Each Foot Down a Rabbit Hole

The only thing that may keep me from falling headlong into either hole is the presence of the other.

1) NaNoWriMo: National Novel Writing Month. 50,000 words in 30 days. Word count so far: 2011 words. I am currently current on my daily word count. That's a good way to start. Working title of my 2010 novel: Hindsight. "If the quest for the Future was preventing the possibility of any future, your only refuge is the Past."

2) Spinning. That's right kids. I decided to try spinning. Our knitting group attended a local fiber festival yesterday, and I found that I was not attracted to the yarn (I have lots of exciting yarn at home). I was drawn to the unspun fiber. I've been thinking about trying it, but I have feared the potential of my going overboard and filling my home with piles of fiber bigger than my pre-existing piles of yarn. But since I have just started, I still have the power of not going overboard. Buy it. Spin it. Buy another. Spin that. One at a time. Single file. I bought. I spun. I sucked but it is unquestionably yarn.

I bought some more to practice on. It was on sale, it's predrafted (I think that the drafting was the main source of my sucking), and it's just to see if I truly like spinning. So far, I can't be certain. I guess I had a silent lurking dream that I was going to be magically delicious at spinning. I didn't know the dream was there until it was dashed. Now I have to see if I can conjure up a knack for it out of good old fashioned practice and determination.

After I write my words for the day.

Do you ever just want to clap for yourself?

Teefs!

Elliott cut his first two teeth on Friday. His bottom two front teeth. What a big boy!

Photos of the teeth to come, if we are ever able to get one.

It Crawls

What's it Worth?

Two pounds. What are they worth?

It's no secret: I gained a lot of weight with my pregnancy. 60 pounds. I ought to have given birth to a 6 year old by that account, but that's neither here nor there.

Except why are these two pounds here AND there? Don't get me wrong, these are not the last of the 60. Oh no, children. These are the two I swore to lose by my birthday. These are the last two before I'm back in the hundreds. These are the last two pounds before I say, "Okay, now 12 more to go to get back to a weight where I wasn't that happy to begin with." These are the last two before I no longer have my own weight category in our local 10K (I did not do the 200+ category any favors. Senor, Elliott and I only beat 17 people total. We almost LOST a 10K. I thought that honor was reserved for arthritic seniors. We only beat a couple of pregnant ladies and their pregnant friends and three middle aged Dead fans. Granted, we were carrying an 18 pound baby around...).

When I put it this way, these two pounds seem so insignificant in my grand scheme that I don't know why they bother me. THESE shouldn't be the two that bother me. These two land in the middle of the marathon. If you're running 26 miles, you don't sweat mile 12 and 13... Well, you do, but really, you have so much farther to go that hopefully you can put your head down and let them pass relatively unnoticed.

And while we're at it, what is a birthday worth? Birthdays, New Years, Mondays... why do we allow ourselves to create deadlines that, if/when not met, make us feel MORE badly about ourselves? Is it because, without a deadline, we are less likely to complete the task? Is it because we know we would enjoy the landmark day so much more if only we could rid ourselves of these two little things that bother us and make us feel unworthy? Is it merely to avoid having to try to complete the task today? A noble-sounding way of saying "maybe tomorrow"?

The trouble is that now, with my birthday less than a week away, not only will I feel badly about the pounds not lost, I will also feel badly about not reaching the deadline. Double the shame, double the fun.

I don't deserve it. I have lost 46 pounds in six months. That's great! It should feel great. I wish it did.

Tell me, why are two pounds worth more 46?

Pilot Out

I know that I'm going to sound like an extraordinary wimp, but it's 65 degrees in our apartment and our heater's pilot is out. Poor Elliott's hands and ears are like ice. I called the gas company and they can't come light the pilot until Thursday-- Brrrrrr...

I know. Some of you have snow. But as a native Southern Californian, I am not made of the right stuff to tolerate this. I suspect Elliott is not either.

But it is a good reason to bring out the hand knits! Elliott's grandma knit him this:

It finally fits!

It's the Provence Baby Sweater by Cecily Glowik MacDonald. So cute!

Seriously?!

(I know, I know, where have I been? The walking, flossing, and moisturizing have continued for the most part. The push-ups and crunches... not so much. And well, obviously, the blog posting has seriously fallen off... but that's not why I'm here, check this out:)

I just got. In the mail. A personalized signed copy of Jared Flood's pattern booklet "Made in Brooklyn"!! Thank you, Barbara!!!! This is so cool! I've had my eye on a number of these patterns, and I was planning to pay for them individually on Ravelry, but now I have them ALL! Willoughby, here I come.

Thank you so much, Barbara, this is an amazingly thoughtful and surprising kick off to birthday season! I forgot that my birthday was coming up at all. I hadn't forgotten that I'd be turning 31 soon, but I forgot that that means it's my Birthday-- it's not all wrinkles and sagging. It's also fun and gifts.

Thank you for reminding me!