The Angry Eggplant

Sadly, I did not finish the cabled christmas sweater in time...So this saturday as we loped into the agricultural and craft exhibits at the Marshfield Fair, I was doubly disappointed. Where were the bloggers? I didn't recognize any of the FO's, nor names. It appears we have all reached the summer lows, which isn't a bad thing. It just seems like we have all reached the epitome of relaxation. And perhaps just a bit of elan.

This lovely vegetable sculpture was worth the trip, though. Behold the menacing eggplant. This is one vegetable you don't want to mess with!

There was also some chicanery at the national guard tent. Gunnery Sgt FieldsofHeather took position, aimed, and fired upon (in her imagination anyways) some 30 year old women who were innappropriately dressed in stretch jeans, belly shirts, and tramp stamps. Gotta love the locals.

Upon returning home, I self-medicated with two episodes of What Not to Wear on TLC and went to bed, feeling much better.

Mid-Summer Ramble

I have been rambling a lot lately. Rambling with the stroller to the beach. Roaming in the car to the Cape. Wandering aimlessly down the aisles at TJMaxx, hair disheveled, like a crazy woman who missed the bus. Hell, I have really missed the bus. I didn't feel like crowing about it last month, but I resigned my position as training coordinator whatnot at the firm. Walked out. Threw in the towel. Quit.

I won't go into detail, but I wish I could scream at my team leader, YOU CANNOT DO 50 HOURS OF WORK IN JUST 30!!!!!! WHILE TRAINING THREE OR FOUR PEOPLE. You just can't. I'm not superwoman. And that "nice way" about me, which was the reason I landed this promotion in the first place? It went right out the window after three months of that shit. Four years of flawless, dedicated work and I'm moving on. What a waste.

There is a silver lining, of course. My house is clean. The beach is my daily retreat. I may be actually learning how to cook. Behold a crookneck squash (from the farm of course) stuffed with rice, ground turkey, parma, and assorted fresh herbs! No recipe! Just whipped it all up, and served it for dinner. And nobody needed a call to poison control!

And since July our son has suddenly learned to crawl, sit unsupported, pull himself up and climb things (or people) and do quantum physics. Ok, maybe not that last part, but he IS doing much better with all the attention he gets from moi.

Now knitting. Cheating on your diet: Bad. Cheating on your one WIP: very good. I have learned in the last few weeks that you need a break every now and then from continuous cable hell. So there's a cutesy tootsy vest for LBB in the works, just from some cheapo Lamb's Pride wool. I still prefer playing with LBB to knitting, so I just get a few rows in whenever he naps. But now I am back on a roll...just like him. Phew.

But I like to cheat. Oh yes I do. Don't tell.

Down on the Farm

Project monogamy is SO over-rated. I've finally determined the main cause of the baby christmas sweater ordeal is that I'm working on nothing else!

But more on that later...One little tidbit you might not expect from a pixie-mama, stiletto heel-wearing chickadee like me-I really did grow up on a farm. Mucked stalls, rode horses, and even helped with weeding the ol' veggies once or twice. Now I'm not saying I loved every minute of it. But I did learn that the rewards were well worth all that hard work.

The farm is still there, and going strong under the care of my parents. It was originally owned by a farmer named Japhet Allen in 1776. Although there have been many improvements and neccessary modifcations, the original structures are still standing. Not bad for a colonial farmer who also fought in the Revolutionary War in his spare time. Is this beginning to sound familiar? If he had only practiced a bit o' medicine in his spare time, perhaps a few sutures on the kitchen table, the resemblance would be more striking.

Well, we are not related to Mr. Allen, but it is interesting to know who built and lived in that farmhouse over 220 years ago. With the help of Doc & Blogless Sharon's crafty friends, a logo was created for the farm and embroidered on shirts for them to wear proudly. Wish I had a close up, but you'll just have to hang tight. And admire this ruggedly handsome fella.

She Who Was Formerly Blogless

Someone is thinking of finally starting a blog of her own. I won't say who, but you probably already know. If you haven't guessed who I speak of, here are a few hints. They're also reasons why she MUST blog whether she likes it or not! For instance:

She has recently acquired two gentle furry friends of the alpaca variety.

She also has the angora bunbuns (and I'm not saying she has a furry caboose).

She has leaping lambs.

And if that's not enough, wouldn't you just love to hear about the antics of an eccentric world-traveling, motorcylemama, spinner, knitter-enthusiast who lives on a wacky farm with a hay-obsessed doctor-come-farmer husband and their three disfunctional kids?

There is a problem. What to name such a blog....any suggestions?

Six Painted Toes

Ahh summer.

The time for flip flops. Tank tops. Drinks in an open-air bar on the waterfront.

Where was I? Oh, summer. The time for...

weddings.

I love them. I love brides, centerpieces, bouquets, you name it. What I don't like? Picking out something to wear, mucking with my hair, shoes, and the like. My favorite wedding hands-down was held on a remote island in Maine, where we danced the night away on the beach in summer clothes and bare feet. Kicked ass.

So halfway to this latest wedding I realized my new momy status had resulted in horribly neglected toes. We quickly stopped at CVS, and in the car I hastily laquered my chipped toenails. The three that were visible in my open-toed heels.

A few days later, we were sunning our buns on York Beach in Maine, laughing at my six painted toes.

I am sooo lazy.

(I have also included the crime-scene photographs from the reception. One sugar-coated bride and groom disappeared suddenly friday night. Their whereabouts are presently unknown.)

Don't Forget!

August 10th and 11th in Bahhhston

Regatta, Tent Parties, Silent Auction.

Knitting with Pigtails

I hope you all had a wonderful Independence Day and a nice break from work. Our town is just a mess during the 4th-residents usually duck out of town if they're smart, or perhaps venture out only during daylight. We tried valiantly to stick it out during the wet weather, but just minutes shy of the fireworks, decided to return home and have a nice dry evening. I was happy enough to watch the Pops and Keith Lockhart play at the hatchshell. (Country bumpkin that I am, I was thrilled to hear them play Adagio for Strings by S. Barber, one of my favorite pieces of all time.)

Scout was beside himself with the noise, so we were happy to stay home and comfort him as well.

On another note, one of my most beloved is having an echocardiogram today, which had me thinking on the way into work today. Why do we put so much pressure on the powers of the heart? We credit love, passion, hate and all sorts of emotional currents on this one organ, and I don't understand why. The heart is the strongest muscle in the human body, and for the most part, is the most dependable, unflinching piece of human machinery there is.

So why do we credit, or blame I should say, the mostly flimsy of human emotions on this part of ourselves? Why not blame love on the eyes, that draw conclusions so quickly? Or perhaps on our lungs, which seem to stop and shudder when we feel desire? But no, we look to the heart, the engine that just pump pump pumps away. I find nothing related to human passions when I think of cardiology, except perhaps from the rushing of one's blood when we are excited by anger or adoration. But that's blood. And when it is felt, it is felt throughout our entire being. Not just in the center of our chest. Hmm.

When I think of my heart, I feel more of the perfection of the human body as a whole, the symphony of organs and how they function together so perfectly. The heart is the engine, which makes the thought of it failing so frightening to me. But I certainly don't connect it with the feelings of love, hate, and passion. These are our imperfections. And the differences and weaknesses in ourselves that stop life from being just a stream of processes, day in, and day out. Emotions cause jarring changes and pauses in the pattern of life, changes in direction, and then perhaps a reason to live altogether. The heart beats incessantly whether or not we fall in love, fall out of love, or have unrequited love.

When the cat's away, the mice shall play

I discovered these on my camera. This is what happens when you leave your child with your husband for a wee bit too long. Some kind of crazy crib games may occur.

So we live in a lovely neighborhood. Really. Our neighbors are all wonderful, considerate, and respect our privacy. However (and it is a big however) it is a very small neighborhood. I don't mind this, since it makes me feel watched over, safe, and a little protected. But not much of our comings and goings escapes our neighbors. One in particular has a great deal of time on her hands, and has created a great many theories about the families on all sides of us. Tales of abuse, love affairs, and crime. I find it all really interesting and humorous really. I can only imagine what is said about us!

But my husband had a visit from this particular person while I was out 'n about. Now I had warned him, but he got quite the earful. It could have something to do with her rambunctious 23 year old son setting off fireworks in the street last week. Perhaps she came over to throw up a smokescreen... sure if we are preoccupied with that story about the time the SWAT team raided our neighbors house, this little offense might not seem so bad...

But i digress...

My point today is that I'm grateful- it may seem almost intrusive when my neighbors mention anything about the hours we keep, or the sounds we make (must remember to close some of those windows). But I've learned to appreciate these things. Its far better living alongside people who have an inerest in us-I would never want to live in the city, where your neighbors barely know your name, or simply don't need to.

Its nice to know the people who live alongside you would perhaps worry if they saw no sign of life coming from your home that day. Or might notice any sign of distress in the middle of the night. Its funny to think, but many of my friends would not notice for weeks if I disappeared. But my neighbors would.

Now if their grown kids would just move out, I would be so much happier...

My Little Blob

It is so funny how unblobby he has become lately. In fact, he's getting so darn good at amusing himself that I am quickly running out of excuses for not knitting. The best reason at this time is that he is in the habit of grabbing anything nearby and coating it immediately with baby slime.

He's also a magnet for anything and everything furry, which clings to his little chin like whickers, so my favorite fuzzy alpaca blends are not a good selection at this time. Nonetheless, while I may not be entering anything fabulous at the upcoming fairs this summer, I really look forward to seeing what everyone else submits.

On a different topic, shall we say 'scatterbrain,' for the umpteenth time this year, I have walked into work and realized that I put on the wrong color pants. In the dark this morning, I thought I was matching brown on brown. One hour, a cup of MaryLou's, and some neon lighting later I see the pants are black. The shoes are brown. Oh mercy.

To the Zoo

Ever wonder how many kinds of animal fur can be spun? This question was posed at least once or twice last week. With giraffe, bison, longhorn, camels; you name it. So I'm just throwing that in so there is at least something knit-related on here.

The Roger Williams Park Zoo is a fantastic place for kids. And adults. I can't remember ever going to a zoo, so when Blogless Sharon suggested we play hooky last week I was up for it. LBB was too, but since it was so hot most of the critters were laying in the shade. And that was not so fascinating for an infant who is accustomed to bells, whistles, and a mommy that perpetually jumps around and dances in order to win his smiles. (I admit it. I'm a smilaholic.)

But we put on our best safari outfits. And spied on the cheetah, wildebeest, and even a few of those tail-less monkeys. The name escapes me now, but they were cute.

We prowled the gift shop until LBB picked out a stuffed penguin by gummiffication.

gummiffication (n) the process in which an infant pulls multiple items of interest off shelves in order to find a toy of preference. This selection is usually indicated by a large dollop of drool placed on the object.

I left my damn camera at home! If I hadn't, you would see crazy babe and bloglessSharon with wild animals. But you will soon. I promise. And I will be here more often. Another promise.

So I was talking about kids with someone this weekend, which I constantly do now that I have one. You would think I was the expert on mommyhood the way i talk, but really am more an example of what NOT to do. I'm sure other parents are horrified by us. But we lucked out. Somehow we ended up with a foolproof child, and no matter how hard I try to screw this parenting thing up, the more wonderful he is. Or maybe he's just a nut like me, which is wonderful in my eyes.

But I was sayin' KIDS.

Aw hell. Lost my train of thought.

Just look at the cute baby.

And I'll find something knitworthy to talk about tomorrow.

An Enigmatic Post

Hello from the land of non-blog. Its been a tumultuous few weeks, filled with developmental changes in LBB, family drama, work work work, fun times with friends, and least of all, knitting. I'm resuming my work on the hooded sweater for baby's first christmas, in hope of entering it in the Barnstable County Fair, since their critieria includes the work be done sometime in the past year. Yah, I'm sure people cheat, but to maintain my own integrity, I'd like to stick to the rules. And the other projects I have done this year have been mostly quick, simple stuff-hats, scarves, arm warmers. However, with the sleeves and hood to go, and very little time to do it (basically during naptime) it is a bit up in the air.

My little sweatpea is wonderful as ever- healthy, strong, and extremely energetic. He now eats a bit of rice cereal every day, but mostly to oblige his parents. He still prefers the buuub, which is just fine with me, since it is easiest on his tummy. He also has discovered his voice and the ability to rise and drop in pitch, which he does in a hilarious parrot-like sqwauuuck for hours at a time.

And of course, much to my excitement he has developed great manual dexterity, and can now use one hand to hold or steady an object while he manipulates it with the other hand, so he can grasp, shake, and spin his toys without smacking himself in the face constantly. It gives me great hope that we may someday be sitting in a mommy-and-me violin class. If he likes that. I won't make him. Um.

He also sleeps quite peacefully through the night.

But with all this wonder and beauty in my life, there are also some challenges. I have a big "WWJD" test ahead of me-a moral dilemma you might say. In fact, when I look at my life aside from these troubles I can say that every week is quite clear, uncluttered, and pleasant. My home is a beautiful sanctuary by the sea-with a wonderful loving husband, and beautiful son. If you would permit me to get a bit Christian on yo' I would say that all of a sudden my life has been disrupted by something villainous and quite evil. The question is, what part of this is the actual evil? The source that has passed on rumors or information and thereby raised this wicked speculation in my mind? Or the people or subject in question? One of them is cruel, awful, and deceitful. But which one? I've been trying for weeks to wrap my mind around this, and what to do.

One thing is certain, the wrong thing for me to do at this point would be to walk away. The implications this has raised are terrible, that to not find out the truth I would inadvertently be causing someone great harm. To look the other way would be wrong. I'm hoping this all amounts to nothing, but sadly, history is not pointing in that direction. So while I wait for the evidence to arrive I am lost and confused about what would be the right thing to do. Normally I don't meddle, in fact I have had such bad experience with meddling and those type of people, that this is completely out of my realm. My usual tactic is to cut ties completely and run.

Once I know the truth, what do I do? Some say I should just present the evidence and leave those affected by this to sort it out on their own. My own feelings are to simply keep it to myself, and never use this information for any purpose-just keep it under my hat, so to speak. And just know the true nature of these people, and thereby protect myself and my own household. If what I suspect is true, then I need to get away from those in question fast, never look back, never be involved with them again. Of course, it's never that simple though! Sorry to babble on, but I am so lost here. I never knew people could be so manipulative and dishonest. My life is about to become soooo Jerry Springer.

Babies Need No Translation

Once upon a time there was a girl named Heather who was always cold. She was so cold even in the Spring and Summer. One day, Heather realized she could create cute little shrugs out of yarn that would keep her snug and warm, yet not look like an idiot while others were sweaty and hot. So she bought a ton of pointy little sticks and began to make yummy little sweaters. Heather was finally happy. The End.

Its funny how easily babies are entertained. We have a small library of childrens' classics, but sometimes I read the Sephora catalog to LBB over breakfast. He chuckles and smiles to this season's latest trends in eyeshadow every bit as much as the adventures of Wilbur from Charlotte's Web. I was reading Jenny McCarthy's book "Baby Laughs" yesterday, and had a laugh when she wrote about singing her son Evan to sleep. Despite all her preparations for the arrival of her new son, her memory failed her when it came to lullabyes, and the best she could come up with was a soft version of Brittney Spears 'oops I did it Again.'

But it did the trick.

Like Jenny, my repertoire of lullabyes and playsongs includes some gems. For the life of me I couldn't remember the words to that damn mockingbird song, or all that 'go to sleep' crap. Instead, we sing "I Like to Move It" by the Baha Men and "I Get Knocked Down" by Chumbawumba. Hummed softly they sound like lullabyes. Or a little louder with my goofy smile for playtime. LBB really digs it. If I throw some dancing and hair-tossing in, you would think I had spun a disco ball with lights over his head.

New Hampshire Sheep & Wool

Now, before I begin, let me apologize for the ditzy dizzy greeting-and-scurry I gave my fellow bloggers on saturday. It may have been the fleecy-fumes, the fun, the enormous ice cream cone being shoved at me by my husband, or just perhaps my abounding delight at the wonderful weather. But I sincerely regret being such a wingnut (as usual), and hope you weren't too offended!

After a lazy beginning back home, we (me, hubby, and baby) finally rolled into Contoocook around 12:30-giving me only 4 1/2 hours in fiber paradise. To make matters worse, I noticed the battery on our camera was DEAD, so we had to charge it in the car for about half that time....oh mercy.

It was gorgeous!! In fact, the whole weekend was fantastic, but the highlight of my first Mother's Day/Weekend (ok, so let me stretch it out for a few days, ok?) was the sheep & wool show. We introduced little Phil (who I will call LBB for little boy blue) to the sweet song of the alpacas, and tried to push Blogless Sharon and the Doc to buy a few, with sweet promises that LBB would gladly participate in any local 4H alpaca clubs in our area.

We stopped for a snack once or twice...

I contained myself, and picked up just two skeins of yarn at the Foxfire booth in 'tsunami' to make another baby sweater. And spent at least 40 AGONIZING minutes deliberating over my first drop-spindle. And then settled on the least-expensive model they had to offer at the Golding booth.

And there was much rejoicing.

There was also a bit of rejoicing over at the Merlin Tree (?) booth, as it was pickup time for Blogless Sharon and her antique spinning wheel. I especially loved the note left for her on the wheel by admirers...

Mommy Hate

Don't hate the mommy!

Thanks for your supportive emails and comments-it has been a tough week, mostly because little Phil has really hit a stage of cuteness. I am barely able to take my eyes off his little face. In fact, when he wakes at 4am for a feeding, my husband and I race each other to see who can get to him first!

These really are the best days ever.
(And nights too)

Work is a different matter-as some of you have pointed out, my coworkers aren't thrilled with the fact that I work only part time, have four-day weekends, and stroll into work just about anytime before 9AM. They don't realize that I am often out of bed and getting the doodlebug ready for his Gram or Nana around 5AM. Or that I don't take a lunch break. Or that when that office door is closed, I am typing-while-pumping. A newly acquired skill!

Nonetheless, there's still a bit of hostility in the air. Nothing obvious, but detectable in whispers around the office. Or sudden silences when I appear. Luckily, there are half a dozen other mommies in the office, and they give the place a pleasant vibe. And make it very easy to forget about the few sour grapes.

Zipping through the back of the baby christmas sweater-these little cables are a breeze!

Tuesday Morning Cute-Attack

He did it again. The little devil made me cry.

I am so in love with our little boy, that I cried all the way to work today. Its so hard to leave him after four days of utter paradise. He probably doesn't even notice I'm gone, since he gets to play with his Nana today. But I'm feelin' it. Bad. After all, you leave the warm, welcoming rooms of your home and the child that adores you for the cold, uncaring world of work.

It sucks.

But I have a little shot of of the booger in his little sweater, lovingly handknit by Carole. It was perfect for him on sunday, when there was a bit of a chill in the air. And he looked quite handsome in it, I must say.

Who Do You Knit For?

I was talking with Blogless Sharon yesterday about knitted gifts. I have been feeling a bit selfish because I have yet to knit anything for the mister, and have knit only two sweaters for the little one. With the time it takes me to finish a project, I usually think long and hard before deciding what to make. Its quite the committment for me, and not something I would do unless the end result will be appreciated. So if not for yourself, who do you knit for?

There have been a lot of blog discussions about this, and it seems that generally we are in agreement: knitting for fellow knitters is the most appreciated. Only a fellow knitter could know the thought that goes into a gifted knit; the deliberation over what pattern, what texture, and what kind of fiber to use. A non-knitter may not know this, and may toss that handmade treat carelessly into their laundry pile. Or worse, the recipient may handle it like the holy frickin' grail and pack it away carefully, never to be worn. My heart breaks! If this happens, it is doomed to never receive the oohs and ahhs that a handknit should get once it is recognized to be a one-of-a-kind work of art!

There is only one kind of person that will truly appreciate the gifted knit, and use it appropriately. Say, a person who waits for their child to fit perfectly into that adorable sweater so she can then post pictures online and give due credit to the person who lovingly and generously gave that mahhhhvelous shower gift. *ahem*

So onto another subject, we have here some cranberry red yumminess. Soon to be baby's first Christmas sweater because I figure it will take that long to finish it. I've been salivating over this pattern ever since I discovered I was pregnant, and hope to find a pattern that closely matches it for daddy. I was a second away from making this in Debbie Bliss cashmerino when I spotted this Berroco ultra alpaca- its not machine washable, but that didn't stop me.

Like a crow attracted to a shiny object, I am drawn to anything red, and could not resist the richness of this color. It is so merlot-like that I had to rush home and open a bottle of cabernet to celebrate.

Dog Vs. Armwarmers

Everyone needs a mental-health break from time to time. Perhaps an hour or two spent in some kind of calming activity (and I don't mean eating though that is very calming as well). Maybe a walk through the neighborhood, or a moment taken on your back porch. Where you take a few deep breaths. Sigh. Then stretch. Turn. And wave to your neighbor Tony who is raking his yard. Just fifteen feet away. (And has picked up more than just a few details about your personal life than you care for him and his wife to know. But they are retired and watch the neighborhood like hawks. Which will be something you appreciate when your child is at a more troublesome age I suppose.)

I can count many breaks from this past weekend. (I skipped the CT Sheep & Wool Show, dang) A long stroll with the baby around the area, stopping briefly in the cemetary down the street to read some heartbreaking poems on the back of loved ones headstones. A moment taken in the back yard, as I assessed the Spring re-growth and contemplated which annuals would be the brightest against an old stone wall. (But planted nothing) Another moment taken in the nursery while the little monster napped, and I sat in the rocker reading a child's picture book to myself. Poor Despereaux the mouse! Will he save the princess?

And of course some playtime with Scout, who has recently endured a dreadful clipping and the introduction of the electric collar and fence. Despite his elctro-shock therapy he is doing quite well, and loves my finished cabled armwarmers, made from Blogless Sharon's homespun. And not really made from any specific pattern per se, but copied from bits here and there. In order to extend them above the elbows I did four increases gradually, beginning at the thickest part of my forearm.

You might be asking yourself- is she still WIP-less? Ah-HA! She is not! More on that later this week, but I promise it is very very yummy.

NO WIP's HERE!

I am stuck in a rut. All my projects are done, the future is wide open.
What do I do next? Why can't I decide?

When babies fly

This is more of a friday rant. About people. And crap. And people crapping on each other.

Its my theory that negativity is an actual force. An energy that travels from person to person like electricity on a wire. When a person hold feelings of revenge, anger, jealousy, or frustration they need to find a way to release it. Or all that negativity will cause an implosion, like a fart that that has been repressed for way too long. Sorry for the lovely metaphor, but you get the picture.

So I work in a lovely office. Usually. But perhaps while I was on maternity leave someone seriously crapped on their co-worker. Well, that mighty stinking shit has spread. And you can feel it when you walk in the door. I've been absence for eight weeks, so why do I feel outright hostility? I asked a cubicle dweller on tuesday how she was doing. With a sneer she replied "BUSY" and turned without another word and walked away. It only got worse from there-wednesday I was snapped at, and despite my numerous apologies and pleas to assist this person with whatever intolerable burden she may have, haven't received a response. But due to my theory of negativity, I refuse to pass on the nasty vibe.

Hence, the implosion.

I can directly link the infant carseat base and its propulsion across my driveway (didn't know I had that kind of strength) thursday morning to the obvious decline in morale at work. Or in other words, with no better outlet for my hurt feelings, I took out my frustration on inanimate objects. And threw things.

I also have positive outlets for my frustration. Like knitting.

And of course, the little guy: