The food was good

There are times when blog posts come gift wrapped.  Little experiences while they maybe poignant or funny, are clearly stories.  They have a beginning, a middle and an end.  They aren't a cobbling of various events or thoughts, they are in themselves one complete tale.

Friday night we attended the First Grade Shabbat dinner.  In an attempt to create relationships, the temple organizes these dinners.  Three or four families gather together and have dinner together, say the prayers and celebrate Shabbat.  Sounds innocuous enough.

When we fled left the event, I looked over at Bob and said, "sometimes blog posts come gift wrapped."  But, now that I am home, and looking at the computer screen I don't know where to start.  I don't want to tell the story and god-forbid have someone who knows these folks read it and tell them about it.  If the shoes were on the other feet, I would be horrified if I knew that this story was on the internet.

You see the hostess told a funny story about a trip to the hospital with one of the kids.  She left to start to coffee and check the kids, and her husband proceeded to tell us more than we needed to know about their marital relations.  It wasn't completely a digression, it was more stream of consciousness.. yet, now, burned into my mind, is that story.  When the hostess returned to the room, my eyes were the size of saucers and in an attempt to stop the insanity, she heard me saying, "that is too much information, I need to cleanse my brain now."  Seriously, brain bleach was in order.

At temple today, I SAW them... I kept thinking about what he said, picturing it.  It is like a train wreck, you don't want to look but you can't stop yourself.  She has no idea what he said.  No idea that I know this detail of her life.  No idea that when I see them, I can't stop snickering.  Face it, if I didn't snicker about it, I might poke my eyes out with knitting needles so as to erase the memory.  I am sure it will fade, as all scars from traumatic events do, but it won't be fast enough.

So, when asked about how our dinner was, I respond, the food was good.

Dizzy Sheep Arrives!

The Sheep has arrived!  We were very happy to be entertaining a sheep.  He arrived in his custom carrying case.

 

 

I love, love the fabric that his carrying case is made out of.  I have to find that, figure out how to make a project bag and create one for myself!!  If anyone out there sews, I would love a project bag made out of sheep fabric... my birthday is relatively soonish.

Dizzy sprang out of his case, and began to wreck havoc on my house.  But we will fill you in on his adventures once he leaves.  For now, he is here.

Random thoughts

• Mixed feelings about the mailbox.  I have some goodies coming, Dizzy of course should be here too... But the is always the risk of death socks

• 8 days, no sun.  No wonder I am suicidal.

• I thought Saturdays were your day off.

• Seriously, talk to me... tell me.. don't tell someone else.

• Rude people suck

• It is a gauntlet every morning... I should be in better shape

• Should I or shouldn't I?  

• Just say no.

• Roasted Cauliflower is the new potato chip, bet you can't eat just one.

• Another day of battle

• Oink, Oink

• Three day weeks go by VERY fast.

• Shake your hiney repeaters.. gotta love 'em

• Lorna's again!  Yeah... 

• 2 pairs of death socks done... yeah, there is some knittin' goin' on.
  

Mice, no Rat, no Monster Rat

Today, I was sitting peacefully at the table planning out our meals for the week, making a grocery list and getting everyone moving towards leaving the house for school.  Mac come tearing down the stairs, "Mom, Mom, there is a mouse in my room."

Great.  There are somethings that are man's work.  I usually get stuck handling them because Bob is NEVER home when man-things go wrong.  When we had a dead mouse in our recycling bin when we lived in Connecticut, I had to deal with it.  I had to deal with the dead rabbits in our backyard.  I usually have to deal with the trash.  Hmm, Bob has been home for some of the more recent man-thing issues, and I still end up doing them.  Makes me wonder about that.  I will have to be more aware for the future.

Mac told me he thought the mouse was dead.  This was a relief, because at least I didn't have to deal with the rabid fangs of an errant mouse lunging out at me.  As the story went on, our simple dead mouse morphed into a rat, granted the beast stayed dead.  I went up to inspect.  Mac says that it is living in the box spring of his bed.  There is a tear in the fabric that covers the bottom and something was curled up in the far back corner.

This is where I start to get worried.  I am not totally convinced that this furry thing in the bed is a rodent, but I am also not convinced that it isn't a rodent.  Bob is home, so I will ask him to investigate this issue.  I hate rodents, more than spiders, ants, but probably not as much as snakes.  Bob is on the phone and won't get off the phone to look into the situation.  So, I get stuck doing more man-things.

I call the dog in for backup.  At least if I have to do arm to arm combat with a mouse/rat, I want to have the scales tipped to my side.  I put my shoes on, grab a broom and a dust pan.  If it is dead, I want to be able to remove it without touching it. 

I poke around on the bottom of the bed in ratland.  Nothing moves.  I feel that it is probably more likely that this is maybe a sock and less likey a dead rodent.  The dog is looking at me like, what am I doing up here.  I also felt that if something had been dead under Mac's bed she might have noticed.  But, it was Mac's room, so that dead animal smell is sort of normal.

Back to the topic at hand, I poke the lump, it doesn't move and it really does not feel heavy enough to be a mouse/rat/sewer rat.  The tails on those things are so gross.  Anyway, I feel confident enough to try and pull it out with the broom and deal with what ever it is.  As I start to pull it towards me, it starts to break up a bit.  So, that means it isn't a sock, but it most likely isn't a monster rat either.

Turns out it was just a piece of stuffing from the bed.  NO signs of rodents living there.  This was a relief, but I still think the kid needs to clean his room, because it could totally support a family of mice without a problem.

Sock Wars, Part 2 cont.

Part 2, a view to a kill.

I got my socks yesterday, and I finished them yesterday.  Monday morning they will head over to the UK.  I emailed my target to let her know they were coming, in the hopes that she will finish her socks and get them to her target so that my new socks can stay in the US.  But, we will see!  I really don't want to wait for the socks the come from the UK... chances are too high that I will get killed before she gets them here.

Anyway, the new socks are:

I enclosed the following message, the names are everyone's Ravelry Ids.  So that is why they are sort of "strange."  Can anyone guess who mshmom is??  I know, big stretch.

The story of your death…. One lovely Friday afternoon a stealthy woman, SarahBee, started some socks for you. She chooses a Knit Picks yarn, in the colorway of Eggplant. It is 75% superwash wool and 15% nylon. You can toss it in the washer, but at your own risk.

But this is not a tale of yarn, but rather a tale of a cold hearted assassin, SarahBee. Her reputation for ruthlessness preceded her, and the bounty on her head was high. With top dollar offered for her death, SarahBess killed SarahBee, just before she offed her target. She was 75% of the way done… but close doesn’t count in Sock Wars.

This was good for you, Sassyass, because you lived another day. As in all gang wars, SarahBee’s death was did not go unnoticed by her fellow knitters. SarahBess had to pay, and pay she did. Mshmom took her out.

Don’t let the fact that she is a mom make you think she is weak. Mshmom has killed SarahBess, she has killed you dear Sassyass. Of course you would expect a mommy to be sweet and kind, but MSHmom wrangles preschoolers and school-aged kids… she is as ruthless as they come. How will it end? Only time will tell… you may watch from your grave. mmmaaawaaaahhhaa

Sock Wars Part 2

Sock Wars Part 2, in which I start work on my second kill.  My next target is in the UK, Wales to be more exact.  I believe that this will be my last kill, as my assassin is most likely going to mail my socks off Monday. 

I sort of hope she will be killed before she finishes.  She wishes for her death, because the pattern is very slow going for her. 

My target finished her socks before her death, so I am awaiting my socks in progress from her target... but she shipped them directly to me, and did it priority mail, love her!  According to the usps, they are in IL and hopefully will get to me today.  Because Monday may bring me both my death AND my sips.  That would make me sad, because then I would need to send them out.

I will keep you posted as this progresses.  Hoping for a second kill!

Skinny Chicks at the Gym

At the gym the other day there is this woman complaining about how she HAS to take the step class because she has gotten sooooo fat.  She, being the alpha mom, then had all of her other friends who normally take pilates at the same time take the step class with her.

You know the type, perfect hair at the gym, makeup on, boobs all lifted and in the right place, oh, and skinny.  I was in the office at the school one day and I over heard the secretaries talking about one of the moms at the school.

#1:  You know Frank's mom, the skinny one
#2:  Which Frank?  All these moms are skinny.  I think that is why they are all so crabby all the time, they are all starving.

I had a good chuckle about that.  But, you know the type I am talking about.  They are dress prefect, hair done and perfect, make up,  boobs, the whole package is perfect, at drop off.  I don't know about you, but at drop off I generally have just rolled out of bed and haven't showered yet.  I have mixed emotions about this type of female.  1) They make me look like a slob and 2) who has time for all that?

So anyway, she is complaining about HOW fat she is and all that.  I am thinking, ok chick, you just want someone in your posse to tell you how cute you look.  There is general mouth noises being made by the group and then the other alpha mom walks in, and listens to this and then she says, "Well it is because you drink too much wine."  The other mom stops mid-complain and looks at her. The OAM (other alpha mom) says, "Yeah, your right, you have been hitting the treats a bit much lately too, you are looking a bit bloated."

I almost wet myself.  Because OAM was cute and all, but not as skinny and perfect as the alpha mom.  To see OAM agree with alpha mom was awesome.  I loved it.  It solidified a couple of things for me, 1) I don't need friends or enemies like that and 2) it is hard work to be pretty.  I looked around at a couple of the other people in the class who were watching all this go down, they were all smiling a bit about the situation.

You see, when I was in 7th grade the pretty, cool girls pants me pretty much every day.  They teased me and laughed at me because my body was less perfect than theirs and my looks less pretty.  Today, in the gym, I realized something, that at 40 some years old, I don't really care about looking like that.  I go to the gym because it is good for me to move my body.  I try and eat good things, because I want to see my babies have babies.  Sure, I like to look cute, and have my husband feel happy that he married me, but what I have that that alpha mom doesn't have is confidence.  I don't need to be perfect, I realize that I am not perfect.  I am more than a number on the scale, or a cute outfit.  I am happy with my life AND the way I look.  I wish I knew that when I was in 7th grade and the pretty, cool girls were pants-ing me.