Knit Lits

Over at small things, she was hosting a yarn along for knitters who also love to read. In addition to talking about what you're currently working on, you get to talk about what you're reading as well. Lucky me, I just wrote a post about a couple of my current obsessions reads, but I didn't show what I'm working on. In taking a break from newsboys and large afghans, I thought I'd take a couple days to bust out a new stuffed animal, Ella-funk, which is based on a great pattern from Ysolda Teague (Elijah) and knit with hand painted wool by cosymakes. I love that there's no seaming involved, although some did criticize that picking up stitches for each body part was fussy. I only had trouble with the first two rounds of each new appendage, but after that it was easy-peasy.

I also just finished seaming the body of a 'tattoo' pillow for my friend (for which I'm exchanging yoga classes; long live the barter system!) on which I'll be writing Happy instead of mom, and changed the pattern so that it was about 3 times as big as the original pillow. In addition to the fun stuffed pieces, I have the first sock of two different pairs that are just waiting to be completed.

As for reading, I just finished The Island by Elin Hilderbrand and am currently reading Deep Down True and Arms Wide Open: A Midwives Journey by Patricia Harman, which I expected to be over the top crunchy, but is actually really easy for me to identify with and written in a very thoughtful way, so I'm taking my time with it.

Wait, are you sensing a theme? Yes, I almost never have the discipline to do just one thing at a time. If having one project in process is good, then four is great. Having the characters from several books swirling around in my head is way better than focusing your attention on a single plot-line, right? Sadly, I often find that the answer to that is a resounding no. Therefore, I had to put myself on notice. No more projects may be cast on until I've bound off or put away all of the projects that are sitting around the house mid-knit. Not another spine will be bent until the last page is turned on the books I'm currently reading. Will I be able to curb my enthusiasm? With only one project and book going at once, I definitely notice a significant decrease in the clutter; books on the counter, multiple balls of yarn in the bag by my bed instead of just enough yarn for one, you get the picture.

Plus, with the long days of summer, I want to make sure I'm focusing on the two reasons that I've become so passionate about creating a home that's full of healthful meals, honest fun and a commitment to building a strong family.

Some Assembly Required

Last night J and I were driving home from a nice dinner with friends, the kind where our children curled up in the hosts' bed while we chatted in front of the fire, when we heard from the backseat that muffled sound of liquidy loveliness that no parent wants to hear.

Yeah, for some reason, Charlie just barfed all over himself, then looked at us with a puzzled expression the rest of the ride home as I tried to reassure him through my own checked gag reflex that he would be alright. There didn't appear to be any real reason for the up-chuck, no fever or other sickness, it was just a one-time fluke. Try telling that to the uber-porous nylon straps of the car-seat.

When we got home, I completed the revolting task of disengaging him from the seat and thanked my lucky stars I'd packed a fluffy blanket in which I could swath him for the trip upstairs. Safely deposited in the bathtub, cleansed and rinsed, he chitty-chatted in the fresh, warm bath-water playing with his toys, bright-eyed as can be.

Meanwhile J was wrasslin' with the carseat in the kitchen, balancing it on the edge of the sink trying to use the spray nozzle to clean it out. He sure gave it the old college try and we made apologetic looks at one another as we performed the herculean feat of disassembling the seat without getting debris all over the kitchen. Thank goodness for washable covers, that's all I'm saying. I sprayed Clorox Anywhere everywhere on the seat that wasn't already in the washing machine but alas, this morning there was still the pungent reminder on the straps. There must be a solution for this out there, but I've yet to find it.

Seat re-installed in the car, and the false hope in my head that the smell would dissipate, I sprayed the straps with a citrus disinfectant/deodorizer, and we were off to a Valentine party. At that point, I heard my dad's voice in my head telling us 'The only thing air freshener does is make it smell like you pooped in a pine forest.' Light a match, open a window, air it out. But in February in New England, what's a girl to do?

Later that day when it became clear that the stink was here to stay, I seized the opportunity to turn lemons into lemonade at Babies R Us, where they're currently running a promotion for you to turn in your old baby gear (strollers, carseats, basinets, etc) and you get 25% off the price of the replacement. I had been planning to get a new seat for Charlie in the next 3-4 months anyhow as he's almost at the weight limit of his front/rear-facing convertible (which was handed down from H), so it was all in good time.

I really like the Graco Nautlilus 3-in-1 that we bought for H, but he recently graduated to using it as a high-backed booster sans harness so I got the genius idea that I would re-install the harnesses, pass that seat to Charlie and just buy H the Graco TurboBooster; problem solved, money saved (about half the price of the 3-in-1), voila!

Oh, did I mention I didn't go to the store until after Charlie's nap ended and I'd delivered dinner to a friend, placing us in the parking lot post-purchase at 5:45pm? Or that turning in a car seat means you have to assemble and install the new ones before you can be on your merry way? Or that I realized mid-install that I forgot how I got the harness out a month ago, hence wasn't at all sure I could get it back in?

One would think a person would run several scenarios through their head and plan such a trip accordingly, giving thought to the ways in which you could combat some of the bumps in the road. Like, that maybe you should wear a jacket. Or that during the period of installation you'd have a rowdy toddler strapped in the cart next to the car in the dark, wind and cold, along with an unruly 4 and-a-half year-old (the and-a-half is crucial these days) bouncing in the interior space of the car. All while you force your cold fingers to manipulate and 'Click!' (yes, the directions really say "Insert the armrest into the base until you hear a Click indicating it's securely inserted; 'Click!'") the pieces of the car seat into their proper position without pinching your skin, losing your temper, yelling at your children or threatening to spank them in a public space. Because nothing makes you feel better, or more trailer-fabulous, about the behavior you model for your children than a good old-fashioned temper tantrum.

Take a breath, you are smart, you are strong, you will make this work. Just. Push. A little. Harder! Ahh, it finally 'clicked'. Well, after 30 minutes which isn't bad for two seat protectors and two car-seats...in the dark. Best of all, my big four and-a-half year-old is mighty proud of his new 'cozy' (thanks to 'GracoPedic' foam padding) seat; and that just makes it worth all the fuss.

*Image found at http://www.freepatentsonline.com/6796584.html

Someone Let the Cork Out...

And yooooou stink!

J has been gone for just over two weeks, and I must say it's gone a lot more smoothly than I had anticipated. Part of it is that I'm already used to the solo-parenting gig over the last 2+ years of residency, and part of it is because we've stayed super busy.

I've had time to try out some new recipes, promising myself I wouldn't fall into the trap of ordering take-out; only one night of pizza ordered in for the kids! I've even gotten pretty creative with my time-management...when H was at pre-school this morning, I took the time while Charlie was playing from room to room to dust the TV area and wash all the windows...who knew a 4 year-old fingerprints could get to the very top panes?! I also scheduled EnviroClean to come shampoo the carpets on Friday when I get my roots taken care of, which is a good thing because they are probably longer than Alex Haley's at this point.

However, the thing that's been the biggest pain (aside from the lack of 'intimate time') has been the dreaded chore of taking out the garbage. Besides loathing the task, the logistics of it are just annoying. Either I lug the bags with me while I've got Charlie in my arms, and I'm shooing H along toward whatever task we're doing for the day, or I chance H's promise to stay put while I run to the dumpster during Charlie's nap. Yes, the dumpster is in sight-line with my apartment window, but I will definitely appreciate having a house where the garbage is mere steps away. Luckily we no longer have to separate our recycling, so the trip takes less than 3 minutes all together, but today as I was walking, the bag bumped my leg with each step, and as it was looped over my arm to free up the giant box of recycling, I ended up with a tourniquet o'trash by the time I got there and had a brief panic that I wouldn't be able to get it untwisted. With a clang of the door to the compactor, hand-sanitizer applied, I sauntered back to the apartment feeling ten pounds lighter.

I purchased a package of the Earth's Best diapers a couple weeks ago and had been using disposables here and there just to give myself a little break from the poo-washing. I have to say, it's been a reinforcement to me that I appreciate the convenience of disposables, but the stench that goes along with them being in the garbage (I even use little scented bags!) is just nasty. With cloth diapers, you wash it and forget it.

But, at least it's been the motivation for me to take out the garbage pronto instead of procrastinating. Now, about that toilet that needs scrubbing...

Diaper Doody

I joined the ranks of cloth diapering mamas about a year ago, and while that sometimes makes me feel a swell of pride over the amount of money I'm saving, I've also found that you could easily spend a ton on the super cute diapers they have now, if you didn't have downers like rent to pay, and groceries to buy.

I'd been using bumGenius exclusively until a trip to Mothers and Company to return the three unused Pocket Trainers I'd purchased for H, and the candystore-esque display of neatly stacked, brightly colored cloth diapers resulted in the acquisition of two Fuzzi Bunz one size with snaps* and one Wahmies one size diaper (cutest little monkey print you've ever seen) with hooks that just serve to annoy J every time he has to do a diaper change when that one's in rotation. But, whatev', it's really cute and I figure if J can't get it undone, neither can Charlie. Hmm...It's such a shame that the cute little prints are just covered up with clothes. One would almost think it's a waste to buy the prints. Almost.

So, cutesy bits aside, there is one aspect of cloth diapering that is just gross, it's necessary, but gross nonetheless. A diaper sprayer has made the task of de-poo'ing diapers oh-so-much more palatable, but still. The upside? You're flushing it down the toilet instead of letting it sit in a diaper genie...no matter what I did, I could never make that thing not reek.

*I love the snaps! They have a learning curve in deciding which setting to use for how big your kiddo is, but they seem to be more trim than the bG as an added bonus. Oh, and you don't have to rip apart a daisy chain o' diapers each time you do laundry (even though you folded in the laundry tabs).

Mousewatch 2009

So, yesterday just before dinner the Terminix man came and laid down a glue trap about the width of my stove. I was starting to feel like maybe I'd hallucinated the mouse since there had still been no further evidence of one being in my presence. I was starting to relax a little bit, moving freely about my kitchen while making as much noise as possible, but moving about no less.

H thinks it's the coolest thing ever, telling everyone he sees "We have mice in our house!"

They lifted my couch and chair in the living room to ensure that there were no rodents living amongst the furniture; which, if there were, I may have passed out with revulsion right there. They reminded me to page maintenance if Mickey or Minnie decided they were going to pull a Steamboat Willy into my kitchen again, and I assured them I would. H was very curious as usual, asking all form of the question; What happens to the mouse when you catch it? Dick, being the kind grandfatherly figure he is replied with "We just take him outside and get him as close to his home as possible and then let him go." At the same time Mr. Terminix muttered "Yeah, to mouse heaven."

I was assured that the more the mouse struggled, the more stuck they'd get.

I spent several hours later on sorting baby clothes for the yard sale (I made $160 profit!) then watched TV in semi-darkness for about 10 minutes before deciding to call it a night. H was already in my bed because, well because he just was and I read Boho Knits for Babies for about ten minutes because I'm just that cool.

As I turned off the light and wrapped myself into the promise of good dreams I heard it; tchk, tchk, tchk, tchk, tchk...bang! scramble! tchk, tchk, tchk. Yeah, I could deny it no longer. I had the sickening mixture of glee that I'd be vindicated and disgust that there was an effing mouse struggling under the drawer of my oven.

I paged maintenance as I listened to the mouseical that was Swan Lake under the stove. I did not receive an immediate call back, so I decided to make some phone calls to various friends and relatives who are nice enough to placate me through this latest trauma, even though my father reminded me today; they're just animals. Yeah, dirty disgusting little animals that can eat your face off in your sleep!

Hmmm...about 40 minutes later and still no call back from maintenance. They are generally very prompt and I didn't want to push my luck by calling the 24-hour number a second time...it was almost midnight after all.

I again reacted as a rational adult would and gathered Charlie from his bedroom to sleep in the pack-n-play in the room with H and I and jammed towels under my door and in the crack, with the deadbolt unsecured so that maintenance could com in; willing myself to fall asleep to the soundtrack of Mousekail Baryshnikov, humming to myself like Dori 'just keep struggling, just keep struggling, struggling, struggling.'

I was awakened to J muscling our bedroom door open, and told him about the new glue trap and that there was a mouse in it. I put on my glasses and padded in after him, because I wanted to see it with my own eyes.

Well, I saw it alright. Stuck. My. Ass. All that was stuck to the trap was hair and poop. Apparently the little danseur had perfected his grand jete and made a quick exit to what I hoped was stove rear.

The next morning, with no more evidence of mice than I had before, I left a message for the office letting them know to please plug whatever hole they find in the back of the stove. At the yard sale I received a call confirming that I really wanted the hold plugged with steel wool, because then the traps couldn't do their job...uhhhhh, yeah, because they did that job so well last night.

In the end, it looks like we'll be pulling out the big guns and having poison bait traps set in the kitchen while we're on vacation. As if I'm not already neurotic enough, now I get to add 'worry that mice are crawling and crapping all over your house in your absence' to my list. J is so lucky to be returning four days before me...maybe he can make sure the ballet summers elsewhere.

No Room At The Inn

Tonight, I put the kids to bed and settled in to watch my latest Netflix pick, Confessions of a Shopaholic. I'd read the whole Shopaholic series, and everything else by Sophie Kinsella for that matter, so was excited to see how Rebecca Bloomwood translated to the silver screen.

About 15 minutes in, I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. I turned just in time to see a mouse streak from the dining room back to the kitchen. At first I just sat there. Then I jumped up. Then I said things I can't repeat while still not venturing toward the kitchen to see to where the mouse had escaped.

I picked up the phone and got just close enough to the kitchen to make out the 24 hour maintenance number on the magnet on the fridge, then politely and maybe a little hysterically told the sweet lady that I wanted someone at my house. Now.

I pictured my sweet babies sleeping in their rooms with a potential outbreak of Hantavirus (HPS for those in the know) lurking in every shadow. Dick, my friendly maintenance man, called back within five minutes of my call to the 1-800 number. I explained the situation and he said he'd be over with glue traps within a half hour and that an exterminator would come in the morning.

I called my little sister, and she was at first laughing, until I started crying because I really, really, really don't like mice; well, rodents of any kind. At least with spiders and other insects you can smash them...you can't very well stomp on a mouse now can you? Being that J will be at work until about three in the morning, I did what any rational, mature adult would do; I paged him at work and started crying when he called me back.

Seriously, who is this girl? I call my doctor-husband who's working in an emergency room to tell him we have a mouse. He was less than impressed, especially when I informed him that I'd not be going to sleep until he got home.

Dick was very kind, and pulled the stove drawer and refrigerator out, placing glue traps behind. He then gave me the pep talk of 'it's just a little field mouse coming in from the rain." Uh, well then you call tell that little disease-spreading whore that there is NO VACANCY at this no-tell motel!

He patiently waited while I switched a load from the washer to the dryer, and checked the cupboards for tell-tale turds. None found, which made me feel better. In May 2008, we'd had a scare because the neighbors were having issues with mice. I bet these are the same mice, just waiting until I put my guard down and let some goldfish crackers stay on my floor overnight.

Am I being punished for not having a dog who can clean up after meals? My friend Alex initially laughed when I called with the story, but when I started crying (enough with the waterworks already!) she offered to come over, or to have me and the kids stay there. At least I'm adult enough to realize that this is not a get-your-kids-out-0f-their-beds kind of deal and politely declined.

I did finish the movie, with one eye on the entrance to the kitchen the whole time. I closed the gate because the last thing I need is to have H get up in the morning and think that frickin' Ratatouille has decided to make a personal stop on his Eastern Seaboard tour.

Great. Just in time for us to be gone on vacation for a week...there's nothing like returning home to the smell of dead rodent. I don't know what made me cry more; my irrational fear of the mouse or all the cleaning that will have to follow.