Two Black Sheep

Voodoo Child

Finally, a finished object that I can be somewhat happy with . . . and it isn't even for me! A co-worker of mine was due on October 2nd with her first baby and she finished out the week looking every bit as cute and pregnant as ever. Lola, honestly, she is in the running for the cutest looking pregnancy ever (I think you'll still win since you're my sister). Anyway, here is the sweater knit for her soon-to-be-born son. Hopefully he can wear it in March and be nice and warm. Specs are in the finished album.

While knitting the neckband, I thought there might be some errata for the pattern because it just didn't make sense to me so I looked it up. Nothing. When I told the Flyer what I was doing, he says (with only a slight German/Dr. Strangelove accent), "Don't you know that Cat Bordhi doesn't make mistakes. You infidel! Very soon a mailer will arrive on the doorstep demanding that you mail the book back and you'll never knit a pair of socks from it." Two things become quite apparent (well, three): I was quite obsessive over "the book" and I finally got it in the mail. The third one? He wasn't listening when I said Debbie Bliss . . . and there wasn't any errata on the pattern, just a craptacular knitter without her morning Starbucks.

The book. What can I say other than "Wow!" If I say more, I might die of fright. Some of the patterns will take some getting used to, but I think that I am going to dive head into it. Then again, with five babies due before March 25, I might as well make a "learning sock" or two. Some of the patterns are a bit too twee for me, and while I love different styles, some seem different for the sake of being different. I was planning on using the Tofutsies to make a pair of Sarah's Synesthesia socks (three times fast now), but I might give in and try a coriolis architecture socks. What to do, what to do.

Ariann, sadly, had been relegated to the back burner, not because she isn't lovely and beautiful and giving and just utterly wonderful but because I need to get Baby J's sweater finished. Now that it is done, I am hoping to pick up our gal Ariann and knit on her. The color is divine (a real cherry red for my inner diva) and I am actually liking Cascade 220. Who knew? No comments from you on this one, Trish, because I know damn well where to get more.

So, what do you do when you pick up the phone at 6:30 PM and hear your father telling you that he is about 120 miles away from your house on his way to Boston to pick up the Bro who quit his job (remember, he's getting married soon, ladies and gentlemen . . . okay, Steve and Mike)? Do you say, "Be careful driving through Wilkes Barre," and go back to your knitting? Or do you say, "Don't be silly getting a hotel room. I don't get to see you that often because you live in Ohio. Come stay with us," and then in a panic throw all sorts of crap onto the dining room table and run out to the grocery store to buy his favorite ice cream and snacks (the kind Mom forbids in their house) and have the girls clean like lunatics. Yup, we opted for the second choice and spent a lovely two and a half hours with Daddy. Nothing controversial was brought up, Lola, so that was a relief. I scrubbed the computer of all mention of the blog (parents still in the dark) for nothing as the visit was too brief. After a quick stop at Starbucks, Daddy was on his way to Boston to extract the Bro (and hopefully talk some sense into his thick skull about the wedding date).

Off to knit some socks and still looking for normalcy . . . something tells me this is it. I can deal.

Ava

PS - we saw this advertised on the telly yesterday and the Flyer has now affectionately dubbed it "cooch mousse." Surprisingly, it is packaged similarly to Rogaine.

Eight Days a Week

The theme for this school year is that oh-so-famous line from Caddyshack, in which Bill Murray's character relates his story about the Dali Lama gifting him perfect enlightenment and he says, "So I have that going for me, which is nice." That line has been repeated so often this week that I think it should  be tattooed on my arm where I can read it. Patience may be a virtue, but I was absent when it was doled out.

On the bright side, I actually picked up the sticks and knit this weekend. My friend Teresa is due in a week or so and I am still working on her baby's sweater. Granted it is a 6 - 9 month jobber but still not having it done before the bambino pops wouldn't be good. She is a big General Hospital fan, a la Cara, Lola, and me, so I am compiling a list of reasons she should be happy she isn't delivering in Port Charles (seriously, click on that link - mind numbing). Right now, I have: might raise someone else's baby for five years before realizing your mistake; potential for giving birth in an elevator during a power outage with only a nurse trainee and a mob hit man; rapid growth of said infant (0 to 12 years in less than a month); really homely child growing up; baby could be used as a cunning blackmail plot/extortion scheme/hostage/plot twist; and lame name. Can you think of anything else?

About two weeks ago, the Flyer and I traipsed down to the valley for a movie and some shopping. We hit Kraemer's for some yarn (Mandy - the box is on its way on Tuesday. You must have been there when they were passing out patience); I completely forgot that they were renovating their store, so the pickings were slim, but I did get enough Summit Hill to make a sweater of sorts. For some reason, they are selling Summit Hill in hanks, not skeins, and clearanced what they had left. The woman working said it because people liked to stroke the yarn better in hanks, but I think it is a global conspiracy against me since I suck at winding hanks into balls. After the movie, I decided to look in one more yarn shop for the book (better luck finding the Holy Grail at this point). I really don't like this yarn shop because it has that cliquey feel, which even the Flyer picks up on. So, we walk in, the owner says hello and goes back to her pattern writing, and we walk around. A few minutes later, some of the regulars come in and she engages in a lively conversation. I can't find the book, but she does have a lovely stock of Debbie Bliss so I get three balls of some lime green stuff for a baby sweater and head to the cash register . . . and wait . . . and wait. Finally, one of the regulars says, "Oh, I don't think she sees you. Hey, (insert name here), you have a customer." Response, "I didn't know someone else was here." At the register, I ask about the book; she responds, "I have one copy, but I am knitting a sock from it right now. Would you like to look at it?" At this point, I nearly throw up my hands and walk out, but instead I say, "No I don't want to look at it - I want to buy it." She counters that there are six more on there way and should be in the store by Wednesday and I could come back then and buy one. I thank her but state that I live 45-minutes away and can easily order one from Amazon instead. This is the straw that broke my fucking back. Never again will I shop in that store - never.

So, the Bro and his fiance have decided on Las Vegas. Our little bit of the family are tickled pink . . . until we learn of the date. For some reason, sending him all the dates that won't work when he asked did little good as they picked the day after the girls and I get out of school, which means we can't go. When I told him I was contractually obligated to be there, he kept telling me to get a substitute. I guess when you have never had a contract, you might not understand what the word means, but that is beside the point. So now, it is down to a day I can't make it or Christmas . . . which means Lola, you can't make it what with being all pregger pop time and all. Even if they do pick another date before school gets out, it will make things tricky for me and getting time off. My choice might be: marriage of youngest sibling or birth of TBA. Solomon, where are you?

Ava

PS - the Super Kid Seta in all those colors? This wrap from Knitting Daily. My LYS (one that I really, really like and it is local) bought enough to make 13 wraps and set one aside for me. I am thinking of making it for another friend (we share the same birthday - I have about three weeks), but don't tell her, Tricia . . . she sits on the other side of me on Monday nights, capice?

PPS - I just had a melt-down with our new mower not working - the type of melt-down that requires a teenager to hold  her mother and shush her and hand her tissues and ask if she can help and surreptitiously call her sister and tell her to come home because Mom is losing it.