Thursday, December 30, 2010

More bits, fewer snits

1. I am wearing rather a lot of clothes.  For someone who lives in a country with four distinct seasons, I do rather a lot of avoiding weather.  It's either too hot or too cold or too full of air to be outside.  The stupid thing is - I love walking.    I just don't do it.

And then I got this GREAT idea that B and I should deliver flyers.  The flyer people don't care how much of a weather wimp you are.  So I put on two pairs of socks and two pairs of pants and three fleece shirts and a knitted cowl and a knitted hand and a winter jacket and some mittens - halfway through I took my jacket off, because it turns out it was only -16, not -2,000,007.

I wiped out most spectacularly at that one house with the ice.  They try hard to deal with the ice but something about the particular configuration of their sidewalk and Calgary's insane melty-freezey-melty psychotic approach to winter makes that one bit of their sidewalk super icy.  Today the ice was covered by fresh snow, and I went down like a sack of seriously annoyed potatoes.  I lay there thinking that I hated myself and my life and that I was useless and couldn't do anything right and the man next door asked me if I was alright and then I realized I actually ...was.  I canned the self-flagellation and just cried for awhile and now my upper arms are very very sore but my knees, thank you Lord, my knees and back are okay.  My pride?  hugely dented.  Probably needed a smacking.

2.  This is for the non-knitters.  If you are at a hockey tournament and one of the moms is knitting a dishcloth, don't even JOKE about "how much do you charge?" because the one thing a knitter prizes, above all, is an appreciative recipient.  Someone who doesn't even know you who likes your knitting so much they are willing to PAY you for it?  That is like CRACK, people.  And you don't know if those dishcloths are meant for someone else and if your begging to buy them might cause that knitter to stay up all night for the next few nights feverishly knitting dishcloths to give away at her family Christmas on January 2nd because she was AHEAD of the game and then you TRIED TO BUY THINGS FROM HER.  Which she now has to replace.

Stop it.

3.  I was so tempted to sell dishcloths yesterday.  Those same people will be there today, at B's game.  I am leaving the completed dishcloths at home and I am not taking anyone's address or phone number. 

bits and snits

1. Apparently this is the time of year when I am sulky.  I am trying not to be, with limited success.

2. So I had this great idea.  B wanted a flyer route, and when I called up to sign him up for one the flyer route people had three of them lying around and so I took them all.  How hard could it be?

Gee, I don't know, stupid.  You haven't done anything but nurse your aching back for almost three solid months - how could delivering 250 flyers twice a week aggravate anything???  One of the routes is B's, one is mine, and one has been taken over by a friend and her kids until I can gracefully back out of it.  Two is do-able, especially once my body gets used to being asked to do things again, and B and I do them together, which is enjoyable but in the meantime - I hurt all. the. time.  Which leads me down the road to self-flagellation, because being out of shape is all my fault.  Especially the arthritic knees part.

It should get easier, no?  Come spring I'll be gambolling about like a newborn lamb, handing out flyers with a big smile on my (hot sweaty) face.

Today, however, it is -17 and I am attempting to convince myself I want to out into the deep freeze so I can come home and hurt and shiver for the rest of the day. 

To add insult to injury, the big doors on the van are all frozen shut, so I can't even load the cartfull of flyers into the van.  I haven't worked out exactly what I'm going to do instead, yet, and B is still asleep, due to a hockey tournament high that kept him up well past midnight.

3.  that's enough whining.  I'm going to go knit a baby sock and hope my son wakes up before noon.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Well that was an interesting day

Without a lot of boring preamble, let me just share with you one of those Mom moments I didn't see coming.  We'll tell it from the point of view of the old couple I startled.  I have no idea what they said, I'm just guessing.

"What is that hanging from the fence post?" he asks, as he pulls the car into the driveway.

She follows where he's pointing.  "Shorts?  Maybe?"

The shorts are white, they sort of blend in with the snow all around.

A large, cranky woman roars up in a minivan and stomps out of her vehicle.  She snatches the basketball shorts off the fence post, and notices the couple watching her.

"Teenagers!" she growls, and drives off.

(Dropped them.  On the way home from a friend's.)


Later that day, as I was sitting high up in the stands at A's basketball game, knitting a dishcloth, a woman about my age joined me and struck up a conversation.  Extremely friendly woman.  The first thing she said to me was "Look at this church!"  I looked up and she was holding out an iPhone.  Church was in Gary, Indiana, apparently - gorgeous church.
So we talked and talked and talked and every so often she'd cheer for A's team (her daughter wasn't playing till later) and one thing led to another and before I knew it she was knitting on the second project I had in my bag, for when I was finished with dishcloths.  Or needed a change.
And then A's game ended and she was reluctant to give up the knitting, so we exchanged cell phone numbers and agreed to meet for coffee Tuesday.
Last night she texted me.  "I've run out of yarn - where can I drop this off?"

Easiest Christmas knitting I've ever done!

Thursday, December 09, 2010

Hey! here's a trick!

How oh how does one get an ice pack to stay in the center-ish of one's back?  (at the bra line, so to speak, if you are of the gender that wears a bra)  Lean on it, sure, but then you move to pick up your dropped knitting needle, and there you are arching your spasming back trying to get the ice pack back in place, thereby causing more spasming ...

OR could put the ice pack in a pillow case, and sling it over your shoulder.

I thought that one up myself, but I bet a lot of people thought it up before me.

Wednesday, December 08, 2010

In which I type a lot, and possibly say something

Wow, am I driving a lot for someone who isn't supposed to be driving. I think the pain that originally sent me to the ER sans clothing is now gone.  However, it may be working its way up my body, as I am now sort of almost always in pain of some sort that feels exactly like someone has been kicking me in the back.  A lot.  If I bend over to do anything like tie shoes or load the dishwasher or dress myself, there is a sharp spike in the pain that causes me to say GNURGH!, loudly, and freeze for a few seconds.

It's very entertaining. I've decided it will be helpful to lose 100 lbs by Friday.  My mother asked how that was going for me, and I said "It's only Wednesday!"

Meanwhile my house needs to be cleaned and Christmas needs to happen, somehow. When I start to panic about the mess, I remember that when I *could* clean my house, I often didn't.

BUT!  My mother!  and I have had two lovely outings in the last week.  She lives very close to both a dentist and an eye doctor, so I've been taking her out for maintenance (hee) and then we've been going to lunch, etc.  Today we finished up with the cutest little bowls of gelato you ever did see.  So nice to be doing something with her besides sitting by her bedside.

Also got lost last night trying to pick A up from a friend's house - lets pretend the address was 8446 Overhere Road.  The GPS delivered me to house number 8446 at the corner of Overhere Road and 86th St.  So I sat outside for twenty minutes, knitting dishcloths in the dark, not wanting to nag, and finally called the house and told them I was sitting right outside.  More minutes passed.  I went and rang the doorbell, and a very large, very pink, very round, very shirtless bald man answered the door and said "you're at 8446 86th St.  8446 Overhere Road is two houses east."

WAY TO GO, city planners.  NOT AT ALL confusing.  It's not like I wouldn't get lost left to myself, you know.  You don't have to make efforts to make it harder.

GNURG.  Time to go.  I GNURG'd at the chiropractor's today and he offered to put my shoes on for me.  What I said out loud was "There are limits to my willingness to be helpless" but what I thought was - Not while there is breath in my body.

Monday, December 06, 2010

Also? Blog fodder

So I like it when TechnoBoy has been driving the van because he backs into the driveway and I don't have to step out into a snowbank.  A few days ago it occurred to me that I could try backing into the driveway myself even though I am quite sure that backing up AND aiming the vehicle at something, both at the same time, is ...beyond me.

So I backed in. Broke ...nothing.  Did not hit the garage, did not run over children or stray dogs, parked close enough to the edge of the driveway that TechnoBoy can back the other vehicle, the pampered one, into the garage.

So I have been continuing to back in.  The stomachache at the mere thought of it has receded to just the slightest pinching, and this morning, as I was backing up in the dark after running a way-too-early errand, I had to take a few tries.  I berated myself then said out loud:

"The important thing is that you are trying it." 


"And more important?  There is no-one awake at this hour of the day to watch you."

Friday, December 03, 2010

Because I care about you.

Just a bit of advice.  Everybody likes advice, right?

When you mix together a few ingredients to make a sauce to pour over the meatballs so there's dinner in the crockpot for whoever shows up whenever because Fridays are a big slice of crazy pie* at your house, whisk gently.  Seriously.  Gently.

Worcestershire in the eyeball is not an experience to be recommended.

*hat tip Yarn Harlot for the phrase

Thursday, December 02, 2010

Don't even bother to read this

I've got no post planned and probably there is going to be whining.

I can't even tell you how sick and tired I am of my back.  It's better and then it's not and then it is and then it's  not and then - you get the picture.  Please do not comment with any sympathy.  I'm sick of myself, and sympathy will make me feel like I'm justified in whining.

I am not.

Also, I am not qualified to raise children.  Especially enormous children who are either taller than I am, or almost taller than I am, and are bright and beautiful and complicated and only reluctantly communicative and frankly, terrifying.  It's not like I'm scared OF them, I'm scared FOR them, and all the learning and shaping and hurt there is out there just waiting for them.  On days when I have much too much time to think (see above re BACK), I can see this hurt stalking them, lying in wait for them (although it may, in truth, be "laying" in wait for them instead - feel free to correct my grammar in the comments, just please, for the sake of my already overactive imagination, do not do it anonymously) and I know that if I don't monitor every single action and interaction, God will not be able to go into this great big world with my child.  And certainly I must know everything in order for God to know everything, right?  For God to be able to work with them in their pain and insecurities, in their trials AND their triumphs, don't *I* have to be fully informed?

The thing is - I'm actually glad it doesn't work that way.  I want a God who can do more than I can.  I *need* that God.

I'm just saying - toddlers are tough.  I remember that. I remember counting to 17 million and 5 while I waited for someone to decide to stop screaming, lying on their back in a parking lot, while old ladies tried to call 911 for me.  But when they're toddlers, you get to be in charge of pretty much ALL the consequences.  I don't want to be in charge forever, truly I don't, but I think my Parenting Report Card might, at this moment, read: "Does Not Transition Well."  At least my children are super super patient with all that hovering hahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahah oh I crack myself up.

You know, right up until I typed this sentence, I didn't know I needed to hear this:

"When they're toddlers, you get to be in charge of pretty much ALL the consequences."

I kind of feel better now.