Shoulders

As I knurse this knifty knitter injury to my shoulder (it can happen!), some photos of Wally's lamb stew...I think it was shoulder meat?






















And it all got all stewed-up and will be made as a pie for Christmas. Knittingknittingknitting...ugh, sorry...my brain is loomed!!!

Knitting Knitting Knitting...

...knitting knitting knitting knitting making mistakes knitting knitting knitting knitting starting over knitting knitting knitting kno time for knattering, kristmas is koming lots of knitting...knitting...knitting fingers burning from knifty knittering knittering knit'ring...

Photo Finished

I've been mocked by every photo kiosk in town. It started with trying to order prints online and all at once NOBODY.com's photo uploader worked. I finally got some through on ugh, Walmart.com :ducking: then once I was picking them up I was told I had to have proof that I had rights to them. I had no proof, and no idea what they were going to do with my gorgeous son's gorgeous photos, it makes me sick to think of it. Another store's cashier stood there and proudly told me that nope, I didn't order photos, I mean obviously since they weren't there. 8 blood pressure pills later I was bringing cd's and memory cards to the photo stops themselves ("It's so much easiah," they say) but still had issues. At one point I had to revert to ordering online and Walmart again I told me couldn't have my photos, this time because the employees were "too unorganized", that they printed them but that they just didn't know where they were. I'm not sure why weren't they just filed under "GODDAMMIT how hard is it to file under the last name like they're supposed to beeee!" Dis.appointment. Dis.neveragain.

On December 17th I became super-engrossed in a Cafepress.com order once I discovered they were participating in free shipping day. I found out the hard way the deadline ended at 8pm, my emotional skin is still singed by that one.

Today, after losing it at one RiteAid I strapped 40 pounds of scissorfighting arms and legs back into the carseat and drove to another sketchy RiteAid, knowing it was the only location that had once given me moderate (not total) success. I took a deep breath in hopes to not burst out into profanity like at the previous store ("Yah, you know you've been standing there a while but that machine doesn't print photos." [this is where I swore aloud,and then said] "The sign says it doesn't print 8x10s, I was looking for 5x7s" "Yah, it doesn't print anything with an 8." "Where is there an 8 in 5x7??" "There's not," he said, and let the conversation end.) At this 2nd RiteAid, the one where Jimmy had previously been yelled at by a worker who was a bit light in the dental region ("Yu dohn't kick dat!"as I was working at the kiosk trying to solve WHYYYYYYY I couldn't just PRINT ALL the effing PHOTOS I wanted) I had a glimmers of hopes even though technology is an awful, awful thing that I need so much.

Today, I walked into the store, asked straight up if their machine was working, and Ta-dah!!! It worked!!! Today, what a relief!!! I grinned and beared it through the checkout...I had to get out of the first line we were in because I didn't want the cashier near my son. The second line, I sorta-felt I should have been fast-passed seeing as I was obviously the one with just one item and the impatient toddler, nudge-nudge, but no, a guy with a case of Bud cut in front of me, I think he justified it because his line wasn't moving fast enough. On to the third line, I stood behind a guy with his winter coat on inside-out. How does this happen?? I would expect never to see such a thing except for at that RiteAid. I hoped it wasn't because he was hiding the splashmarks of some victim's squirting arteries.

Home now, happy that Jimmy seems to be happy with The Santa Clause 2 on Channel 8. I'm relying on this stupid movie (and a tall shiraz) to replace the jollies back into my holiday spirit. Back to Santa's knifty knittering sweatshop.

The Exponential Factor of 31 Months

When you've got your toddler it takes 45 minutes to do what toddlerless folks do in 15. Today I attempted a zillion tasks and got pretty much none of them done and I'm exhausted! Start again tomorrow, I guess. Merry Stressmas!!

A Clue...

...found on my camera as I came home from my LAST WORK DAY of 2009 and LAST WEEKDAY WORKDAY of forever (or, for-now-ver.)

The Clue I gathered is:

Colonel Jimmy Mustard...


...Eats Mustard...


...With His Mouth...


...In the Living Room.


I hadn't realized he enjoys yellow mustard. Thanks for the hints, JimmyDaddy!

My Son, the Sophisticate

I'm learning that my child has rather cultured tastes. For example:

Lately the juice he's been drinking doesn't feature images of Elmo or heaps of high fructose corn syrup. No, he's been preferring the piquant, antioxidant flavors of Northland cranberry juice sippy'd from his cup. I mean, they market this stuff to grownups, I'm so proud!







He also has excellent comedic timing, or at least he understands dry wit when he hears it. Most kids prefer their jokes saturated and overexplained, and Jimmy does too, but he also busts a gut over the nuanced humor of Woody Allen, Bob Newhart, Ellen DeGeneres, and Oscar Wilde. I can't even get him near the PBS Mark Russell Comedy Special without going through 3 diaper changes, he laughs and laughs and laughs. Awww, my wry little guy.




For dessert, Jimmy loves pears.



Ok, well maybe he's never actually eaten a poached pear, but no doubt about it, this kid loves pears! And the way I figure, this love is just one step short of the inevitable indulgence of his first elegant poached pear flambé. And that's just dang classy.



(Add'l note: see how his wearing a Wall-E top. As in Wall-E, the poster bot for the eco-conscious ways of the liberal elite. Oh, yeah. That's my son rocking those jammies.)









And finally, my cultured son loves to parade in the traditional folk wears of his heritage: lederhosen. Kannst you say "Zeltfest!"


















Alas, I am sure you agree, I am the mother of one very cultivated toddler!

A Little Diddy 'Bout Raytch and Diane

During a historic week at American Broadcast Company I couldn't help but notice how many parallels my life shares with, you guessed it, Diane Sawyer. Certain contrasts and comparisons may be observed below:

As ABC celebrated Diane Sawyer's fond adieu to Good Morning America, so begat similar plans for me and my job...but hark, if you look closely at the final row in the chart above, you will notice that as Diane heads for the evening news that I myself am not fully hanging up the headset. I'm finding it hard to completely break up the dysfunctional relationship I have with my job, and we have decided that there are aspects we can still use and abuse about one another. Such as, my job likes that my pulse and breathing capacity and warm body continue to work in a cubicle throughout the weekend, and I like the fact that it writes me checks. SO, I'm staying on for weekends. I'll work two 10-hour days on low-key Sat and Sun and keep many of the benefits. Yaaaay! Sort of the best of both worlds for Diane and Me, as we chart courses for bold new adventures in bold new capacities. Diane Sawyer and I, we are the new frontier, we are so much alike!!! Hiccup!