Things I Should Be Doing this Weekend:

1. marking the work that was handed in three weeks ago
2. cleaning the frying pan. I made those eggs on Thursday.
3. marking the crummy Catcher in the Rye essays that have been trickling in all week
4. putting away all of the yarn that has migrated to the main floor
5. folding and putting away the laundry that's been lying in the basement hallway since...God, I don't know.
6. going to see Pixie & Kelpie at the bike courier races, so I can give her her birthday present
7. cleaning my toilets. Because the frying pan isn't gross enough
8. marking! Goddamn, exams start on Monday!

Things I Did Instead:

1. ordered a pizza and ate it in the backyard with Blake and without the benefits of plates or napkins
2. took Blake to visit the twins up the street for a playdate/bbq. No bbq, so we played in the back yard until Blake got into it with another kid and I dragged him away.
3. bundled my reprobate into the car seat and went downtown to Lettuce Knit for the Yarn Harlot's birthday a.k.a. Worldwide Knit in Public Day a.k.a. the Toronto branch of the 1000 Knitters Shoot. Even arriving hungry and wondering what I would do with Blake during the party couldn't dent my happy anticipation. Whee! Blake, however, was disappointed when his favourite kid Obi left with his family to go "to Space Island." "Better wear your helmet," I cautioned. Space is rough that way.
4. went to KOS for brunch and a bellini; found Jendricks, Fenner, Tapeheads and Zoe. All the mamas had booze. Blake was happy with his baconface.
5. came back to LK in time to hear Mason's Amazing True Stories of How He Learned About Lapdances to the Detriment of Sage's University Fund. Was totally charmed by his tales of drunken ineptitude, especially as he was unshaven and wearing a new snappy hat, like a character out of Small Change. Blake takes advantage of my distraction to start shovelling sweets into his mouth. Everyone thinks he is the cutest thing ever. They're right, but wait until the sugar crash, friends. It gets real ugly real fast.
6. got my photo taken by Franklin. He is awesome and I just wish I'd had more time to hang out after the shoot when he wasn't working his butt off.
7. left at around 4 o'clock: Blake sticky, Mason hungover, myself sad that I couldn't celebrate WWKiP day with more than a few seconds' knitting. I did start a new project, but I didn't even finish the cast on that day.
8. arrived at Juuki's house for the double-header birthday: her husband and the cat. As the first guests, we had the run of the place, and the adults were able to go up to the balcony while Blake and Paisley splashed around in the inflatable pool. Tranquility interrupted with the news of a missing child.
9. spent the next hour walking around with Blake (who was wearing his underwear and a pair of shoes) and looking for the lost boy. Not as much fun as I'd anticipated. Came home to find that everything was resolved. Ate a slice of meat cake (the frosting is mashed potatoes!) and drove Mason home.
10. fell asleep almost as soon as we got back to our house.
11. went to church. Dragged Blake off the refreshment table after 3 brownies too many and hauled his protesting self home.
12. drove to Mo & Brand's condo for a house-cooling party. Watched Blake run with the herd for 2 1/2 hours before scooping him up and taking him home.
13. watched Blake dump orange juice on the floor in a temper, carried him to the bath and got him to bed without further incident. He was clearly suffering from Too Many Parties.

There is no completed marking, or housework, or crafting to report. I am going into tomorrow the least prepared I have been in years. And yet, the weekend was fantastic. Wouldn't have traded it for anything. Even those sugar-fuelled temper tantrums and the anxious hour of child-searching were a decent price to pay for pizza in the backyard, bellinis with knitmommies and photos with some of my favourite craftistas.

Labels: bat masterson, festivals, friends, knit, outings

Battling a low-grade spring cold and a heavy conviction that I won't manage to finish out the teaching year in good form. Two weeks to finish Catcher in the Rye and all I want to do is lie down. With a book that isn't Catcher.

In my last entry I think the emphasis came through in the wrong place. I wasn't so much complaining about my impossible child as I was coming to the realization that I need to make things a lot less tough on myself. It's my stubbornness that makes things so damn hard for both me and Blake. It's this feeling that I'm doing him a disservice if we bring a wagon, or if I buy him an ice cream in the afternoon. I need to stop taking such a hard line about everything and try to be happier, lighter and more present. I need to stop worrying about the future Blake (the soft, spoiled kid I'm afraid of creating) and start enjoying the weird, energetic, sweet boy I have now.

Last night I participated in one of the most fun ideas ever conceived: a blend of Rocky Horror and Pee Wee's Big Adventure called "Pee Wee Herman Picture Show" at the Bloor Theatre. Nic, Mason, Pixie, Pixie's husband and a few hundred others came with me and were transported. Unlike the Rocky Horror Experience, in which you are encouraged to hate the characters on screen, we all love Pee Wee. I know the movie well from my younger days, and I think I scared Mason a little with the depth of recall I could command once the Danny Elfman score started to unspool. By the time we staggered from the theatre, I was voiceless from two hours of laughing, singing, and cheering along. Mason, Nic and I all agreed: if we hadn't had to work today, we'd have turned around and bought a ticket for the second show. I hummed the theme all the way home. Oh, and that this was Pixie's very first time seeing the movie. I couldn't have picked a better way to show her.

And there was something about being in a theatre full of happy people that made it better than Rocky Horror in which you throw contempt along with your toilet paper. Everybody was there for Pee Wee, and a number of them brought their kids to share in the fun. It still makes me grin, just thinking about the screams during the Large Marge scene.

"You have to watch it! You're 30!!" - nic attempts to be sensitive to my anxiety

I had promised Nic Ethiopian food that night, and after listening to his hissy fit when we went to Chippy's before the show, I decided to take him out for some fermented fun after the show. Unfortunately, Nic was a little too sick to enjoy himself, so Mason & I sipped drinks and tried to resuscitate our voices while my brother morosely shoveled food in his pie hole. I went to bed far too late for a school night, but so very happy that I had made it down.

Labels: blake, family, friends, health, outings

An hour ago, Blake & I returned from our annual CF zoo trip. This was my first solo effort, and I'm trying to pinpoint exactly when the day went skidding out of control. Was it when I decided to go alone rather than ask another adult to cough up the registration fee? Was it when I refused to take the umbrella stroller out of the trunk, dooming myself to an eternity of waiting for the world's slowest poke to inch his way up to me on the path? Was it when I decided to optimistically downplay Blake's habit of ignoring all instructions, no matter how unsafe or ridiculous his intended action, despite having to forcibly haul him out of a bouncy castle only yesterday? Or was it when Blake & I decided to walk in the opposite direction from everyone else, therefore ensuring that even the casual support I could expect from the Old Baby Club would be missing?

It was probably all of those things. I was hot, frustrated and exhausted within the first two hours. Even clipping a bag to my belt and knitting a sock as we toured the exhibits didn't help. Blake touched every stroller. If he was pointed in the right direction he dawdled as if he were trying out for the Canadian dawdling team. If there was a direction I pointed out, he ran in the opposite direction. Interesting strangers doing something unsafe? Blake was in there like a shot. Boring exhibit? Blake was lying down in front of it for the maximum amount of time, most likely picking his nose and consuming his gleanings.

There were some lovely moments when I was happy to be there, and happy to be sharing this wonderful place with my lovely son. The elephants, hippos, gorillas, and otters were spectacular. But most of the time I was cursing my own stubbornness and scheming my way to the next animal. No matter what my personal situation, I think I have to face the fact that Blake is a two-adult kid in most situations, and I should not even think about taking him to the zoo on a warm spring Sunday unless I'm prepared to promise one of my friends a pizza trophy if they'll tag along and help with the Beast that is Known as the Blake.

From the day Blake was born, one of the most important kickstarts to my personal growth as a mom was alone time. It was always so easy to be a mom if I has someone to give him to. Once I learned to be a solo mom (back when it was a choice rather than an inevitability), I really started to enjoy that intense one-on-one feeling. I was more present when it was just us. I enjoyed him more. And now I have to face the fact that, without help, I enjoy him less because he completely overwhelms me.

Also, there are no pictures. Not because of the above, but because my batteries died last night and I forgot until Blake was riding an iguana statue. Burn.

I had much more fun with Blake yesterday at Opera Sara's birthday blowout! (The exclamation mark is mandatory.) As with all OS functions, there was plenty of food, plenty of wine, and the assurance that your child had joined a herd that at least one parent was watching at all times. I take shameless advantage of this set-up, so much so that I'm surprised she keeps inviting me back. Especially since I show no hesitation in taking off my socks immediately upon entering, right after I raid the medicine cabinet for the antihistamines I put there two years ago. I'm one classy guest.

Labels: blake, outings

Yesterday my mom gave me some clippings from her lilac bushes, which have predictably exploded into bloom. When I got to work, you'd've thought that no one had noticed spring before that moment. People would say hi to me and suddenly veer in my direction when the smell hit. I think I was the most popular I've ever been in that school. Mason appropriated them in second period, and I had to field phone call after phone call regarding the whereabouts of the flowers. By fourth period, my students had even seen them travelling the halls.

They were pretty awesome, though. Totally deserving of such an uproar. I drove home that day with my thighs clamped around a cascade of spring blossoms; Persephone in a PT Cruiser.

Going to JimZ's birthday tonight. This will be the first time I've seen the Zübhaus when I wasn't a) too drunk to drive home or b) in nominal charge of a wild child. I'm looking forward to it.

Labels: bat masterson, outings

One of the things I forgot to mention about Mother's Day was that I hosted a barbeque for my family. Very low stress; just my parents, Nic & the Blake (who fell asleep before eating his burger). My mom even picked up the food, which was a blessing in my post-party-bus state. It was one of the good nights; Foreman-grilled burgers liberally garnished with tonnes of loud conversation & laughter.

dad: "I thought your feet were bigger."
nic: "what are you implying?"
me: "you know."

In contrast to my other weeks, it's been pretty quiet around here. I took Monday as a sick day, and spent it watching videos and eating salty snacks. My parents took Blake that night, meaning that my triumphant return to work on Tuesday was made as easy as possible. I'm having trouble establishing a consistant night routine, what with all the interruptions in service. Almost every night I spend with Blake includes the inner question, "so, what should I be doing now? And when?" When I can get him bathed and into bed before I pass out, I'm doing real well.

On Wednesday my mom & I went to North Gomorrah to see "My Fair Lady." I like spending time with my mom, and I like going to the theatre and I tend to like musicals. Unfortunately, these were the best parts of Wednesday. Eight p.m. on a school night is not a good time for something to begin, at least in my dozy world. I spent most of yesterday craving my bed, and I couldn't lie down fast enough once I got home. My dad, who was over to fool around with my fence, was incredulous that I would want to lie down. Just because I don't do my lying down in front of a teevee doesn't mean we're not alike, Dad.

This weekend is the first one with Blake in a while. I plan to celebrate with a trip to see the local fair and possibly a quest to the grocery store. I am an exciting single mom! Ka-pow!!

Labels: blake, family, outings

Last night I got on a bus with 13 other teachers, various snacks and a tonne of booze. Destination: Niagara Falls. Purpose of visit: Ladies Night. It was completely unlike me; I was way out of my comfort zone, not to mention wearing a low-cut grey dress and a push-up bra. And yet I had a brilliant time.

Poppy came over to my house early, and we chatted while I did some last-minute tidying that I hadn't done because I was busy recovering from Drunken Knitting. Poppy is such a great friend that she immediately joined in, and between the two of us we had the place sparkling within a half-hour. So completely awesome. Then it was time to put on my owl dress…which wasn't zipping properly…and led to the last minute substitution of the grey dress. So instead of being quirky and childlike, I was busting out of this slinky grey thing. Shit happens, I suppose.

Trixie came to the door when I was in my underwear, so I rushed down to let her in with a dress held over my front. Good thing we take yoga together, and the sight of my granny panties is a familiar one. We quickly primped and prepped and the three of us stepped out the door with our potluck goodies, taking my wedding boa for good luck.

Our cocktail hour was kind of rapacious, as none of us had eaten supper and we fell on the dips and snacks like wolves on the fold. There's nothing quite like a room full of beautiful, ravenous women set loose on a buffet. It's humbling. We also started the night's drinking in earnest, me with Orangina and rum and the others with more grown up drinks. What can I say; Preacher has ruined me for more sophisticated mixed drinks.

By the time the party bus pulled up, we were more than ready to be let loose. The ride to the falls was marked by laughing, dancing & drinking. We made good use of the pole, let me tell you. This was my first real surprise of the night, that I would have so much fun lurching down the highway, dancing and giggling and getting down in a 3" wide aisle. Reminded me of the C*8 improvised punk dance floor, in the best possible way. When you gots to dance, you gots to dance.

Trixie wouldn't let me take my knitting into the casino, so spent a profoundly bored 45 minutes staring at people who looked like they just came from Arby's for a brief stop at the slots. It ain't no fun to be wearing a tight evening dress when you're in a crowd that could be at the mall. Things picked up when we got into the nightclub, which was packed tighter than a rubber brick. I can't even imagine what it would have been like back when they let us smoke indoors; we were asses to elbows (thanks, b-girl!) and I grew desensitised to strangers brushing up on me at all times. In 2 ½ hours of dancing, I didn't recognize a single song, and was tremendously amused to be the only one in the crowd not singing along. I made this comment to a stranger, and he was incredulous. "How can you not know this song?" Because I live under a rock, buddy. Or, more accurately, because I live under a shifting yarn stash. It muffles the sound of your popular music.

I spent a goodly chunk of the night talking to some tall guy in a sweater who kept telling me how innocent I looked. I liked hanging out with him, but I was absolutely blunt. "I'm a single mom. I'm a cynical goth. I'm on a bus with 13 other women. I'm not getting picked up tonight. I like talking to you, but if you want to go find some other girl, I won't be upset." He stuck around for awhile, his arm around my waist, and we yelled minimal conversation in each other's ear. At one point he said that he wanted to kiss me, so I let him. Why? Because he was sweet, and because it wasn't going anywhere, and because I didn't really want to know his name or for him to know mine, and because it was Ladies Night. There was no making out, just a few random kisses, and then he went away.

I heard about it on the way back. "Who were you making out with?" "Nobody," I said, and kept eating chips. That's just as true as anything else I could say.

oh, what a night!

Considering that I saw Blake for a grand total of 4 hours today, it was a pretty damn fine Mother's Day. When the Boy dropped him off for church, Blake held out a five dollar bill. "Happy Mother's Day!" he beamed.

I looked at the Boy and smirked. "You are a class act."

"It's for the spring concert ticket!" he protested, but the damage was done. Highly amusing.

Pixie and Scout dropped him off for supper, waking me from a long nap of doom in the late afternoon. I didn't know that they were coming over, and I was really glad to see them. The Boy has been stiff and uncomfortable this past week, so I'm just as happy to see two friendly faces, especially since I haven't seen Pixie since last summer and I haven't seen Scout since she came by to move over a load of the Boy's stuff.

I'm glad to know that I still have sisters, even if I may not have a husband.

Labels: bat masterson, blake, dancing, family, outfits, outings, the boy

Spider Update, because I know you're keeping track of my kill-rate at home: as of last night, 55. The last one was a gift from another spider, who rushed the poor unfortunate on the ceiling, causing it to tumble down to the floor, where I stepped on it. I told Blake that it was an accident, but it wasn't an accident. At that point, watching 5 spiders on my bathroom ceiling try to figure out how best to kill each other, I would have killed them by any means necessary. I even broke my vacuum protocol and sucked up three victims yesterday, after cleaning up the baking soda on Blake's bed. Choke on pee-impregnated dust, spider bitches!

On Saturday I took Blake to Queen West for some shopping and frolicing in place of the official DKC yarn frolic. We hit Mac Fab (where he refused to get out of his stroller), Fresh Collective (where I picked up my new cupcake t-shirt and exchanged friendly greetings with the clerk, who has seen me every weekend for the past three), Magic Pony (which we had to leave, as Blake couldn't be trusted to stay out of the window display), Kol Kid (where Blake had to be coaxed out of the stroller to play with the jacks-in-the-box), Romni (where Blake refused to leave his stroller), and finally Trinity-Bellwoods Park (where Blake got sandy for the better part of an hour). I made things awkward by toting around my new gorgeous cast iron tea pot, which I needed for my first stop but which quickly became a ghastly millstone as Blake tried to escape and we wore out every welcome we were given. By the time we met Mason at La Ha for dinner, I couldn't speak without gasping and clutching at my shoulder. Since he was the one to give me the teapot, I don't suppose that I looked all that grateful. But I remain in love with it, especially now that it's safely on my bookshelf awaiting a crop of accessories. Like the rug in the Big Lebowski, it's going to tie my whole room together.

After chasing Blake around all of the tables for almost two hours, we loaded him into the car and went to Lettuce Knit for the Big Girl Knit 2 Book Launch (or, as I typed in my photo files, the "Bi Girls Knit Launch." We don't judge). I would have been there anyway, but I was extra excited because

1. my name is on the acknowledgements page
2. there were tiny cupcakes
3. I had a chance to use up the last bottle of my wedding champagne
4. I'm always proud of my knitsibs' outstanding achievements in the field of authorship
5. cupcakes? Did I mention cupcakes?
6. door-prizes! I won Soak.
7. Blake reuniting with Meghan's kids, whom he loved at Christmas
8. the chance to use the assembled knittas as models of Mason's completed wrap sweater

And that was just what I was looking forward to before I got there. Once I got there, I discovered the all-lady folk band, sushi, cool knittas previously unknown to me, and, well, everything. Mason & I took turns chasing Blake, which gave each of us a few minutes to have fun before going back to warning him away from messes and dangers. He had three cupcakes, which is one more than I did, and I suppose I should have been happy that there was no property damage, yarn damage or friendship damage thanks to my sugared-up wildling.

click through for the whole set, including everybody in the world modelling mason's completed wrap sweater

When it was finally time to go home, I said my goodbyes, took Blake's hand, and walked away from the light toward our car. It was only when we were next to the Blue Ruin that I realized I couldn't find my keys. I sat down on the dark curb and emptied out my bag to no avail. There was only one thing for it: take up Blake's hand and lead him back to the party. I could only hope that Michelle had Mason's cell number, as I figured he'd pocketed the keys when he went to the car to get the champagne. When we got back to Lettuce, we were greeted with the expected, "didn't you leave?" I asked if anyone had found keys, and was totally floored when someone described my Wolfvegas key fob. A Big Girl Knits miracle! I went home happy.

Next day I realized that sometime during that long wandery Saturday I had lost a new ball of yarn, the last one I need to finish a striped vest. I checked every place I could think of, but when I remembered the eccentric path we'd followed up and down Queen Street, I despaired of ever finding my last ball. Realizing that I had the same colourway knit up in my stash, I immediately unravelled it and soaked out the kinks, thinking that I was going to finish this damned vest one way or another. Yesterday I decided to check with Lettuce, and was rewarded beyond measure when Meghan confirmed that yes, they had my yarn. A knitter had picked it up from the sidewalk in the dark, and brought it back to the store. She was all ready to keep it, but Meghan decided to hang on to it and give it a chance to be found. So there we have the second Big Girl Knits Miracle! One more and I can break ground on the chapel.

The only other thing of note was my Church Fashion Show. It wasn't as embarassing as I'd feared (although I almost ran away when I saw that Mason had made good on his promise to capture my modeling debut). No, there will be no pictures, as even if I'd liked the way they turned out, they are far too blurry to share. You'll just have to wait for my dance troupe to start performing to see my exhibitionist side.

Labels: blake, friends, house rich, knit, outings

Today my peace accord with the spiders came to an abrupt end. I walked into the bathroom this morning and felt a filament brush my face. It's my hair, I thought frantically, but it wasn't my hair. That's it, sisters. It is on.

I kept count: I squished 12 in my bathroom alone. I left the ones in the hall alone, because I can't reach them and they don't bother me as much. I figure the one spider left in the bathroom can stretch out and enjoy herself. I'm pretty sure they don't dig competition.

Today after school I picked up my mom and went to a boutique to get fitted for the church fashion show. This is the first time I have been volunteered as a model, and my mother is discovering how much she wanted to be a beauty pageant mum. (Actually, she's just helping me with the zippers and picking outfits. Not Gypsy at all.)

I tried on clothes for two hours. Two hours of elegant pants, clingy tops, and brightly-patterned blazers. By the end of it I was longing for my Owl Dress…but at least we found some good clothes, and when I walk down the catwalk I won't look like a little girl let loose in her grandmother's closet. And no, you can't come see me. That is a promise.

This weekend I was supposed to finish my report cards, so being me, I was entirely domestic on Saturday as I recovered from my cold and entirely social on Sunday as I celebrated Sandi Purl's upcoming baby. The report cards were finished after 8 p.m. on Sunday, and I had to cheat to get the last class done. Fixed it this morning, and no one was the wiser. (Except Mason, who I was compelled to warn before I went to sleep. 'If I drop dead,' I wrote, 'all of the comments on one class are exactly the same. Pass it off as a glitch. Wait, I'll be dead. Who cares?')

Tomorrow: the power of Sandi's dandy shower, plus pictures that will make you want to eat Fenner with a spoon. And no more rhyming. That's another promise.

Labels: bat masterson, church, house rich, outfits, outings

Spring has sprung, and with it comes the arrival of Mean Girl politics. Mason's co-workers don't like the fact that he was the lucky man to volunteer for a chunk of my marking, so they have complained to him and to his department head. See, Mean Girls don't want any other girls taking advantage of their Nice Boy, because then he might not be free to do favours for them. They want him to stop being a sucker, as long as he shows the proper amount of gratitude to them by continuing to be their sucker. I'm torn between the desire to burn them to the ground and salt the earth, and the urge to sit as close to them as possible, sweetly and obliviously intruding on all of their conversations as if I had suddenly decided to be their BFF. I would love for them to lose patience, snap and show their hand to me instead of behind my back. I would love it.

Because even if I were to trade sexual favours for marking (which I'm not, but bear with me), it's none of their goddamn business. Bitches.

Speaking of sex, yesterday's yarn tasting quickly devolved into one of those all-female nights in which smuttiness becomes the conversation. As soon as I noticed the new Handmaiden, Amy warned me not to have an immediate orgasm. Yeah. It was good yarn, but.

Then there was the casual darts conversation. On Friday night, when Juuki expressed an interest in accompanying NotAnArtist and myself on the Unemployed Girls' Newfoundland Road Trip this July, Artist needed to make sure that the trip wouldn't involve babies now that two moms were going. "No," I said, "but do you mind if I get knocked up while we're in Newfoundland?" And of course she had no objection. How could she object?

Elizabeth was there on Friday, and she mentioned the pregnancy plan again last night at the yarn tasting. Since our entire plan for the road trip can be broken down into

1. go to Newfoundland
2. buy yarn
3. get tattoos,

And thus, casual sex immediately morphed into casual darts. Artist shared the fact that she used to be a professional casual dart player for many years, prompting me to remark that she was a Private Dart Player. "And any old dartboard will do," I added, as we all started spraying the table with laughter.

Labels: bat masterson, knit, outings

I've been taking quite a few classes this month, trying to whip myself into shape no doubt. Besides the twice-weekly belly dance sessions, I took a photography course last Sunday and a hyperbolic crochet course this afternoon.

The photography course was hosted by Jacquie & NotAnArtist, so I immediately felt at home. These two clever ladies put together over two hours of photo phun. My photography has improved a great deal just by following their three important rules:

1. turn off the flash
2. read the manual
3. take tonnes of shots

Some of the nicer ones:

Today's hyperbolic crochet was an exercise in non-Euclidean geometry taught by Miss Sweetiepie Press. I was just in it for the cool shapes, but I also snuck in some math. Go, me!

Yesterday I had the girliest day out ever in the history of the world. Throw in a waxing and the world would have burst with the free-floating estrogen (so it's good that there was no waxing). At 11 I had a hair appointment with Destiny. (Hee! I love pulling out the 10 ½-year-old pseudonyms as if I dropped them yesterday. That one's for you, long-time readers. Er, reader.)

Back to the hair appointment with Destiny. She cut my hair during the semester break in January, and it was the longest, strongest hair cut of my life. It was only last week that I started to think about getting it cut again, and even when I woke up on Saturday I found myself wondering if I had a few more weeks in it. The haircut is that good. But a haircut means girliness, and girliness means girlfriends, and I always need more of that no matter what my hair looks like. Scherezade met me at the salon, where the three of us chatted through the appointment (Destiny is her highschool buddy, after all). Then the two of us set out for what I thought would be a short trip up and down the strip. I failed to realize that when I shop with Scherezade, I shop the hell out of an afternoon.

First we stopped in at Fresh Baked Goods, where I was seduced by a bright pink t-shirt and a blue-and-brown dress. Although I paid for both, one is being custom-made and the second is getting slight alterations to make it perfect. Laura Jean the Knitting Queen pinned me up, and we were able to chat about her designs as I have enough yarn to crochet two of her Cupcake sweaters but lack the courage to cast on. At least I can buy her handiwork with no more courage than a credit card inspires. I'm not sure that the world will survive how cute this dress will make me. We can only pray that I won't find co-ordinating shoes.

After Fresh Baked Goods, Scherezade hustled me into the next store, which sells art and art products. She bought a set of postcards that I later fell in love with to the point that we had to return. But that second stop was well after lunch, which was my first visit to the Red Tea Box. The girliness hiked itself up a couple notches over the April Bento Box Special and the Competition Monkey Picked Oolong tea, not to mention ogling the fabric cakes. (Delish!) Having secured the postcards in my grubby little paws, we then went to Victor Gallery for frames, where I bought 4 identical frames which each cost more than all 8 postcards. (Easy come, easy go…or, as my grandfather might say, I have more money than sense.) We also ducked into Bakka for a quick banter with the saleslady and a hunt for some crappy sf novels recommended by Scherezade's honey.

Our final stop was Mac Fab, where I spent the better part of an hour looking for metal-shank buttons for my coat and some pretty plastic buttons for my dad's birthday present. I also found some awesome fabric for Mason's new apartment, which I shall buy next week, when I return to the block for my new dress. Life is good.

Labels: friends, knit, outfits, outings

Sorry about the silence, peeps. I lost the better part of a week to illness after the Harlot launch, and once school started on Monday I was busy every g.d. night, which is wonderful but also wonderfully tiring. I have troupe rehearsals every week now, and dance class, and knit night, and…well, this social butterfly is flapping her wings a bit too hard right now is what I'm saying, and the subsequent earthquake is liable to reduce my writing to rubble.

Yesterday was Drunken Knitting, and although this seems a bit redundant, it got pretty drunk out. Mason and his wife split up this week, Needle Addict got a promotion and Not An Artist is always one to enable a good bender; between the three of them and the tequila shots and the beer and red wine…well, of the five in the car (Mason, Needle, Artist, Juuki & me) two got door-to-door service and one of those two got his shoes removed for him (by Juuki, who met him that evening.) We let NotAnArtist walk the 20 paces to her concierge, and Juuki and I were cold sober. (I was driving and the both of us were having too much fun laughing to need alcohol enhancement.) Before this, Mason worked the room, converting civilians and encouraging them to model the cardi he's still knitting for his wife and dropping the f-bomb in front of 5-year-olds. Needle Addict drank glass after glass of red wine and told funny stories. NotAnArtist expected us all to have the tolerance of her trucker family. We all knit the hell out of everything. Got home at 2 a.m., still giggling from the conversation of hours before.

"I can pronounce your last name and I will fuck you up."

"The movie is called, 'The Mongoose is Eating the Fucking Cobra!'"

Labels: friends, knit, outings

When we last spoke, I was in full-on rant mode about the Boy's stuff. By the time he came by to pick it up on Monday, my attitude had softened considerably, and I tried to apologize for being a bitch. No response. So I went to hang out with Blake while the Boy loaded his crap into the car. Since I was feeling reckless and light-hearted, I mentioned that Blake had ratted him out*, and I knew about his special friend. (This is what I didn't want to share a few weeks ago.) Instant aloofness. I even tried to kiss him, which he dodged neatly. I walked into the house with a smile on my face, waiting until the door was locked before dissolving into sobs.

There is just something about sending the degree and the R2D2 Phone that betokens a finality. The kiss was my last desperate stab at denial, and I myself was denied. I called Scherezade, and choked through the sobbing: "Can you tell me that part about how it's inevitable that I'll be loved again?" She did. Eventually I was even able to stop crying.

* I was towelling him off after an unfortunate soiling incident, and he looked up brightly.

"Daddy has a new friend."
"What's her name?"
"B----."
"Does she sleep over?"
"Yes."

Egged on by the ladies at work, I looked her up at the Boy's school. I'm being supplanted by a kindergarten teacher. I should have known those nasty primary-coloured sluts would be at the bottom of this.

True to form, when my life starts sizzling, I get too busy to write about it. Good thing I have these long periods of boredom contemplation to sift it all into words. It's been a good March Break, despite my house-bound frustration of the first weekend.

On Monday I kicked around the house, deeply into my kid-less fester. (Who knew that it would take separation to catapult me back into Ferg Life?) I was so bored I even marked a set of papers. But since I had a date, I wasn't prey to the same restlessness as the day before. At the stroke of eight, I changed into my dancing pants and drove down to the Bloor Theatre to meet my favourite Stacy. First there was No Country for Old Men and a lot of good popcorn; then there was Shannon at the Dance Cave. Stacy was celebrating her last freelance week, and was more than happy to dance with me till the wee hours. The only hitch came when we got there and I was shedding layers, only to discover that I'd never bothered to put on a bra. I guess I really was committing to partying like it was 1998, what with the PVC pants and the lack of supportive undergarments. On the spot, I resolved to avoid Prince songs, having found out the hard way what happens when I dance to Prince without benefit of a bra. Some guy did eventually try to pick me up (during Gloria Gaynor, of all weird moments), but he wasn't too impressed when I told him that I wouldn't be available till the summer. Well, it's true.

There was much beer and much soul-deep girl talk and lots of dancing (I am too sexy for this shirt, you know.) When they kicked us out we hugged Shannon goodbye and walked off into the cold night. I drove Stacy home and went home myself, and by the time I went to bed on the first day, it was 3:30. Rock and roll.

The next day I got up at 10:30, the absolute last time I could get up and expect to shower off the dirt before meeting Scherezade at the mall. I was almost on time, too. We met at a big Toronto mall with the idea of getting sassy jeans for me. Boy, Yorkdale was happy to see me; between the H&M binge (3 dresses, 2 blouses, 1 blazer, 1 pack of underwear), 3 shirts at Jacob Connexion and 3 pairs of jeans, I dropped a tonne of money in that place. Even Scherezade was taken aback, as our traditional model consists of talking our way through many many stores while she buys the occasional item and I look on cautiously. My new model is entirely driven by the consciousness that I will not get back to a store twice in a season, so I'd better buy it now. I got back home at 6, ate my take out bbq pork in front of the teevee, and passed out cold. And the night and the morning were the second day.

On the third day I got up rather late and looked around to fully grasp the mess I had made in nearly a week of neglect. I was barely able to make a start on it when the doorbell rang with my the Blake. He nibbled his way through lunch while I figured out where the dirty dishes could go for a few days without stinking up the kitchen, then we packed up, got in the car, and went to K8rs' house for a sleepover. It was pretty much the perfect time for him: a lot of new toys to play with, a lot of climbing and rolling around in the gorgeous snow, Kraft Dinner for supper, and then a sleepover with K8rs. (Marc tells me that when he went in the following morning, Blake was leaning on K8's bed like the Fonz, Miles the dog was sleeping in Blake's place, and K8 wasn't wearing pants. Good times.)

It was also the perfect time for me, as Andrea & I were able to discuss all aspects of everything in the universe while following the kids around, then go to knitting in the evening. This was my third night of cathartic girltalk, and I was feeling pretty comfortable in my skin as we rolled into Lettuce. I've discovered that there's nothing quite like indignant girlfriends when a man has done you wrong. I know, I know: I'm a little long in the tooth to have this revelation, but in my defence, the last break up I had was clearly my fault and Scherezade (my only girl at the time) is not about lying to me to make me feel better.

I fell asleep in Andrea's basement, confident that Blake would wake me up in the morning. And this restless night of strange rockstar dreams was the beginning of the third day.

Andrea and Marc did a full pancake and bacon breakfast the next morning, so my tossing and turning of the night before was mellowed by delicious bacon, hot tea and cloth napkins. (Don't ever think that I can't be soothed by good living, because I can.) Blake didn't want to go, of course, but we were due at our next social engagement. Opera Sarah & I had talked about the zoo, but the weather was hostile, so I figured that the best thing to do would be to go over and just hang out. Of course, then I parked in the wrong place, got stuck in the unplowed snow and had to call a towing service to yank me out. Fun fun fun. By the time that was sorted, I really wasn't going to the zoo. So I hung out in the apartment, proofread Leo's flyer, knit a bit, and watched Blake slowly succumb to the sleep he had missed whilst talking K8's ear off. Eventually I packed his resistant body into the car and took him to the Children's Storefront to meet Opera Sarah, Hestia & Persephone for the afternoon. I used to go there when Blake was wee because it's right close to the Midwives' Collective, and I've never forgotten how stimulating it is. Blake had a great time with the other kids, and we frittered away the afternoon until it was time to caravan back to my house for supper.

My parents had asked us over for supper so they could see Blake as soon as possible, but they were more than ready to bring supper to my house, and we all ate happily in the dining room. After my parents left for the night, Hestia and Blake played around while Sarah and I got progressively glassy-eyed, then we forced the kids into bed. My guests slept in my bed, Blake slept in his bed, and I slept in the basement. And the night on my old futon and the early morning were the fourth day.

Tossing and turning on the futon, I heard a little voice from upstairs. "Mommy?" "I'm down here, sweetie." "Mommy, Hestia didn't sleep in my bed with me." And he burst into messy tears. Aww.

We made oatmeal with many fixings for breakfast (walnuts, yum!) and festered while my dad took the car away to fix the part that had been ripped off by the towing (did I mention that towing is a damn good time?) Then it was a whirlwind of dressing and brushing and packing and we were all off to the sugarshack. First stop: pancakes. It was just the sensible thing to do. When we got outside, Hestia and Blake ran around the snowy paths while me, Sarah & my dad followed at a sedate pace. So much better than the zoo – cheaper admission, more room to roam, the possibility of many snowballs, and the smell of boiling sap. I heart the sugarbush, even though I was thoroughly worn out from my marathon of fun and sincerely regretting wearing my new jeans to slop around in the snow.

When we got home, Blake & my dad puttered around while I went to pick up some paperwork and a few more Flashman books in downtown B-ton. And then came the best part of my day: I got to lay down for an hour. Bliss.

Conversation in bed:

"Mommy, when I grow up, I want to have big breasts like you."
"Do you want to be a girl?"
"No, I want to be a boy with breasts."
"Well, they don't just happen when you're a boy."
"How do they happen?"
"Um. Hormones and drugs and surgery. It's a lot of work. Why do you want breasts, anyway?"
"I want to nurse babies."

All together, a la Scarface: First you get the breasts. Then you nurse the babies. Then you get the power.

At 4, my dad came back to pick us up, and after dropping them off at his house, I went on to my bellydance teacher Juuki's house to pick her up. She had expressed an interest in Drunken Knitting, and I am nothing if not a world-class enabler. So we travelled down, chatting away, and she got her first introduction to the high stakes world of pub knitting. You know the one I mean, the world of, um, girls who knit. And who talk about knitting? While they drink?

Ok. It's not a high stakes world. But it is a high-larious world, and we did it up. Between planning the Unemployed Girls Road Trip of July 08, accepting yarn from Laura (more swatches, mule!), and trying to chivvy Lisa into dating my brother, I barely had time to knit three different things. Somehow I managed.

On the way home, Juuki remarked that it's hard to feel at home with a large group, but she'd never felt like an outsider. Thanks, ladies, y'all did me proud. I collapsed into bed at 12:30 with a book of patterns, and the night and the morning were the fifth day.

Saturday was supposed to be my relaxing day, but somehow it wasn't. Blake was perfectly happy at Camp Grampa, so I took the opportunity to meet Opera Sarah and her neighbour Briar Rose at the annual Balfour Books sale. Hestia was also spending the day at Camp Grandma, so we ladies were free to book shop, eat crepes and drink martinis (Briar Rose, that is), and exchange money for church-lady-created Easter eggs. (I have a connection, yo. It's, um, my mom.)

I also hooked up with Ian three different times, starting with busting into his apartment as soon as I'd parked the car in order to use the bathroom. (And did I act like obese Homer trying to get a ride to the Power Station? Yes I did.) Ian coped well, considering he was in his pyjamas playing video games with the shades drawn when I frantically hunted him down. He even groomed himself to join us at the crepery before disappearing to find his wife. I found him for the third time when I went to the apartment, and I was able to spend the better part of an hour lying on the couch, watching other people play video games while I did sweet f-all. Only my cat allergies kept me from insinuating myself into their dinner plans. I visited two separate yarn stores for a few vital errands (it happens, shut up), double-parking at both. The lady at Romni not only remembered my weird project from the last time I went there, she even made a joke about the inevitability of double-parking when one requires double-pointed needles (only she didn't make it sound pretentious the way I just did). People always complain about Romni, but I've always received service that ranges from adequate to exceptional, so I'll remain an apologist for them. I do so love to be unconventional.

I came home in good time, then went to my parents for dinner. Blake came home with me, we put on pyjamas, and I made him go to bed. And the night and the morning were the sixth day.

Today has been tidying, church and marking. I didn't finish all of my Mark Break homework, but I've done a sizable chunk. I'm proud. Also freaking exhausted. Remind me that I don't get to complain about not having a life, would you? I'm going to lie down now.

Labels: dancing, friends, knit, outings

It seems I caught the plague from Stacy on Wednesday night, as I woke up Thursday in a dreadful, dragged through the dirt state (without the dirt). So I did something that I've never done before: called in sick after 6 am, after I'd eaten breakfast and showered and was about to put on perfessional clothes. It was a good move, as I spent the day schlumping around in crocheted bunny slippers and feeling a tiny bit sorry for myself. It's not a bad deal, really: since the Boy split the scene, my parents have been extra solicitous and kind whenever I fall under the weather, and they let me abscond with 5 cans of ginger ale and a bag of salt and vinegar chips when I left their house to take the Blake to school. Sweet. Or, rather, sweet and also salty.

Despite being struck down by God's judgement for having fun on a weeknight, I wouldn't trade it for anything. Besides simply being with Stacy, which remains awesome after all these years, my lily was gilded with a spectacular and fiery green curry, the opportunity to buy a new Flashman book, and a baby-gram. I've started paying Mason a retainer so that he will deliver Sage to me whenever convenient, and Wednesday night I was innocently gulping down curry when someone sat down beside us and started talking. It was Mason! And my boyfriend Sage! The best part is that the retainer part was a lie, but everything else was true. I will accept deliveries of scrumptious babies at all hours of the day.

Labels: friends, health, outings

Day 2 of the BIAF. I'm not going tonight, as is my custom. I know myself too well to think that I'll have the energy for three full nights in a row, especially when they start on Wednesday. Yesterday I went by myself, which was perfectly adequate. It would have been nice to have a friend along, but who wants to come to Brampton on a Wednesday night? My brother was around -- somewhere -- and we'll be driving in together on Friday night, but other than that I just enjoyed the solitude.

I also really enjoyed the Chinguacousy Collective - great big pounding teenager fun - and I didn't expect to, because I do not enjoy seeing my dempgraphic on my time off. Scott Thompson played the sousaphone in his underwear again. Toca Loca did some stuff with maracas that I wouldn't have thought possible. And the Molonari String Quartet did a lot of shouting in the midst of their string work, which seems more fun when I remember it than it seemed at the time (although they did some pretty enjoyable playing when it was modernist rather than post-).But I think my favourites (excluding the Tiny Chef puppet, which belongs in a class of appreciation all his own) were the films. "Paradise" was a stop motion film with really compelling automatons, and how thier lives fall apart. And I loved loved loved the VOC Silent Film Harmonic, who played live music to two Guy Maddin films. These were worth the price of admission.

Labels: festivals, music, outings

What a weird week. I don't feel like I'm so busy that I don't have time to write, but here we are. The real problem is bedtime; by the time I get supper cooked and eaten, the dishes washed, the Blake washed, and everyone brushed, medicated and pj'd, the sleepiness is almost unbearable. Reading 2-3 stories to the Blake while snuggled under his giraffe duvet would reduce anyone to quiet somnolence, and now that I'm off Diet Coke for Lent my resistance has dropped even further. It's all I can do to stagger to my own bed before I drop off. I certainly don't feel like going downstairs to write.

Anyway. We're in the eleventh year of this journal, and I started making excuses for not writing by roughly the fourth entry. At this point, you'll take what I give and you'll like it! Or you won't and you'll find someone regular! See if I care.

I continue to get a tremendous kick out of bellydancing, even though I'm still not very good (yet). My yoga class has been on hiatus due to hives (not mine, fortunately). Blake is still a stubborn non-skater, despite regular lessons. The Boy abides apart. And Beryl bloomed!

The most exciting part of our recent days was K8rs' birthday party at the JCC. On Saturday afternoon I picked up Blake from the Casa Nova and took him to the Annex for 2 hours of supervised fun! It was everything a birthday party should be: treats, climbing equipment, a ball pit, story books, cheese pizza, a parachute, cupcakes and tonnes of other little guys running around. K8 seemed to like the amigurumi cupcake, although Simon wasn't too interested in his mug of hot chocolate. Blake kept running up to him and demanding that he accept the gift. Everytime Blake insisted, Simon looked at him and walked away. I love kids.

Blake's favourite part was the princess cake, which may or may not have tasted like real princesses. My favourite part was walking around with him on Queen West, trying to find a birthday card before the party. Unfortunately, all of the cute boutiques were closed, so we were reduced to window shopping and gawking at all the dogs being walked. And that, plus lots of Orangina and Simon eating paint and the car getting stuck in the snow, was our afternoon. When I got home I had to take the rest of the day off. I didn't think that I would need to, but I lay down on the couch for a bit with a book and my knitting and when I felt like getting up, it was bedtime.

Labels: blake, friends, outings

My Grade 12 class has a summative project that involves designing a utopia based on the principles they've absorbed throughout the semester. Then they make a presentation designed to sell us (or more importantly, me) on this idea of utopia. One group last month did a slide show about their institutions of higher learning, and partway through my startled voice proclaimed, "hey! That's my college!" Good old UC. And when they argued, I said, "I know that place. I was up on the roof once." Then they laughed at me.

Happy 11th anniversary, ridiculous Fireball. Happy anniversary random nudity, stolen ice cream and impossible love. It was worth the cigarette burns, the ruined stockings and the pictures in which my underwear was clearly visible. It was all worth it for the view from the top of UC.

Yesterday I offered to drive Mason home because I was going down for Drunken Knitting and we haven't had a chance to hang out since he came back to work this week. I didn't realize that being with a friend would make the handoff of Blake to the Boy that much harder. This is because I couldn't encase myself in the customary ice that cloaks my recent dealings with the Boy. So when the Blake had walked off into the snow with his daddy, I started to cry for the first time in weeks. Sometimes I am terrified by the amount of denial I use to get through the day. Watching the two of them walk around the corner made me realize that on some level, I'm just keeping my life warm for the day the Boy decides to come back.

This week was an especially hard one, because the blessings flowed in and there was no one to share them with. Asked to join a belly dance troupe – wait until work to cautiously tell anyone. Love bombed by Stacy – private and wonderful and no way to share why I'm smiling. Cosmic Pluto wants me to test-knit a pair of socks for her book – wait a day and a half until I can share the news with my knitting protégé Mason. It's really really hard to be missing the person who tried to understand my obscure flashes of joy.

But if emotion is the sickness, Drunken Knitting is the cure. By the time I made it down to the Dick, everything was in full swing. Sophie buttonholed me outside the door and we traded angst (not only are we goths, but we have actual troubles this winter, which makes it easier to mope convincingly.) I ordered food as fast as I could, then spun my head around when Mason, Kristen & Sage walked in. Yay! Between eating and talking and listening and playing pass the Sage and soothe the Zoë, I might have knit 8 tiny rows on my scarf. Maybe. It was one of the good nights, one of the best. I only went home when I was too tired to keep my mouth closed from yawning.

Conversation in the car on the way to K8rs' party:

Blake: I don't love Daddy anymore.
me: Yes you do, sweetie.
B: No. I don't love anyone anymore.
me: I feel like that sometimes.
B: No love for anyone. I'm not going to save anyone from dying.
me: I feel like that sometimes, too.

Labels: angst, blake, friends, knit, nostalgia, outings

I'm listening to the soundtrack for The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. Have I seen this movie? No. Why do I own it? Because yesterday when we were in Rotate This, Scherezade handed me the CD, pointing out that it was by Nick Cave. Lovely stuff. I'm going to bring it to work, as it will drown out incidental conversation but not distract me like the TMBG clock radio.

I went on a bit of a binge yesterday, as I tend to do when I shop these days. I find going out to shop such a pointy pain in the rear that I avoid it at all costs - the grocery store is trouble enough, thank you. Either I'm wrangling Blake or I'm rushing to get to Blake, and neither state is fun. Yesterday was one of the exceptions that make the other shopping trips pale in comparison. I was downtown sans bebe for a haircut from Destiny, Scherezade's highschool friend who has a gorgeous salon on Queen West. Then, as we were on Queen West, Scherezade and I did some lunching and shopping.

I find these trips tremendously satisfying, as they are the perfect mix of predictable and unpredictable: we go into the same types of places, but each time we're brand new, with new things to share and discuss and laugh over. (Why yes, I am getting back into Catcher in the Rye mode, how observant of you.) New CD's include the one above, the Beck with the stickers, Arcade Fire, the latest Interpol & Ramones "Mania" (of which I used to have a burned copy a few years ago, but have since lost track). I figure it's time to start plugging the gaps in the music collection - I've been rearranging the living room, but I still have more shelves than media right now. I also bought a poster of In the Night Kitchen for Blake, as we've been reading it pretty continually since Christmas. Before that, I took Scherezade to Romni to pick out some fantastic purple Manos yarn for an Urchin, as she admired mine last week. Somewhere in there were enchiladas at La Hacienda, and pestering Scherezade to buy the first Thursday Next novel at Bakka, and Scherezade buying the Shins CD on the store's speakers and creating the first silence I've ever heard at Rotate This.

I only left because I felt guilty to be having so much fun while Blake cooled his heels at my parents'. I made it up to him by taking him to a Caribbean-themed church supper, at which he danced with the other kids until the steel band cried for mercy. Or maybe I cried for mercy. I can't remember.

Labels: friends, music, outings

It's been a quiet weekend. Despite my plans for Pavlovian late night dancing to motivate my completion of this mark cycle, I gave up two full days to various non-marking pursuits and have not hit my targets for either dancing night. Meh. At least I like hanging out in my own house. Even hanging out alone while Blake is wined and dined^* at the Casa Nova isn't so bad now that some of my mojo has returned. What with the marking, the knitting and the housework, time here all seems well-spent, whether it's with Blakeasaurus or with jazz radio.

That said, I found myself occasionally swept by sadness. Denial is there to protect you until you can handle the sad; this weekend the denial eased up a bit and I started to understand that the Boy might never be back. That I may have kissed him for the last time. That we might never go to Halifax again. (This isn't a euphemism. Odd as it may seem, I am more comfortable with the idea of eventually sleeping with someone else than I am with the idea of visiting Halifax without the Boy. Which does not make it a euphemism for sex, so stop trying.) This weekend I was hit with a few neveragains, and it was rough.

But I'm still coping. I know that I have a lot of tears ahead of me, and they won't just be tears of frustration because we're bickering over access. When we came home from our last counselling session, I lay on the bed and cried harder than I've ever cried as an adult. So much of the fear bled out of me that night that I think I've become used to a false equilibrium, one that's slowly eroding. Again, I'm still ok. I'm just becoming a little different in my okay. (This is the "more different s" I suppose.)

What helped was the continuous love I was shown this weekend even in my isolation. On Saturday Scherezade invited me over for dinner and a movie, which was both utterly comfortable and completely refreshing. On Sunday I met my neighbour coming out to clean off the car, and when I told her about the Boy, she held my hand and prayed with me in the driveway. Her absolute faith in God's ability to renew my matrimony was deeply moving, in a way that I can't explain without lapsing into irreverence. Last month I learned that Preacher was on my side. This month I learned that my church was there, too. Maybe February is when I discover God's feelings on the subject of me and my marriage.

* or juiced and let loose as the case may be

Labels: friends, God, outings, the boy

I am being showered with blessings this week, my knitsibs once again wrapping me in their skeins of love. Last night I took advantage of my first weeknight off in a month to visit the Lettuce Knit Sn'B without a small troublesome boy as backup. (God knows I love him, but it's hard to keep him interested in knitnight when he's il-knit-erate.) I always feel welcome at LK, but this week it seemed like everyone was going out of their way to comment on how awesome I look these days. (And here I am thinking that I need a haircut before I completely dissolve into skiddish rattiness.) Once again I was struck by the comfort I feel being in a knitting circle lately, as people are neither nosy nor busily trying to ignore my single status. I even got into a rant about the missing Peanuts Christmas CD without feeling totally full of myself. Amy offered to give me an extra copy, but I decided at that moment that I would much prefer to replace the Boy's missing possessions by making my future boyfriends buy me things. I'm thinking that after 9 years of scrupulous adherence to "it's about love, not things," and being left with neither, I'd like some things by which to remember the next ones. Because right now I've got a few t-shirts, a few books & CD's, two rings, a really great Rodin reproduction, and a 6 1/2 year old houseplant named Beryl whose fierce desire to survive has managed to triumph despite all of my extremely half-assed attempts to keep her alive. Not exactly a collection worth auctioning at Christie's.

Ahem. But I was focussing on non-tangible blessings, like the long hug from Rachael H. and the chance to play with a rageful Fenner and my name - yes, mine - in the acknowledgments section of Amy's brand new Big Girl Knits 2 book. I know that nobody reads the acknowledgments pages unless they're in them, but there I am! Thanked by Amy "le Knitty c'est moi" Singer! And it's not like that one bit is more important than any of the other outpourings of love last night, but it is easier to brag about.

As if last night's Caramel Baileys-fuelled shenanigans weren't enough to coast on, today photographer, knitter and organizer non pareil Jacquie B put my blog up as one of her favourites. If this keeps up, I won't be able to knit myself a hat big enough for my head.

My picks:

• Josh
• Stephanie
• Amy
• Anne & Kay
• Michelle
• Jacquie
• Jen
• Dooce
• Alison
• Franklin

Labels: friends, knit, outings, the boy

This is my second weekend off, and true to form, I've stayed up too late, overslept, and hardly touched my professional work. I did get a lot of domestic stuff done, though, and in my defence my dad was over at the house for close to 5 hours. I love my dad, but he's kind of lonely now that he's in retirement. When no one else is around, he often comes up with a project for my house, which is extra fun when I've been awake for 10 minutes and being asked about programmable light switches. I ended up cooking dinner for the two of us, as the alternative was each eating alone in our quiet houses. I figured that I owed it to my mom to feed him at least a few times.

(Why, yes, the Boy did cite feeling smothered by my family as a reason for his desertion. How observant of you.)

My other bit of defence is that my late night and later morning were the result of genuine social interaction and not pointless websurfery. Last night I had an extended visit with Mason's baby Sage, after which I went to Drunken Knitting and closed the night down. I am completely in love with Sage, and found a way to hold him for most of the three hours that I was over at his house. (I even have a touch of carpal tunnel in my forearms today, which makes me feel like a bit of a mommy copycat.) No pictures because my camera is taking some exotic vacation of which I was uninformed (read: lost). Take my word for it: he may very well be the most beautiful baby since a certain alien-eyed moppet stole our hearts in 2003.

Drunken Knitting was also awesomely awesome (and featured a soundtrack bonus, as we were unexpectedly rocked like a hurricane.) The Gorgeous Ladies of Yarn were more than ready to dish about my domestic bizness, which is a welcome change from some of the other groups I've been in of late. (The only thing worse than talking about my marriage dissolving is not talking about my marriage dissolving.) I was humbled by the revelation that I am the most sexually inexperienced knitter in that pool by a factor of 20. Or maybe I was relieved. I can't remember.

Labels: family, friends, knit, outings

Today has been a fucking disaster. No, I guess it hasn't. When I think about Abortionpalooza Weekend I realize that my life can – and has – dropped much further. Still, I've been pretty brave lately, and I feel especially tested. The sequence, for your consideration:

1. Clean the house in preparation of a visit with Poppy & the twins. Get a call from Poppy asking for a rain cheque because everyone is sick sick sick. This wasn't so bad: at least I vacuumed my couch.
2. Go grocery shopping with Blake during lunchtime. Watch his fuse shorten. Insist that we visit Chapters before going home for lunch. Watch him have a complete sobbing meltdown over a mitten in the parking lot. Drag him to the Chapters, to find that the book is not in stock. Drag him back to the car.
3. Bake brownies for Stacy to make up for lack of present yesterday. Yell at Blake for gouging at brownies with knife when I left the room.
4. Go skating with Blake and parents at large public park at the centre of the town's New Year's Eve celebrations. Have a good time. (Wait for it.)
5. Go for dinner with family friends. Have an excellent time. Realize as I am about to leave that my wallet is gone, probably during skating. It is now full dark.
6. Go with my mother's friend to find wallet. Spend an hour discussing my separation. No wallet.
7. Go home to find a message from the police: wallet was turned in! Go back downtown to fight crowds and find police officer. No officer.
8. Find another cop, who tells me to phone the station.
9. Phone station. No wallet. I am told to phone tomorrow.
10. Go home. Realize that it's now 10 and I can't drive to Toronto without my licence. Further realize that I will be home alone on New Year's Eve, as Blake is sleeping at Camp Grampa. Think about eating all the brownies. Write journal instead.

So here I am. I figure that if I can live through this night completely alone, cheated & stuck – then I can live through fucking anything.

Bring it ON, 2008.

Labels: angst, family, friends, outings