Pre-Christmas Madness
Crunch time.
I'm not kidding. The monthly bills are due. The fridge is embarrassingly empty. I haven't had a free moment to food shop. We're living on Kraft Mac & Cheese. But after some furious penmanship, the Christmas cards are done, the extra cards ready and waiting for those "oopsies" that I forgot to send the first time 'round. (You know you do it too-don't even try to say you don't!)
I stress the holidays a bit too much,-either I go way too far, or not enough. This year, I fear, may be one of those overboard years. If you don't know why, let me give you a hint; he's about 20 pounds, smells like bananas, and only says "ta-ta-tah!"
Not only having LBB to shop for, but the holidays are heaven to me. If you have met me, you might know that I am 'jubilant' and 'quirky', and that's according to the people who like me...so during Christmas I am in my prime. Around that time its permissible to sing out loud, even if its limited to holiday tunes, splurge on small wind-up toys that hop and flip, wear seasonal themed sweaters or in my case, envy the people who daringly do, and drink syrupy sweet eggnog drinks. I dance around the house in my pjs at noon. I sing along to Mariah's "All I Want for Christmas is You" at the top of my lungs. I bake biscotti in the hundreds, and experiment with different flavors (pumpkin was NOT good) and dipping in all kinds of chocolate. And baking more biscotti. Why, I do not know. Probably because its hard to get biscotti wrong. And it sounds fancy.
So its only the 3rd, and already I'm embracing my inner elf. Are you?
Lusty Me!
Hummana hummana hummana
Having a child, among other parts of becoming a 'grownup', means that you have someone else you really wish to indulge in. I don't acquire new knitting goodies very often anymore, since I'm more likely to be caught browsing the sale rack at Baby Gap rather than my beloved LYS. (With the exception of some Debbie Bliss yarn and some gorgeous patterns that have been donated by Blogless Sharon, since she needs more room in her house for her own fleece and homespun! Thanks Mom!!) So I just wanted to share the lusty, hungry eyes I was sportin' a few weeks ago, when my cable dictionary, the Vogue Stitionary, finally arrived. It was pure yarnasm, I swear. Seconds after this photo was taken, I had delved into an enclosed cable pattern for my little croppy vest. (Still in progress, since I am in the throes of holiday shopping and decorating.)
Me likey.
By the way, me also likey Etsy. Positively addicted to handmade stuff. Someone PLEASE take my credit card away!
Time Flies
Something no one told me before LBB was born: time FLIES when you have a child. I swear that on Monday before I went to work he was gurgling, drooling, and banging his toys against his big head. Just seconds later, or maybe a few days, he's teaching me dance moves, clapping his hands to get our attention, and rearranging the furniture to his liking.
So its normal I suppose that since we can't prolong the adorable babyhood, I find myself wishing for another one. I know. What the deuce am I thinking? Anyhow, I was just informed that one of my buds who also has a little one under a year old is expecting again! Sooooo jealous. Well, that won't be me again for a little while, but I am truly excited for her. 
Also excited for little Phil to wear the yummy red cardigan Blogless Sharon made for him-mom, want to let us know what that cool yarn is? I absolutely love it, especially the rolled collar.
I also finished his Oz vest, (from Natural Knits for Babies and Moms) just something whipped up from good old Lion Brand wool, and a bit too late I must say. It fits him pretty snug, so we'll only get a few weeks of use out of it...Note to self: knit several sizes larger!!!
But Can She Wear Boots?
I am still designing off the top of my head the croppy vest that was begun several weeks ago. It’s filling the time while I deliberate over which floppy hat pattern to use-there are just so many cute ones out there. I am so torn, but I think I may go with Gretelhttp://ysolda.com/shop/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=3
In the meantime, I have begun the back of my vest, deciding finally on a rounded band over the neck and shoulders that dips lower in the front. On order is Vogue’s Stitionary, Vol. 2 so I can pick out a gorgeous cable pattern that will stretch well over the shoulders and bust. We’ll see how it goes-even if it is relegated to my collection of never-to-be-worn FO’s I will share my pattern. But you must keep in mind that I am designing it for my figure, which I am sorry to say resembles that of a 12-year old girl lately. Optimistically speaking, it might turn out to be perfect for your teenage sister. Ha.
But the feminine musing of the day involves boots. Boots. My passion for fashion has been dulled this year since nothing looks good on me lately, no matter how carefully I search. However, the lust for shoes is never affected by weight gain or loss. My lust for boots though, has tormented me for ages. Seven years ago I had a pair of stacked knee-high black boots that I wore proudly, until being hollered at crudely by some scumbag in a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot. Since I really value the elements of class and dignity, it mortified me. To think that I might look sleazy! Words could not express my shame, and the boots were tossed. I dreaded ever attracting that sort of attention, and took steps to avoid any manner of dress that may directly OR inadvertently send the wrong message.
It’s been a long time, and though I envy the girls who pull off boots, I have been ever so fearful of wearing them myself. So it was with all the courage I could muster that I grabbed those shiny knee-high boots off the shelf this week, paid out the dough, and prayed they would get more than a few wearings before I get mortified again. Tentatively, they have survived a day at the office (but I confess I have a backup pair of heels in the car) and no one yet has screamed, “Oh my gawd!” or whispered in my vicinity enough to make me self-conscious. Maybe the curse of the crude DD van man is finally broken.
In the meantime, I have begun the back of my vest, deciding finally on a rounded band over the neck and shoulders that dips lower in the front. On order is Vogue’s Stitionary, Vol. 2 so I can pick out a gorgeous cable pattern that will stretch well over the shoulders and bust. We’ll see how it goes-even if it is relegated to my collection of never-to-be-worn FO’s I will share my pattern. But you must keep in mind that I am designing it for my figure, which I am sorry to say resembles that of a 12-year old girl lately. Optimistically speaking, it might turn out to be perfect for your teenage sister. Ha.
But the feminine musing of the day involves boots. Boots. My passion for fashion has been dulled this year since nothing looks good on me lately, no matter how carefully I search. However, the lust for shoes is never affected by weight gain or loss. My lust for boots though, has tormented me for ages. Seven years ago I had a pair of stacked knee-high black boots that I wore proudly, until being hollered at crudely by some scumbag in a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot. Since I really value the elements of class and dignity, it mortified me. To think that I might look sleazy! Words could not express my shame, and the boots were tossed. I dreaded ever attracting that sort of attention, and took steps to avoid any manner of dress that may directly OR inadvertently send the wrong message.
It’s been a long time, and though I envy the girls who pull off boots, I have been ever so fearful of wearing them myself. So it was with all the courage I could muster that I grabbed those shiny knee-high boots off the shelf this week, paid out the dough, and prayed they would get more than a few wearings before I get mortified again. Tentatively, they have survived a day at the office (but I confess I have a backup pair of heels in the car) and no one yet has screamed, “Oh my gawd!” or whispered in my vicinity enough to make me self-conscious. Maybe the curse of the crude DD van man is finally broken.
ZAP
That might have been the sound my television made at 2AM on thursday before it died a not-so-glorious death. I'm not exactly sure because I was too busy huddled on the floor in the center of my living room with a frightened infant and a cowering dog trying to climb into my lap at the same time. We had a freak lightning storm that night, which knocked out the power at our house, and filled it instead with creepy flashes of light.
At that moment it occured to me that "The Nightmare Before Christmas" type of halloween decorations we had picked up at HomeGoods were not the best choice.
Things I enjoyed during a weekend of no TV:
Depending on the good ol' radio for ambient noise
Staying up late for stimulating conversation rather than late night comedy
Facing the other people in the room with you, rather than straight ahead at the tube
I'm also brainstorming a little knitting project-nothing has quite grabbed me yet for my next project, so I'm going to play with some gorgeous sportweight from Foxfire in "Russian Sage." The idea forming in my mind is some kind of fitted croppy vesty thingie. We'll see how it turns out. The handpaint is just beautiful, and feel fantastic to knit with. How spoiled I am!
I also whipped up a toddler hat for the winter in Blue Sky cotton. There's just one problem; I can't get him to leave it on his head. Not even long enough to nab a photograph!
Color me happy. Would you like to know why? The Christmas cabled sweater is done-but guessing by the size of its recipient, I had better start calling it the Thanksgiving cabled sweater. 
So tonight I've been thinking about things-happy thoughts really. Mostly. Because other than almost always having an immediate family member situated in a COMBAT ZONE, I'm pretty fortunate. Life is good. I love my life, my husband, my silly child. I have amazing family and friends. My job kicks ass. My mother and father have an unending supply of 'moo' for us. Heehee. In general, health, no wealth, but plenty of blessings. Yet, I know a few people who have similar lives who consider themselves not so lucky. It just amazes me, but even worse, pisses me the hell off. So I'm going to blow off some steam today. I mean, honestly, the nearest men in my life have gone to war, lived in intolerable heat and other conditions, worked the most challenging hours, and lived over A YEAR away from the ones they loved, and I don't EVER remember hearing them complain as much as some of the spoiled, self-absorbed people I talk to day-to-day.
Okay, I just deleted about four paragraphs worth of venting-believe me. The point is-well there is no point. Just thank God for what you do have. If you are sick or suffering, my heart goes out to you. But if you have health and someone who loves you, just thank your lucky stars. I have worked for people in worse situations. And even though I'm working in a new area entirely, I can't stop thinking about those people I used to work for. Just can't shake it. Then to hear able-bodied people complain about fatigue and sound generally miserable. Well, I guess tonight is my 'just deal with it' post. Does anyone else ever get irked like this?
So tonight I've been thinking about things-happy thoughts really. Mostly. Because other than almost always having an immediate family member situated in a COMBAT ZONE, I'm pretty fortunate. Life is good. I love my life, my husband, my silly child. I have amazing family and friends. My job kicks ass. My mother and father have an unending supply of 'moo' for us. Heehee. In general, health, no wealth, but plenty of blessings. Yet, I know a few people who have similar lives who consider themselves not so lucky. It just amazes me, but even worse, pisses me the hell off. So I'm going to blow off some steam today. I mean, honestly, the nearest men in my life have gone to war, lived in intolerable heat and other conditions, worked the most challenging hours, and lived over A YEAR away from the ones they loved, and I don't EVER remember hearing them complain as much as some of the spoiled, self-absorbed people I talk to day-to-day.
Okay, I just deleted about four paragraphs worth of venting-believe me. The point is-well there is no point. Just thank God for what you do have. If you are sick or suffering, my heart goes out to you. But if you have health and someone who loves you, just thank your lucky stars. I have worked for people in worse situations. And even though I'm working in a new area entirely, I can't stop thinking about those people I used to work for. Just can't shake it. Then to hear able-bodied people complain about fatigue and sound generally miserable. Well, I guess tonight is my 'just deal with it' post. Does anyone else ever get irked like this?
Seasonal
Knitting is on the upswing too-in a few days I'll be able to post two FO's for the babbakins, basically the only items I have been able to focus on since the birth back in January! How some of you do all this, and spin is beyond me. A little detour into baby-beanie land helped to break up the monotony, and also whittle away at my stash. Above, I had a ball of Blue Sky organic cotton that Blogless Sharon had given me along with that super Kai sweater, and I wanted to make a hat with a frosty white trim. I also had some leftover homespun from her farm- Perfect! So that was cast on this morning. I also whipped up in some random blue cotton the pinwheel beanie from Just Jussi. He won't let it stay on his head just yet, but I'm hoping to teach him to keep his noggin warm with this by the end of October! 
Just look at those baby blues.....they might even cure me of my blues. Hopefully.
Just look at those baby blues.....they might even cure me of my blues. Hopefully.
Stylin'
I can't believe a month has passed.So much has happened-LBB is crawling, smiling, laughing, playing with toy trucks, I'm working full time at a fantastic new firm, the Fall is here, with its beautiful crisp nights, and last night was a wedding we had anxiously awaited all summer long. It was by far one of the most stressful weddings I have ever heard of, although I wasn't one of the people affected by it. When all is said and done, I sincerely hope the bride and groom were pleased, because it turned out to be a beautiful affair.
That being said, I must admit that stretching these wedding nights out for as long and for as much enjoyment as possible is an art form practiced by my hunny, so we mosied over to the nearby wine bar to meet up with some friends and recap the events of the evening. After all, three hours in the stylists chair that morning was not going to be wasted by going to bed early! I felt absolutely gorgeous, tipsy, and ready to sip something better than the cheap-o merlot I had been downing all night, and nibble on bruschetta and olives. All in all, a perfect night.
And of course, I have some progress to report on my projects. The Geordie vest is being finished off, I cast on a simple winter hat for LBB this week, and finally am working on the hoodie for his endlessly cabled Christmas s
weater. And since the little pumpkin has just undergone a growth spurt and shot up to a size 12, I might be just in the nick of time to complete it. Maybe if you could throw a little encouragement my way, I might be spurred on enough to complete those last few rows....help me!
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.)
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.)
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...
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.
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