On Socialization

I've got a neighbour girl over for the afternoon. She's five, like Charlotte. They get on well but, boy, are they right when they say two's company and three's a crowd (the third being Emily, 2 1/2). There is always someone left out, and girls are so sensitive. It was a difficult day, full of drama. "She said she's taller than me!" or "She said she wants to sit by Emily instead of me!" I had to keep gritting my teeth and forcing myself to speak in dulcet tones, quelling the shrieking banshee within.

The kids had a great time watching the deer and the birds in the backyard. Animals are coming out of the woods in force, looking for something to eat after three days of heavy snow. Mr. Next Door has a late-producing apple tree that still has lots of fruit on it, and the deer have been coming around his place for two days now, reaching up into the tree to get at the apples. At one point this afternoon there were five deer gathered around the tree. They have also enjoyed my still-budding rosebush, which is now weighted down with snow and leaning over within easy reach of the ground. As far as I'm concerned, they can have it. However, when it comes to three of my four neighbours talking about actually feeding them, ("Oh, the poor things must be hungry! I always throw some apples, potatoes, onions and carrots outside for them when it snows.") enough is definitely enough. I mean, come on: they're hardly in danger of starving to death after three days of snow. There are thousands of way manlier deer in this province, who have to survive from September to April by digging down into the drifts to reach the dormant grass beneath. The deer we have around here are so poncey - this is their chance to toughen up.

But then, we all know how I feel about deer.



______________________________

It's always nice to have a man around the house, especially to keep you company for a nice homemade eggnog latte. Sadly, this particular one is "not a whole man", as he kept saying to me in a sad tone, but I trust that he is happier now that he has been reunited with his missing leg.

Brigid and More Snow

Okay, I have done some more work on St Brigid. I had trouble getting the model to stand still, so the two following pictures are either blurry or over-flashed, but you get the idea. Progress is being made.






And, in our continuing coverage of local weather, I present My Front Yard (with Steps).





Yes, baby, we got fun.

Omi Yoga Belly Socks

As you might recall, it's cold. I went to belly dance tonight, in a huge chilly studio, and as we were shimmying away, we looked totally foxy except for one thing -- our stiff, blue toes.

Here I come to save the day! I have decided to take a break from St Brigid and knit some of these for my teacher, my friend/classmate, and myself. I've got eight balls of wool/nylon fingering weight begging to be knit up, plus another 6 or so skeins of handpainted merino (not to be used for workout socks, that). I figure I can whip up a pair of these in pretty much no time, so I'll start tonight and hopefully have them done by next week to present to my instructor.

Speaking of St Brigid, she is coming along nicely. I have done about twelve inches on her - I've got about another six left before I divide for the armholes. This is going to be One Big Sweater. Yesterday I was trucking along, rather cockily cabling without more than an occasional glance at the charts, and I messed up one section. I accidentally knitted Chart C, then Chart D, then Chart C again instead of Chart E. Unfortunately, when I saw the mistake I immediately threaded a DPN through the offending section and ripped it back, without thinking of taking a picture. So all I've got for you is this:



This is Chart E, error already ripped out. I used 4.25mm DPNs, which work like a charm for fixing a section of knitting without frogging back to it. It is so easy to just ladder the stitches down and reknit the section, one row at a time.

Here I am, reknitting Chart E with the dangling strands of yarn from the section of dropped stitches.



It hardly takes any time at all. I almost hope I make another mistake so I can do it again, it was so fun. Takes all the agonizing suspense out of knitting such a big project when you know the fix is so easy.


* * *


Tomorrow, a bit of discussion about my stash. They tell me the first step is admitting you have a problem.

Frolic and Play, the Inuit Way

Or, as Diana Krall says, "...frolic and play the Canadian way..."


We had a great time in the snow yesterday. I am a bit busy today, so am cheaping out by putting up a picture-heavy post. But it's so pretty, I'm sure you'll enjoy it anyway.

We built a snow fort for the kids, and Mr. HSBoots even carved out a tunnel.


(Can you see the tunnel?) Charlotte and I had a snowball fight


but eventually had to declare a cease-fire for a bit of a rest.


My intrepid Emily was up to her thighs in the drifts


so by the time she got back in she was totally exhausted.


We took a walk around the neighbourhood, which has never looked better.




And tonight maybe I'll borrow a neighbour's toboggan and take them around again. It's very cold - about -11 celsius with the wind chill...apparently we can expect down to -18 in the next few days. I don't know how long the snow will last, but eventually it'll warm up and all this will be a memory.

Charlotte has just asked to go out for another snowball fight, so maybe we'll get the boots on and head out. We haven't been out yet today - too cold. But we bought new felt-pak boots for Charlotte yesterday, so I think they can take it.

Tomorrow, an "oops" and a 5-row fix on St Brigid.

Ding Dong Merrily on High

I have this great book, a recent purchase, called "Instant Gratification: Ornaments". Right up my alley - mine is not a bonsai personality. There are several things I'd love to make in here. The peppermint sticks are so cool - made out of dowelling and grosgrain ribbon. I also quite like the mini-light sleeve, and am making some later tonight.



But the thing I wanted to try first - don't ask me why - was the sheet music bell. So I gathered together my materials:


- a bell template, courtesy of "Instant Gratification" page 140
- scissors - sadly, couldn't find the adult ones and had to raid Charlotte's art drawer
- UHU!!
- "Playtime Piano: Popular. 5-Finger Melodies", doomed to horrific death by snipping. But in order to make this omelette, I had to break a few 5-Finger-Melodic-eggs.

A scrap of ribbon, a 3" seam on the old Kenmore, and voila!


I really like this little bell, although I think it would look nicest if I had several of them, and sadly the well of sheet music has run dry. The book suggests "antique" or "vintage" sheet music (defunct composers and musicians everywhere are turning over in their coffins) but all I had were a few pages of "I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing" and "(Meet) The Flintstones". I think if I decide to make any more of these, I will beg some proper sheet music - something nice and complex and classical - off my virtuoso sister.

It has been snowing most of the day. It's been a nice lazy day, due to a sick baby last night so very little sleep. I am going to finish it off by going out tonight with Mr. HSBoots and another couple, who are bringing their kids and a baby sitter over in an hour or two. We're heading out to a pub to eat huge quantities of things with drippy sauces like ribs and Moroccan chicken wings (honey and curry - delicious) and drink some quenching beverages. Yum. Nothing like getting out of the house for an hour or two.

Slushy Magic

Tonight when we got home from downtown, there was a wet, chilly snow falling in half-hearted, icy lumps. The kids, of course, were thrilled. The whole neighbourhood was madly donning rubber boots, coats, hats and mitts in a frantic race to get outside and lob a few dirty balls of ice at tree trunks before the whole mess melted. I couldn't help but be moved by the magic of snow, no matter how paltry the amount that falls. I am 33 years old, and I will still get up in the middle of a winter's night to watch the flakes drift down (or pelt down, as is more usual in this temperate rainforest I call home).

With an inward sigh, thinking of the imminent chilly hands and puddly laminate, I bundled up my little girls and sent them outside to play with the neighbour kid in the thickening darkness. I watched them from the window for a while, with a half-smile on my face, while they waved madly at me every few seconds. It made me think of all the times my sister, brother and I would play beat-the-clock with the snowfall, scrambling into our second- or third-hand snowsuits and rummaging in the bootbox for old cracked mitts, which we waterproofed with breadbags and elastic bands, hoping to get outside in time to feel the flakes fall before they turned back to icy rain. I hated it when the grownups would glance at the promising whiteness and dismiss it with "it'll probably turn to rain before you get outside" or "it won't last - not cold enough". It always sounded like a jinx, and I resented them when, as they predicted, the flakes thinned out, to be replaced by misty wet. The skiff of white on the ground would melt into a dirty slush, and we would finally lose heart and trudge back inside, defeated by the climate once again.

I remembered all this as I stood at the window, watching my little ones brimful of excitement. They were so cute, asking me for carrot noses for the snowmen they were planning -- three-inch lumps of half grass, half ice. I took my two Ikea lanterns and two new tealights, popped on my boots, and went outside to hang the lanterns in the apple tree around which the kids were playing. They were so happy when they saw the lanterns perched on the bare, wet branches - "It's like Christmas!" cried Charlotte in delight. I have to admit that I had to blink back a tear or two, even though I knew that, in a very short time, the children would be standing shivering on the mat, magical lanterns forgotten.

It's okay...I know they'll remember them eventually.

Gender Stereotyping

An Open Letter To Mr. HSBoots.

Dear Sir:

No, I will not. It is not my problem. It's your job. It is the way of things: I fill it up, cooking and cleaning to make your home a comfortable and restful place to be, therefore you take it out.

It will not magically compact into a negative-density black-hole type mystical Bermuda Triangle of trash, where one can deposit an infinite amount of rubbish. You Must Take It Out.

Signed,
Your Wife.