Yes, I'm still alive.

I was just waiting for at least 10 people to complain that they hadn't read anything lately. I'm just vain like that, I guess.

Not really. I just haven't been in the mood. And I didn't feel like boring everyone with my minutiae for a while. But if you want it, here it is:

Crazy neighbor update: No nudity lately, but there is a pile of garbage as tall as the house behind ours that includes a big screen TV among other things, and is so voluminous that it is hard to imagine it all fitting in the tiny house (which is where I assume it came from). However, I have seen enough episodes of Hoarders to know that it is more than possible.

Also, I witnessed the boy who sucks on nails come out of his house barefoot, walk into the snow, scoop some up with his bare hands and go back inside with it. I will never figure those people out.

Dorian and Kindergarten update: Dorian will not be attending Kindergarten next year. The board declined to make an exception. This disappoints me on selfish levels, but is fine. He'll be fine regardless. Now we just have to decide if he'll continue at the same preschool, and if so, for how many days a week.

Work update: I'm still holding down the fort on Sundays which continues to be okay despite the fact that sometimes people show up at closing time with massive knitting disasters they expect me to fix. Like the woman who was making a blanket on circular needles, but blankets are flat (you know this, I know this, everyone but she knows this), and two inches in she started making it in the round and didn't understand why that was a problem. Time to put down the needles, ma'am.

Knitting update: I "finished" the red riding hood. You will notice it has no closure of any kind, which means it isn't really finished. I'm thinking of knitting some frogs with the abundance of left over yarn, but it probably also needs a zipper. In the meantime, I used a kilt pin to hold it together when I wore it as a jacket yesterday. It was quite warm.

And in honor of the Olympics, I made this rainbow cowl. Rarely do I buy yarn without a specific project in mind, but I just loved these colors. It is a fairly expensive yarn, so I only bought one ball which is only 95 yards. So I needed a small project. I wanted to keep the rainbow intact, so I knit this as a long rectangle (like half a scarf) and then grafted it together to make a tube. But the K3P1 rib that I made was a little too stiff, so I dropped all the purled stitches and now it is nice and drapey. I am pleased.

There you have it. Maybe I'll even update the kids' blog now...

One thing I'm thankful for

I realized the other day how glad I am that Rachel opened her yarn store-- not just because she has beautiful yarns, or because I now have a job, but because I have found such an interesting community of younger knitters there.

When I first moved to town, the only knitting circle I could find was at the original yarn store and was a bunch of older women who met on Tuesday mornings. Taking a toddler to that would have been impossible anyway, but it just didn't feel like the right group for me. Then I tried one at a library in the next town, but it wasn't really for me either. Granted, I have had some issues at this one, but they seem to have resolved themselves.

It is just really nice to pop into the store anytime and find a really interesting crew of people knitting together. There's a girl who helped found a roller derby group. There's a graphic designer who is just learning but is cranking out some awesome projects. There's an acupuncturist who is leaving town today to travel the country for a month before moving on to Spain or Colombia. (And I will miss her amazing sense of style.) There's a guy who is helping out a good, if odd, cause. And there is another guy who is a stonemason in the summer and ski patrol in winter. There are plenty more, but you get the idea. All of them are in their mid 20s to early 40s, and they are all good company.

So, today I am thankful for a knitting community that I didn't have to create myself by forcing my friends to learn to knit. (Although, I have been known to do that, too.)

Halloween roundup

We had some really lousy weather for Trick or Treating this year. Let's just say that the smartest costume I saw all night was the girl decked out as a jellyfish in a costume made out of an umbrella. But that didn't deter the children. I even ran out of candy by 7:15.

So, here are the grown-up costumes:
Dr. Acula-- his teeth are horrifying, but his bedside manner is impeccable.Two of Heinz' 57 flavors ready to go to the party featuring the Scary Home Companion Arkestra.

And the one that I didn't get to see in real life but I'm sorry I didn't:

My awesome little brother who was ready for the Day of the Dead a little early.

And I am conspicuously absent from these since I was too lame to dress up this year. I did dress up as Heidi for Sebastian's school parade and party the day before, so if any random pictures surface, I'll pass them along.

Because it actually can get worse... or at least weirder

So, after my rotten day of rottenness, I decided to go to the grocery store alone. Should have been a pretty easy thing to do. So I get to the car and realize I don't have my 2 fold up reusable bags. I go back in the house and get them.

I get to the store. I toss them, along with my purse, in the cart. I shop. I get everything on the list. So far so good. I put everything on the conveyor belt.

But where are my bags? They are not in the cart. They are not in my purse. They are not mixed in with my groceries.

Okay, I think, it has been a rough day, maybe I just think I put them in the cart but they are sitting on the seat of my car. Stranger things have happened.

Stranger things have happened. Somebody stole my store brand reusable bags! They were not in the car. I wasn't crazy after all.

My wallet full of cash and credit cards with absurd lines of credit? Nope.
The boys' awesome space hat? Nah.
The keys to my car and house? Not so much.
But my banged up reusable bags? Score!

Totally inappropriate

I was at a birthday party for a 3 year old tonight. There was a woman talking loudly about the abortion she had when she was 16 and advising all who would listen to just lie about your dates if you go past 3 months.

Thanks for the hot tip.

All the good news

While it has been an exhausting couple of weeks, they haven't been too bad. I managed to sell all but one of the pies I needed to sell for Dorian's fundraiser. I can handle buying one for myself, but I was getting a little concerned when I thought I might have to buy 5.
I had a meeting with the principal about Sebastian's schooling and only got good news about how he is doing this year and we were in agreement that he is getting what he needs, so that's nice.
I made the best batch of whole grain chippers yet yesterday, and in a completely neighborly way. I realized too late that Jeremy used the last of the eggs for breakfast, and as I was walking with the boys to buy some more eggs, we ran into some neighbors who offered us the egg we needed for our recipe. And then we returned the favor by bringing them some of the goodies. Makes you want to gag, doesn't it?

And I finished this little guy:

Scampy the ram, named by Sebastian, loved by all who meet him. He'll be living at Knit or Dye, if you'd like to visit him. This is what he looked like before he took his trip through the washer:

And now I have 2 days of work, a field trip, and an in-service day (no school Wednesday) to look forward to.

Are you ready for this one?

No, you probably aren't.

Remember my neighbors, the ones who don't use toilet paper? Well, I happened to overhear a conversation today in which the oldest child was telling someone how the youngest had nursed until she was 4 and a half. And then proceeded to tell about how her brother nursed until he was... wait for it... 7 years old.

Maybe that's why he "never yearned to spell his own name." He was busy with other things.

He doesn't just have a potty mouth

Yesterday, Dorian wore his new sweater to the bus stop to pick up Sebastian. Along the way, he showed it off to the neighbors announcing, "Look at my beautiful sweater! Mama made it." That would have been heartwarming enough, but then we had this exchange:

Dorian: My shirt says, "A is for Astronaut."

Me: Yep.

D: What does my sweater say?

M: I don't know. Does it say something?

D: It says, "I love you, Dorian. You are my sweetie pie. I'm so glad I have you."

I was speechless and a little teary-eyed. That's exactly what it says.

And then this morning he used the word "muff" at the breakfast table.

Sartorial shenanigans

Yesterday at the mall in my favorite teenager clothing shop as I tried on a coat with a "fur" hood:

Sebastian: I just love a woman such as yourself in a fur coat such as that.

And that is why he is my favorite shopping companion.

******************

Today at the library's end of summer cupcake party:

Teacher friend: You and C always have the cutest clothes. I need to go shopping with the soccer moms.

You can imagine what a knife to the gut that was. A very innocent, genuinely complimentary knife to the gut. Soccer mom!?! Just because Sebastian went to soccer camp and wants me to sign him up for the fall soccer team doesn't... mean...

[sob]

What I've feared for 5 years

Ever since we moved here, I have been nervous on one short stretch of a nearby street when I walk there alone at night. I am not afraid of thieves or rapists or thugs. I am afraid of wild animals. It is the only part of the walk that is somewhat wooded and, despite the chain link fence along the sidewalk, I am always convinced some creature is going to confront me.

Tonight, it happened.

As I headed up the hill, exactly halfway through the scary part, there was a loud rustle to my left. I could see people up ahead, so I did not want to embarrass myself by running screaming up the road. (It is a small town after all, and I have hidden my insanity from the general public reasonably well thus far.) I also decided that I should see what was causing this ruckus, as it had clearly gone up a tree, but not high enough to jump onto my head, and it would be silly to be afraid of a cat-- even the feral cats roaming these streets.

I know it isn't a fresh water squid. Nor is it particularly large. So, I turn to look. It is 10:15pm. It is dark. The critter is dimly back lit and clinging to a tree. I squint at it, and although I can only see its silhouette, I know it is staring back at me. It is the size of a large cat. Okay, so it could be a cat, perhaps a raccoon. And I know from experience that yelling "Raccoon!" at a raccoon will make it waddle away in disgust, so I could deal with a raccoon. But upon further inspection by yours myopically, the ears looked rather round, like maybe a bear cub's might. And where a bear cub the size of a cat is, the mama bear is generally not far behind, and I was not taking any chances, knitting needles in my bag or no, so I hustled up the hill.

And nothing chased me. Take that nature!

What happens when Jeremy is gone

The first day (after crying quietly for a few moments) I take the children for a walk to the farmer's market on the off chance that there will be raspberries. We just get a small container to eat on the spot. No jam today. Then we head to the thrift store and buy a Spiderman comic pajama top for Sebastian and a DDR shirt for me. Who cares that it's a child size shirt? It says, "I can't dance without arrows." We go next door to the discount natural foods store where I stock up on such necessities as organic pop tarts, all natural strawberry daiquiri mix, and cheese filled pretzel sticks.

We stop a couple of times on the way home to gossip about the 16 year old pregnant girl down the street and my neighbor who passed away recently. We arrive at home where I leave Dorian unattended for 10 minutes and come back to find this:

The kids have a minor breakdown later when it is discovered that Wipeout has been postponed by the President's press conference. I put them to bed, then somehow don't go to sleep myself until 1am. I did watch Very Young Girls about prostitution in NYC on Netflix Instant and get some knitting done, so it seemed worth it at the time.

The second day we keep ourselves busy by going out to lunch, enjoying the lake despite an obviously emotionally disturbed child terrorizing us, and then going to the library to pick up Dorian's prize and fill out their reading program cards. Sebastian has read 46 books so far and Dorian has read 18 books all by himself. We go home to have a little dinner which Sebastian proclaims seems more like lunch, and I prepare to take the kids with me to knitting night.

I bring what the shop owner calls "cuptails" that I manage to make taste like liquid Jolly Ranchers. I also bring what I hope is enough workbooks and magazines to keep the kids occupied so that I may actually knit. I do manage 10 more rows on my sleeves before the kids start acting up and then Sebastian finds a way to get his finger stuck in a peg hole in the adjustable table. It almost didn't come out, but it did. We cleared out shortly thereafter. Again I put the kids to bed on time, but stay up until 1am. This time I tried to watch Lisa Kudrow's show The Comeback but it just wasn't doing it for me. So I cut it off halfway through the third episode and wasted time online instead.

Two days down, the last day is a lazy one. Well, for the kids anyway. I puttered about the house doing laundry, weeding, and sanding and spackling the spare room. We played some Memory (I kicked their butts) and they watched some AstroBoy. After they went to bed, I watched Birth, a lame "mystery" starring Nicole Kidman that I would not advise anyone watch. But I got more knitting done, so it achieved its purpose.

And now Jeremy is home and life can go back to normal, ie. my falling asleep around 10:30pm.

How much longer can this go on?

While walking in the neighborhood...

Sebastian: [sings]Yankee doodle went to town, riding on a pony...

Dorian: Hey, Sebastian! I know another way to sing it! Yankee Doodle went to town, riding on a pony/He stuck a feather through his nose, and it came out his bu-utt!

It's a miracle!

I was just out in my yard when-- get this!-- C brought my pot back. Clean.

The return was followed up with the question, "You don't happen to have a can of tomato soup, do you?" I said, no, we don't eat much tomato soup in the spring.

It's only now that I wonder whether answering in the affirmative would have meant also reloaning him my pot.

My new best friend

Remember the other day when my neighbor C came over to borrow a pot? Well, I never got my pot back, but the story didn't end there.

Friday, we had our friends Josh and Sarah over for dinner, and as we were finishing Sarah's amazing strawberry rhubarb pie, there was a knock at the kitchen door. It was C, all dressed up in a shirt and tie, asking if I might have time the next day to help him practice his sales presentation for a new job. I agree to do it Saturday evening at 7:30. He seemed so earnest, and it reminded me of when my brother was selling home security systems.

So, Saturday, we go about our business, attending a little league game with the sole purpose of having hot dogs and slush puppies, and then launching the rocket Sebastian has been working on Chez Flapdoodle. We come home and I decide I don't really feel like cooking and we still have some gift certificates from my mother, so I grab my purse and make for the door. And there is C wondering if we could do the presentation a little early. Like, now. A half hour? Fine, come on in.

So, of course, he's selling knives. The most sanitary, ergonomically-designed, sharpest knives known to man. He also has a pair of shears that can turn a penny into a corkscrew. It is all terribly thrilling, and then he hits us with the price. Close to a thousand dollars a set. Yeah, no thanks. I would love a nice knife. I truly would. But now is not the time for spending that kind of cash on something I don't need.

I managed to get out of it all thanks to the remnants of the giant pit in my yard. For it is true that I have no extra money right now due to that broken sewer pipe. So Jeremy and I gave him lots of encouragement and sent him on his way. He's a nice kid and I hope this works out for him, even though I know it probably won't. In a town of 12,000 people, how many sets of knives do you think you can sell?

Sunday, I'm out working in the yard when C walks by dressed in his presentation finest. He's just made a $700 sale, probably because they took pity on him for slicing off the tip of his thumb during the demonstration. Can't wait for the next update from my new best friend.

Hey, Good Lookin'... Whatcha got cookin'?

As I was outside this morning with Dorian and Davy Bavy, my teenage neighbor approached.

"Um, hi. Do you have a pot I could, um, borrow?"

"You mean, for cooking?"

"Yeah. The handle fell off of mine."

Somehow, I decided it would be unneighborly to deny the request while simultaneously wondering why there is not another pot in their house, and went inside to fetch the pot I would be least likely to miss should it never return. That would have been the pot that Kathrin gave me after a camping trip some 11 years ago. Unfortunately, that pot was in the sink and full of yogurty water. I may be foolish enough to lend him a pot, but I'm not foolish enough to waste time washing it first. So I grabbed the second oldest and handed it over.

I did manage to find out his name, but I hold no illusions that I will ever get my pot back from Mr. C. Nor am I sure I want it back, because for all I know with the recent activity back there, he's cookin' up some meth with it.

That house is mysterious as it appears from the outside to be about as large as 3 rooms in my house, yet also appears to house 3x as many people. There are definitely 2 teenagers + a girlfriend, 1 four year old and an adult. But there is also a revolving door policy and suspicious trips from the house which result in a return 5 minutes later with a backpack they didn't leave with. I didn't grow up in Baltimore for nothing and I know something's up, and I can guess that my pot is not the only "pot" in that house.