What There's Time For

Self Sensorship

It is amazing the number of posts I have wanted to write since January and yet not written. I've been busy, that's true, but that's not all of it, really.

I feel like it might be more about courage and energy. Writing a meaty post requires both, as much as it requires time. And doing difficult new things in a public forum requires both those things, as well. I've been using most of my courage and energy in places other than here.

For today, I still am. Keeping my thoughts to myself and sharing instead an emotionally simple picture of the succulent "bouquet" I replanted in our giant empty glass bowl this week.

Pro tip: instructions for these things (I read a bunch about them last fall when I had time) say you need a layer of activated charcoal in the bottom. I didn't have any, forgot to buy any, and did without. Now my house smells rather like dirt. You might want the activated charcoal. :)

Folly?

What I've decided to do with the red yarn is a henley version of Ysolda's 'Cria'. (link later, sorry)

I've done a very thorough swatch. And washed it and dried it and then "weighted" it for a few hours, as instructed. And the gauge is ridiculous. Bigger than the label said I'd get with needles two sizes larger. Row gauge ratio to stitch gauge unexpected, too.

I've done a lot of math. Will cast on and hope. At least it's top down. True disaster should be spottable fairly early.

Baby Monkey

When Shmoogie started talking about her "baby monkey" a few days ago, I figured she meant the smaller of her two stuffed monkey toys.  It was missing, and she was pissed.

This morning, though, she looked into the toy room and gasped, "Oh!  Look!  My monkey!"

"Great," I said, and turned my attention to the next detail of getting out of the house.

Soon, she came walking carefully back out of the toy room, her hands cupped in front of her.  "My baby monkey!" she beamed.

Her hands were empty.

Huh, I said to myself.  That's interesting.

Fast forward to nap time, after school and after picking up a slightly sedated Alex from the vet (he's perfectly alright, and definitely, despite Mr. Pants's vehement assertions, not "sad because he can't have babies").

Anyway, naptime.  I was carrying an actually sad (because she still has to take a nap) Shmoogie up the stairs when her minor anti-nap protestations turned into wails — "My baby monkey!  We have to go get her!"

Me, thinking I'm so smart, I shift her weight onto one arm, still climbing the stairs, put my other hand behind my back and then pull it out, carefully cupping the air, "Ohh!!  Look what I found, Shmoogie!  Your baby monkey!"

She swatted at my hand, "Tha's not her!"

Hmmm.  Well, it was pretty silly to think she would fall for such a simple trick, just plucking an invisible baby monkey out of the air from behind my back like that.  How unrealistic.

I set her down at the top of the stairs, still crying, and excitedly "found" the baby monkey behind her bedroom door.

No dice.

Eventually, after a trip to the potty and a general calming down, Shmoogie was thrilled to show me she had finally found her baby monkey… somewhere generally in the right half of her crib.  "Oh!  There she is!" I gushed, "Can you pick her up?"

"No, I ca't.  You do it."

I gently scooped some piece of space from the surface of mattress in the general area she was pointing at and Shmoogie solemnly accepted "her" from me.

The rest of getting dressed and reading books, etc. was punctuated with concerns over keeping track of the baby monkey until, finally, I put them both in the crib and spread the blanket over Shmoogie… which she immediately flipped backwards with a scowl, as if I was trying to suffocate her baby, "My monkey!"

Oh, my.

Spontaneous

We decided to joy-ride the ferry around lunchtime on Saturday, thinking we'd be back in time for Shmoogie's nap. Five hours later, we'd done the ferry round trip, picked a gallon of strawberries on the other side, and Mr. Right had registered to run a half marathon the next morning.

It's kind of a complicated story, so I'll just say that real just-picked strawberries are amazing, roasting the just-too-ripe leftovers is a brilliant idea (thank you, Martha Stewart), and Mr. Right is, astoundingly, still walking around like a normal person after finishing the run in less than three hours.

Infinite Source of Joy

Building stuff. With stuff.

This (all of it) is "a place for Alex," currently being filled with enticing toys, his pillow, and his water dish.

Oh, wait, now we want help making a pirate hat.

The Tooth Doggy

Opening a box that came in the mail yesterday, Mr. Pants was dancing around with the excitement that only box-opening can engender. "What is it??!" he begged to know.

"I think," I said through gritted teeth as I tore through layers of cardboard and packing tape, "it's a pillow for Alex."

"A PILLOW?!!!!!!" stratospheric excitement. Possibly exceeding Christmas morning levels. I was mystified.

"DO WE STILL HAVE HIS TEETH??!!!!!!"

Ah. I see.

Happy Mother's Day!

I hope you're having a wonderful day, wherever you are!

We wanted to share this with you... a turtle decided to lay her eggs in our yard this afternoon!

 

For Posterity

This morning was a Mother's Day Luncheon put on by Mr. Pants's preschool. He's been talking about it with great excitement (it was at a real restaurant!) for months now and I was at least as excited myself. I called the babysitter for Shmoogie, scored a new flowy silk skirt at the thrift shop yesterday, and we were all set to go.

Then, at 4 AM, Mr. Pants showed up in our room complaining that his tummy hurt. We hoped maybe he was just hungry, because he'd hardly touched dinner, but then he threw up.

Cleaned and redressed and tucked into bed next to me, he very sweetly apologized, "I'm sorry I threw up on your shoe, Mommy."

"That's OK, sweetheart, you couldn't help it. And I already cleaned it up."

"I'm sorry you had to clean it up, that must have been boring for ya." ("ya" instead of "you" is a good sign he's repeating someone else's phrase)

"It's ok, honey, try to sleep."

"Yeah, it must have been boring. Not as much fun as hugging me."

Indeed.

Now, you may think the story ends there, because who would try to take their 5AM up-chucking five-year-old to a Mother's Day Luncheon? But he woke up and seemed pretty good. He was devastated when I told him we couldn't go and I started to backpedal. He got dressed and ate breakfast. He told the babysitter he was sick but feeling better.

And then, about half-way to the restaurant, he started saying he wanted to go home.

But I didn't turn around, because… Well, I guess because we were all dressed and almost there and I was still hoping we could both escape the disappointment of missing the whole thing. I'm not proud of that, but there it is.

We never did go into the restaurant. We parked out front and I watched him in the rearview mirror for a while, trying to gauge how we were doing, while all his friends skipped happily in to their long-awaited event.

Ultimately, we weren't doing well. His teacher was kind enough to bring out the gifts he'd made (an adorable dial-an-answer thingy with pictures and statements about what's great about me, a sweet "flower" arrangement made quite artfully from empty toilet paper rolls, a placemat with splatter paint and a giant M-O-M glued onto it, a name tag)... and I started the car to go home.

Then, he threw up.

I turned off the car, did what I could to clean him up (he had good aim for the pan we'd brought just in case, so it wasn't too bad), and started the car again.

Except it didn't start.

And didn't start.

And really didn't start.

Mr. Right rescued us with a jump, but then I was stuck having to keep the car running for 30 minutes to make sure the battery would have enough charge to get me started the next time…

So we drove all over the place, including to the pediatrician to drop off a urine sample for Shmoogie (because there's a time limit on those things, anyway), with my poor sick boy bemoaning his missed luncheon and how much he hates being sick and hates having to charge the car battery and hates throwing up in the car, "I just want to throw up at home!"

Don't we all?

I wish I could say this morning means I'll always make the right call in the future, but I won't. The next time, I'll keep him home from whatever great thing is happening and he'll be fine and bouncing off the walls and I'll wish I'd known it was a fluke. C'est la vie.

[nerdzy thurzdy] Binary Monogram Bracelets

I'm hoping to be the show-and-tell parent next week at pre-K, which Mr. Pants has been begging me to do for ages. "Will you talk about Computer Science?" he asks. "You have to bring stuff," he informs.

We started making elastic bracelets with each kid's initial in binary ASCII this afternoon. :)

Maybe he'll major in Philosophy

In the car this morning heading to school, Mr. Pants asks, "Are we real?"

"Of course we're real," answers his preoccupied mother. A few seconds tick by, the question sinks in, and she asks, "What do you mean, are we real?"

"Sometimes it just seems like we're in a game," he answers.

"That's one way to look at it," says his mother, wondering who he's been talking to, "Sometimes people think about it like that."

He says nothing, so she asks, "How does that make you feel?"

"Sad."

***

Who HAS he been talking to???? Who SHOULD he be talking to?