Knitting

I think I probably went through my identity crisis a little late in life, which was lucky since I avoided looking like Color Me Badd in high school like all my peers did.  My "exploring the true me" phase came about in college and didn't really manifest itself in the normal ways, which was why I started experimenting with the needle.  Specifically size 10 bamboo.  They just held the worsted weight yarn better.

I was a Junior in college and the local craft store held a knitting class so I signed up.  My frat boy best bud at the time informed me that this was, in fact, "Hella gay dude".  Gay?  What's 'gay' about knitting?!  'Grandma' maybe but why 'gay'?  The implication was that to create fantastic winter wear from scratch was somehow feminine, but this was just another example of the ignorance brought on by subsisting entirely off of a diet of bong water and date rape (fucking frat boys).

Knitting is MANLY.  Who developed it?  Men, that's who!  And not doughy pasty kitten loving men, but FISHERMEN and SHEPHERDS.  Oh yeah!  They were out there with the raw materials and the survival instinct doing what they could to endure the elements so they could provide for their fertile wives and hearty offspring.

Speaking of 'hearty offspring' look how cute Liam is in this fabulous hat.

You should see what I can do with cashmere!

So yeah, way macho.  I took the class and shocked the naysayers who thought I'd never make it.  That was back in 1995 and I've been pretty steady with it since.  I can bust out any pattern of scarf imaginable, I can pick up stitches like bitches, and I can turn the fuck out of a heel.

Unfortunately I've been a little too busy these past couple of years to work on any new projects (that picture of Liam is two years old).  With work, school, parenting, and 'PAIR-RANTING' (get it?) I just haven't had much time on my hands.  But now that winter has finally descended upon northern California (sub sixty degree weather AND precipitation for two days straight!!) I've been feeling the itch to make my kids something itchy.  I may have to slow down on the blogging a bit and speed up on the cable knit.

Cranky Bitch

As you can guess from the title, I've been kind of a cranky bitch lately. I'm not sure why either, which makes me even grumpier. I'm not PMSing, I'm not sleep-deprived. I've been working for seven days straight which you would think might be the cause, but actually I'm saving money on payroll, and it's been so damn slow that even after I vacuum and price rompers and organize socks, I still have time to sit down with a cup of tea and read my book. Or, write blog posts.

Mike has been bearing the brunt of my whining like a champ. As always, he's very sensitive to my moods and does what he can to make me feel better when I'm being snarky and taking all of my complaints out on him.

In this case he should have been more sensitive, since it was his fault that I was in a bad mood. He signed us up for this 40 Days of Writing project and committed us to posting on our blog Every Day for 40 Days. What the frack?! I may have gotten slightly annoyed at him, which always makes him act like a defensive schoolgirl with bruised feelings. So then of course, since I somehow always end up being the guy in every opposite-sex relationship I have, I had to apologize and grant his wishes to get him to stop crying like a stupid baby.

So then we were committed to this challenge. I got kind of into it and started brainstorming ideas to write about. Of course I then had to take control of the situation and make sure ADD Mike followed through on the whole process. The process that was his idea in the first place. 

See? He's such a girl sometimes

Since the point of the project is to write every day but he and I are alternating posting here every day, on my days off I've been working on my own website, which is sort of like my kind of homely-looking, intentionally neglected step-child. I don't spend too much time crafting what I post there, and I haven't told anyone about it because I don't like the way it looks yet.

The other night my friend Andrea helped me streamline the site a bit, and added a picture to the home page of me putting on lipstick. She and I found this appropriate and funny, the irony being that I almost never wear lipstick or pay too much attention to what I look like, period. As the site is still a work in progress, I wanted some feedback (read: positive feedback). My boyfriend said "the pic is captivating and somehow also awkward." I thought this was GREAT, because I am awkward, and that was the whole point!

Mike felt differently.

It turns out Paulie actually agreed with Mike, but fortunately we're still at that stage in our relationship where he's careful not to offend me too much. I mean, he'll make jokes about how my ass looks huge in a picture on facebook, but he needed to wait for Mike to fuck up first before he told me that in fact he thought the lipstick picture was cliche and no one would get that I was poking fun at myself because they don't know me. Dammit!

Back to the drawing board. Back to being a bitch. Good thing I've got about 31 more days to perfect all of the above.

A Boy and His Frog

Liam has a pretty serious toy collection.  Things like an electric Thomas & Friends railroad track, a water and sand table, a homosexual singing hippo, and enough blocks to build a room that would rent for $1800 a month in S.F.  But for some reason he has only two toys that he can't live without.  And by 'can't live without' I mean I think he literally might stop breathing if they were ever lost or stolen.  He must be carrying one at all times but usually prefers to be carrying both.  And by 'at all times' I mean when I change his shirt he'll switch which hand is holding the toy so I can do each sleeve in turn.  He's a little compulsive.

The good news is I don't ever have to worry about them being lost or stolen.  The former because he seems to be aware of their exact location at all times even when that location is not one of his hands, and the latter because no one would steal these toys.  They kind of suck.

The first is 'boy'.  Boy is a decidedly creepy androgynous little German doll thing that was modeled after the Bavarian version of the Italian 'Castrato'.  He has that feature where if you lay him down he closes his eyes which is kind of sweet in baby dolls because it's like they're sleeping, but with his little 18th century Lederhosen it's likely this feature was added to simulate his need to feign unconsciousness while getting beat up by the Hitler Youth. Boy's interests include, sticking his foot in cats' butts, cereal bowl caddying, and taking baths.  Baths in the bathtub sure, but also in unattended glasses of wine and cups of coffee.  Boy is easily Liam's most prized of the two which sadly is making it very difficult to stage his untimely fall into the garbage disposal.

The other toy is a multi-colored bean bag frog named 'fuck'.  No joke.  We've worked with Liam on this, "hey are you playing with frrrooooogg?".  "Fuck!" he confirms.  Fuck is from the Caribbean and enjoys being saturated in no fewer than four kinds of beverages, condiments, or sandwich spreads at all times.  His bright mottled exterior makes it possible to conceal ketchup, peanut butter, mud, jam, mayo, juice, and even melted cheese, all of which can then be enjoyed at a much later date.  Fuck plays second fiddle to boy except around meal times.

Now there is something very special about these toys that makes his obsession interesting.  The one thing they share in common is that they both belonged to Liam's great-grandmother who passed away just last Christmas.  He doesn't know this.  We've never bothered to mention it, simply because we didn't really think he would understand, and we don't think he associates the toys with his great-grandmother because they weren't in any way a focus for him on the few occasions that he visited her.  We brought them home after she died just as a small token of remembrance and he was smitten right away.  I don't know what this could suggest and I'm not making any claims with regard to spirituality or the afterlife, it could be just that they're odd, or maybe they carry a scent, who knows.  I just think it's interesting.

The Brother Series: David

My second-oldest brother David was just kind of strange growing up. Always. I don't remember really ever hanging out with him. I mean, I'm not sure we ever even had a conversation, even in that awkward, half-mumbled sibling way. Once my brothers convinced me to drink some baking vanilla based on the smell, and then laughed uproariously at my gagging reaction, and I'm pretty sure he was behind that scheme. That's my clearest memory of him.

Because another brother was already using me as his whipping post, I needed someone to take my anger out on, and somehow David fit the bill. I used to mock him for repeating funny punchlines of commercials. It drove me crazy as he laughed, mouth full of popcorn or saltine crackers, shaking his head, slapping his knee, saying "oh man..." followed by whatever he'd found so hilarious.

I'd snap "Um, we just HEARD that, you don't have to REPEAT it!" then roll my eyes, kick out my hip and huff as if he'd just dumped a can of tomato paste down my favorite peach-colored pastel sweater.

Since moving to California over 14 years ago, I've taken the time to dust off the bones that my family kept stored in closets during my childhood. When preparing for a particularly strained visit home, I had to call David to arrange a family barbeque. Gone were the days when I'd visit each family individually, and David had offered to host a cookout in honor of my visit. We got to talking. We talked for over an hour. I felt like I was getting to know a stranger for the first time, yet we had a shared history, and he offered to tell me everything he knew about anything I wanted answers to. "You can ask me once," he said. "And I'll tell you once. After that, no more."

I had a great time at his home. My son got to play with goats and dogs, I got to see my growing nieces and nephews, and I was distracted enough to avoid the people I didn't feel like making more than minimal small talk with.

After everyone else had left, David and I sat in his wood-paneled dining room, and I knew the time had come to ask my questions. But I didn't. Instead we talked about education, ours (very poor) and those of our children (much better, but still what you make of it). We talked about California versus Michigan ("you couldn't pay me to visit California! You get mugged just walking down the street, no thank you!"). Before I knew it my husband and David's wife were coming back into the house after having given us some time alone, and I was just as in the dark about the past as I'd been when I arrived. I'd missed my chance. But I realized I was afraid of whatever it was he'd have told me. I'd harbored enough loss and disappointment in my family already, and something told me only more would come if I'd ventured further down that path. I chose to be thankful for this unexpected rediscovery of a brother, and to leave it at that.

I've talked to David more in the past 5 years than any other time in our lives, and that's only been for about a total of 6 hours. I like him well enough. He's a nice guy, he means well. Something tells me he won't be visiting me in California any time soon, though. And that's probably for the best - I'd feel terribly guilty when he got mugged...walking down the streets of Wine Country.

Crippled

It's Monday, which means I'm all by myself with the boys.  It's everybody's favorite day of the week here at the Bairdsmith household but today, just to spice things up, I'm going to see if I can look after a toddler and a newborn without turning my head or raising my left arm past my waist.

I should probably back up.

So last night was our weekly trip to Trader Joe's which is always a blast.  We did our usual divide and conquer thing where we each get a cart and a boy.  Erin got the easy one and I got the fun one.  Erin had quite the list last night but when I asked her to tear it in two and give me half I was told "no, it doesn't work that way".  I didn't ask her what she meant by that because I was happy to oblige.  For Liam and I it meant that we got told what four items to get and then we tore around the place with lots of vroooming and screeeching until we got back to Erin for another four items.  Awesome.

After about an hour of this we had two full carts and two boys that stood zero chance of waiting quietly in a grocery store line and therefore had to be set loose.  Now Liam is a boy of many gifts, not least of which is his knack for seeking out and messing with that which he should not.  I kept pace with him, holding Finn in one arm while gently coaxing Liam away from precarious candy displays and infused olive oils, but it wasn't long before he got a hold of the bell.  The exact purpose of the bell is a mystery but from what I can tell when you ring it a grumpy manager shows up and asks all the cashiers the enigmatic question "one bell?", then she gets annoyed at me for having a child who rang a bell that looks exactly like it was put there for him to ring, and then makes a dramatic exit back behind her partition which was awkward because I'm tall and could still see her over it which ruined the effect.  Liam thought this was a great trick but I apologized to the cashiers and promised to herd my kid away from it when really I was thinking, "Who the fuck mounts an awesome bell right at toddler level?  Let me guess, the same person who thought it was a great idea to dress up the wine display in the entry way by tying big shiny balloons to the necks of bottles, also at toddler level?  How about I just give you four bucks so he can break another one?"

It was time to get out of there.  Unfortunately my wife wasn't quite finished so I took the boys out of the frying pan and into the fire by heading out into the busy poorly-lit parking lot.  It was immediately clear I was going to have to scoop both boys up and head straight for safety.  Rather than just grab them both in a fireman's carry though I thought it would be a really good idea to try and perform some sort of impromptu circus act with the boys as I made my way to the car.  Mainly I did this so that all the moms that were looking our way would see me and think to themselves "Oh my, that daddy is literally juggling his two boys!  He must be a really great father and so strong (swoon)".  This is how my brain works.  Luckily we made it to the car before I heard a noise coming from my spine that sounded like flesh tearing while at the same moment someone slashed a flaming sword across my back from my head to my knees.  The only mom that was watching me then was Erin who fortunately has cat-like reflexes and anticipated where my shenanigans were heading.

I spent the rest of last night lying on the couch with an ice pack while the boys played hop on pop.  I didn't sleep much and made a point of moaning every time I moved so Erin would know I wasn't sleeping.  Luckily this morning Liam had his 'Roots and Shoots' preschool program so I could drop him off and head on over to my man Dr. Jake.  Dr. Jake is a total bad ass chiropractor.  He welcomes walk-ins, has an office that's pretty close to a High Tech Burrito which is great, and when it comes to paying he's very "don't worry about it, if your insurance doesn't cover it we'll let you know".  When he asked me what happened I told him "I was in the Trader Joe's parking lot holding Finn in my left arm like a football down low around my waist while at the same time, with my other hand up over my head, holding Liam upside down by his leg while kind of swinging him in the air and giving him raspberries on his back".  I don't know why I was including so much detail.  I guess I was hoping he'd say "oh sure the Trader Joe's baby football/upside down toddler raspberry maneuver.  You're our third one today!  Lie down, I know exactly what to do".  He ended up just doing his usual thing where he makes me hug myself and then he sits on top of me.  Now I feel better.  If you want to check him out here's the link but I should warn you he has an identical twin brother in town.  I learned this one night when I saw the brother out at a bar and extended to him the kind of candid familiarity one does with a person who makes you hug yourself while he sits on top of you.  It was kind of awkward but the guy could have been a little more merciful and recognized that he has a celebrity doctor twin brother in town and acknowledged that he had been mistaken for that brother rather than let me go on as long as I did.  I guess it's not easy having a celebrity doctor twin brother.

We're back home now and while I do feel quite a bit better, I know there's no chance I can deliver on the kind of Monday these boys are used to.  But so far it's not so bad.  Liam has spent an hour on the bathroom counter drinking from a sand shovel.  It's the kind of thing I'd normally prevent him from doing when I'm physically able but I guess it's good to indulge sometimes.  I think that, since it's my night to cook, later I'll teach them the fine art of  self-medicating and "calling out for pizza".

The Fixer Upper

 Lately my kid-free evenings after work have been spent wielding nail guns and getting my converse stuck in tile glue and then tracking it around my boyfriend's new house. By 'new' I mean the house he will be renting as opposed to the house he is renting.

I'm quickly learning that Paulie is one of those handy people that fixes things and makes them prettier, even in rentals. Not just little stuff like laying down shelf paper and putting a potted plant on the front porch, but impressive things like painting the insides of the cupboards and drawers, and laying down new linoleum. I've always been a "meh, it's just a rental...why bother putting money into it?" kind of a person, so watching and participating in all of the work going into this place was a bit befuddling to me. But also really fun, because I loves me some power tools.

When he first took me over to the new place, I looked and smelled from a simple observer's viewpoint and thought 'Oof, yikes, I'd never move in here,' because I can't walk into a place and immediately have a vision of how great it could be - I just see what it is. As neutral as I tried to keep my face, Paulie could tell that I was hesitant to love his new space, so he explained to me everything he had planned for it: rip up the carpets to expose the hardwood floors below; lay down new flooring in the kitchen; paint the whole place; put in a garden, etc. I told him that he didn't have to convince me, since I wasn't the one that would be living there, and I'm sure it would be lovely when all was said and done.

I kept my mouth shut about everything except for the Jack and Jill bathroom, and even then I only said "oh...hmm...." Okay, maybe I said something more like "oh my god, I hate these kinds of bathrooms!" As if I don't have enough bathroom issues, having a bedroom on either side of me while I'm trying to get past these issues is almost too much. Two doors for someone to walk in on me through? Aaaaaaaaaah!! Also there was no fan, and yes, I like a fan. White noise in a bathroom is my best friend.

Having anticipated my concern, Paulie immediately explained his solution to me. "I have this clock radio that plays different soothing sounds, so I'm going to wire it to the light and rest it on this high shelf up here, so when you walk in and turn on the light switch, rainforest sounds will come on! Waterfalls, tropical bird calls, all that stuff!" I appreciated his troubleshooting on my behalf and found his enthusiasm adorable. I tried but failed to stifle my laughter at the thought of being serenaded by a squawking parrot every time I had to pee. I can't wait for that to happen every time a new guest comes over.

He was right though - his place is looking fantastic. Gone is the smelly carpet, the ugly linoleum, the rat droppings in the drawers. I'm actually really looking forward to spending time there and seeing it come together even more. As long as I get to use more power tools throughout the process.

Movies

So I just spent several hours this morning on the blog writing a post about Liam and his top five favorite films.  It was pretty funny.  I'd just gotten the pictures I'd wanted downloaded and arranged nicely so I saved it (even though it saves automatically every few seconds) and clicked 'publish', but then something funny happened.  It only published the title and nothing else.  "Hmm" I thought, "well that's silly".  After several minutes of research I learned that all my work had been deleted apart from the title which, as you can see, I've left for your enjoyment.

After a long night involving my wife waking me up because she heard someone in our driveway (not her fault, totally scary), plus the usual issues with the kids, and finally a mysterious early morning call from an unfamiliar number (that I've retained so that I can call them back at the 4am feeding tonight to ask what it was regarding) I'm having one of those moments where you just need to hold really still to keep from going Incredible Hulk on the laptop.

I sent my 'feedback' to Google regarding this issue but the click from the mouse when I hit send even sounded feeble.  After that I tried the 'Help Forum' where I was given the advice to try and just convince myself that what I'd written wasn't really that good anyway.  That's actually pretty good advice so that's what I'm doing.

Anymess, the only reason I'm writing this is A) I can't afford to go smashing computers today and this is making me feel better and B) I'm partaking in the 40 Days of Writing project and don't want to quit just yet :)

Why don't you just give me the hammer daddy?

Well Liam is up so I'm off for coffee with him and a run to the store for amazing-Saturday-morning-breakfast stuff, so have a great weekend everyone, and here's a picture of Liam I just took.