Nine more days and we get to meet our little Abigail. That is, if she opts to stay put that long. She better. Or she's grounded until she's 50. I'm just sayin'. Translation = I'm not ready to have her yet.
I've managed to finish the two newborn hats I made for her. Now I'm working on a cocoon (or sleep sack) for her. I've got to get through all my yarn some how! I would post pictures, but my camera has been packed away in my hospital bag, which is in the back of our rig. Soooo... you'll just have to imagine the pure awesomeness of them.
I've been waking up about every 30-90 minutes at night. It's really beginning to wear on me. And my attitude. And appearance. Let's just say I've got some pretty awesome bags under my eyes, am make-up-less almost exclusively and Abigail has dropped so low that even a "large" maternity shirt that is extra long still doesn't quite cover it all. Yeah, I'm ready. But not ready at the same time. Evil conundrum I'm in. Evil.
And I've come to the conclusion I'll be blogging right after the birth. It should be funny, or slightly entertaining, or simply resemble a drunken-blogging moment. Either way, whatever I have to say on Morphine and an epidural should be mildly worth reading. I hope. Let us just say it'll be an experiment in blogging.
I'm going to cut it short here as my mind is mush from lack of sleep and I need to attend to the finishing of my knitting. Plus my 17 month old is reverting to some old ways and today is a "binky day". I'm not even going to argue with the binky removal today. Not worth the battle.
FYI from here on out, I'll TRY to get a blog in at least every week, but I make no promises.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
What To Do, What To Do... AKA Works in Progress
I knit. I love to knit. Knitting is my favorite.
Oh, and smiling. Smiling is my favorite too.
But back to knitting.
I'm up to my much-needed-to-be-plucked eyebrows in projects, ideas and yarn. Lots of yarn. As my husband puts it, crap full of yarn. Really it's only one 18 gallon tub of the stuff, but he's a guy, and they just don't get it.
Oh, and smiling. Smiling is my favorite too.
But back to knitting.
I'm up to my much-needed-to-be-plucked eyebrows in projects, ideas and yarn. Lots of yarn. As my husband puts it, crap full of yarn. Really it's only one 18 gallon tub of the stuff, but he's a guy, and they just don't get it.
I've been crocheting too. Lots and lots (well to me who is attempting them in between pokes and whines from Emma) of Valentines hearts. In bright, obnoxiously red, red, Red Heart yarn. I've been meaning to find a way to use it up, now I've got a mission. All of these hearts will become a Valentine's Day bunting that will definitely annoy the hell out of my husband. Mission accomplished.
I've finally finished the newborn hat for our little bundle of joy, set to arrive Feb. 3rd. When I say "finished" I truly mean I've knitted the piece, just haven't affixed all the adornments on it... Alpaca yarn. Superfine. AKA a real bitch to knit/crochet with, but very fun to feel!
And then there's three skeins of really great yarn, but I'm at a loss as to what to do with them.
So many possibilities for these babies, so many. The first two were a Christmas present from a dear friend who knows me all too well (Thanks again Laura!!!!) And the third is from my MIL (whom also sent me bamboo yarn and the alpaca yarn) just cuz.
Then there's the scraps of yarn. The left overs that I keep because I can't justify throwing out perfectly good portions of yarn after finishing a project.
These already are in knitting motion. They are being transformed into these super cute pigeons
that my Emma is in love with. They will be a project for her room... bird haven. Eventually I'd like to get a couple small antique bird cages to place a couple in. The others will "fly" free in her room.
And last, but not least *insert drum roll please* we have elephants. Made from fabric. (Thanks Captain Obvious, my hubby).
These will be made into a small bunting for Baby #2's crib/co-sleeper/whatever I feel like. The pattern came from my mom, who sent me the original instead of a copy. I suppose she's done making them?
Well, there you have it. My WIPs (Works in Progress). Now, if I can just finish these in the next two weeks, my life will be grand!
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Obsessively Grammatical Correctness Can Kill
For as long as I can remember I've been obsessively grammatically correct. I strive for this perfection and abuse the power of spell-check. Others, however, not so much.
Granted, I've been taught APA, AP, BS, CRAP, and all sorts of interesting ways that are the "correct" way to write a paper. I've conformed to the instructors' wishes, reluctantly, trudging and counting each space, word, alphanumeric capitalization, you name it.
My biggest and most obvious pet peeve is how certain things are spoken/typed/portrayed in an incredibly inaccurate manner.
Take my mother. Love her, don't get me wrong, but her linguistic skills are severely lacking in some areas. And she's a teacher. (K-2, special education, but still) Her favorite word is like nails on a chalkboard to me. Unrelentlessly. It simply does not exist. No spell-check on Earth recognizes it. You have the choice of: unrelenting(ly), relentlessness, relentlessly. You get the idea. If you break down the word, it's really a double negative (also a pet peeve of mine)... I've corrected her for at least the last 20 years to no avail. *Sigh*
She also enjoys butchering medical terms... Like Urologist. It magically transforms to Urinologist. I correct her on this too, also to no avail. *Double sigh*
But enough on my mom. Let's pick on some others...
Thanks to the new digital age, evry1 (<--- this friggin' word PASSED spell-check by the way) compacts their words to conserve their 140 character limits. And it's showing up everywhere.
I get emails (they have become a very lazy means of communication) constantly from relatives with gross errors. Substituting know for no, now for no, tho for though, thru for threw or through, are for our, their for they're. You get the idea.
My husband is supremely guilty of this. As are some members of his family... I find myself spell-checking all his out-going mail for him, hovering like a vulture over his shoulder, pointing out each error... I'm a nag, what can I say.
Then there's those individuals that abuse the power of the Shift key. Like TYPING IN ALL CAPS, or adding an exclamation point to the end of! each! sentence!
Can't stand it, I tell you, can't stand it.
It's like the ALL CAPS person in chronically yelling at me. I shrink in my seat and avert my eyes whilst reading it. Or the exclamation! person! is! overtly! ecstatic! over! everything!
It gets overwhelming. Very.
There was just recently an article articulating the geographical differences between people that tweet. "Sumtin" versus "Summthin" etc. Of course, there have always been geographical markers for certain parts of the English-speaking world. Theatre versus theater. Color versus colour.
I've also have had certain ways to spell or speak drilled in my brain. Take spelling together. Break it down to to-get-her. Or you always say zero for the number, not oh. That little diddy would literally cost me money each time I slipped up. My former boss got rich, quick.
However, I've succeeded this far with typing the way I speak, thankyouverymuch. Accomplishing all this with two collegiate degrees under my Belt of Invisibility.
Granted, I've been taught APA, AP, BS, CRAP, and all sorts of interesting ways that are the "correct" way to write a paper. I've conformed to the instructors' wishes, reluctantly, trudging and counting each space, word, alphanumeric capitalization, you name it.
My biggest and most obvious pet peeve is how certain things are spoken/typed/portrayed in an incredibly inaccurate manner.
Take my mother. Love her, don't get me wrong, but her linguistic skills are severely lacking in some areas. And she's a teacher. (K-2, special education, but still) Her favorite word is like nails on a chalkboard to me. Unrelentlessly. It simply does not exist. No spell-check on Earth recognizes it. You have the choice of: unrelenting(ly), relentlessness, relentlessly. You get the idea. If you break down the word, it's really a double negative (also a pet peeve of mine)... I've corrected her for at least the last 20 years to no avail. *Sigh*
She also enjoys butchering medical terms... Like Urologist. It magically transforms to Urinologist. I correct her on this too, also to no avail. *Double sigh*
But enough on my mom. Let's pick on some others...
Thanks to the new digital age, evry1 (<--- this friggin' word PASSED spell-check by the way) compacts their words to conserve their 140 character limits. And it's showing up everywhere.
I get emails (they have become a very lazy means of communication) constantly from relatives with gross errors. Substituting know for no, now for no, tho for though, thru for threw or through, are for our, their for they're. You get the idea.
My husband is supremely guilty of this. As are some members of his family... I find myself spell-checking all his out-going mail for him, hovering like a vulture over his shoulder, pointing out each error... I'm a nag, what can I say.
Then there's those individuals that abuse the power of the Shift key. Like TYPING IN ALL CAPS, or adding an exclamation point to the end of! each! sentence!
Can't stand it, I tell you, can't stand it.
It's like the ALL CAPS person in chronically yelling at me. I shrink in my seat and avert my eyes whilst reading it. Or the exclamation! person! is! overtly! ecstatic! over! everything!
It gets overwhelming. Very.
There was just recently an article articulating the geographical differences between people that tweet. "Sumtin" versus "Summthin" etc. Of course, there have always been geographical markers for certain parts of the English-speaking world. Theatre versus theater. Color versus colour.
I've also have had certain ways to spell or speak drilled in my brain. Take spelling together. Break it down to to-get-her. Or you always say zero for the number, not oh. That little diddy would literally cost me money each time I slipped up. My former boss got rich, quick.
However, I've succeeded this far with typing the way I speak, thankyouverymuch. Accomplishing all this with two collegiate degrees under my Belt of Invisibility.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
The Crap They Don't Tell You About Pregnancy
Some of the following was advice given to me in warning while pregnant, but not in the magnitude in which one gets to suffer thru it!
You fart.
A lot.
You fart while standing, sitting, getting up, kneeling, sneezing, walking, and sleeping. You can't escape it, yet it loves to escape you in the most inopportune times.
Your nose no longer works.
You smell phantom stenches... the one that seems to follow me every where is cat poo or pee. E.V.E.R.Y.W.H.E.R.E. And we don't even own a cat. Some raunchy smells you seem to pass over in oblivion. Like your farts.
And your nose gets wider. I blame the snoring strips my hubs begs me to wear at night.
You snore. Like it or not, you've been blessed with it. You snore because your nose is stuffy from being oblivious to your farts.
What you once used to eat in pure joy now gives you pure heartburn. Aka hell. And your tastes have done a 180* flip. What you used to love, you now hate and vice versa. My cravings during the first pregnancy were bizarre. Lemon juice. Loved it. I would take shots of it everyday. And a bowl of peanut butter sprinkled with Cheerios. Now I think of either I want to barf.
If you still have kids in diapers or have to change diapers in general it sucks even more than before. Barf.
To the women whom think labor is beautiful or enlightening, you are wrong, so very, very wrong. I labored for 35 effing hours before they figured out my little bundle of joy was heads up, ass down. Then I get the pleasure of having a c-section, which means I now have to have another c-section in a month.
You don't get stretch marks, you get stretch road maps. Mine is of Rhode Island.
Your bra size can increase up to and beyond FOUR sizes. There is no va va va voom to them. More like, "Crap? Who makes a 34 DD or 36 E?" No one, by the way. Unless you want to pay over $50 for a bra you get to use only a year.
Your belly is a target for talk, and touching.
You are told you are too big/small/wide/lopsided/high/low.
"Are you carrying twins???"
"Nope."
"Are you SURE??"
"Yes, Baby A already ate Baby B..."
You pee.
You pee when you sneeze, cough, laugh, or even talk.
Kegels are a waste of time.
Maternity clothes are definitely not great by month 8. The shirts no longer cover the belly, you are lucky to get it past your belly button (or what was once your belly button). Elastic pants cut off circulation.
Or the pants split in the ass, like what happened to me this morning. Nothing is off limits to your every-widening ass.
Kankles. Every woman gets them. Like it or not, your ankles have disappeared into oblivion.
You no longer walk, you waddle. If you play your cards right, you can get the sympathy nods and most will get out of your way. Most. There are those few (all seemingly reside in Oklahoma) that seem to find your belly is fun to bump. I compare it to adolescent boys "accidentally" bumping into your breasts.
I'm pretty positive I've left off a few (hundred) things... But these are the most potent in memory.
And yes, I love my first, and will love my second just as much...
You fart.
A lot.
You fart while standing, sitting, getting up, kneeling, sneezing, walking, and sleeping. You can't escape it, yet it loves to escape you in the most inopportune times.
Your nose no longer works.
You smell phantom stenches... the one that seems to follow me every where is cat poo or pee. E.V.E.R.Y.W.H.E.R.E. And we don't even own a cat. Some raunchy smells you seem to pass over in oblivion. Like your farts.
And your nose gets wider. I blame the snoring strips my hubs begs me to wear at night.
You snore. Like it or not, you've been blessed with it. You snore because your nose is stuffy from being oblivious to your farts.
What you once used to eat in pure joy now gives you pure heartburn. Aka hell. And your tastes have done a 180* flip. What you used to love, you now hate and vice versa. My cravings during the first pregnancy were bizarre. Lemon juice. Loved it. I would take shots of it everyday. And a bowl of peanut butter sprinkled with Cheerios. Now I think of either I want to barf.
If you still have kids in diapers or have to change diapers in general it sucks even more than before. Barf.
To the women whom think labor is beautiful or enlightening, you are wrong, so very, very wrong. I labored for 35 effing hours before they figured out my little bundle of joy was heads up, ass down. Then I get the pleasure of having a c-section, which means I now have to have another c-section in a month.
You don't get stretch marks, you get stretch road maps. Mine is of Rhode Island.
Your bra size can increase up to and beyond FOUR sizes. There is no va va va voom to them. More like, "Crap? Who makes a 34 DD or 36 E?" No one, by the way. Unless you want to pay over $50 for a bra you get to use only a year.
Your belly is a target for talk, and touching.
You are told you are too big/small/wide/lopsided/high/low.
"Are you carrying twins???"
"Nope."
"Are you SURE??"
"Yes, Baby A already ate Baby B..."
You pee.
You pee when you sneeze, cough, laugh, or even talk.
Kegels are a waste of time.
Maternity clothes are definitely not great by month 8. The shirts no longer cover the belly, you are lucky to get it past your belly button (or what was once your belly button). Elastic pants cut off circulation.
Or the pants split in the ass, like what happened to me this morning. Nothing is off limits to your every-widening ass.
Kankles. Every woman gets them. Like it or not, your ankles have disappeared into oblivion.
You no longer walk, you waddle. If you play your cards right, you can get the sympathy nods and most will get out of your way. Most. There are those few (all seemingly reside in Oklahoma) that seem to find your belly is fun to bump. I compare it to adolescent boys "accidentally" bumping into your breasts.
I'm pretty positive I've left off a few (hundred) things... But these are the most potent in memory.
And yes, I love my first, and will love my second just as much...
Monday, January 3, 2011
Gaggle of Giggles
We have a neighborhood pond with a resident white domestic goose and duck, and various mallard couples. Now, the white goose is pretty much an asshole. And that's being polite about it. We've tried to feed them. Emphasis on try. He charges right up to you, hissing and snipping away until you give him food. Jerk literally kicks the other ducks out of the way. We've always thought negatively about him until recently...
With winter upon us, we have quite a lot of visitors from up north. Canadian Geese to be exact. And I do mean a lot. You see them all over Oklahoma City and outlying areas, including our pond. Remember Jerk Goose?
He has taken over as the pond's official host, leading the visitors to different lawns to find food...
He leads his new found friends from the pond, down the street, all forming a single file to forage. He waits until they have had their fill and leads them back, all the while acting as a proper host, trying to keep them from walking on the road as much as possible.
I think I've changed my outlook on him, for a while at least...
With winter upon us, we have quite a lot of visitors from up north. Canadian Geese to be exact. And I do mean a lot. You see them all over Oklahoma City and outlying areas, including our pond. Remember Jerk Goose?
I think I've changed my outlook on him, for a while at least...
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Hello 2011... Nice to Meet You
2011... We rang you in, asleep.
Yep. Asleep.
I feel old! Can't even hang until midnight these days.
Ugh.
Although I'm pleased to announce I am no longer making New Years Resolutions. No need to be let down and depressed I didn't exercise as often as I told myself I would. No need to set myself up for failure again, another year in a row.
I think all people should take on this philosophy. We'd be a happier society.
Even though I don't have resolutions to abandon by the beginning of March, I do have a HUMONGOUS list of "projects". And it's a long 'un:
Oh, and I have approximately a MONTH to do some of this before DD#2 "Abigail" is born. Crap.
Yep. Asleep.
I feel old! Can't even hang until midnight these days.
Ugh.
Although I'm pleased to announce I am no longer making New Years Resolutions. No need to be let down and depressed I didn't exercise as often as I told myself I would. No need to set myself up for failure again, another year in a row.
I think all people should take on this philosophy. We'd be a happier society.
Even though I don't have resolutions to abandon by the beginning of March, I do have a HUMONGOUS list of "projects". And it's a long 'un:
- Finish my 'nesting' and make room for MIL to stay in the extra bedroom... Nothing say's "Welcome to our home" like having to clear a bunch of crap (as hubs would say) off the bed just to sit.
- Pack, pack, pack, pack. Pacific Northwest, we're coming home! Gooooodddbyyeeee Oklahoma, not so nice knowin' ya.
- Declutter. Even more. Last time it took up BOTH garbage bins. Let's see if we can accomplish that again, shall we?
- Knit, knit, knit, and knit some more, even crochet some. I have two 2" binders jam packed FULL of potential projects, with even more bookmarked on my computer.
- Hats to sell
- Hair clips to glue and burn my already beat-to-hell hands
- The obvious need to KNIT said hats to sell
- Start and FINISH DD#2's fleece blanket
- Build my Etsy page. I've been wanting to do this for over a year now... I think it's high time to get it done.
- With this, I could expand my commissioned photo prop hats past my one and only customer....
Oh, and I have approximately a MONTH to do some of this before DD#2 "Abigail" is born. Crap.
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