Knitting regroup

So Saturday I went back to Michael’s and returned all of that yarn that I so lovingly described a few nights ago.

In my mind, as I plan my knitting creation, it gets more and more elaborate. I am trying so hard to remain realistic. I am a beginning knitter. I don’t ever use a gauge. I never knit a sample and never really monitor my tension. There, I confess.

I do, however, have high expectations. And grandiose ideas. And a lot of confidence. So when I found out that you could not felt acrylic yarn, I was devastated. All of that gorgeous yarn I bought? Yup. You guessed it. (acrylic, for those who didn’t)

And I hadn’t even planned on felting in the beginning. But a combo of a memory of one of my coworkers mentioning she was going to try making a felted purse, plus another coworker asking me about my knitting plans “Are you going to felt those squares?”, plus my mother telling my that my Auntie Nan made a lovely felted blanket for her first grandson (little felted squares crocheted together)… well…

So when I was asked “Are you going to felt the squares?”. Well, of course the answer was yes.

“Yes, that is exactly what I’ve been planning on doing”. Said with confidence. Even though I have never felted a thing in my life, except for those few times when I threw those wool sweaters in the dryer.

So Vince and I returned all that yarn and then I carefully went through the meager selection that Michaels had to offer, looking for wool, or at least a wool blend (with at least 50% wool). Ugh. Not much to offer there. But I was determined to bring home something. After all, it is cold in Florida now, being that its ‘Fall’ and all. I need something to keep my hands occupied while I huddle near the heater, desperately trying to stay warm.

Vince quietly destroyed a small display. I finally made a decision. Not a hundred percent happy with it, but it will do. It is a wool blend, a lovely variegated pattern of raspberry, fuchsia, purple, blueberry, marigold and various other shades of pink and purple. Rather pretty.

The majority of 100% wool the store carries were ‘wool’ colours. Browns, sheepy sorts of gray and cream. As much as I love those natural fibers, I am a bright colour type of girl. And I have this vision too, you see.

A lovely, vibrant afghan draping over the side of my red velvety couch. Contrasting nicely with my dark wood floors and creamy walls. A cocktail of colour in the corner of the living room. And something that I can look at with pride.

I;ve made 2 squares so far. and partially felted one. It is going to work. And it is going to look fabulous.

But I am going to need more yarn. I need some more colour. I need more woolies. And honestly, I am not even sure if that is something one can find in Orlando. All yarn shops either look like this well-known one in my hometown of Victoria, BC (Beehive) or as one of those yarn shop stories that everyone seems to be writing. In fact, it was reading one of those books that made me want to pick-up knitting needles again.

If anyone local knows a good place, please let me know.

Wish me luck with my little project. I am going to attempt to felt this weekend. Possibly I will post pictures. Possibly. 🙂

xoxo a.m.

Knitting. Again.

Knitting is entirely to blame for my lack of, well, anything social these days.

After last years crochet-fail, all crafty things were put aside. Plus, once it started to get hot down here I forgot all about indoor crafts and focused instead on swimming, running, walking etc.

However, it is now officially Fall.

And Florida knows that because the temperature has dropped about 4 degrees…

With the arrival of cooler weather, my thoughts have turned to the pursuits of Autumn and Winter. And crafts. And knitting.

I drove to Michael’s  on my lunch break one day and picked up some gorgeous yarn. All sorts of eggplant purples, marigolds, burnt oranges and raspberries. Lovely, glowy jewel-like colours. So beautiful, actually, that it was hard to wait until I got home to play them.

Lovely bamboo knitting needles to go with it all, which I have to admit make the most wonderful click-clacking noise. Which I think sound much nicer than metal needles.

Anyways, so all I am doing with my spare time is click-clacking away on the couch like an old lady. And then click-clacking away at work on my lunch break. It’s very soothing. I feel pleased to have something else to do with my hands in the cold, harsh Floridian Autumn.

In between cleaning up puke and poo, I mean. You know, because that is the other thing that is constantly waxing and waning in our household.

Right now it waxing. It’s been a very very long day. One that started very very early with a relatively healthy little boy. And then proceeded to regress as the day progressed. Not that he himself was out of sorts or in poor spirits. He just had a really upset stomach. Something I sadly didn’t know about until we were leaving the library this morning and walking out to the car, when I noticed that it smelled like poo.

I honestly thought it was sewage or something (which it was, in a manner of speaking). I remember thinking “God, it smells like shit out here. How gross for the library!”. And as we got into the car and began driving away, the smell got stronger.

How mysterious.

I didn’t make the connection at all, not until I noticed a discolouration on my arm.

Ewwwwwwwwwwww. I am just going to leave it at that. It was really too awful to want to remember. Plus, it was disgusting. Plus, really gross.

I had to buy him new clothes. I had to clean my arm. I had to go to my in-laws to clean up this whole mess (as we were out running errands when this all happened and nowhere near home)

Ugh.

And then we went home. And Vince and I watched Cars. And I knitted.

A soothing, healing way to end a day that became, well, crappy.

xoxo a.m.

More about Twinkies

So the next morning, after I calmed myself down from the indignation I was feeling regarding the ‘Twinkie incident’, I geared myself up for bringing this up with his teachers.

His teacher in the morning, well, there is a wee bit of a language barrier. And also a ‘no sense of humour’ barrier.

“I would really appreciate it if you would not give Vince any Twinkies. We don’t eat food like that in our house and I would rather him not eat like that at school too”, is what I Canadianly said to her.

“So no sugar at all?”

“Um, no. He can eat sugar. Just not too much of the processed type and more from the natural group of things”

I think she understood. She promised me she would mention it to her co-worker. I left feeling better.

And then I thought about it all day long. And then when I pulled into the parking lot to pick V up, I decided to mention it to administration as well…

That conversation went a little better. Ms. Erika assured me that the last snack on their regimented list of meals was at 2:30 pm. There are no other snacks to be provided. There should not be any Twinkies or Doritos given to anyone. She promised to talk to the teachers that evening and I practically skipped to his classroom. V was there, snack-free, and that evening he ate all of his dinner.

The next afternoon, when I picked him up, I was not greeted with a sincere smile. Not really much of a smile at all, actually, from teacher #2. The Twinkie-giving teacher.

Hmm.

Oh well. That’s too bad that she’s taking it hard.

I feel great about it.

And this afternoon, as I wheeled V around Whole Foods and picked up a few ‘treats’ for him, I flashed back to ‘treat’ shopping with my Mum in the local Health Food store of our tiny town.

30 years later, here I am, doing the same thing with my child. Just upgraded.

Larger ‘town’, larger store, but pretty much the same person.

And while I remember hating yogurt-covered raisins and peanuts as a child… who knows? V might like them? I happen to have a container of that very item (recently purchased) in my pantry.

Funny, eh? any of you parents out there seeing yourself following in your parents footsteps?

xoxo a.m.

Snack-time

I hurried home from work with my brain a big ol’ mess of thoughts.

Get V. Pick up picnic-like dinner somewhere. Zoom home. Change to ‘park’ clothes. Grab blanket. Grab husband. Picnic. Bathtime. Bedtime. Relax with no kids time.

Lots of things whirling around in there, adjusting and readjusting these plans. You know, like normal.

I zipped into Daycare to pick up V and as I entered the building, I could hear my child’s voice echoing down the hallways. The classrooms were over heated and the doors were propped open. Vince was running around wearing a skirt with yellow and black stripes that was somewhat reminiscent of a bumblebee. His hair was all sweaty and clung in little curls around his neck and forehead.

Essentially, he looked adorable.

And in his hands he held 2 huge cookies. It was 5:15 pm. And as far as I am concerned, this is an inappropriate time for cookies. Especially since we are going home and having dinner pretty much immediately.

But wait! It gets better!

His teacher turns to me and says (and I honestly cannot figure out how my head didn’t pop off instantaneously…)…

Anyways, she says: “Oh, he didn’t like the Twinkie I gave him, so we gave him cookies instead”.

I smiled and nodded dumbly and in retrospect, I think it was just shock. Shock was what prevented me from saying anything at all.

I was all contained until I called Edward and we ripped that poorly planned snack to shreds, as well as the clever people that came up with that snack idea. I mean really. REALLY. And also ‘Come On!!!’. And “What the hell?!?!”

About a week ago, I picked up V covered in potato chip crumbs. At 5:15. And another day, I picked him (5:15) as he was stuffing his face with something that looked like Doritos (Nacho Cheese flavor that stained his fingers so badly).

I also don’t consider either of those ‘school snacks’. Not for 2 year olds.

With the chips, Edward and I figured we’d let it slide. We didn’t want him to be the only kid at snacktime that was denied and then make it difficult snacktime-wise for everyone. We were trying to be flexible.

But after the Twinkie incident, that is it.

No more amendable Mummy. I will be stern-faced and possibly finger-shaking Mummy.

I feel disappointed. I feel seriously let down. I have no problem with the menu and meals that the school produces for all of the kids. It’s very thoughtfully organized, very nutritious and healthy.

So I am unsure where these late snack ideas are coming from. And I am pretty sure that no-one is thinking of what parents would think.

Or am I wrong? I’m surely not the only Mum out there who thinks this is so totally wrong? What 2 year old needs a Twinkie?!

My idea of a yummy snack is apple slices. Or possibly grapes. Or something else tasty and crunchy and healthy.

Talking with my Mum last night I told her “You don’t realize how much you are like your Mother until you become a parent yourself”. With every meal-related decision I make, I flash back to our regular trips to Health Food stores as a child. Our yogurt-covered peanuts and raisins, sugar-free gum and fruit-juice gummy bears.

Yup. I am my mother.

But regardless, I think in this situation I might be all the mothers everywhere.

So tomorrow I am trying to leave the house early so I can have some extra time with his teachers to explain my feelings regarding these crazy late snacks and their choices. If I have to bring his own snacks in for him to eat, I will.

I’ll keep you posted on my little confab tomorrow and how it went…

xoxo a.m.

Still here

Update: There is still no bum on the potty seat. In fact, his teachers told me that he has absolutely no interest in it. Despite many of his little friends being rather interested in it. And so we are shelving that for the moment and focusing on perfecting our “drink from a cup’ skillz. Which, apart from the occasional ‘shake shake shake’ incident, is proceeding nicely…

Life just seems to have gotten really busy over here. V has been having a bit of a rough adjustment to school. Well, mostly to me leaving his room. Ideally, I think he thinks I should stay there all day, crouched on the floor next to where he is sitting, or next to his classroom window, hunting for squirrels on the playground. And then probably curled up next to him on his wee cot.

There are rather a lot of tears when I leave the room. And some mornings we don’t even make it into his classroom… we detour to his old classroom to see his favorite ‘Ms Susan’ in K1 and get hugs.

Lots of morning battles over going to school, wearing our school shirt, turning into his school’s driveway etc etc. And then battles about taking bathes and going to bed in the evening. Edward and I are now fully committed to staying on his bed until he has drifted off. This is the only thing that works. Sometimes we drift off too. I have rescued E from the room many occasion. He has caught me dozing off too.

All of this fun stuff, all these little battles and late night cuddles results in us being worn out! And V’s latest? A 3:30 wake-up call with very loud crying and demands for the ‘big big bed’. We both slowly wake-up and then, after 20 minutes of very sad noises, we give in and he practically leaps into our bed.

So I guess the point of this post this evening is to let you know that WE ARE STILL HERE! AND STILL ALIVE!

And further thrilling posts about urine, feces and general chaos will be coming soon. I am sure you are all looking forward to it…

xoxo a.m.

Bits

How do you name a penis?

Tricky question, eh?

Thursday night, as we started our bath-time washing procedure, we encountered ‘the area’ a few minutes in. Boy Territory is something I tread a little gingerly, as I am not that familiar with it. Apart from the obvious familiarity of being married to a man.

I am teaching V to scrub-a-dub himself and so I shout out random (boy) parts while I foam-pump soap into his palms and watch with delight while he hurries to find and cover them with suds (I am assuming that something is being cleaned just with soap touching it).

So of course we hit the usual…

Arms!

Fingers!

Toes!

Tummy!

And then I shout things like “Scrub scrub scrub!” And “Wash wash wash!”

And at some point those hands wandered down ‘There’ and a damp face makes a mischevious little grin at me.

And then? I shouted “Wash your….. weewee!!”

What WHAT?

It’s OK. I feel your shock. I was in a pinch and that’s what came out. And as soon as it left my mouth, I turned red. Even though there was no-one else around to see or hear what I just said, apart from Vince…. who was currently clutching those ‘bits’ and saying “Weeeeeee we. WeeeWeeeeeee! WeWe!”

Crap.

What did I just create.

And crap. What do you call those bits?!

I mean, I call them ‘bits’. To the general public that is. Not that it’s something that I am generally announcing to people. But when I am, that’s how I announce them.

Edward?! Where are you?! I need you for these situations! So get off your Fantasy football calculator thingy and come upstairs and clean your son’s penis!

… is what I would like to shout, but don’t. I just hold it all in. Like the proud British-Canadian that I am…

Well, tonight we had tub-time again. And Edward was in Philly and therefore was not around for assistance. But no matter, V got there before I could and started scrubbing away at various parts to much applauding, finally getting to the ‘bits and then looking up at me before he did anything.

Vince!! Wash your ‘peepee’!”

Ok, at least this was slightly better than ‘weewee’. Geez.

I really have no idea where to go with this one. I am thinking I might just stick to ‘bits’ and that suits my sensibilities just fine.

Any suggestions?

xoxo a.m.