" I did have some gruyere in the fridge.

Mikey: "No, EEESE."

Jules: "Okay, I can't understand you," I said walking towards the cabinet with the glasses. "Let's get you some water and...MIKEY! IS THIS WHAT YOU ATE?!"


Mikey: "Yeah. Eeese."

Jules: "Mikey, THESE ARE NOT SEEDS!"

I spent the next five minutes instructing Mikey on how to rinse out his mouth with water. I tried to teach him how to swish, but he couldn't get the hang of it so he shook his head from left to right. Effectiveness Rate: Absolutely None. One thousand raw lentil pieces later, Mikey looked at me calmly and asked for real seeds. I said no.

I called the pediatrician, who referred me to poison control. I explained the entire situation, and how Mikey mistook a bag of lentils for the seeds I often given him with nuts and raisins to snack on.

"That's what I get for trying to raise a health nut," {pause for chuckles from Poison Control operator.}

Still waiting.

After a brief time on hold we got the all clear. I decided staying in the house one minute longer would surely be dangerous for all of us (mainly because I was going to kill them), so I packed up the boys and went to the bookstore and then lunch, whereupon I realized one of those life truths you only realize after hitting bottom.

Everything is better with books and ketchup.

The Failed Domestic

Last year, upon my request, my mother-in-law gave me gift certificates to a yarn shop for supplies and lessons. Two weeks ago, I finally made the time to schedule a lesson. I did alright in the shop, but once I got home and a few (7-ish) days went by I swear knitting became as easy as teaching yourself Cantonese.

I learn by reading and by clear examples and pictures. So, last night after I forgot, um, everything, there I was with the laptop on my lap, two needles in my hands, and a ball of yarn bouncing around like a tumble weed all while I surfed the web for decent pictures and videos. Have you ever seen pictures or videos of people knitting? Allow me to demonstrate.

Imagine a close up of two hands and white yarn against a dark white background. Fingers everywhere, no clue which string of yarn is the tail, and a 42 second flurry of finger flouncing activity complemented by a mystery female voice over lay who says:

Mystery Female Voice: So the knit stitch is super easy. You just go left to right, out the back door, wrap around, drop, and your done!

Sure! Of course! Now, come a-flippin-gain?! Huh? Wha? 42 seconds?! Repeat!

And I did. And I looked for other videos. More white yarn, more lightening speed knitting, and more pale, bony fingers that, I'm sorry, say "I own a whole crap load of cats."

God knows, I tried. I am nothing if not persistent. After I untangled, unraveled, and un-knitted whatever knotted, unspeakable horror I was 'creating' 231 times, my yarn looked like an 80s perm: fried, frizzed, and frazzled. I was half-tempted to put some John Frieda on it and keep trying, but the Mister, sensing a Mount Vesuvius of rage building every time my knits turned into knots, wondered out loud,

Didn't you take up knitting to relax?

Why yes, I did. Which means only one thing: screw you, knitting! We're done. Finished. Through. No longer an item. Instead, I'm going to dust off the sewing machine I have sitting in the closet collecting dust and see if maybe, just maybe, there is somewhere in my being a crafty sewing gene. My mother-in-law also bought me this book for Christmas, no doubt suspecting the only thing I would be capable of fashioning from yarn is a noose.


I am also putting this book on my birthday/Christmas wish list.


Anyone have it? I already read Angry Chicken, so I know the writing and projects will be fun and creative. Anyone have any other crafty sewing book suggestions? I would like something fun and easy. Something even a failed domestic could handle.

Do it for the kids, man.