It seems that I keep putting posts up and then taking them down because I’ve become severely self-conscious of looking like a jerk or offending a group of people.
This should not offend anyone. (Unless you’re opposed to Halloween. If you’re opposed to Halloween, LOOK AWAY!)
On Saturday evening, we took Hermione and Evil Angel to Boo at the Zoo.
(Evil Angel will eventually have vampire teeth. Her idea.)
It was very crowded, and sufficiently spooky.
After about an hour of walking around (please know that I touched a hedgehog during that hour, which is a first for me), we decided to grab a snack and head out.
My kids are just like me when it comes to food and loving food and feeling especially fond of food that has sugar sprinkled onto the top of it. Sometimes I worry that they’ll eventually share my sort of crappy relationship with food. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately and also thinking that I need to start up with the running again. It has been five weeks since I hurt my ankle, and my ankle still hurts. It still swells up at night. I know my doctor said Eight Weeks To Recovery, but I really thought eight weeks was more for people like REAL athletes with REAL injuries—not just a fake runner lady who stumbled. I have a friend who swears that the pain doesn’t really matter. “Just run on it. Just keep running.” (She’s a Real Athlete.)
I know six people who participated in the Rock and Roll Marathon in St. Louis yesterday. I sat here at the computer and tracked them as they were running. I cheered for them as they hit important milestones. Less than ten minutes after one of my friends crossed the finish line and became a Marathoner, I choked on a cupcake. (I took a bite, and when I heard Meredith coming into the kitchen, I shoved the rest of the cupcake into my mouth. I have no idea why. And then I inhaled, and part of the cupcake went down the wrong pipe and I started coughing and the kids thought I was sneezing, so every time I hacked and wheezed, both girls screamed “BLESS YOU!!! BLESS YOU!!!” My friends are running MARATHONS, and I’m beating on my chest in an attempt to dislodge cupcake crumbs from my lungs.)
I need to fix this ankle of mine. Or else just run on it. (By the way, it’s easy to love running when you can’t run. Very easy. I’ve been loving running for five weeks now. I think it’s time to start hating it again.)
At about 5:30ish this evening, we will have been married for exactly ten years. (We will BE married? We Will Have Been seems incorrect. However, it’s much better than we WOULD have been, yes?) Anyway, ten years is nuts. I’ve never done ANYTHING consistently for ten years, and now this! We’ve reached a decade!
When I think back to our first ten years of marriage, I immediately land on our London trip. Although I used to be able to recite the day-by-day timeline, my memories have now sort of jumbled into a big stew (mulligatawny?) with tiny hints of watching Aimee Mann singing Fourth of July on the Fourth of July and lots of tomato mozzarella sandwiches and Mr. Kipling Cherry Bakewells and the little boy who thought the manhole covers in Bristol were made of chocolate. And then I skip forward a bit and think about OUR kids.
When you marry someone who doesn’t have kids and you don’t have kids, it’s really sort of a gamble when you start throwing around the idea of babies. After giving birth to Meredith, I quickly learned that I am not a good baby person. Although I think they’re mostly cute, I don’t understand babies. I can’t make them stop crying. My patience runs thin when they fill their diapers too much (or worse, not enough). You, however, were a gem. You would come home from work, drop your briefcase onto the floor, swoop up Meredith, and suddenly All Was Well. And then Harper came into the picture (how did THAT happen?!) and I became even MORE frazzled (can you imagine?!), and you became even MORE of a great dad. (Seriously. You’re clever and witty. You have great taste in music. You’re a good cook. All of those things should be good enough. BUT, then you had to throw in Baby Pro and so much more. Smitten, I am.)
During those days when I was home alone with an infant and a two year old, I often found myself wishing (against the pastel-colored advice of others) that I could somehow speed up time to the point where the girls could actually TALK to me instead of pointing and crying and throwing themselves onto the floor where they stomped and spat and frothed. The universe listened.
Here we are. Ten years in. I have you, who I consider to be my best friend and perfect match. I have the girls, who are bright and funny and curious and wonderful. (I have the dogs and the cats, who really deserve much more than a parenthetical aside, but right now they’re being jerks so I’ve demoted them from Paragraph to Sentence.) Essentially, because of what happened ten years ago today, I have the perfect life.
This morning I realized that we’ll be celebrating our twentieth anniversary when Meredith is a freshman in college. And then I started thinking about how she might actually go AWAY to college, and then two years later, Harper will probably do the same, and okay. That pastel-c0lored advice doesn’t seem quite so AM radio anymore. My tenth anniversary gift to you? I’m going to try to figure out how to Slow Time Down. (I’ll begin by limiting my caffeine intake.)
Thank you for the past 3,652 days.
We’ve survived the life expectancy of a platypus.
Here’s hoping we see many more generations of playtpuses/platypi living just as happily as we do.
(Did you know that there is no universally agreed plural form of Platypus?)
I’ll always believe that this song was written for us.
So, remember yesterday when I mentioned that something in the house smelled like urine? I noticed that the odor was stronger when I was sitting at the computer, which made me think it was something in the kitchen. Later in the afternoon, I noticed that it was pretty terrible when I was driving the car, meaning the smell was also in the car! This morning when I threw on yesterday’s jeans so I could watch the kids waiting for the bus, I noticed that the smell was pretty terrible when I was sitting on my bed putting on my shoes.
When I stepped out of my room, BOTH kids immediately put their hands over their noses.
Meredith: WHAT IS THAT SMELL?!?!
Harper: IT SMELLS LIKE DOG PEE!!!
Me: No. No! NOooooooo!
I quickly ran back into the bedroom and asked Jeff to smell my jeans.
Jeff: Holy! Um, yeah. Your jeans stink.
Yesterday I stood in the elementary school office and talked to THREE different people while exuding a bouquet of urine. I am mortified.
A few minutes ago, I went down to get clothes out of the dryer, and found that the clean (and dry) clothes ALL smell like urine!
(Please know this: There is no urine on the clothes. Neither dog has had an accident in the house in quite some time, and the cats no longer go into our bedroom, where the dirty clothes are kept. I haven’t peed in my pants since I attempted to use a Neti pot while pregnant with Meredith. Enigmatic Urine will be my next CB handle.)
((What bothers me the most is the fact that I couldn’t put two and two together to realize that I was a walking sample of pee perfume all day yesterday. I definitely detected the smell more when I was sitting down. In other words: When my NOSE was closer to my PANTS.))
One more thing: I hate when adults walk up to a pregnant woman and call her “Mommy” as in, “When is the blessing due, Mommy?” I will never NOT be creeped out by that. Similarly (not really, but I have nowhere else to put this), yesterday I was at the bank (smelling like pee) when the bank teller had to repeat herself to a customer several times. Finally, the customer said, “I think my ears are full of wax!” She was not joking. Dear Lord, Lady. I don’t know ANYONE with whom I would feel comfortable enough to blurt out ear wax confessions. (I’m still not quite over the fact that Jeff smelled my pee pants.)
And another thing: I felt fine all day yesterday. For dinner, I had a tiny bit of salmon. Within minutes, I was sneezing and all congested and I felt like I was getting a migraine. HOWEVER, within two hours I was back to normal. Jeff thinks it was environmental allergies. I think it’s time to admit that fish DO have souls and perhaps I shouldn’t be eating them. Ever. (I rarely eat them. You can’t really be a full-on vegetarian if you’re eating a fish, right?)
The new Jeffrey Eugenides book came out on Tuesday. (It was delivered to my Nook at 3:06 in the morning. I’ve been dealing with goofy insomnia lately, so I was actually awake and ON the Nook when it arrived. I dove in immediately. Serendipity.) ((Oh! Our closest independent bookstore now sells eBooks. This makes me so happy.)) What are you reading these days?
UPDATED TO ADD: I actually found the story about my Neti Pot! Here it is. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
It appears that October is already 1/3 of the way over, and that raises my anxiety levels a bit because: Due to circumstances beyond my control but not REALLY beyond my control, I am now the head room parent for Meredith’s class AND Harper’s class. I filled out the form and said something like, “I will NOT be the head room parent, because I like to visit both girls’ classrooms during each of the parties.”
Last week I got the call. “No one has signed up to be a room parent for Meredith’s class. You’re the only one who sent in the form saying you will be at all parties. Will you do it?” AND, because Meredith’s teacher is currently on maternity leave and I don’t want the substitute teacher to have to deal with it, I reluctantly stepped forward.
A few days later, I received the news that Harper’s class doesn’t have a head room parent, either. Well, in my eyes, it’s not really fair that I’m doing it for Meredith and NOT for Harper, so I got all sloppy drunk and stepped up. (Disclaimer: There was no alcohol involved. I really have no idea what takes over and forces me to raise my hand when asked to do something that I don’t really want to do. Increased epinephrine levels? Hubris? The constant yearning for heroic background music to start playing when I so something that terrifies me?)
I won’t bother you with Hermionic (I just made that word up to compare myself to Hermione in Harry Potter. Meredith is reading the Harry Potter books right now, and she just reached the point where Ron notices that Hermione has three classes scheduled for 9:00 in the morning. I loved that part.) logistics. I’ll just say this: One of the big things I remember from my third grade Halloween party was when our teacher brought in a Crock Pot and melted caramels all morning so we could dip apple slices in the pot in the afternoon. I decided to recreate that memory for Meredith’s class. AND, then I received the note. Someone has an apple allergy. Also, there’s an egg allergy that includes anything MADE with eggs. Pork allergy. (No worries on that one.) Shellfish allergy. (Mollusks, anyone?) Peanut allergy. (That’s pretty much a given these days, isn’t it?) I have no idea what I’ll be doing, but please rest assured that I *will* figure something out. Hopefully.
Something in my house smells like urine, but I don’t believe it’s urine. What an interesting time of year it is.
Speaking of The Time of The Year, every year our church makes a huge batch of apple butter, and every year I purchase a jar and go all crazy with it. Apple butter in my hot tea. Apple butter on French vanilla ice cream. Spoonful of apple butter just because it’s 3:17 in the afternoon. This year I came up with the greatest apple butter combination that I’ve had so far: Take a tortilla (I prefer Flatout), spread about two tablespoons of apple butter on it, throw two slices of pepper jack cheese on top, roll it up, and you’re about to eat The Greatest Wrap Ever. The only thing that might make it better is to add something that crunches. Spinach, perhaps?
I took a spinning class last week, and two people in my life assumed that the class had something to do with sitting on a stationary bike. Instead, it had everything to do with drafting methods and getting the yarn to look right on the bobbin and Navajo plying and so forth. On Sunday afternoon, I spun two ounces of Lisa Souza’s Wensleydale in “Sky Drama.”
It’s pretty sloppy because the staple length is longer than what I’m used to (and I’m still not so good with achieving even bobbins). BUT, it’s so shiny and colorful and I can’t wait to see how it looks when it’s plied and lovely. My short-term spinning goal involves trying out as many fiber blends as I can. Spinning has become so meditative and therapeutic. I highly recommend it.
Meredith won a raffle which will enable her to be the school principal for the day on Thursday. She will start her day thirty minutes before the other students arrive, and will spend the entire day with the principal. They will have lunch, they will meet with the superintendent, and they will monitor classrooms together. At the end of the day, Meredith will be writing up a small report that will be included in the weekly newsletter. Meredith has already planned her outfit, is a bit upset that I refused to purchase a suit with heels for her, and is already brainstorming on how to make her school a better place.
Meredith: We really need to somehow get kids to try harder to behave.
Harper: I am already trying AS HARD AS I CAN!
Meredith: I bet you can try harder. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
It has been One Of Those Weeks. We realized on Monday that our license plates expired in September. SO, on Tuesday I took the car in for an inspection, and it failed because of a malfunctioning LED brake strip. We quickly scheduled an appointment at the dealer, because it seems that no one else carries the strip. On Wednesday morning, I left the house at 6:45, drove in the type of traffic that terrifies me, arrived at the dealer for my 7:30 appointment, and was quickly told that they would have to order the part.
Guy at Dealer: It might be in tomorrow, but it might take up to five days.
Me: I might take a Xanax tomorrow. I might take five right now.
Guy at Dealer: Pardon me?
Me: Where can I get a Diet Dr. Pepper in this joint?
Add these tiny inconveniences to the fact that I’ve misplaced my tiny scissors (I KNOW!), we have yet another $100 vet bill for Henry, I’m doing that Stressed About A Deadline thing that I tend to always do when I have a deadline, and yeesh. Thank God for Jon Scieszka. (My life is charmed. Please know that I know.)
I’ve always enjoyed going to book readings, and taking my kids to meet authors. Because I believe that Writers Can Be Rock Stars, I was super jazzed last week when I heard that Jon Scieszka was going to be at the girls’ school this morning, as I consider him to be one of the funniest authors of all time. (I went to see him in October of 1998 when Squids Will Be Squids was released. I actually left work early that day and camped out in the bookstore cafe so I could arrive before the kids who would be coming after school. I was 28. They were 7. I won.) Thursday. Scieszka. Yes. I’m in.
Enter: The Wrench.
Harper, who LOVES Squids Will Be Squids as well as The Stinky Cheese Man, takes classes at the middle school on Thursdays, meaning she wouldn’t be able to see Mr. Scieszka at the elementary.
Luckily, he had an appearance scheduled last night at the library headquarters.
Harper and I put on our glad rags and headed out.
Because we crave high-brow literary outings. (And pretzel M&Ms.)
We got there early enough to nab front row seats. AND, sadly, because the Cardinals are doing the “We Might Go to the World Series” thing, not very many people followed us in. (I was expecting a HUGE crowd. Those stinking Cardinals. (Of course, I’m kidding. I BLEED RED! (Not really.))) At about 7:10, Mr. Scieszka (rhymes with Fresca, because some of you were wondering) began telling us about his childhood, and about his books.
Despite the sort of crap week I’ve been having so far (WHERE ARE MY TINY SCISSORS?!), I sat there and laughed until I was crying. CRYING! I really should read you the story from Cowboy and Octopus that did me in. BUT, if you didn’t laugh, I would feel all weird. Anyway. After the Q&A session, he signed books.
I’m pleased to report that the book he signed on October 14, 1998 has been signed again.
AND, best of all, Harper now has her first signed book.
You guys, today is my ten year anniversary at Fluid Pudding. Ten years. (This is where we started.) I wanted to do something really meaningful to celebrate a decade with you. Artistic nude photo? Yes! (No.) Video blog? My awkwardness is contagious! You didn’t come here to squirm! At the last minute, I decided to celebrate by creating something that I love.
I love burritos.
I took two slices of Muenster cheese and placed them (lovingly) on a Flatout. (When I SEE Flatout, I think “PHLAT out”. When I SAY Flatout, I say, “phlah TOOT.”)
I then sliced a SweeTango and placed the slices (passionately) on top of the cheese.
Finally, I rolled it up (as you do) and ate it.
Ten years. Some of you have been with me since before I was married.
You stuck with me during both pregnancies.
And both births.
You listened to me sing.
You dealt with my headaches and my eczema.
You don’t laugh when I fall down. You humor me when I knit stuff and when I sing songs about cake balls and when I make my dogs lick your face and when I stuff my own face with marshmallows.
You always make me feel like I’m exactly where I should be.
You know about Little Debbie Oatmeal Pies, right? Get this. I just learned that you can make oatmeal pie balls by smooshing up Little Debbie Oatmeal Pies, rolling them into balls, and dipping them.
They look just like cake balls on the outside, but when you bite into them, you are right back in elementary school and it’s snowing outside and your mom has a roast in the oven and Christmas is right around the corner.
They’re magical. And they take less than an hour to put together. And you don’t have to bake a cake. You don’t have to bake anything!
Instead of doing a giveaway for my ten year Fluid Pudding anniversary, I’d like to ask you to do something for me. Would you please leave a comment below so I know you’re still with me? I wouldn’t be here without you, you know.
The traditional ten year anniversary gift is tin. For that reason, I dedicate this song to you.
(I know.)
Thank you for sticking around. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
So, it has been nearly two months since I told my doctor I was going to do a Couch to 5K program. School started, and I didn’t get off of the couch. I used my surgery as an excuse to stay on the couch a little longer. Then I got a cold. It’s difficult to run when you’re on the couch with a cold. (I’ve got the couch part down. Funny how I think about running only when it’s impossible for me to run. “Tra la la. I should be running, but it’s tricky when the anesthesia is wearing off, so here I lie. Fiddle dee dee!”)
My sister is a runner. When I told her that I was toying with the idea of running, she started calling to encourage me to put my shoes on.
Jen: So. How’s the running going?
Me: Well, I’ve got that surgery in two weeks and right now I need to shave these legs of mine and…
Jen: Ang. I think you’re okay to get started.
Me: I can’t hear you.
I set my start date for Tuesday. The day after Labor Day. My running day. Yes. Tuesday. And then I had to take Henry to the vet and get through some paperwork for school and figure out what I was going to wear for a meeting, and damnit. I finally reached the point where I was getting sick of my own excuses. SO, I watched this video again.
(It makes me cry Every Time I Watch It. I’ve watched My 120 Pound Journey about 25 times now, and I can barely think about it without my lip quivering. The most recent Shrek movie made me cry. Glee does it to me fairly often. Toy Story 3? I was a mess. I have no idea what’s happening over here.)
Yesterday morning I got out of the shower and put my “running” shorts on. I call them running shorts because they’re slippery. I then reached into my Drawer o’ Underpants and pulled out two sports bras. The first one was a nursing bra that was purchased to hold my lactaters back, and it always seemed to come unhooked at unfortunate times. (This is not an option at the track.) The second one? I purchased it during my sophomore year in college. Because I was really getting into the Jane Fonda workout. The year was 1990. My sports bra is 21 years old, and I am no longer the same shape that I was when I was 20, but I didn’t let that stop me. I wrestled myself into the thing and immediately felt an uncomfortable tightness in my chest. (I then said a little prayer that the bra would be the ONLY cause of tightness in my chest.)
Confession: When I think about running, I am terrified of two things: 1. That my heart will explode. 2. That I will pee myself.
I found my athletic shoes, loaded my running app onto the iPod, ate a banana while telling myself that the extra potassium will hug my heart and prevent it from exploding, and drove to the gym.
The first thing the app does is choose a tune from your iPod. Then it says something like, “Ding! Walk!” So, I walked. And as I walked, I watched the program count down to my first sixty seconds of Run. And when I had less than ten seconds to go before Run, I started freaking out. It’s happening. It’s happening.
Three.
Two.
One.
“Ding! Run!”
I took off running like someone was chasing me, and it didn’t take long before I realized that I didn’t really know how to handle running. Three other people (who knew what they were doing, as evidenced by their cute running clothes) were running, and if I would have kept up at my “Someone is CHASING ME HOLY CRAP!” pace, I would have lapped them repeatedly. I slowed down to a jog and immediately felt a lot less frantic. “Ding! Walk!” Yes.
Because I’m a huge fan of experimentation, every time I got the “Ding! Run!” I practiced a new style of running in order to figure out what was the most comfortable. Do I use my heels? Do I run on the balls of my feet? Do I kick my legs backward? I tried everything, and sadly, I never found a style that felt right. (I *do* know that the heel-to-toe method felt very wrong.) If anyone was watching me, I’m sure I provided great entertainment as I sweated and panted and snorted and hopped and repeatedly replaced the ear buds that kept falling out of my ears.
When I noticed that I had only one more run followed by a five minute cool down walk, I got really excited to hear if I would be congratulated when the workout was over. I ran a little faster. I walked with a bit more bounce. And then the vocal track went out on my iPod, and I immediately knew that I was having a stroke. I was sweaty, my right leg felt like it was about to separate itself from my torso, I was seeing a few spots before my eyes, and I could no longer hear Cee Lo Green. It’s all over.
And then it WAS all over. Week One, Day One. Completed.
Tomorrow is Week One, Day Two. And just typing that makes it seem like a plan. I just need to figure out HOW to run. (Do you use your heels? Do you kick your legs up? I would hate to think that I’m running the exact way that will surely lead to a heart explosion or a bladder failure…)
Jeff came home early from work last Tuesday because he had a terrible cold. He’s not one to jump the gun on sick days, so it really surprised me when he stayed home on Wednesday, too. On Thursday, when I started feeling heaviness in my head, I was So Angry. Friday found me home alone with the animals, who were not happy to see me cocooned in my robe on the couch sneezing and coughing and drinking hot tea and yelling things like “Jeff! Why did you DO this to ME-HE-He-he?!”
Yes. This is all about me having a little cold. Intriguing! I really need to start planning some adventures. Know that I know that.
Side note: I hate taking cold medicine. I hate the hungover feeling that comes with it. I would rather not take anything and suffer through the symptoms than swallow a pill that makes me feel hazy. On Friday afternoon, I raided our medicine cabinet for cold medicine. I could NOT fight this without help. The cabinet was empty. (It’s actually pretty full—of nail polish and magnesium supplements and some weird gauze thing and pain pills that expired back in 1996.) I called Jeff and asked him to stop by Walgreens and get something for me.
Jeff: What do you need?
Me: EDDIEDING DAT WILL BAKE BE FEEL BEDDAH!!!
Thirty minutes later, he arrived with Pretzel M&M’s, a dark chocolate Milky Way, a Twix, and some sort of Three Musketeers wafer thing. (He knows me so well.)
Another side note: A friend of mine knew that I was feeling punky, and she delivered Delhi’s Chaat (#30 on the menu) to me earlier in the day. I am terribly lucky to have people who get my need for chocolate and Indian food.
I spent most of Saturday in my bed and on the couch. I found that it helped a bit to stand up and scream, “I’m MISERABLE!” for anyone who might be interested. (Not many were interested.) I have no idea where Sunday went. I honestly have no memory of Sunday. I turned a corner yesterday morning, and celebrated by juicing carrots, a beet, and some ginger. It was terrible. I then juiced an apple and mixed it in, which took it from a level of Terrible 8 to Terrible 3. Drinkable. (I’m really trying to not be afraid of my juicer.)
Today is Tuesday. I have an itchy dog, and it appears that my cold is 89% gone.
(Thanks for all of the itchy dog suggestions, by the way. He has now been on the prescription food and the flea pills for four days, and he’s scratching more than ever. Although his follow-up appointment isn’t until Thursday, I’m going to try to get him in this morning.)
((Also, Scout got her first all-over groom on Saturday morning. She’s now clean, fluffy, and proud.))
(((Oh! I met with the principal last week about Regina and The Sex Girls (I know. Awesome band name.), and without missing a beat, he came up with a perfect solution. All is well.))) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
When we got Henry (nearly three weeks ago!), he was on post-neuter antibiotics, and he was itchy. At his post-surgery vet appointment, the veterinarian determined that he had some sort of skin infection. We switched him to an antibiotic that was more skin-specific, and we tried some medicated baths. The itchiness actually got worse after the baths, so we dropped the medicated soap and went with oatmeal baths and perfume-free (and alcohol-free) baby wipes. The itchiness got a bit better, but became worse again when the antibiotics ran out. We started him on a very low-dose steroid. The itchiness got a bit better, but became worse again when we started weaning him. (He has tested negative for mites.)
We are now going to see if he could be allergic to his food (Blue Buffalo Puppy Food). Starting this afternoon, we’ll be giving him a prescription food along with Capstar to see if it’s a flea allergy. If that doesn’t help, I may have to take all four of my pets to the vet every two weeks for three shot-in-the-dark mite treatments. (We’re all hoping it doesn’t come down to that, as I don’t have enough Xanax for a four pet injection adventure.)
I know most of you are bored with this information, but I wanted to throw it out there just in case we’re missing something obvious. (He’s current on his heartworm preventative. He’s current on all of his vaccinations. He’s cute as a bug’s ear, and he lets me hold him in my lap like a baby.)
Thanks to each and every one of you for your words of advice and/or encouragement yesterday. Last night Meredith took me aside and said, “You know how the TSG club stood for The Shady Girls? Today Regina decided to change the S. The club is now The Sex Girls.” Jeff and I agreed that a line had been crossed. I’m meeting with the principal tomorrow morning to have the most awkward conversation I hope to EVER have with an elementary school principal. Thank God he’s nice. And sane. And doesn’t seem like one who would support a third grade club for sex girls. (Tonight, as I wander in the Land of Nod, Fluid Pudding will receive 35,493 hits from people who were definitely not looking for photos of yarn. However, buckle up. I’m about to tell you about last week’s trip to Illinois.)
On Friday morning, my mom and I picked Tempe up at 5:00 and the three of us made our annual trip to Schaumburg, Illinois for Stitches Midwest. This was our fifth year, and it did not disappoint. When we first attended Stitches back in 2007, I came back with nothing but sock yarn.
In 2008, I purchased the supplies to make this sweater:
In 2009, I fell in love with this sweater:
Yeah. It’s not really finished, is it? I’m hoping to change that sometime in 2012.
Last year we decided to skip Stitches and go to Memphis. Graceland was very good. The yarn stores? Not so much.
This year, my only plan was to get some fiber. And I did.
This Jimmy Durante lookalike is actually a pound of BFL/Tussah Silk fiber. It’s the first purchase I made at Stitches, and if all goes according to plan, it will eventually be spun and knit into a sweater. After I achieve this goal, I will surely feel invincible.
All of these were purchased from Lisa Souza, who is sort of a rock star. She was one of the nicest and most interesting people we met at Stitches, which is definitely a thing because I now want to devote a shelf in our office to Lisa Souza fiber.
When we went back to the market to kill a bit of time before the drive home on Saturday, I accidentally bought two sweater kits.
This one will be my everyday cardigan (brown! with pockets!) for this winter.
This one will be my snazzified artsy meets swanky sweater.
This is the stuff that happens at Stitches, and this is why I love going there. Sadly, only 17% of you really understand how jazzed I am right now about my loot.
May I say something that just might jazz an additional 38% of you?
Do you remember Aaron’s bike? I am pleased to report that the money is in. The bike has been ordered. Aaron will have his bike, and I couldn’t be more excited. Thanks once again for your support! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
