Apparently my 'star' included my children wiping their dirty hands on me as that happens a lot

Well.

Everyone slept all night long and we even had to wake the kids up this morning to get them ready for the day.

Of course, that probably means that Sebastian is now sick as he never ever sleeps late and also he's taken three naps in the past week which is more than he's taken in the past two years.

However, I'm ignoring that and focusing on all the sleeping everyone has slept and how maybe it means that there will be less yelling and throwing of various items.  The verdict is still out on that one as I'm beginning to think that throwing things and yelling is just Adele's way of telling me she loves me.  Or that she's hungry.

But to celebrate the possible, maybe, keeping my fingers crossed end to sickness, I'm sharing more journal entries.

This one is full of angst.  I probably cried while writing it.

(The rest can be found here.  I encourage you to peruse them for maximum, cringe-worthy enjoyment.)

.........................................................................................................

Sat. March 8, 1997 (5:44 p.m.)  (15 and a half years old)

Maybe my isolation had something to do
with putting my hair in crazy styles to make people
laugh.  Maybe. Although we can all admit that
this style is awesome.  Right?

When I look at pictures of Mom & Dad, Me & Courtney, from a long time ago, I don't think of them as they are.  They aren't the same as we are now.  They are them, we are us.  Mom & Dad are from a totally different era.  They believed in things.  I like the "them."  But they're probably the same people.  The pictures only tell part of the story.  I perceive them the way I want to, not the way they really are.  I want to grow up.  I want to be out of High School & on my own.  I know everybody says not to wish your life away, that you'll be wishing to have your life back or something like that.  I don't see it.  Life is dull now.  Nothing happens & there's nothing to do.  I can't make anything happen.  Something has to change.  Something is out there waiting for me.  My star is up in the sky, out of my reach for now.  But some day, that star will be mine & all will be right.  I will finally be satisfied.  My wanting for something more will come to a close.  Happiness will be mine.

.............................................................................................................

Mon. March 10, 1997 (6:00 p.m.)

I don't belong.  I never have and I never will.  Spring soccer started on Saturday.  I had no idea.  I hate it!  Somebody called Eden & told her about it.  I didn't eve no, nobody called me!  It totally pissed me off!  If I start now, I'll be behind.  I don't want to be behind.  It's just one more way for me not to fit in.  Why don't I fit in?  What is it about me that is so different?  Well I am different from everybody.  That's a good thing.  But now I am excluded from things.  Do people just not like me?  Am I strange in such a way that I am shunned by people?  Why is that?  I hate this town.  I don't fit in.  I am different from everybody else.

I'm going to go lay down on the couch and watch trash tv now

Oh hello.  How is your day going?  

 If you’re anything like me it started sometime around 1 a.m. when your bladder decided that it was pissed (see what I did there? Funny, right?  Right?) at you for drinking that vodka you mixed with your children’s juice box and that artificially sweetened light juice drink that your husband bought by mistake because it was all that you had to mix with vodka and you kind of really wanted the vodka to force away all of the sounds of your children screaming that you were made to endure throughout the whole day and so you had to pee so bad that while normally you’d just hold it because you are lazy in the middle of the night, there was no chance of that happening at this time.

And then the tornado warning alarm siren goes off at 4, once you’ve finally gotten to sleep of course, and it wakes you from a dream you had where you were in the grocery store buying that juice that you loved, plum and pomegranate if you must know, that you had previously mixed with apple vodka with ridiculously amazing results.

And then the tornado text message comes.

So you shove your husband awake and let him know that all this is happening, leaving out the juice dream because you really don’t want to make him feel bad because he was the one who bought the wrong juice at the store instead of the heavenly juice that pairs so well with vodka.

You ask if you should really get the kids because you are almost positive that this is a silly non-tornado tornado warning, because obviously you are an expert in predicting severe weather patterns because you did take that meteorology class that one semester in college to fulfill a science requirement and because all of your friends were taking it as well.

You hope he’ll say we should just stay here because it’s a non-tornado tornado warning, but alas he is the responsible one and gets the kids up out of bed while you put on a sweater and slippers and grab blankets and pillows to add to the pallet he had already made the night before in the cold, concrete basement because we at least had some sort of warning that at 4 in the morning we would have a tornado warning.

And while your daughter kind of lays around, exhausted because it is 4 in the morning and she hasn’t slept right all week, your son is too excited to be in the basement for a non-tornado tornado warning and so jumps around and won’t stop talking and basically keeps everybody else up.

And then 20 minutes later we pack up and go back upstairs and Sebastian goes back to bed but is still too excited and so does some form of acrobatics in his room, judging by the sounds that echo throughout your house.  And after attempting unsuccessfully to put your daughter back in her bed, which ended in more screaming, you give up and put her in your bed, where you both lay there until approximately 6:10 a.m. when you both fall asleep, only to be awakened at 6:35 by Sebastian, who has come downstairs because his clock told him it was time.

And after getting everyone ready and dropped off to school and work, you come back home with Adele, who proceeds to let you know, in the form of physical violence to include biting and sippy cup and diaper flinging and more screaming, that she is most irritated at being woken up at 4 in the morning for a non-tornado tornado warning.

She’s asleep now.

The other one is supposed to be sleeping but isn’t.  In fact he just came downstairs to tell me that his energy is all charged up now and so he doesn’t currently require a nap. 

I sent him back upstairs growling and whining and probably attempting to wake up his sister to exact some form of revenge on me for making him take a nap.

So is it like that?  Is that how your day is going?

Although he probably only has more because I dye mine

It’s my almost favorite day of the year, otherwise known as Christopher’s birthday.  And this is my almost favorite day of the year because it’s the day when our age numbers are the same, and I am no longer one number ahead of him.

He's going to hate me for posting this picture. But at least I
cropped out the other ones, CHRISTOPHER.

It’s important, you see.

I mean, in the grand scheme of things it’s not all that important.  But in my admittedly small scheme of things, it’s kind of a big deal.

I hate, HATE being teased.  Or at least I did until I started dating Christopher (FOURTEEN WHOLE YEARS AGO OH MAH GAWD), who lives to tease and make fun of and joke around with people.

Have you met him?  He’s probably made fun of you.  And he won’t do it behind your back.  He’ll do it right to your face.  He’s an equal-opportunity maker-funner of.   Or something.

And so my skin grew thicker and thicker and thicker with each lovable insult over the years.  And it is lovable.  He’s funny and witty and quick.  And I’ve learned to be funny and witty and quick, too. 

To not take myself too seriously. 

To laugh at myself when he calls me a cougar. 

And life has been decidedly more fun.

It’s exhausting constantly worrying about what people think of me.  And it’s exhausting stressing over someone not liking me, or thinking that I’m kind of dorky.

I now embrace my dorkiness.

And it’s all thanks to Christopher, who makes fun of me on a daily basis for being as dorky as I am.

And with all of that teasing, I’m able to love myself more. 

And I’m able to laugh right along with him when he makes fun of me for watching stupid television shows.  (Project Runway – you are so dumb but I JUST CAN’T QUIT YOU.)

However, that all being said, it’s nice to know that our age numbers are currently the same, even if it’s only for six months of the year, and even though that still won’t stop him from telling me that I’m old.

But no matter. 

I’m pretty sure he has more grey hair than I do anyway.

(Happy Birthday, Christopher.  I love you in spite of your grey hair.)

Random Monday: Except not really random. Mostly it's about puke.

1. Adele puked all down my side on Friday night.

2. I guess this was my punishment for taking time for myself during the day to go to the gym.

3. What I mean is, she probably got sick because she has spent time away from her own, personal familial bubble.

Sicko.

4. Ergo - puke.

5. On my arm, in my hair, on my relatively new brown boots.

6. In my napkin as we were at the dinner table and I was holding her when it happened.

7. In a trail on the floor as I rushed to the bathroom.

8. And all over poor Adele, who didn't know what the hell was happening.

9. I was worried she had the flu since that's what everybody seems to be hysterical over at the moment.

10. She was pretty weak Saturday morning, just laying around.

11. Have you met my daughter?  That is completely unnatural.

12. I first started to really worry when she lay still to let me change her diaper.

13. But then she took a nap and woke up with energy, running around and laughing.

14. That's not to say that she wasn't still sick, because while she hasn't thrown up again she has had other digestive problems.

15. Digestive problems that meant we had to changer her clothes every time we changed her diaper.

16. It was an awesome weekend.

17. Last night she woke up twice before 1:30 in the morning.

18. We didn't get much sleep.

19. She seems much better today.  I haven't had to change her clothes yet.

20. Sebastian spent yesterday on the couch complaining of an upset stomach and a headache.

21. I think it might have been sympathy sickness.

22. As in, his sister got a lot of attention and was able to lay on the couch and watch TV so if he was sick he'd get to do that too.

23. I let him. 

24. There have been no digestive issues with him.

25. Thank God.  Because I feel kind of queasy myself, now.

Homemade Friday: Heart Garland

I've been wanting to decorate for holidays a bit better than I have been.  There's Christmas, of course, but most other holidays pass by without too much fanfare. 

I also haven't wanted to spend any money.

So since Valentine's Day is coming up I thought I would make my house über cutesy and adorable.  Because everyone needs some hearts, right?

Plus I was getting tired of the fall leaf garland that I've had up in my kitchen since fall.

See?
 

Time to go!

The garland worked so well with the leaves that I thought I'd give it another go with hearts.  And I was especially lucky because I had all the supplies on hand and didn't have to buy anything. 
 

My wallet thanks me.

I started by cutting my pieces of red felt into four pieces, making them about 3x5 each.  Then I found a heart picture, printed it out, and traced it over eight pieces of freezer paper. 

I cut the hearts out, then ironed them onto the pieces of felt with the shiny side down so it would stick.  And I think that no matter how many times I stencil this way I will never stop being delighted by the entire process.  It's easy!  And cheap!  And it puts a heart (or a bird!) on something that wasn't there before!

I failed to realize, however, that by using red felt and white paint the felt would essentially turn pink.  I was okay with that, but I really wanted white.  So I painted a couple of coats and ended up using the entire bottle of white craft paint.

Once the felt pieces were dry I peeled off the freezer paper and hot glued the pieces to garden twine that I'll have you know I braved the ice-covered backyard to go outside and get so I could finish this project today and have something to show you.

I'm a giver, is what I'm saying.

I didn't actually measure anything because I only have a limited amount of free time and I also have an enormous waiting list for knitting patterns.  So to save time I just eyeballed it.  I think it turned out okay.

 
However, I have gotten smart and didn't include Sebastian in this project.  If I had I would probably still be finding paint in my hair.  I did all of it during naptime because Adele is sleeping and Sebastian has discovered a love of playing on the PBS website and I have discovered a love of having a few minutes where someone isn't yelling "Hey Mommy!  Hey Mommy!  Hey Mommy!"

Motherhood and More: For those suffering a loss*

Recently, a girl from Meade County died in a car wreck. She was 27, a young mother of a little boy.

I recently got to know her, though I don’t claim to know her well. Not like her many, many friends. Not like my new sister-in-law. You see, this girl, Sarah Hottell, and I were both bridesmaids in my husband’s brother’s wedding in December.

I missed most of the other bridesmaid-related activities that would have allowed me to meet all of these ladies and know them a little better before the wedding. But still, they all were incredibly nice and welcoming to me, especially considering they had been friends with each other for years.

Whenever Sarah spoke with me, it always was with an overabundance of friendliness. My husband was friends with her brother, so we had that link in common. And we were both mothers, both went to the same high school, though at different times.

The thing is, as I’ve said, I didn’t know her well. But it’s hard not to be touched in such a situation. It’s hard not to wish there was something you could do, even though most of her family and friends were strangers to me. And I don’t want to attach myself to someone else’s grief because it isn’t my story. It isn’t my pain.

But people I care about are hurting. A little boy is left without his mother. And it’s hard to ignore that.
Three years ago, my closest friend from high school lost her brother’s wife, Carissa Foushee, her niece, Adie, and her nephew, Rance, in a car wreck.

This one hit a little closer to home. Once again, I didn’t know them all that well. But I considered my friend and her parents as a second family. I’m not sure, but I might have spent more time at her house in my later high school years than I did in my own.

It shook me. And part of it was for selfish reasons, I admit. Yes, I felt for the family, so, so much. And I wanted so badly to take away their pain, for it not to have happened at all. But I couldn’t stop putting myself in their situation. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I would deal if something like this happened to me. I couldn’t imagine.

I still can’t imagine.

It affected everything I did, everything I said for months. It affected how I mothered my son. They are all such good, kind people. And when some form of tragedy happens to good, kind people, we want to know why.

And I was a relatively new mom at the time. My little boy was just a year and a half old. And what I’ve discovered with being a mother is I feel everything so much more than I used to. I cry watching commercials or movies that never bothered me before. I can’t read news stories about children being hurt because it’s something I can’t understand, and something I can’t stop thinking about.

I’ve heard it said your child is like your heart walking outside of your body and that is exactly how I feel. So when I hear of tragedies happening to people I have ties with, I don’t know how to react.

I have no answers for why these things happen. And I have no comforting words to offer those who have lost people they love.

But I am always thinking about them. And I am always hoping their pain eases some.

*This column originally published in The News-Enterprise on January 23, 2013.

The Legend of Stringer Bell

Last night I was washing dishes after a busy, stressful, exhausting day that could have been so, so much worse considering Sebastian was home from school for Martin Luther King Day and none of us had had enough sleep the night before and Adele hadn't napped for two days and had spent the morning spitting milk and dried fruit all over the house just to see my eyes bug out.

After Adele's nap I had to drive to take pictures for a story and I made my mom meet me at the place to sit in the car and watch the kids so I could do the work without having to pull random hardware-type things from the hands of youngsters.  And they were calm for her, naturally, but they were also calm for the drive back home, and played together somewhat while I got dinner ready, and ate a good dinner without all of the nagging that usually goes along with it and were helping clean up and were dancing along to Mumford and Sons at the same time.

And this song came on.

And I felt good.  Just imaging this video makes me feel things in my feeling spots, and I'm talking about my heart, not that other place, you perv.

Yesterday had all the ingredients to be a horrible day.  I had stuff I had to get done in the form of a phone interview and so I had to close the bedroom door and bar it with a bedside table because the children had at one point locked themselves inside and we had to take the doorknob off to get them out.  But thankfully they were so distracted playing that they didn't try to come in while I was on the phone because whenever they did discover me not watching their every move they came running to my room and shoved the door open pretty easily so it wouldn't have kept them out anyway.

But even with all of that it was okay.  Our day was fine.  We survived and even ended it with everyone in a good mood.  On a Monday.  With very little sleep.

And every time I hear this song I think of this video and the absolute freedom this blind man feels running through the land without anyone to help him.

I think of how amazing and scary and exhilarating it must be.

I think of how brave and strong the character is.

I think this is one of the best videos I've ever seen.

I will not, however, miss cleaning out cloth diapers. That shit’s nasty. Literally.*

So I’ve been going to the gym in the mornings lately.  And by ‘lately’ I of course mean ‘three days last week.’

I’ve been hesitant to do so, not so much because for some reason all of the workout pants sold in stores now are skintight and possibly obscene.  Although there is that.  No, the reason I’ve avoided it was because of Adele. 

The gym has a daycare, which we can use for free since our children are members, too.  (Thank you, Chris’ work.)  But I haven’t wanted to chance taking Adele in because I worried that when I dropped her off she would scream and cling to me and sob the entire time I worked out and I would hear from behind the closed door of the daycare and overtop of my audio book and all of the elliptical machines.  (That’s right.  Audio book.  I may be old.)

So I’ve been going at night, whenever I could.  And no matter how much I wanted to have an hour to myself, and no matter how thrilled I was to miss the daily dinner argument over exactly how many bites Sebastian had to eat before he was allowed to eat an apple while he watched a show before bed.  (Our rule – eat your dinner.  This is it, I’m not making you anything else.  And you don’t get snacks.  Even an apple.  Okay, maybe you can have an apple.  But DON’T ENJOY IT.)  I never stopped feeling guilty for being gone and leaving all of the stress with Christopher.  Because, admittedly, the evening is a pretty crappy time of day.  Everyone is tired and/or hungry and finding things to argue about.  So no matter how much of a relief it was to avoid all of that, I still had to hurry along my workout so as to be home in time to put the kids to bed.  It sucked and it wasn’t fun.

So I thought enough was enough.  I was going to see how this all panned out.  If Adele screamed when I dropped her off at the daycare I’d try again another day.  (I’m totally lying here.  I had no plan other than hope.)

And it was fine.  She was fine.  She sort of walked after me a little bit, like ‘what the hell is going on?’ but there was no crying.  There was no flailing.  There was no sobbing.  And the second day when I dropped her off she remembered the place and just walked in.  She still walks on the third day, but I feel good leaving her.  I know she’s fine and I know that it’s good for her to be exposed to other children and to have a bit of time away from me. 

Normally our mornings with Sebastian in school are spent with me trying to get some work done or trying to have some calm, quiet time and her trying everything she can to get my undivided attention.  Usually in the form of spitting her milk all over the bathroom mirror.  Repeatedly.

But with this we’re busy.  We don’t have time to get annoyed with each other and we don’t have time to lose our tempers. 

Things are getting easier, you guys. 

And I think, maybe, possibly, we might sort of be done having babies.

(But there’s no definite word on that yet because I can’t make a decision on what to eat in a restaurant without weighing all of my options multiple times, so there’s no guarantee when this huge, life-altering decision will be made.)

It’s just, I’m so tired, you guys.  I’m so tired of the terrible twos that I feel like I’ve been in for most of my adult life.  I’m tired of diapers and tantrums and having to chase random small people around holding their shoes out in front of me to attempt to possibly maybe connect with a foot. 

It was Chris’ original thought.  At first I was hesitant.  Or resistant.  Or maybe downright hurt would be a better description.  We had always said we were going to have three kids.  I originally wanted four but he only wanted two so we compromised at three.  And then all the sudden he was changing our life plan.

But, you see, I really wasn’t upset with him.  I was upset with myself for being relieved that he had said it first.  I’m okay with just two kids.  Yes, it makes me sad to think of that baby that we’re probably not going to have.  It makes me sad to think of not being able to use all the little clothes that I’ve saved from the kids ever again.  And I’ve cried over this decision.  I know it’s probably incredibly selfish of me to want another kid at this point in our life.  We’d have to get a new car.  I’d have to move Sebastian out of his room and make him share one with his sister.  Our lives aren’t really equipped for three kids.

But oh, the thought of the soft, warm little bodies of newborns.  The smell of the baby.  The nursing and the holding and the loving and the first steps and the recognition on their faces when they realize that you’re the one who gives them all the food and comfort. 

The hugs that almost stop your breath they’re so hard. 

The thought of a house full of children.

And I’m conflicted.  Still.  Always.

I want another child.  I do. 

But I also, selfishly, want things to be easier.  I’m getting a little taste of my children gaining more independence.  I’m getting a chance to have a small part of my day as my own. 

It’s hard to think about going back to the first few years of motherhood.  They are so very difficult.  They take who you are, who you thought you’d be as a mother, and run it through a blender mixed with no sleep and spit up and poop on your hands on a daily basis and arguing and fighting and the limp worm that kids perfect when they’re throwing a tantrum and you try to pick them up.  And you barely come out as someone you recognize. 

To go through it again, when I’m so close to being out of it, is not something I’m sure I want to do.

But I know that I would never regret having another child.  And I know that if we don’t I will always feel that loss in some way.  I will always wonder if it was just that I wasn’t strong enough.  That there was something wrong with me for not being able to handle one more.  I wish, constantly, that my temper wasn’t so short, that my patience was long, that I didn’t feel like a failure every single day.  I worry over and over about what I say to my kids.  I want to always make them feel like they are the greatest thing to ever happen to me, because they are.  But the inability to be alone drains me.  And it takes my mothering strength with it.  And so I rush through the nighttime stories, telling Sebastian to hush and listen instead of engaging him in a discussion like I feel I should, like I know he wants.  Or I put a music video on for Adele so I can sit by myself for a few minutes. 

So I think the decision has been made.

Maybe.  But I reserve the right to change my mind. 

*See what I did there?

Homemade Friday: Master Charles Sweater and Prof. Charles Sweater

Yes, yes I did. 

Matching sweaters for Sebastian and Christopher.  And I would have made one for Adele, too, if Chris hadn't said it would be overkill.

Spoilsport.

Both of these were actually really quick knits.  I've made the Master Charles Sweater before for Chris' cousin's baby.  I wrote a bit about it here.

I didn't have the cable problems with this one that I had with the first one, thank goodness.  It took me a couple of weeks to finish.  Sebastian seems pleased with it, though he refuses to wear it because he refuses to wear anything but shorts and short sleeves.  Today it's in the 60s in January, so I guess I can let him get away with it.

He was nice enough to leave it one for all of the 3 minutes it took me to take these pictures.  At least.

Chris also hasn't worn his Prof. Charles Sweater, yet.  His has been finished for almost two months now and he's had plenty of chances and opportunities to wear it.  Really, he should know that my feelings are sensitive and I notice that he isn't wearing the sweater that I lovingly and painstakingly made for him with nothing but my two hands, some wool and a couple of needles.

I don't think he likes the color.  But I would like to remind him again that he did choose it.  And the pattern.  So really there's no excuse.  Other than the sunny, 60+ degrees it is outside right now.  But other than that, no excuse.

(Do you think he feels sufficiently guilty now?  If not I'll work on him a little more.)

I'm actually not completely satisfied with this sweater, myself.  Yes, it's pretty when you lay it on a table and take pictures of it, but there's something off with the sleeves.  I think the main problem is that I am not the best at sewing sleeves on and because of this I usually knit raglan sweaters so as to avoid the whole debacle. 

This pattern didn't call for raglan and I thought if I tried to modify it I would create an even bigger debacle because I'd have to worry about the cables and it would all just look weird.

Yarn is Knitpicks Wool of the Andes in Lake Ice Heather.

Conversations with Sebastian: Son, you are lucky you are still standing

We've decided that since it isn't really feasible for us to take big, sprawling family vacations at this point in our life, we would focus on getting the kids outside and 'at one with nature' and all that hippie bullshit that my husband subscribes to but would totally fight me to the death on whether or not he actually can be considered a hippie.  (Yes you can, Christopher, in spite of your gun collection.  I think the homemade beer seals the deal.)

We thought it would be a good year to try camping with the kids, provided Adele settles down a bit and stops making her presence known with biting and spitting.  Of course, we could always just let her sleep outside to keep the bears and other wild animals away.  I'm pretty sure she's much more frightening to them than they are to her.  She'd just say 'Awwwwwww!' and try to give them a hug.  And then kick them.  That's how she rolls.

The kids were given extremely nice sleeping bags for Christmas from Chris' parents, and they are in love with them.  And Chris found a good deal on a nice, six-person tent so we're all set for warmer weather. 

The tent arrived a couple of days ago and we haven't been able to set it up to get a good look at it yet, but Chris said that he'd take care of it tonight provided the downstairs is clean.  He was speaking to Sebastian because he has been a bit lazy lately when it comes to picking up after himself, and told him that he had to do most of it. 

Of course that didn't happen because most of the stuff that needed to be cleaned was just clutter that was laying around that for some reason I am the only one who knows where to put.  And so I did.

Since Sebastian hadn't really done anything I told him this afternoon that he needed to clean his you-can't-see the-floor-for-all-the-toys room before the tent could be set up tonight. 

He disagreed.

S: My dad didn't tell me I had to.

Me: Well, I'm telling you that you have to.

S: Well Dad didn't tell me to and he's more righter than you.

Me: What did you say?

S: He's more righter than you so I don't have to clean my room!

Me: (In my head: OH NO HE DIDN'T!)   We are both equally in charge, so if you want to set that tent up I suggest you get upstairs and clean your room.

I'm pretty sure that the only reason he wasn't physically pushed up the stairs was because this conversation happened through the bathroom door while I was peeing. 

Smart-ass in training

 

Random Monday: Basically just me complaining. Again.

1. I still have my headache, which was not a hangover, as some have suggested.

2. However, my sinus infection seems to have exceptional drug-resistanceness and so I'm left wishing someone would take a drill to the back of my skull to relieve some of the pressure that is making my ears hurt.

3. So far there have been no takers.

4. My house is a wreck.

5. Before Christmas I made it a point to have the house, while not spotless, at least de-cluttered every single day.

6. And then the holidays and the wedding and stupid sickness happened and I'm lucky if I feel well enough to wash the dishes in the evening. 

7. And yet I still have to fetch food for children and build Lego houses and work puzzles and dodge random sippy cups that are flung at my head by an angry 2 year old.

8. Also cook dinner.

9. I have plans to go work out today but I'm debating if it will make me feel better or make me pass out.

10. At this point it's anybody's guess.

11. This weekend we met my in-laws and some visiting German friends of theirs at a restaurant. 

12. I had hoped that my angel would be a little older now and a little better behaved than the last time we took her to eat at a restaurant in public.

13. I was wrong.

14. So, so very wrong.

15. There was screaming and food throwing and toy tossing and spitting and hitting and biting and Hey - I don't think we're doing this again for at least another year.

16. I swear I try to control her.

17. It just has no affect. 

18. But she did go to sleep by herself today for a nap, so I'm just going to be grateful for small mercies and all that BS.

19. Seriously - someone drill my skull. 

20. (Not really.)

Homemade Friday: Plain Tunic for Adele

 Sounds exciting, no? 

But it's something I actually finished for Adele for Christmas and turned out exactly how I wanted it to.  Well, sort of.  Nothing is ever perfect, right?

I wanted a tunic, something that Adele could wear as a dress or a long shirt, and really just another layer to keep her warm.  She's not a big fan of actual sweaters and I think the sleeves bother her, so I figured this would be the perfect solution.

It's the Plain tunic pattern from Pickles.  I love their stuff.  The patterns are simple but functional and stylish.  Sometimes all of the knitting embellishments and whatnot get on my nerves when I'm looking for a basic item to knit.

I made the dress a bit longer than the pattern because I thought she could grow a bit bigger and get more than a couple of months use out of it.  Hopefully she can wear it next year, too, provided I can get the mac & cheese from Christmas dinner out of it.

I wasn't fond of the garter stitch edge so I found a flower eyelet lace pattern that I could work into the stitches without hurting my brain too much.  However, as I had to alter the pattern to suit myself I found myself doing entirely too much math.  And I enjoy math.

One thing I didn't take into account when choosing the lace is that the first and last lace flowers I knit would end up right next to each other instead of an even number apart along with the rest of the flowers.  And it bugs me.  A lot. 

Maybe one day I will fix it when I run out of other things to knit.  (Ha!)

As always I made my mom sew the buttons on because I am button-sewing inept and every time I try to do it myself the buttons fall off within a day.  These were vintage buttons that I probably found at a thrift store.  There the only ones that fit and that I had enough of, so I think it turned out well. 

I really like this little dress.  She looks adorable in it and it's functional and warm. 

Yarn is Knitpicks Andes del Campo in Latte Heather.
 

I know you can't really see the dress in
this photo, but I just thought it looked cool.

I'm sorry for the wordiness and all of the pictures but I have a lot to tell you

So I guess December is a slow month for blogging, at least for me.

I feel like it's been forever since I've written an actual post, but I don't know where to start.

With knitting?  Let's start with knitting.  Or rather, my epic failure to knit the plethora of woolens that I planned on.  Apparently I am somewhat delusional regarding my abilities and also time in general as I was under the impression that I could knit five pairs of gloves, two children’s sweaters, two men’s hats, one pair of mittens and a shawl in three weeks.

Spoiler alert: I couldn’t.  And so I kind of gave up.  I realized that I could spend the Christmas holiday time super, ridiculously stressed out of my mind, or just mildly stressed out of my mind.  I chose mildly.  This was after I accidently knit two left gloves for someone, not even realizing it until I was almost finished, and after I’d already had to tear the knitting out once because I’d accidentally knit a glove for a 7 foot giant with giant hands instead of a normal teenager with normal teenage hands.

So.  No gloves.  Maybe by Valentine’s Day?

Christmas morning was awesome and magical and everything it’s supposed to be.  Part of the reason for this was because I wrapped almost everything ahead of time so I didn’t have to stay up until 2:30 a.m. setting up presents.  However, since I am still a child in my heart I was too excited to sleep so I ended up awake all night anyway.  Chris had to stop Sebastian before he came downstairs so I could get out of bed and see him see what Santa brought for the first time.  My husband is incredibly thoughtful.  I’m not sure how long this will last, however, because at some point Sebastian will do what all kids do and sneak down at 3 in the morning under the guise of having to ‘pee’ but really just so he can see the tree and all of its Santa-infused glory, then go back to bed to not-sleep until it’s late enough to get up and by that I mean 4:30.

And then, since we were staying home for dinner and just having the four of us, I decided to cook more food for Christmas dinner than anyone would ever want, including armies and Italian families.  (I can say that because I’m Italian.  And we like to eat.  Mangia! Mangia!)  But by the time it was all finished everyone was exhausted so Chris and I ate at the table while the children ate in the living room watching television.  Because we are awesome parents.

After that we were pretty much on speed until the end of last weekend as my brother-in-law and his now wife got married on the 29^th.  On Friday we dropped the kids off with my mom and Chris drove me to Louisville for a bridesmaid luncheon, then nail salon visit where they gave out wine and it’s now my new favorite place to be even though somehow I injured myself on the massage chair.  Chris picked me up there, then we had to race to my mom’s to pick up Sebastian for the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner, but we had to sneak so Adele wouldn’t see us because she didn’t feel good and so probably would have screamed for hours if she saw me and wasn’t allowed to go with me.  But we were going to be out late and I didn’t think she would be very good company.

We went home for 30 minutes and dressed in our fancy dress clothes and left again, and getting out of the car I ripped my brand new fancy-pants polka-dot pantyhose on my purse and so spent my time with a run on my knee, getting steadily bigger and bigger, especially when I had to squat down and hug a crying Sebastian when he fell off a horse onto his head.  Don’t worry, it wasn’t a real horse and only gave him a carpet burn/bump.  He’s fine.  And he only got a little grumpy the entire time, both rehearsal and dinner, when I wouldn’t open his new Star Wars Legos he got for being in the wedding.  There were tears. 

The next morning we got up early to make it to the hotel by 10 so I could start getting hair and makeup done with all the ladies.  Guys.  I was airbrushed!  And given fake eyelashes!  I honestly didn’t really want to take them off.  The great thing about the makeup was that even at the end of the night, after six gin and Sprites (Yes SIX.  Open bar.  Don’t judge.) I still looked halfway decent.  And not drunk and tired with numb toes.

I had my mom bring Adele to the Kentucky Derby museum, where the wedding was, so I could just dress there.  I knew she wasn’t feeling well and I knew she wouldn’t last long so I wanted her there as late as possible.  And I still had to chase her around a bit.  She just wanted to ride on the horses and wasn’t too interested in waiting in line to walk down an aisle.  (Damn horses!)  I practically drug her down.  She was supposed to walk with Sebastian but I didn’t have faith in her ability to make it to the front without having a firm grip on her wrist.  After the wedding my mom took the kids home with her.  I felt a little bad because I knew that Sebastian would have had so much fun, but Adele was so sick and cranky and there wasn’t really any other way to handle it.  Plus it gave me a chance to loosen up and relax for once.  (The six G & S helped with that.)

And I had so much fun.  I hung out with people I haven’t seen in a long time.  I made new friends.  I discussed the hotness of my husband with the boyfriend of the brother of one of the groomsmen.  (Read it slow.  Maybe it’ll make sense then.  Or not.)

There was a photo booth and dancing and fake mustaches and pimp hats.  If I could find the pictures Chris and I took in the photo booth I’d show them to you but I think he probably hid them since there was one of us kissing and he was probably afraid I’d post it on the internet.  As if I would do something like that!  (HA!)

I’ve been saying that the wedding is not so much of a wedding as an event.  They spent a lot of time and energy making sure they had the perfect wedding, and they did.  It was gorgeous and well-planned and totally worth the sinus infection I got from standing outside in 20 degree weather getting my picture taken.

At first I thought it was a hangover, but it never went away.  We had to go straight from our hotel Sunday morning to my parent’s house to pick up the kids and celebrate Christmas there, since we hadn’t had time to do it before, and then we had to leave early so we could take the tuxes back, and it turned out that the place wasn’t even open so we couldn’t take them back.  Sunday evening I started feeling really, really sick.  Headache and queasy and just really, really down.  On Monday I woke up and couldn’t really get up.  I lay down on the couch all day and even took a nap, which never, ever happens.  Thankfully Chris jumped in and took over all of the parenting and household duties so I could try to recover.  We were supposed to have a New Years Eve party with friends who also have kids, but I just couldn’t do it.  I felt awful for having to cancel.  But Chris took the kids to see his parents and some family who were in for the wedding so that was good for them. 

And so my continual headache forced me to finally go to the doctor today.  With Adele, my child who refuses to be still.  I chased her all over that damn office.  And back again.  And then back again.    

My oldest child is laying in the floor at my feet begging to get on the computer and play a game so I guess I’ll finally stop telling you my life story. 

Oh, one more thing!  Last night Adele was mad that I put her to bed and so threw her pillow out of her crib then somehow lunged after it and flopped out right onto her head.  On the wood floor.  Guys.  I thought I was going to puke and I keep picturing it over and over again.  She was fine, terrified and probably a little headachey, but fine.  She clung to me for a good while, then still screamed when I put her back into her bed, but thankfully didn’t actually fall out again.

And now you’re all caught up.  Here’s a lot of pictures.  And I mean a lot.

Sleeping bags!

Electric toothbrushes!

Merry Christmas!

Post hair, pre-airbrushing

I can't even!

This is about as un-blurry as I could get. 
She moved around a lot.

On the way to the reception.

Best man speech!

This was late.  Notice my makeup!  IT'S STILL ON.

Bridesmaids and turkey feathers. 

End of the night riding a van back to the hotel.  That's the
groom in the middle and the bride to his left.

I don't even know.  But that's the top of my head.