Happy Birthday To Me...

I turned thirty-five today. That number seemed impossibly distant and crazy when I was the age my daughter is now. Now, I just want to know when I get a free pass to start taking naps everyday. I was informed today that I either had to have another baby (which really only trades sleeping during the day for not sleeping ever, never at night) or wait until I was at least another 15 years in before I get a nap time.

That seems very unfair.

Dishcloths!

I finished three dishcloths, all from the kitchen cotton I dyed last year. I had tied the yellow yarn too tightly when I dyed it and it still had little undyed bits here and there. I am feeling particularly lazy these days and I didn't feel like dyeing it all over again, but luckily I discovered the magic of a yellow permanent marker and after a little colouring time you can't even tell. With these small successes under my belt I decided to tackle some of my unfinished projects. First in line is this sock:

You may remember earlier this year when the poor sock had a run in with an evil clothes dryer and wound up with three (three!) holes in it. (Three!) I finally could look at the poor thing without wanting to curse (a lot) so I took out the scissors and hacked away at the toe until I could start unraveling it. Then I carefully picked up the live stitches and got them back onto the needles. The only bright side of this whole situation is that the yarn comes in pretty big skeins, so I actually have enough left in my stash to knit the foot all over again. Lucky me.

(Three!)

ETA: The dishcloth pattern is in Mason Dixon Knitting, and can also be found at the Canadian Living website.

Happy Thanksgiving

We had a wonderful Thanksgiving this weekend, stuffed full of lovely food and our first project from the Hello Cupcake! book we bought a few weeks ago.

We went with the Pumpkin Cupcakes, although they were technically a Hallowe'en project. The Turkey cupcakes seemed a little beyond our abilities for a first project, what with the fan shaped cookies for the tail, the mini cupcake heads and the eighty different candies and sprinkles used to decorate the whole thing. There was a very adorable "cupcake wreath" project as well, but even with my unending enthusiasm for cute baked goods I wasn't about to collect and wash 100 maple leaves and then paint them with melted chocolate. That sort of thing falls under the category of Just Not Happening. Not until Miss Teagan can be reliably sent out to gather and wash 100 maple leaves at the very least. I am pretty sure that such insane projects are the reason why children were designed to be easily bribed by the promise of sugar.

The whole thing went really well, considering I decided on this ridiculous project the morning of Thanksgiving, the fact that we had to leave at 1pm to drive for an hour be damned! Other than a fruitless search for green licorice shoelaces that left me cutting green licorice strips into even tinier green licorice strips it all went off without a hitch. We had a nice assembly line going, with my applying the orange icing, and Sweetpea dipping the cupcakes in the orange sprinkles and adding the licorice stems. And eating sprinkles. And licorice stems.

Saturday morning we hosted a Thanksgiving Brunch at our house for my Mom and my stepfather. We would have done dinner, but our evening was going to be filled with singing and dancing at the Backyardigans concert at the NAC. Singing! Dancing! And even more singing! Did I mention the singing? It was a mad crush at the NAC, filled to the brim with excited children clutching their seizure inducing flashing wands at 10 bucks a pop. Through some fluke of the online ticket buying system we ended up with front row center seats, much to Miss Teagan's utter delight. I brought a legwarmer to work on during the performance, and the proximity to the performers gave me pause, but I figured since I can knit while looking attentively at the stage and the poor performers were dressed in giant costumes that allowed very little in the way of visibility, I would go for it and happily knitted for an hour and a half of singing. And dancing!

And singing!

Back To Basics

I am in a knitting funk. Everything keeps getting away from me, pretty much literally. If I'm not running out of yarn, then it is unraveling, or getting covered in shampoo, or needles are snapping or sleeves are just plain pissing me off. The last few months has been very disheartening, and finished projects are all but a distant dream.

So I am knitting dishcloths.

I have knit one already, and it was quite a feeling of accomplishment, that little square of finished knitting. I am using the ball band dishcloth pattern from Mason Dixon Knitting and some dishcloth cotton I used in my first dyeing experiment a while back. I am finding these little things surprisingly satisfying.

I always thought knitting dishcloths was a strange waste of time- to knit something that will get dirty and used up, but I found a couple when we moved and they really are fantastic. Once I started knitting my own, I realized that they are really kind of fun - quick and cheerful.

Just Call me Martha

I just finished my first craft; made in the new, fantastic, super awesome craft room. A whole room dedicated to my insanity. Whee!

I have been wanting to do this little project for ages, and since I finally finished painting Teagan's room last week, it seemed like the time. I took apart a plain bulletin board, painted and varnished the frame, then covered the cork with the fabric. The fabric was a pillowcase I picked up at the Ikea scratch and dent section for a dollar. Now just to hang it in Miss T's room. Speaking of Martha, I picked up this cookbook the other day:

Teagan is dying to make princess cupcakes this weekend. All I need is a fancy apron, and I'll be ready to throw my hat in for mother of the year.

Fall is in the Air...

... which means time for deliciously warm and comforting food. (I know, I know, that was the lamest intro ever.) I made Butter Chicken in the slow cooker tonight, using this recipe. I love her recipes, and this one was delicious. A couple of days ago I made chili and cornbread muffins. I adore these muffins with a passion that is probably somewhat unhealthy, so I thought I would post the recipe. The creamed corn replaces the oil that is usually in cornbread recipes, so they are much lower in fat.

And totally awesome.

Cornbread Muffins:

• 1 cup flour
• 1 cup yellow cornmeal
• 2 tbsp sugar
• 1 1/2 tsp baking powder
• 1/2 tsp baking soda
• 1/4 tsp salt
• 1 can (14 0z) creamed corn
• 1/2 cup buttermilk (I usually use plain yogurt or sour milk)
• 1 egg
• 2 tbsp butter, melted

Preheat oven to 375. Grease and 12 cup muffin tin. Combine dry ingredients in a large bowl. In another bowl, whisk together wet ingredients. Add to dry ingredients and mix until just moistened. Divide batter among muffin cups. Bake for 20 minutes. Remove from muffin tin and let cool on a wire rack.

Well, Gee Whiz

Having a small child means that often the words in my head don't match the words that come out of my mouth. There is a lot of self censoring in parenting, at least if you have a tendency towards potty mouthery, which I do. I am pretty good at this Pollyanna doublespeak after half a lifetime of working retail. The funny thing is hearing my child say:"Oh shoot!" with the same weird inflection that I get when I am struggling not to say something else.

This rambling actually had little to do with anything today, except that I am working on a project that is giving me fits, and I want to swear. A lot.

I am working on a pair of legwarmers for a friend's daughter, and they are turning out to be quite the frustrating little project. I've done the pattern before, and it is dead simple, but the yarn is being a giant pain. I had two balls of angora yarn to choose from, and the first colourway was a little muddy and dull looking, and just plain bleh, so I undid it. So then I tried it out with the second colour. Now I have this:

What is this, you ask? It is pooling. All the colours are lining up in orderly rows up the length of the project and it isn't so much supposed to do that. (It is much more noticeable in person and I am not letting my perfectionism totally run amok. Really. I promise.) It might be okay looking now, but if I keep on going it will eventually look pretty awful. So I fiddled with the needle size and number of stitches and I am still getting the same effect, only slightly different. So now I am on to yarn choice number three and a project that should have taken me a day or two has stretched on to over a week now without anything to show for it.

Well, shoot.

We are thinking about getting a dog. We already have two cats, and thanks to two trips to the fish store in the same number of weeks, twelve fish. Oh, and a five year old who often spends her time meowing, chirping, and howling. Yet, now that we have a house, a dog seems like the logical progression. Or we are completely insane. You choose.

We have been searching the Petfinder website, looking for a dog that suits all of our requirements. This is a tricky proposition, since there are so many dogs in need of a family it makes you want to bring them all home. That would be a lot of dogs. Also, the dog has to be good with kids, and cats, and energetic, but not too energetic. And cute. Cuteness is important in something that will require you to carry poop around in plastic bags.

The conversations we've been having on IM tend to go something like this:

(Paul is Chopper Dave on IM - I don't know why. Well, I can guess, but the less said about Sealab 2021 the better.)

Chopper Dave says: YES! Delta Wire-haired Pointing Griffon

Chopper Dave says: yes yes yes

Chopper Dave says: hunting pointer

Chryse says: it is ugly

Chopper Dave says: WHAT?

Chryse says: UGLY

Chopper Dave says: who cares?

Chryse says: it looks like a muppet

Chryse says: i care!

Chopper Dave says: it's an awesome dog

Chryse says: is it snuggly?

Chryse says: it doesn't look snuggly!

Chopper Dave says: so snuggly

Chryse says: i think you lie

Chopper Dave says: no cats for the griffon

Chryse says: i'm sorry

Chryse says: i would have an ugly dog if it would make you happy

Chryse says: what about this one?

Chopper Dave says: no St. Bernards

Chryse says: why not?

Chryse says: SO CUTE AND CUDDLY

Chopper Dave says: St. Benards are uuuugly and smelly and drooly

Chryse says: St Bernards are cute and cuddly and will rescue you from a sinking boat

Chryse says: ...and drooly

Chopper Dave says: what would I need a dog that saves me from a boat?

Chryse says: just in case

Chryse says: what if you fall down a well?

Chopper Dave says: 116 pounds?

Chryse says: or need some Neo Citran?

Chryse says: it is 116 pounds of awesome!

Chopper Dave says: we should get that weimaraner

Chopper Dave says: totally

Chopper Dave says: seriously

Chopper Dave says: The Weimaraner is loyal and loving to his family, an incredible hunter, and a fearless guardian of his family and territory

Chryse says: i don't know if we should get a dog of better moral character than us

Chryse says: it might make us look bad

Here Comes The Sun

I found the wire cutters, finally - apparently the length of time it takes to find something is inversely proportionate to how little time it took to toss it in a random box while packing. Of course, after two days of looking for the damn things, I was informed that Kyle (who always saves the day) put a pair of wire cutters in our housewarming gift, and I just hadn't noticed them. Well, there ya go.

So the clothesline is installed and I have been happily doing laundry (crazy, I know) all weekend. I am inordinately proud of the silly thing, and feel all virtuous and thrifty every time I pull out the clothespins and head outside.

I laid with my daughter reading bedtime stories on a sweet smelling pillowcase that had dried in the sun, and it may have confused her just a little when I kept insisting it smelled better than the other pillows. She kept giving me that look, the one she gets when she feels she is being the sane one in the situation. On the other hand, she actually clapped her hands and hopped up and down when it was time to help with laundry this afternoon and was sorely disappointed that there was only one load to hang on the line, so the crazy is pretty well established as genetic fact. Sorry kiddo, one day you too will regale your friends with stories about your laundry adventures. Luckily, if they are anything like mine, they won't mind.

Excuse me while I slowly import all my old entries. This might take a few days. For now you can visit me at:

Little Plastic Castles

The Chiffon Won

So this past weekend we went to an out of town wedding. Little Miss T. was having a two day sleepover with Grandma and Grandpa and cheerfully shoved us out the door waved us off. The weather was wonderful and the happy couple were excited for their big day.

Mr. Man was in the wedding party and had related wedding duties to attend to, so another guest graciously agreed to drive us from the hotel to the church for the ceremony. I had bought a fantastic dress. This dress was great - it had a flirty little skirt with a chiffon underskirt, the bust was an architectural marvel that gave me the illusion of having cleavage, and best of all it matched my pink vintage pocketbook and my super cute high heeled sandals.

I was ready. Makeup done, hair done, and I had wrestled my way into my suck-everything-in undergarments. The only thing I needed was a hand in getting the zipper all the way up, as I could only reach halfway up my back. So Kyle knocks on the door, and I ask him to do up my zipper.

Disaster strikes. The zipper gets stuck. Fine, just pull it down and try again. Now it is really stuck - it won't go up and it won't go down. Kyle applies some superhuman strength to the task and the zipper promptly breaks off into his hands. So now I am stuck in the dress, half zipped. I send him down to the front desk to ask for safety pins or maybe a paperclip - something, anything that can be used to jimmy the zipper. He comes running back with a handful of safety pins and paperclips and... a shower cap. The person at the front desk had handed him the small box saying it was a sewing kit. Not so much, really. Although in a pinch I suppose wearing the shower cap would distract everyone from the fact that my dress was hanging open in the back.

Nine minutes until the ceremony is due to start and we are both sweating and swearing trying to get this zipper to just move, damn it. Admitting defeat, he uses a safety pin to fasten the top of the dress and I throw a cardigan over the whole mess. We arrive just in time and watch our lovely friends get married, me with a safety pin digging into my back against the wooden church pew.

The reception is being held at the same hotel as we are staying, so I return to my room to struggle with the dress some more. It's not budging. That zipper is stuck. Forever maybe. I can't get it to move at all, not up or down. At this point I admit defeat and decide to wear the dress I wore to the rehearsal dinner the night before. This is when I realize the true extent of my problems - because the zipper is stuck halfway I can't get the dress off. I am trapped in a floral print party dress, now down around my waist and twisted around so the zipper is in the front. I will have to wear the dress forever. I liked the dress a lot but I didn't expect to be buried in it.

I take a deep breath, grab a pair of scissors, and cut the zipper out of the dress. (I may have then crumpled it in a ball, dropped it on the floor and kicked it across the room, but no one would blame me, right?) Exhausted and sweating from my ordeal I take a shower and put on the other dress.

The rest of the night went well without any new dress incidents, although I did discover that when dancing to the wedding classic "YMCA" in a strapless dress, the less endowed of us must content ourselves with lowercase letters.

More House Pictures - Dining Room

So here is the dining room. Very exciting, no? There is an awful lot of beige in that picture. Beige everywhere! Oddly enough, the beige in the living room isn't the same beige in most of the dining room, which I am pretty sure isn't the same beige as the wall not pictured in the photo below.

The dark wood floors on this level of the house are awesome, and I love the trim and the old light fixture in the room - but the beige has got to go. So I am thinking...



A classic table in a dark wood. Nice and sturdy, and surely more stable than the wobbly IKEA wonder we are using now.

We will most likely use the chairs we already own for the time being, but eventually I would like something with a bright cushion - like these:



Or maybe painted a bright colour that would tie into the kitchen...



Maybe some pretty window decorations to brighten things up?



I really want a china cabinet, with excellent glass doors, but maybe in the same colour as the table, or a shade that matches the chairs instead of white.



I'd like to find some vibrant table linens, something that we can tie into the kitchen "decor". I love the idea of even having "decor". How high-falutin' of us.



I fell in love with these bright little vases, I think they would make excellent centerpieces, and be a fun accent to the mismatched china idea.



All this thinking is terribly tiring, I must admit. I have been pouring over home design websites for days now, obsessively looking at photo galleries. I can't stop - it's a sickness. It doesn't matter that I have already looked at 3700 bathroom pictures, I must look at more, more, MORE. The next one might contain the most amazing towel storage idea ever. (Trust me when I say that there are only so many ways to configure a bathroom and you really don't have to look at every picture ever posted to the internet. You just don't.) Once I regain my strength I will regale you with tales of my wedding guest weekend and the story how I became incapacitated by a fancy pants party dress.

Kitchen Inspiration

Here is some of the inspiration I am drawing from while I dream about our new kitchen. The awesome stove, Lola, is the starting point for what I hope will one day be a vintage inspired, totally kick ass kitchen.

I am thinking of panting the pantry door with chalkboard paint for notes and grocery lists.



I really like the glass cabinets in this picture. I think they would brighten up the small room.



An old screen door leading to the backyard would match the outside of the house...



I haven't gotten a good look at the sink in the garage yet, but I am hoping it will look something like this:



I love the idea of having all old mismatched dishes - not only are they bright and cheerful, you don't have to worry about breaking one and ruining the set.

I love coloured appliances, they are so very retro...



Some vintage dish clothes and hand towels would cheer up the space... plus the added bonus of a knitting project!

I want to do a small curtain over the sink, and there is another window on the opposite wall. I think some retro fabric would be a kitschy touch.





As I said before, I like big plans - luckily I also enjoy a project. I have a feeling turning this kitchen into a great space will be a project and a half. I have always wanted a bright and cheerful kitchen, something fun and functional. I think we will be able to turn this into a fantastic space.

Our Not Quite New House (part 1)

So here is the first in the series of pictures of our new home. Please disregard the clutter, for once I am posting pictures that highlight other people's deplorable housekeeping skills. Kind of refreshing, really.

The Kitchen:

The cabinets and all that:



The wall next to the door:



Under the sink:



Over the sink:



The fabulous stove:
















I am in love with that stove. I love it so much I want to give it a name. Maybe Lola. Lola the Stove.Of course, then I will be the crazy lady who named her stove, rather than just the crazy lady who always has sock needles poking through her purse, so maybe I will keep the whole name thing to myself.

We priced some matching refrigerators - let's just say that is an idea that will be biding it's time. I didn't even know you could pay that much for a fridge that didn't come equipped with it's own personal chef. The original (totally awesome) sink is currently sitting in the garage, and the previous owners agreed to leave it for us. I can't wait to install it. (Or at least watch while someone else installs it.) Questions like "How hard can it be to install a sink?" are super fun, aren't they?

I see big things when I look at this kitchen, and it makes me happy just to look at these pictures. Even the ones filled with other people's clutter. Especially those filled with other people's clutter -like I said - very refreshing. I will post more pictures of the house this week, along with some of our grand remodeling plans.

Oh my...

We bought a house. A house.

An entire house.

Holy crap.



I'll be posting more pictures over the next few days, along with long winded descriptions of the (grand) plans we have to make it the most fantastic house ever.

A Call To Reason

If I were to have to sum up my personal philosophy in one sentence or less it is probably "go big or go home." I like plans: big plans, grand plans. I can also be a little obsessive with a schooch of compulsive thrown in for good measure. Want mountains out of molehills? I am your gal. I swear I have "reach for the sky" or some other similar trite and inspirational saying ingrained into the deepest layers of my psyche. It is a compulsion, this desire to not only accomplish something but to also do it in the biggest, most insane way possible. This often leads to the spectacular collapse of the aforementioned plans when that little thing called reality sets in. Lucky for me, the results are usually amusing.

Take my attempts at gardening, for example. Please note, I live in an apartment - a small apartment with a small balcony. Last year - in the excitement of having a garden for the first time ever - I may have gone just the teeniest, tiniest bit overboard with the whole garden concept. I was so happy, buying lots of pretty pots and lots of cute little seedlings. The tiny plants in their tiny pots were so adorable! Four kinds of tomatoes, three kinds of peppers, cucumber, squash and cabbage, even rainbow swiss chard (whatever that tasted like) in their wee little pots. Once those tiny little seedlings started growing it became absolutely clear I hadn't considered that they would indeed do that whole growing thing, and keep on growing until the balcony was overrun with greenery. After about a month we pretty much had to abandon the idea of actually sitting down on the balcony and just let the plants have it. No one wants to risk injury fighting a seven foot tall cherry tomato tree, after all.

I am proud to say that I actually took some lessons away from last year's debacle. I am hoping this marks a milestone in my whole learning curve thing. I managed to buy plants this time around while practicing the admirable skills of moderation and restraint. (It helped that it started raining - hard - while I was standing outside choosing plants, but we will ignore that.) This year we might actually be able to sit and share the balcony with the plants. What a thought!

Orange & Green Peppers:



Cherry Tomatoes:



Dark Opal Basil and Oregano:



English Lavender:



Cucumbers:



Isn't it all lovely? I spared you all the photo of the pot of dirt that one day might sprout lettuce. It wasn't exciting.

I am also desperately trying to ignore the little voice in my head that thinks we really need a few more plants. I exerted such self control after all, there is room for a few more. Really, there is. I forgot some great plants we could really use, like thyme, and rosemary, and chives....

An Open Letter

Dear People Who Pack The Products Shipped To My Store:

I understand that your job is probably one of the dullest on the planet, and appreciate the effort you put into making sure my product arrives at the store in good condition. I really do. I don't mind that you often pack ten boxes worth of product into twenty boxes I will pay shipping for. I don't mind the mountains of bubble wrap and cardboard I now find myself surrounded with. I don't even question your insistence on wrapping boxes - boxes filled with sturdy items wrapped individually in bubble wrap - in even more bubble wrap and then placing those bubbled boxes into even larger boxes. I merely chuckled when I found you had opened fifty two pre-packaged boxes of wine markers and individually wrapped each tiny wine charm in it's own individual layer of bubble wrap. Once I have removed all three hundred and twelve charms from their tiny plastic sarcophogus' I might not be as good humoured, but even so, I will try.

So after all of that careful packing, and wrapping, and taping (Oh, the tape! Packing tape has never met such dedication as yours!) I am left with a couple of questions.

Why, oh why, dear friend, after all of that - did you see fit to throw ceramic planters, with nary a trace of bubble wrap, three to a box? At least, I think they were three to a box, right now I am faced with six thousand shards of what I imagine were once ceramic planters.

Also, if you could explain how after using a hundred miles of bubble wrap to protect wrought iron and plastic and paper(!) napkins, the decision was made to toss thirty six unwrapped, unboxed, glass bottles filled with scented oil into a large box with one haphazard sheet of bubble wrap tossed into the top? So many bottles smashed that it soaked the bottom of the box and my floor. You can smell my store down the hall and around the corner. Or maybe just me, since although I have washed my hands three times, I still smell like a department store perfume counter. Was there any reason for this box full of smashy, smelly goodness? Was my box standing in the way of your coffee break? Did you run out of bubble wrap after such heroic efforts to swaddle the rest of my order? Or maybe you had merely had enough, and gently laid down your tape gun and walked out the door. An explanation of the logic would be wonderful, if you please.

Sincerely,

Your Devoted Retailer

PS: Any idea where the packing slip is?

Life Tip #329

When dropping off a resume at a potential place of employment there are certain things you should never, ever do. Ever.

1) Make a spelling error in the sentence describing yourself as detail oriented.

1) Criticize the decor.

2) Criticize the customers. Particularily their taste in regards to things they plan on exchanging money for in order gain the priviledge of taking said item home. Since that money would - in theory at least, if anyone were crazy enough to hire you - be paying your salary.

3) Use the word Satan. In any context.

Thank you, and goodnight.

A Triumph of Willpower (sorta)

I have been on what one might call a "yarn diet" this year. I inspected the scope of the yarn stash, noted how it was spilling out of it's designated "spots" and decided it might be time to cut back a little. So, I vowed to myself not to buy any yarn unless it was "souvenir yarn" bought while I was out of the city, or absolutely needed to complete a project. (Souvenir yarn, much like margaritas and cheesecake consumed while on vacation, absolutely doesn't ever count.) It has worked swimmingly so far, and I have only bought yarn during my trips to Toronto and Montreal. The yarn stash is slowing receding back to its designated places. All was going according to plan.

Then my Dad came to town, and before he left, he slipped me a little pile of cash and told me to "buy something fun for myself." Well, damn. What is more fun than yarn? Nothing is more fun than yarn! I needed to go to the yarn store to buy a couple of balls of yarn for a specific gift I wanted to knit, so I knew I would be in trouble, cash in hand, surrounding by soft temptation. I decided I needed to prepare myself: I went into the stash, pulled it all out, and looked at just how much there was and how much had already been designated to projects I really wanted to start "when I got the time". Then I marched off to the yarn store.

It was like a homecoming, I hadn't been there in so long. I wandered around and touched everything, squishing it's softness in my hands. I petted yarn, exclaimed over colours, ran silk and angora and bamboo through my fingers and sighed. Then I left them where they were, and only bought the two balls of yarn and the needle felting kit I needed.

Oh, and a swift.

Which was totally, completely necessary. And not yarn.

Bread Spam

I recently received some Amish Friendship Bread starter from a friend of mine. If you have never heard of this stuff, it is like a food version of a chain letter. Essentially, you get a bit of starter in a ziploc bag, mush it around for a few days, and then make bread with it, saving some of the starter to then pass along to three of your friends. Of course, every time you make the bread, you end up with more starter to pass along, so your definition of "friend" might have to become more vague, like maybe your dentist, or that scary neighbour two doors down. The easy thing would be to not accept the bread starter in the first place, but the experienced friendship bread pusher knows how to get you hooked. They offer you just the tiniest slice of the most delicious bread - bread that tastes like cake baked in heaven by little adorable angels- and then tell you if you want more, you will have to make it yourself so you'd better take this bag of goo or else. Since I now have four bags of goo sitting on my counter, so I can attest to the effectiveness of this method.

I didn't bother reading the directions on how to make the actual bread until I was about to start, when I discovered that the recipe calls for a box of pudding mix. Which seems odd, really. Do the Amish, with their disdain of modern technology such as zippers, really have boxes of instant pudding mix on their shelves? I soldiered on, and discovered a box of lemon pie filling in my cupboard, and used it to make lemon poppyseed cake. It is delicious. I am in danger of eating an entire lemon poppyseed cake all by myself, it is so good.

So, I must declare myself a convert. I will pass on the bags of goo far and wide, to all my closest and dearest friends! I will not question the pudding mix! The Amish Friendship Bread knows all! Now I just wonder if my hairdresser would find it strange if I brought her some bread starter today? Maybe if I bring her a slice of cake...

A Conversation Overheard This Morning

Sweetpea: "We could get snow cones, I love snow cones!"

Mr. Man: "You have never had a snow cone before."

Sweetpea: "But I love them!"

Mr. Man: "You love mass marketing."

Sweetpea: "No, that's too spicy."

Channeling Betty Crocker

Apparently the Suzie Homemaker vibe is hitting a new high around here. Not only have I thrown myself into my knitting with a vengeance, but I have also started cooking again. Cooking! Will wonders never cease. If I start dusting, though, I want someone to call the police, because it will be a sure sign the pod people have landed.

Recent Hits:

Chicken Parmesan

I have actually never made chicken parmesan before, and I decided it was about time. Or actually I just had the ingredients on hand. Whatever. It was delicious.

Chicken Thighs with Balsamic and Garlic Sauce

This was really delicious, but doubling the sauce as I did is totally not necessary. Apparently you can have too much sauce. Who knew?

Chicken Tortilla Soup

I followed this recipe pretty closely, except I pureed it before adding the chicken so there would be no offensive vegetables floating in my daughter's soup. She is pretty good about eating vegetables, but has firm ideas of exactly how they belong in a meal. Which is apparently not in soup.

Pork Tenderloin with Maple Glaze

So, so good. Fantastic, awesome, mouthwatering excellence. It should be called "perfect pork tenderloin". Or maybe "maple magic".

Or maybe not.

Soft Beef Tacos With Salsa

This is the best taco filling ever invented. Ever. It makes all other taco fillings pale in comparison. Especially fish. Because, uh, ewww.

They have not all been successes. I tried, once again, to make rice pudding and failed miserably. This is the third time I have tried to make rice pudding and had it turn out a complete mess. Normally at this point I would just quit, but I love rice pudding and I refuse to be bested by a handful of rice, so I am hoping this recipe will be the key to my success. I also attempted a banana bread I found on the internet, and it was a dismal failure. So dismal Mr. Man asked if I was trying to poison him. Eighty three people said this particular banana bread was the best they had ever tasted. Eighty three people lied. It was so awful I immediately baked a strawberry rhubarb crisp just in case I dropped dead in the next few days and someone thought that banana bread was an example of my culinary skills.

What Was That Again?

Maybe it is spring fever, or a raging case of the startitis, but I am having a really hard time finishing anything these days. In the last few weeks I have knit three different socks, a hat I plan to unravel, from the yarn I already reclaimed from the big ass hat so I can knit a different hat that will match the cowl I have knit but not sewn together, and one four year old sized pink legwarmer. I twice cast on and knit about an inch of a sideways scarf made of fingering weight yarn. Five hundred and fifty stitches cast on - twice. Took about two hours - twice. Each row took about half an hour to knit. Teeny tiny yarn meant it took a bunch of them to knit an inch.Then I frogged them. I thought about knitting mittens to match the hat I have not yet knit to match the cowl I have not yet seamed. I am thinking wrist warmers out of some cashmere I have been saving. Or maybe the laceweight scarf I have been meaning to cast on.

Or maybe I WILL FINISH SOMETHING I HAVE ALREADY STARTED.

Maybe not.

Now With More Swag!

This past Sunday Mr Man and I, along with another couple, decided to take a day trip to Montreal. Such live wires, we are. The day's agenda: a little smoked meat and shopping. We hit Schwartz's at lunchtime on a Sunday, because we are all about living on the edge. We were quickly ushered to four stools at the counter, where our orders were placed and executed with all the precision of a military campaign. There is no dallying here, no pondering the merits between medium fat and lean. You sit, you order, five seconds later you eat. But it is so, so good. Who cares if people waiting in line stare at you menacingly while you scarf down a sandwich in record time, your coat and purse bunched on your lap. Who cares if you have to eat with an elbow jammed in your back, and making it to the counter to pay is akin to Friday night roller derby. There is no caring when faced with the most perfect sandwich ever to grace a plate. Plus the pickles. And Cott's Black Cherry Soda. You just can't get that shit in Ottawa, people.

Then the menfolk went to the army surplus store to do manly men things - things that you can tell are very manly because they come from a store that smells somewhat funky and carries things in various shades of murky green. Everything. In. Green. Manly green. No chartreuse here. No lime. No celadon. Which made the the screaming pink camo pants seem even more out of place - unless someone was planning to do some late night maneuvers at the nearest Victoria's Secret outlet.

All that manliness had to be counteracted with a frothy latte with sprinkles, and then a detour to the yarn store. Can I just say right now how much I love the internet. Really. Type in "yarn stores montreal" and in minutes you are planning out a list of stores both within range and open on Sunday. How much awesomeness is that? We ended up at Effiloche, which is honestly the store I would own if I owned a yarn store. So fantastic. I wanted to pull up some yarn and just move right in, but that would have been even weirder than normal. Their fabric selection made me want to take up sewing, or quilting, or something, anything, as long as I could have an excuse to buy. Fabric with little adorable birds and quotes from 50's era children's books. Fantastic prints in fantastic colours: orange, teal, lime, raspberry. No murky green here. With monumental effort, I managed to resist - this time. I also managed to resist accosting anyone with a camera, which is an improvement (even if I would have so totally asked the woman working if she would consent to a picture with my sock in progress if it hadn't become really busy just as we were about to leave.) I like to pretend it was a win for normalcy, even so. I did come away with some fantastic yarn, and even stayed within my budget. Will wonders never cease?

swag-o-rama:

Facebook Made Me Do It

So everyone on Facebook is interviewing their kids, how could I resist? Resistance - totally futile. Totally.

Teagan is four.

1. What is something mom always says to you?
I love you.

2. What makes mom happy?
Doing a good job.

3. What makes mom sad?
When I hit you.

4. How does your mom make you laugh?
Tickling.

5. What was your mom like as a child?.
I dont know, I wasn't born yet!

6. How old is your mom?
I don't know - that's a lot!

7. How tall is your mom?
So tall!

This is a lot of questions about you. What about questions about me?

8. What is her favorite thing to do?
Work.

9. What does your mom do when you're not around?
Do classes with Carolyn.

10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for?
Can you answer this question for me, I don't really understand.

11. What is your mom really good at?
Spelling Nick Jr!

12. What is your mom not very good at?
Getting Blues Clues to work on Pauls computer.

13. What does your mom do for her job?
Make sure people buy things.

14. What is your mom's favorite food?
Salad.

15. What makes you proud of your mom?
When you listen to me.

16. If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be?
Maybe a squirrel or a raccoon.

17. What do you and your mom do together?
We snuggle. Play games. Lots!

18. How are you and your mom the same?
We're not very the same.

19. How are you and your mom different?
We have different coloured hair.

20. How do you know your mom loves you?
Because she loves me SO MUCH.

21. Where is your mom's favorite place to go?
To work.

You know, we are talking an awful lot of things about you, we should talk about what I like. We should talk about questions about me!

My favorite movie is all of the girl movies.
My favorite book is Olivia and the Missing Toy
My favorite food is lots of stuff but NOT SALAD.
My favorite song is My Pegasus.
My favorite colour is PINK!
My favorite letter is T

Apparently I am just not all that interesting to the small creature that I graciously brought into this world. That's gratitude for you.

What Did Parents Do Before Google?

This week I have spent a whole lot time with a very sick and very bored four year old, and have reached new insights into the way her brain works. I fear for us all.

Questions she has asked this week:

• What are mermaid scales made of?


• Are they different than fish scales?


• We know that mermaids live in the ocean, but can they live in ponds, lakes and rivers?


• What colour are our brains?


• Why do we have two feet? Is it so our shoes match?


• I know Canada is on the planet earth. What planet is Germany on?


• Are you sure it is on the same planet? I think we should check.


• How old are you?


• You are very old, Mommy, you should stop having birthdays. Right now. You've had enough, don't you think?


• Who lives in the center of the earth?


• Are you sure no one lives in the center of the earth? I think we should check.


• How did they pick the name for the colour blue? Why don't we call it green, or yellow?


• Can you wash the throw up out of my shoes, please?

So I Knit a Hat

This hat.

Using absolutely gorgeous, soft, now discontinued, stupidly expensive yarn. I knit it, stuck it on my head, and Mr. Man promptly burst out into uncontrollable laughter. Someone on Ravelry mentioned that they had knit this particular hat in pink, and it made them look like Strawberry Shortcake - maybe I should have stored that little pearl of wisdom away somewhere.

Like in my brain.

My yarn is not pink, but rather a lovely blend of brown, purple, and dark pink (it makes sense in person, I swear) so instead of Strawberry Shortcake, I look like - in the words of one friend who witnessed the idiocy that was this headgear - a demented white girl rastafarian. Oddly enough, the look I was aiming for wasn't Strawberry Shortcake's little friend, Organic Hemp Brownie, so I unraveled it.

No, there are no pictures.

What amazes me is the power of the human brain to overlook the obvious. The pattern is for a giant, cabled beret, made of giant yarn. Odds are, it's going to be big. The comments of others who have made it all discuss how oversized it is, and how it makes them look like an extra from Strawberry Shortcake on Ice. The picture on the cover of the magazine itself, is that of a really, really big ass hat. I have a small head. I look overwhelmingly bad in a big hat, I always have. I know this fact to be true. I know this, I looked at the pictures, I saw a giant hat.

And I knit it anyway.

There Are No Words...

... to describe exactly how much trouble the washing machine is in. It is on the most wanted list of Appliances That Will Face The Wall When The Revolution Comes. Oh yes, it better watch it's back, I tell you.

Why, you ask?



Mr. Man's sock. Knit for Christmas. Worn less than half a dozen times. GIANT HOLES ripped out of the fabric. At first I thought it was my fault, that the ends were not woven in well enough. Then I inspected it closely, and realized that no, there are just huge holes ripped out of it in random spots. HOLES. In random spots. HOLES. I managed to blow through the seven stages of grief in about fifteen minutes:

• Shock or Disbelief: What?! What is this?! A hole? Three holes? Three?!!!


• Denial: No, this can't be. I will look away, then slowly look again. Shit - they are still there.


• Bargaining: I skipped right over this one and went straight to profound and prolonged swearing.


• Guilt: I should have put it in a lingerie bag. It doesn't matter that I have washed socks in the machine without incident for years, I should have hand washed your preciousness.


• Anger: More swearing.


• Depression: I can't believe this happened. I need to go lie down and have a little cry.


• Acceptance: The washing machine must die.

I need a drink.

Pretty Pretty Things

We went to my parents house for family day, and my Mom graciously agreed to take some photos of some recent (and one not so recent) projects - because yarn always looks nicer in the great outdoors.

Tune Cap - Wendy Barnard design

This hat has a pocket stitched into the brim, along with holes to thread earphones through - so you can stick your Ipod in your hat brim and neatly tuck the cords away. It was a fun, easy knit.



Luxe Cowl - Knit Two Together

My first handspun turned into a fantastic cowl. I love it, it's so pretty and soft. It's a very fast knit, even if you have to spin an extra two feet to finish the bind off.



Easy Mittens - One Skein Wonders

I knit these ages ago, and I still love them to death.

The Best Quote Ever, Ever and Forever...

Well. At least the best quote if you watch Battlestar Galactica and are a big ol' nerd.

Like me.

"You six people who are left, that went along with our mutiny? You six people are awesome. Rapists, racists, murderers, insane bomber terrorists, good to see ya. Conner and Seelix? Good people, I'm proud to have you with me. Who needs Earth with a Douche Patrol like we got going here? Yeah! Now, I know many of you had loved ones on those ten ships, and all our food was there, but trust me: this next part is going to be great. ...Hmm? What's that? Oh, no. No plan of any sort. Sorry if I wasn't clear about that: we have no frakking clue what we're supposed to do now. I was just really pissed off. See, my leg got shot in this other mutiny -- not a great, awesome one like this, but a tiny, bitchy one -- and then my BFF shot herself in the head, and Gaius stopped returning my calls, and I became a heroin addict, then my bisexual college robot fling from New Caprica turned out to be a serial killer, and it turned out I knew that? Sort of. Oh, and plus, remember Earth? Yeah, right? Awkward! Then I broke up with my boyfriend for no reason, and then -- worst of all -- no matter how many times I stomped my feet -- um, foot -- and whined, people kept acting like there was a possible future, or that being kind to other people was a good idea. Fuckers. So... Yeah, that's about it. Not really a plan, per se, but at least our jump drives are still shitty and one-third as powerful as they could be, and I think all seven of us can agree that that's a good thing. Could you pass me the nothing? I'm sort of hungry."

~ from Television Without Pity

Maybe the Socks Need to Lay Off the Sauce...

Such a Little Booze Hound:


I am working on the Globe Trotter socks, and they are taking for-freaking-ever, I swear. I started January fourteenth and I am still working on the first sock - I am only halfway down the foot. It is killing me here. I don't even know how I am going to get through the second sock. I might have to invest in a drug habit. I can't figure out why they are taking so damn long - the pattern is straightforward, and I have been working on them fairly devotedly (other than a brief detour to knit a hat, which took less than a day, really.) I wasn't knitting with mismatched needles, or crazy stitch marker substitutes, or in a darkened theater, and only once under the influence. The martinis seemed to help even, and that heel practically turned itself and didn't look at all the worse for wear the morning after.

The Morning After:


I took the darn thing on a globe trotting (well, province trotting anyways) jaunt! It got to be pictured with knitting icons! Where is the love?

It owes me, and at this point that toe better knit itself.

All animals are equal, but some are more equal than others...

... or, why one shouldn't examine Richard Scarry too closely.

I have just finished reading Busy, Busy Town for the eight millionth time, and I am very disturbed. Why, for instance, do farmer and Mrs. Haystack, both goats, keep chickens? Why does Mr. Pig have a cow? And why, oh why, at the grocery store, is the nice butcher pig grinding up meat while sausages hang jauntily behind him? Why?!!

It's a little too Animal Farm meets Soylent Green for my tastes.

Oh well, the four year old loves it.

The Wishosaurus Knows All Your Secrets

Birthday Pie:

I Swear I am Not a Stalker (Much)

I went to Toronto this past weekend, for a very last minute girls gone wild kind of trip. Well, as wild as five moms in their thirties who knit and get sleepy by 11pm can get. (Actually, we did a pretty good job, as the 400$ bar tab could attest.) On the way back, we experimented with the sport of sprint shopping, as I had ten minutes to run in and out of Lettuce Knit to assuage my not so secret sock yarn addiction. It was a whirlwind of shopping, with the driver of our car waiting at the curb while I raced in to procure my swag. I don't think I even stopped long enough to get a bag. I did stop long enough to spy the (ohmigod) Yarn Harlot a few feet away and I had to get all fangirl on her and ask her to take a picture with my sock:


stalkery goodness:


She very graciously agreed, and we talked for a few moments. My friend and I said we were on a road trip from Ottawa, and I felt the need to confess that I had accosted her once before, when I saw a woman skating on the Rideau canal with fantastic handwarmers and realized it was the (ohmigod) Yarn Harlot and I once again got all fangirl-ish, but minus the camera (thankfully). At that point, she began to look nervous, and I think noticed that I was between her and the door, so I left before things got (more) uncomfortable.

I like to think that I manage through life with something like grace and aplomb, and then little moments like this happen to bring me back to my awkward reality.

The sock thought it was pretty cool, though.

swag!

Better Late Than Never

The last of the Christmas Socks are done! A little late, but pretty good considering December kicked my butt and I didn't manage to cast these on until Christmas Eve, during the annual Sushi and Misanthropic Christmas Movies Party. This years picks - The Ref (as usual) and Die Hard. Anyway - back to the perfect, lovely, squishy socks. They are made of one skein of Fleece Artist Sea Wool. Very soft and cozy... why do I keep giving these things away?