Duuuuuude.

New year, new location. Since our local coffeeshop is closed, I'm in the library to do my busywork. There are pros and cons to this arrangement.

1. No coffee. This is a definite con, because I like coffee. I like it with cream or milk or even the powdery fake stuff that supposedly tastes just like milk but makes your cat hiss at you and give you the claw if you try to fob it off on him. I like coffee with chocolate or hazelnut or caramel. Or all three. I like strong coffee. Coffee is my friend. There is no coffee at the library.

2. Many books. This is a pro AND a con, because I like books. I like almost all books, except romance "novels". And F. Scott Fitzgerald. F. Scott Fitzgerald is most assuredly not my friend, but most other books are. This is a pro because I am always happy when surrounded by books. It is a con, because I will probably see a title that will make me get up and ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ahem. Sorry. They have the new Paul McCartney biography. Just had to take a quick peek.

3. Quiet. This is a definite pro, because I can sit and think and stare and type and fix and think some more without weird music or weird questions. There are still weird people, though. It is, after all, a public place and I am in it. It stands to reason. Come to think of it, quiet is also a con. It means I am my only company, which gets dull after a while, believe it or not.

4. Okay, I found another pro. The table is level. Of course, it makes no difference here if the table is level, because I have no coffee, but hey. I'm looking on the bright side.

Well, then. We'll see how this whole library thing works out. It'll cost less money, because I won't be buying any coffee, so maybe I can do this a bit more often.

Woo-hoo! Silver lining! Happy New Year, folks.

Merry Christmas!

May all be right with the whirled.

Bethlehem Project, 2009

This is why nothing gets done...

I'm too busy watching scenes like this. I should be knitting. I should be doing laundry. I should be working on set lists for upcoming gigs. Instead, I'm doing a Gregor Mendel study on my kid. He's a perfect blend of his parents. For the first ten seconds of the clip, he's all deer-in-the-headlights, exactly like Daddy when confronted by a camera.

Then he turns into me...

Yo and stuff.

I yelled today. It was loud yelling with sarcasm. My hair was defying gravity while the bags under my eyes were headed to Mexico.

I was probably a terrifying sight.

Remember the whole night shaft thing? Where I go to work at an unholy hour and return at a demonic one? Yeah. And remember how I have a small boy and a deaf spouse? Yeah.

You can probably see where this is going.

At nine this morning, after roughly five hours of sleep, I hear feet. They sound like small feet, and they are moving very quickly. They come close to where I am drooling into my pillow, with one eye glaring blurrily at the clock, which is quietly mocking me.

"BAH! MAMA! UP!"

More feet, large and somewhat slower this time.

"JUNIOR, NO! MAMA'S TRYING TO SLEEP! WE HAVE TO BE QUIET!"

All of the feet retreat. They seem to be having a clog dancing contest on the way. They get as far as the boxes of toys stacked in the next room. All of the toys have off switches, but none of these switches is in use. The on buttons, however, are in fine form.

"PUSH A BUTTON! I'M THE ELEPHANT! INSERT A CARD! TWO APPLES!"

I chastise myself for having hostile thoughts about my family and burrow further under the covers. The large feet stomp over to the pile of toys.

"MAMA'S TRYING TO SLEEP! LET'S GO INTO THE OTHER ROOM!"

A complicated tap-dance routine ensues as the feet make their escape into the kitchen, a whole two rooms away. I hear pans clanging in the sink as Himself washes dishes. Junior contents himself with simply slinging concrete blocks against the walls. It sounds that way, anyhow.

After several minutes of crashing and banging, the clog dancers return for a command performance. Throwing their all into the routine, they attempt to crack the very foundations of the house while overthrowing every box within reach. The chorus is in full voice.

"NAH NAH NAH! DADA! AH HAH HAH!"

"JUNIOR, STOP! MAMA IS STILL TRYING TO SLEEP!"

No, she's not. Mama slings back the covers and appears in the doorway in full-on Moses On the Mount mode. Hair weaves into the air like wrathful snakes. Eyes blaze, shooting fire at the noisemaking heathens. The heathens freeze.

"Mama's mad."

"WHAT MAKES YOU SAY THAT?! I'M NOT MAD AT ALL! I ALWAYS LOOK LIKE THIS AFTER A PEACEFUL NIGHT'S SLEEP!"

I dress and gather my column-writing supplies, casting dirty looks over my shoulder. After kisses, I take my leave.

"OKAY, I'M GOING TO THE COFFEESHOP NOW! I'LL BE BACK SOON!"

Just wait until tomorrow morning, when I return from work. I have a brand-new CD of John Phillip Sousa marches, and a high-tech PA system...

A new craft store!

Good Lord, it's December? See, I told you night shift was a bad idea. "Oh, it'll be great! You'll have all day to do stuff!" My butt, I do. When you get home at three in the morning, you don't exactly leap out of bed at nine a.m. My "day" starts around noon, which means I have substantially fewer hours to get things done before leaving for work.

Sigh. I know, I'll cheer myself up with a picture of The Pirate and the Prairie Hen. The hen is me. The pirate is not as fierce as he looks.

Hallowe'en was fun. There was a haunted house nearby, so Himself took Junior up the walk to see what was going on. Kids were screaming and running away; one lady burst into tears when a monster jumped out at her. Junior gave the monster his best pirate stare, signed 'please' and pointed to the candy. *snicker*

Next year, he may not be so laid-back, but it was pretty funny.

This past weekend, we went back to the Prairie for a Christmas party. I wore my "good" Prairie outfit, and Junior and Daddy wore vests. And pants, of course.

Tons of great scenery out there, so we thought we'd try to get a snap or two for the Christmas cards this year. What is easy with a baby is not so simple with a toddler. We got some fine shots of Junior running away and throwing rocks into a trash can before handing him some gravel and showing him the hole in the anvil.

Other than that, the big news is the new craft store in town. I finally got a chance to go inside, rather than just drooling on the windows. I introduced myself as the "yarn lady", and was greeted with, "Are you... you are! Wow! I've been wanting to meet you!"

This is either very good for my ego, or a sign that I spend way to much time frequenting craft shops. Anyway, I had a look around. Lots of sewing and quilting stuff, baskets and ecorating supplies. No yarn.

GASP!

I have promised to make up a list of "the good stuff", yarns and notions that will likely always be in demand. I figure Cascade 220 for a good all-purpose worsted, and maybe Lamb's Pride for felting projects. What say you knitters about sock yarn? What's a good mid-range brand and price? How about favorite needles? Leave me your input and I'll pass it on to the lady across the street.

Of course, you can always leave your input anyway. I like hearing from you, even when I don;t get a chance to say so.

I heard it through the... grapevine?

There is one thing that will dc the complaints from our backseat driver, and that's his nursery rhyme CD. Within two notes from the opening xylophone track, there is silence and contentment from Captain Crabby.

The senior passengers are another story...

With the car tunes and the music class and the at-home singing, I hear a lot of nursery rhymes. A lot lot. Since one can only listen to so many repeats of "Pop Goes the Weasel" before "Mom Goes Berserk", we have come up with ways to combat the potential for insanity.

As an example, we sing a blues version of "Itsy-Bitsy Spider". It's very cool, and Junior grins and dances every time he hears it. Seeking another such blend of kid and contemporary, I produced the following arrangement of a well-known song covered by Creedence Clearwater Revival.

The management takes no responsibilities for injuries sustained while grooving. Get down at your own risk.



Oo, oo, the spider, he went up the spout.
Down came the rain and it washed him out.
Out came the sun and it dried the rain.
So that spider climbed back up again.
He could have saved himself some time;
watched the forecast on Channel 9.

(chorus)
Oo, yeah, I heard it in a nursery rhyme.
Got those songs playing all the time.
Whoo, yes, I heard it in a nursery rhyme.
And I'm just about to lose my mind.

Make a ring around a rosy now,
fill your pockets with some posies now.
Ashes, ashes, sneeze all over town.
Join your hands and we all fall down.
Though the words are kind of vague,
listen close: it's about the Plague!

(chorus)

Willie Winkie, he runs everywhere.
Down the stairs in his underwear.
Banging on windows, he yells through locks,
"Go to bed, 'cause it's eight o'clock!"
Do you plan to sleep yourself,
or just holler at everyone else?

(chorus)

What idiot designed this program?!

I have to go back to another program on another computer to edit the pictures I was planning to show you because this thing blows them up to billboard size. Since I'm sure you're not interested in a two-foot nostril, I'll save the pitures for another day.

Okay, so yesterday was my birthday. I got tons of good wishes and blessings from almost everyone I know.

Almost everyone...

Himself forgot.

When a spouse forgets your birthday, there are a number of ways to deal with it. There's the "You-miserable-jerk-I-bore-your-children!" approach, which leaves all parties unhappy. There's the "I'll-just-drop-ten-billion-subtle-hints" approach, which usually doesn't work and ends up leading to Option A anyway.

I chose Option C, and said nothing. The guy's been out of work for over a year, and freaks out every month when the bills come due. If I were to mention the word "birthday", he'd be miserable over the fact that he couldn't make a big deal over it. I chose to shut up and let Nature take its course.

Nature arrived at nine in the evening. His phone beeped.

"I didn't hear your phone ring. Who sends you a text besides me?"

We were both stumped, so Himself looked at the phone.

"Hey, it's from S.!"

Unusual, but S. had called earlier about a handyman job, so maybe this was an update. S. and L. are two of our favorite people, so maybe they wanted to make plans.

Himself read the message.

He turned gray.

"What? What did he say?"

Silence. Himself was shading from gray to green.

"What?! Is it something bad?"

"It's not good!" His eyes were attempting to dislodge themselves.

After a few more fruitless attempts to get in on the big shock, I said to hell with the whole mess and went for more coffee. This was when Himself crept slooooowly into the kitchen and slooooowly put his arms around me.

"I forgot your birthday."

After about five thousand apologies, Himself showed me the text. Probably unwilling to stand by while his friend was likely to be killed, S. had sent the innocent phrase, "Tell her happy birthday from us!" Himself promptly hustled off to the Evil Empire, calling himself everything but a gentleman. He returned with roses (red, to match his face) and a card, which were received with smiles and kisses. We were still laughing about it this afternoon.

Not the most romantic of birthday events, but we've got a great anecdote to share at future parties.

Hint, hint...