I wish there was a shot for seasonal colds.

I’ve had a cold the past week, so that is the reason for no posting.  It is hard for me to put a sentence together when I’m not feeling well, let alone an entire post.  This morning at school drop off a friend of mine was standing not 20 feet from me waving frantically as I looked right at her.  It took me a good 2 minutes to notice she was standing there, let alone waving at me.  Bad form.  Anyway, not a whole lot to talk about because I have been mostly housebound.

I did manage to cut out my pattern pieces for this:

I am making the mini dress and I intend to wear it as a long top over pants (even though the ladies at go fug yourself really hate that look.)  The problem (already) is that I keep reading that the pattern runs really small.  This is no good, as I cut out the largest size on the pattern that I bought.  We’ll see.

I also started on a hat for DQ for the winter.  I’m knitting the Felicity hat, pictured here.  I’m knitting it in an alpaca/wool blend in purple.  Hopefully that one will fit.

Pip is planning to hack down some tree branches this weekend.  That should make for an amusing post.  Until then…

Dancing leads to…

I had “the talk” with DQ a few weeks ago.  Aside from my constant need to swallow my own vomit because I was so nervous, it went surprisingly well.  She had been hearing a few things at school that prompted Pip and I to tell her the whole truth and nothing but the truth.  It’s pretty sad, I think, when you have to worry about your 3rd grader’s male classmate telling her how he had a dream that they were naked in bed together.

So baby making was spelled out clearly and the lines of communication were opened up.  It was… not as bad as I thought it would be.  Whew.

Fast forward to last Friday.  There was no school, so DQ, TM and I went to the zoo with a group of friends.  At our zoo they have a small aquarium and in said aquarium they have seahorses.  Who doesn’t love seahorses?  They’re so unique.  DQ, with her face pressed against the glass, watches the seahorses with rapt attention.  After a moment she turns around and squeals with delight, “Mama, the sea horses are dancing!  Look!  That means they’re going to have babies!”  I have to tell you, my first thought was that “the talk” that I gave her was a miserable failure.  I mean, really?!  All that stress and swallowing vomit and you think it’s through dancing? And then the realization.  NOOOO!  My mother was right?!  Dancing leads to babies?!  What?

She informed me that she read a book about seahorses.  When the female seahorse wants to have babies, she hooks tails and dances with the male.  She concludes this dance by giving the male all her eggs, whereupon he fertilizes and carries the eggs for her until they are ready to hatch.  So interesting.  I wish it was the same for humans.  Well…maybe not.  I enjoy dancing occasionally (those within eyeshot do not) and the implications here are distressing.

DQ. Barefoot and dancing.

Spinners

I’m stirring the pot.

When I was a kid the presidential election was between Mondale and Reagan.  My grandma was solidly in the Mondale camp.  My family was solidly in the Reagan camp. And my Grandma spent the winter with us.  It was tense, and it got even more tense when I mentioned one night at the dinner table that a boy in my class had the nerve to say that his family was voting for Mondale.  I got the parent stare…you know…the one parents give and believe that if they stare with enough intensity, the stare will work like a Jedi mind trick and leave the kid with no words.  Only good thoughts.  Thoughts that will please the Grandma.  The funny thing is that my dad said to me (he might deny this now.  Hi dad!) that it didn’t matter who was president; he deserves respect.  I believe this.  I was annoyed during the inauguration when people were whooping and hollering like they were at a football game.  I was yelling at the radio in my living room, “What’s wrong with you people!  It’s a Presidential Inauguration!  Show some respect!”  I am officially a crotchety old person; not just because I yell at inanimate objects in my living room, but because I tend to be rather traditional.  We sing this one song at church sometimes that has this line that goes, and I realize that I’m taking this out of context, lift my hands and spin around.  I dislike this song immensely.  Because really, I’m not spinning.   And if I’m honest, I really don’t want to see anyone else spinning in church.  It seems inappropriate to me.

Anyway, back to respecting presidents.  I am a parent to two children who attend a public school.  It is highly possible that, on Tuesday, they will be watching a message addressed to them by President Obama.  There is a framed letter from President Obama in the hallway of their school with his picture next to it, just as there was the exact same thing when George W. was President.  He is the U.S. President.  So far he’s not my favorite president and I don’t agree with a lot of his policies, but my kids will be watching, and we will be discussing what he said.  And IF he says anything controversial to them (and I doubt he will), we will sit and discuss it as a family unit.  I want them to know what they believe because they know it, not because I gave them no other option.  We live in a country where people have opposing opinions.  It’s what makes it great.  “No dissenting opinions” in either direction is disrespectful (not to mention a big ol’ nasty bag of trouble.)  To this country.  To our soldiers.  To our people.  To the people trying to get in.

How great would it be if, when asked how they felt about the speech, they said, “I liked this and this, but this not so much.  Here’s why…”  I cannot tell you how that would make my year.

Downtown

Pip and I went out on a date this past weekend and our destination of choice, when we go out, is downtown.  We love walking through the city in the evening.  Love.  And we love Denver.

I do not love walking the length of the 16th street mall 20 times in shoes that are anything less than gym shoes.  When we were getting ready and I asked the obligatory “Which shoes should I wear?”, Pip told me to wear whichever ones were more comfortable.  When I answered that they were both comfortable he said to wear the gold ones.  I own lots of pairs of flats and pretty much all of them are comfortable (I do not have a silver pair though and became painfully aware of my need for silver flats).  Well, after nixing the pair he chose using the excuse of not having any color in my ensemble, because really…when the question, “Which one should I wear?” is answered, does anyone really wear the chosen shoes, shirt, pants, etc…?

Pip says this question is asked to narrow things down and not because I’m really interested in his opinion.  I know he has tried to fake me out by choosing the one he doesn’t like so that I will wear the one he does.  I’m onto you Pip.

Anyway, back to the date.  Walking around downtown hand in hand sounds very romantic and lovely and it is, if you aren’t running a race.  When Pip walks, he speed walks.  I can walk pretty fast and I have longer legs than Pip, but most of the time I’m panting trying to keep up.  At about…oh…mile 10, I told Pip that I was pretty sure that if we didn’t find a place to eat soon my toes were going to start bleeding.  So we walked some more.  Along the way we came across a small gathering of Hare Krishnas.  They were playing their little drums and such and chanting/singing.  Pip grabbed some street performer’s guitar (Pip plays guitar.  Have I mentioned that before?) and asked if they could sing “My Sweet Lord” by George Harrison.  He told them he’d sing the bulk of the song and they could cover the Hare Krishna part, because clearly they had that down.  Meanwhile I sat down to nurse my bleeding feet and they threw flowers around my neck.  It was awesome.

Ok, so it didn’t happen exactly that way.  We did see Hare Krishnas though…

Breaking my own rules

Sooner or later it had to come to this.  I had always told myself (and anyone who suggested otherwise) that I do not read book series.  I could handle one book, but the pressure (oh the pressure) to be in it for the long haul was too much.  So much for that.

A friend of mine was talking to me about Twilight and telling me how great it was and “here, just take the first book.  If you don’t like it, you don’t have to finish it”.  Right.  I blew through the whole series within 3 weeks and after that I convinced Pip to read it and he blew through it in even less time (and has re-read book 4, but you didn’t here it from me…well, actually you did…unless SOMEBODY HACKED MY BLOG!  We’ll go with that.)  I loved it and have decided that if series are that good then what have I been missing all these years!  I had read the first Mitford book years ago (loved it) and never when beyond the first book, so I got the second recently (because I’m breaking my rule).  It’s ok.  And now I feel like I have to finish it because I’m breaking my rule and I’m going to finish it dang it!  It’s not that I don’t like the second book.  It’s just not grabbing me and I’m back to feeling like I have to finish it because I broke my rule.  Dumb.  I think I should just do away with rules and read what I want.

For the record, I loved The Lord of the Rings Trilogy and raced through the books, but I could not for the life of me get into The Hobbit.  Go figure.  I am an anomaly.

Survival of the fittest

It seems that Charlie has seen that Princess is injured and has taken this opportunity to warm up to us, lest she perish and we decide he’s out too.

The other night he jumped up into bed with Pip and I when we got in bed looking at us like “What?  I always do this.”  And he so does not.  Occasionally if we’ve been on a long trip he’ll sleep in our bed the first night we’re back, but that’s it.  The problem is that as soon as the lights go out he starts inching up closer to our heads.  It starts with “Hey there.  I’m just at your feet.  No need to kick me off” – then -  “What!  Shoulders look like feet!  I had no idea your face was close, but you know, now that I’m here how about we sleep.  I’m tired.  And I don’t have holes in my backside.”

Sidenote:  I said the word butt the other night while getting the kids ready for bed.  I don’t remember the context but it almost certainly had something to do with Princess.  DQ says to me, “Mom, why does everyone else say bottom but you say butt?”  (I know.  I’m such a potty mouth.)  I asked her if my using the word bottom would make her more comfortable.  She said yes.  So I use the word bottom around her.  And pretty much only her.  I’m rebellious like that.

Because I feel like it

Pip got me tickets to this guy’s concert in November.  I’m pretty excited.

And of course embedding is disabled, so click it.  It’s worth it.