Down With Summer!

I hate summer.

What’s good about it? Nothing, I say!

-Not the weather: I hate being hot, I hate the sun, and I hate the feeling of air on my skin.

-Not being outside: See above.

I’ve tried to think of reasons why someone might like summer, and the weather and being outside are the only two I can think of. Maybe there’s more, but they probably have something to do with the weather or being outside. You might think that, since I’m a teacher, summer would be a big hit with me. Maybe it was great back when you actually got three months off during the summer, but I’ll be lucky with 6 weeks of non-school time. I generally work a week after school ends and I start at least a week before it begins. Since our 100 year old brick building turns into an Easy Bake Oven, none of this is pleasant.

We are planning on finishing our basement next winter, so the summer of 2010 might be great for me. I envision spending every minute of those 6 weeks in the cool, dark, quiet (beautifully finished and furnished) basement. A girl can dream, can’t she?

(Brought to you by the letter K- Kate’s Carnival)

Basic Cardi

I haven’t posted a picture of this because there really wasn’t anything to post.  It’s a plain stockinette cardigan, done in cream Patons merino wool. 

I’m at the point now that there’s something to show:

 

As you can see, it’s knit from the bottom up and will be pretty much seamless.  I’ll need to do a little bit of seaming under the arms, but that’s it.  I also made the sleeves to be about 3/4 length.  The cuffs of my shirts get pretty dirty from the dry erase board at work, so I’m hoping to cut down on the dinginess with shorter sleeves.  I have discovered that I really prefer top-down raglans over the bottom-up variety.  I think I’ll do a single crochet edge for the neckline, and I’ll add a ribbed button band for the front.  I’m kind of rethinking the button band, though.  I like that the hems have such a clean look and I think a button band would mess with that.  I wonder if I did a single crochet edge (to help keep it from rolling) and then used something else to close it…but what?  Any ideas, Wise Knitters? 

I’ve been working pretty diligently on the cardigan because I want to finish it in time to wear it at least once before it gets too warm.  It’s over 50 degrees here today, so I may be fighting a losing battle. 

I also need/want to knit (in order of importance):

-a baby sweater for one of LouLa’s teachers

-socks for my coworker

-the Emma Peel dressfor LouLa (from the second Mason-Dixon book-image is from another blog, scroll down to see it, it’s very cute!)

-a shawl/stole for my dad’s wife (either Boxleaf Triangle or Caricia)

-the Banded Peasant Blousefrom IK Spring 2008 for myself (I don’t like the belt they put with it)

The last three are ones that are really calling to me, but the first two can be done quickly and they really need to get done.  It’s good that Spring Break is only a week away!

Friends

I don’t have a lot of friends. I have two, maybe three, people I consider friends and none of them live close to me. They are all an airplane ride away.

I do think that my definition of friend is fairly limited, though. For me, a friend is someone that I can call up and not have a reason for the phone call. There is one woman I work with that I’m just getting to the point where I would feel comfortable asking if she wanted to go to a movie with me. I’ve known her for five years, and she subbed for me while I was on maternity leave. I’ve roomed with her in hotels at conferences, and we’re going to do a 12K walk/run in May. But, it still feels like I’m presuming too much to call her a friend. That’s pretty ridiculous, considering she’s the friendliest person I know.

This is really part of my personality. I’ve always only had one or two friends at a time. I’ve always been a bit of a loner and I was very shy as a child. I don’t strike up conversations with strangers and I feel awkward and uncomfortable when they initiate conversation with me. I hate small talk. I want my interactions with people to be real, to mean something, and talking just to fill space doesn’t make sense to me.

I do have acquaintances and I’d hang out with every person I work with. In fact, when we get together, we have an amazing time. But, are they my friends? Eh, not exactly.

It’s just so complicated now that I’m older. I don’t have tons of opportunities to meet people. I had hoped that I might get to know one of LouLa’s friend’s moms. Some of them are very nice, but there is high school clique behaviors that I just don’t have the time or energy for. What is with grown women acting like that? Ick.

I guess I’ll continue hanging out with my family and wearing pajama pants all weekend. It sounds just fine, actually.

(This post is brought to you by Kate’s Carnival. Check it out.)

Cluaranach Revisited

Yesterday I picked up the Cluaranach Lace Stole again.  I totally love knitting it! 

I’m working on the second half and if I keep up the pace, I’ll finish it in the next couple of months.  Blocking will be tricky, since I don’t really have a large space, but I’ll deal with that when I need to.

 

Neither picture really represents the color accurately.  It’s a dark purple, very gothic.  I hope to wear it this Spring and perhaps bring it to Italy, but I need to figure out what color shirt (besides black) I would wear under it.   Any ideas?  I don’t know if I’m really the type of person who can pull off a wearing a stole, but I can see myself wrapping this around me on a cool summer evening. 

I found this in the bathroom garbage this morning:

That’s about four inches of bang that LouLa was growing out.  Grrr!!!  I know it’s totally normal for kids to cut their hair.  The part that bugs me is that this is one of many recent incidences where she has done something and then hidden it or not told me.  She spilled a bottle of my perfume down the sink this week, lies about wiping her bottom, and has done other assorted smaller things.  Lying and being sneaky are things I want to nip in the bud. 

The good thing is that it’s not noticeable when she has a barrette in, and I could just cut her bangs short again and it wouldn’t look like anything happened.  She’s getting her picture taken in a couple of weeks, so I had a small moment of panic. 

I did laugh a little to myself when I found it.

ETA:  Apparently it’s a “three naughty day”.  There was the hair cutting, then a bunch of toilet paper put in the toilet, then a “spill” with nailpolish.  It took three tries until LouLa was able to tell me the truth about the nailpolish.  First, it just spilled by itself.  Then, she just touched the top and it spun around and got loose.  Finally, she was able to admit that she twisted the top.  Ugh.  I’m pretty sure that it didn’t spill on a coin purse of mine as she claimed, but that she experimented with the brush and realized that it wouldn’t wipe off.   I decided that I’d pushed enough and I’d be happy with part of the truth.  She did come and tell me about it right away (lies included), which is progress.

Scarfy

Scarfy is LouLa’s sleeping companion.  She’s had Scarfy for only a little over a year, though it seems so much longer.  I had always wanted LouLa to have some kind of comfort item, but she just didn’t latch on to anything in particular.  The original Scarfy was red.  I think we gave it to her when she was having her sleep issues last year.  We hoped that having something that smelled like me would keep her in her bed and keep her asleep.  I don’t think that was the thing that worked, but Scarfy stayed anyway. 

One night LouLa complained of a headache and quickly, in her Drama Queen fashion, became a sobbing mess.  She was in bed, trying to calm down and I left to the room to either get Tylenol or the thermometer.  When I got back, I saw that LouLa had thrown up our black bean dinner all over Scarfy and her bedding.  We put everything in the wash, even though Scarfy is supposed to be dry clean only, and hoped for the best.  Unfortunately, Scarfy was stained for life with black bean vomit. 

Fortunately, I had another Scarfy.  A cream colored one, but the exact same thing.  I think the fact that LouLa became attached when she was older worked to our advantage.  The change in Scarfy didn’t bother her at all.  She was just fine with the new one.

I highly discourage Scarfy from leaving LouLa’s bed.  I’ve been a little worried that it would get lost or something horrible would happen to it and I would have to face Upset and Inconsolable LouLa.  Not fun.  I asked LouLa last night what she would do if something happened to Scarfy.  Her reply was, ”You’ll buy me a new one.”  She’s obviously not attached to this particular Scarfy and the good thing is that I know where to get another one.  They’re sold in every hotel gift shop I’ve been to.  The bad thing is that our town doesn’t have the kind of hotels with gift shops. 

Scarfy has morphed into something more than a sleeping companion.  Sometimes it’s a dog leash, sometimes it’s part of a princess outfit, and sometimes it’s just a part of an evening cuddle.

 

This picture cracks me up.

Generational Hand-Me-Down

I’m not especially close to my family, and this holds particularily true for my extended family.  Growing up, I lived with my mom and step-dad (my dad, really) and we always lived at least an hour away from other family, including my dad.  So, I never knew my extended family except for holiday gatherings, or, in the case of my dad’s family, the rare visit on his (equally rare) weekends*.  I’m the oldest grandchild and the only girl until I was about 10.  My cousins on my dad’s side are all very close and many of them live in the same city, hang out together, and are friends.  I wouldn’t know them if I saw them on the street.  On my mom’s side, I’m the oldest grandchild, and the only girl until my sister was born when I was 11. 

My grandparents weren’t a part of my life and while I didn’t miss that for myself (since I didn’t know that), I hate that LouLa doesn’t have grandparents in her life, either.  I wish my parents lived closer and were able to see her grow up and change.  Right now my mom and step-dad live a 14 hour drive away, and my dad lives a 7 hour drive away.  She’s their only grandchild and probably will be for quite a few more years.  Josh’s family lives close, but sees LouLa about the same amount that my family does. 

I don’t want to hand down that distance from family that I had.  As I said, I didn’t miss it, but I miss it for LouLa.  My parents (all of them) would love to be a part of her life.  My mom and step-dad are planning on moving closer someday, but my mom doesn’t feel like she can until her mother passes away.  I totally understand that, but I see the years passing so quickly.  It’s already been five years.  Five more will go by just as quickly.  My dad and his family have professions and love where they live.  I wouldn’t mind moving to be closer to them, but the cost of living is so much higher there and we wouldn’t make any more money, so that’s just not possible.

I guess I can only do the best that I can do.  Right now, LouLa sees my mom and step-dad about once a year and she sees my dad and his family about twice a year.  She talks on the phone with them, sends them cards, and we send pictures.  I think she feels more comfortable around them than I ever felt around my grandparents.  My dad and his family will be visiting for a weekend in April and my mom and step-dad are coming out for about a week when Josh and I go to Italy this summer.  We’ll start there and hope that the year brings other visits.   

     

 

*I don’t mean to insinuate that my dad did something wrong.  I believe that it takes two people to divorce and two people to be involved in their kids’ visitation, or lack thereof.  Both of my parents did the best they could and I think they would make different choices if they could redo it.

Far Away…

So, I’m sitting on the couch, surfing the net.  Nothing special.  LouLa sits next to me with a cone of Peaches (or Sugar) ‘n Cream with one knitting needle stuck in the top.  She’s been playing with it all day.  She’s pretending to knit with it, she’s used it as part of her pretend ice cream cone (which later became a cake) and she’s given me a small ball of it.  I don’t care that much that plays with it, though I limit the amount of yarn she cuts off of it and she needs to ask.  She’s done well and I’m not so concerned about her using it, but I don’t want her to start thinking that she can do it with any of my yarns, or whenever she wants. 

I digress…

So she sits on the other end of the couch and says something about playing that we’re going on a train.  At first, I mumble a no or something.  She then clarifies that I can keep doing what I’m doing, that she’ll be the driver.  “Sure, ” I say.  I am a lazy mother.  Here’s the rest of the conversation:

LouLa:  Where do you want to go?

Me:  China. (She’s been talking about China lately.)

LouLa:  Okay.  Far away from your husband, I guess…

 

It just cracked me up.  I immediately logged on here.  She then asked me if I was going to “write what I said?”

Just What I Needed

Exercise, that is. 

Looking at me and knowing me, you would never, ever think that I exercised.  I’m short, overweight, and not physically fit.  Those are just the facts.

I’ve found I need exercise.  I need the endorphins.  I feel so much better when I do it and I feel like shit when I don’t.  It goes above and beyond the guilt factor.  It really affects my mood.  It’s such a bizarre realization for me to come to.  Team sports have never interested me, I’m not coordinated in the least, and grace is not my middle name. 

To compound all of this, I really hate exercising.  I love the feeling I get afterward, but I don’t enjoy the process.  I don’t like being outside, I don’t like sunshine, and I sweat a lot.  I haven’t really noticed a change in my body during those periods that I exercise regularly, so there isn’t that incentive.

I’m still trying to wrap my head around this idea.  I guess what matters is the fact that it works for me and it matters less how/why it works. 

 

*My lack of weight loss is still an issue.  I’m trying to just eat healthy stuff and exercise and I’m trying not to freak out too much about the numbers on the scale.  It’s frustrating, to say the least.

George

He’s grown a bit.

Here he is in June (?) when he was about 3 months old:

 

Here he is today:

 

 

He’s gotten quite big, obviously.  What you can’t see from that photo is his big, hanging down, belly.  He’s on his last bag of kitten food, and then he’s going to get some diet food.  It would also help if Josh didn’t fill his bowl at every feeding.  He is seriously the best cat I’ve ever had.  He’s always been super-sweet and cuddly.  He puts up with LouLa dragging him around.  Nowdays, he’s so big that when she picks him up, his back legs drag on the floor.  He doesn’t seem to mind a bit and has never even tried to bite her.  He still sleeps laying across my neck at night, though most of his body ends up on my pillow.  I’ve never had a cat that was that cuddly right from the get-go.

There’s some lovely weather today:

I actually kind of like this.  Even though the snow tends to melt in February or March, it doesn’t really warm up until almost June.  We’re left with about 3 months of pretty dirty, grey conditions.  I don’t mind a fresh blanket of white to cover all the ugliness up.  It’ll be gone by the middle of the week, but I’ll enjoy it while it’s here.

Forgiven

I haven’t forgiven myself. 

Don’t worry, I haven’t killed anyone, or stolen, or cheated on my husband, or any of those kinds of things. 

I haven’t forgiven my body, to be more exact.  I was diagnosed with cancer shortly after my 14th birthday.  I went through chemo of various kinds and I got better.  It’s been 21 years*, so all is well. 

I just don’t trust my body anymore.  I fully expect the other shoe to drop someday.  Having what could be a life-ending disease has profoundly changed my life.  I don’t go to the doctor anymore than is necessary, I don’t obsessively read about illnesses on the internet, and I don’t lie awake at night wondering if random aches and pains are going to lead to death.

But, it wouldn’t surprise me if I did get another major illness.  It wouldn’t surprise me if I died from it at an earlier age than expected.  I think that lack of surprise is what separates me from many other people. 

I don’t think this lack of trust and forgiveness will ever go away.  And I’m okay with that.

 

*I initially typed “11 years” and then realized that 11+14 does not add up to 35.  My next thought was, “Holy Fuck!  Am I really that old?”  Yeah, apparently.