Well, um, I got this far on Boo Bug's new sweater:
I’m rather charmed by this sweater. I keep stopping every few rows to shove it under my husband’s nose and say, “Lookit this. Isn’t this adorable?!”
He is a very patient man. And a very good actor. “Yes, that’s really gorgeous honey!” (I think he should record himself saying this and keep the recording handy. When he sees me charging at him with knitting in hand, he could just press ‘play’ and save his vocal cords.)
And, while sitting around the doctors office and then the pharmacy waiting (interminably) for Captain Adventure’s appointment / medications Saturday, I cast on and got shockingly far on a sock in KnitPicks Simple Stripes:
Even more shockingly, I got within a few rounds of this far before one of the many, many, many people who stopped to comment on what I was doing pointed out that the colors here matched the shirt I was wearing (a favorite from Coldwater Creek) so well, you’d swear I had chosen this yarn on purpose. Which I hadn’t – it just came in the big Sampler box I got. And I had grabbed it because it was on top, and I was too pressed for time to be picky.
Weird, man, weird.
Other than that? Eh. Who cares. I cleaned a lot of things. Repeatedly. Did laundry. Repeatedly. Put ointment on Captain Adventure’s little tush. Repeatedly. Nagged my husband about my laptop. Repeatedly.
How sad is that? My life reads like the back of a shampoo bottle: Lather, rinse, repeat.
Do dishes. Do laundry. Clean bathroom. Pick up clutter. Dust.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
And then we wonder why I occasionally go off on wild tirades where foul language and the words ‘day spa’, ‘am I the only person who can…’, ‘I wasn’t always like this!’, and ‘would it KILL you people to…’ can be heard amid the clatter of flung pots and pans, splashing water and slamming cupboard doors.
Fortunately, my family has learned just what to do under these circumstances: Put a big pillow in the rocking chair, hand me my knitting and say, “Didn’t you say you wanted to get a few rows in on this today?” Add a few Motrin and a glass of diet soda or wine (depending on whether the sun is anywhere near the yardarm at the time) and the rant can be averted faster than a kid can snatch a cookie out of the jar.
And now, here I am on my lunch hour, clutching the sock and about to go forth into the world to find out what-all happened around the neighborhood and the world this weekend, while I was cleaning, waiting, and knitting. It has been one of ‘those’ mornings, too – a lot of fires and issues and whaddya mean this or that didn’t happen? What idiot…oh wait…that was me…
Ah, weekend. I hardly knew ye…
1 comment:
Ah, my perennial favorite "Am I the only person who can..." Yes. I am. It's sad but true.
As for the sock preventing shrieking, you are so right! My 14 YO son is in marching band, and one night I forgot to bring a sock with me when I went to pick him up. Big mistake, we were all yelling by the time he folded his uniform and we got home. He now knows to call me on his cell and tell me when to pick him up and say "Bring your knitting!"
Post a Comment