I suppose it’s a bit silly how I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar-ish I get after completing a seemingly piece of cake act like updating software. Suddenly, I’m wearing new underpants, and I feel like sitting here and writing all day. ($40 says I could have you sleeping by noon.)
After spending entirely too much money in Chicago (On YARN! My sister thinks I’m batty!), I took on a few reviews this week. SO, you’ll see those in the next week or so if you’re interested. (I was able to shoot a video of my kids eating spinach, and my house now smells autumnal and fresh. So there you go.)
What? You want to know what I’ll be knitting in the next several months? Let’s start with This Exact Shawl. It was hanging up in the very first booth we entered last weekend, and it didn’t really appeal to me until I was asked to try it on. (I’m still not sure how that happened. I was sort of drunk on silk at the time, and would have probably done just about anything asked of me. Luckily, I kept my skirt on.) Anyway, I tried on the shawl, and the angels started singing and I cried for three hours to release all of my toxins and ugliness and then I sang love songs to everyone in the convention center (Neil Diamond has nothing on me!), and right before I asked if I could go on a hugging spree, the woman removed the shawl and placed the pattern and yarn into a bag.
And that’s really not far at all, being that I have visions of curling up in this thing on Christmas morning as I sip coffee, listen to Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis, and wait for everyone to wake up. (It’s a personal tradition, give or take the hooker.)
I also bought the kit to make a sweater that is not a sweater. (Once again with the treachery of images!) It’s not a Sweater, it’s a stinking work of art. And I’m not going to link to it here, because you’ll look at the photograph and say, “Hhhmmmm. Time to put on a quilted Americana vest and stuff yourself with a big stupid piece of pie, Pudding!” I am going to keep you in suspense. (Only five people are still reading at this point. Does the knitting talk bore you?) Here’s a bone (I really hate that phrase, by the way): I just corresponded with the woman who is sending the kit to me. She told me the yarn has been back-ordered from Italy, and I firmly believe that adds to the allure. Because now the sweater is like a work of ITALIAN art, meaning Michelangelo and I could probably make out for awhile over coffee and tiramisu. (Tempe? Back me up. The sweater sort of resembles the Sistine Chapel ceiling, no?)
Abrupt change of topic! Tonight is our neighborhood party. More often than not, the party ends early for me when Harper either falls down, or simply decides she would rather sit on a couch in our family room and watch the party through the window than participate in it. (How do you raise your kids to be social creatures when you are most definitely NOT a social creature? Xanax and pumpkin beer? I try my best, and then I go to bed and blame it all on my DNA.)
A few of you have e-mailed to ask what I’m doing to combat the IBS madness. Currently? I’m drinking coffee sprinkled with Benefiber, because I’m your mother. (And to the few who sent e-mails asking me to take down my colon photos? I’m not taking down my colon photos. My colon is my loveable serpentine baby that will (hopefully) always remain inside of me. He deserves his time in the sun, where Sun=Fluid Pudding Front Page.)
This entry was brought to you by WordPress Version 2.8.4! And that sentence will not appear at the end of every entry! Five more minutes of healthy horn tooting, if you please.