Santa: the Mythological King of Patriarchy (Yeah, you heard me)

So last night, S (Little A's Dad) and I were sitting in a nursing home, waiting for her little Christmas dance show to start (which she was fabulously cute in....by the way!). I turned to him and asked him what he had for Santa gifts...just so I could visualize how we were gonna put it together (hopefully without spending too much time with him on Christmas Eve). I guess first I should tell you that we still do certain things together, for Little A. We trick or treat, do birthday parties, concerts and CHRISTMAS MORNING still together. It's torture and I hope that someday in Little A's life she'll realize how much I love her to still ruin my Christmas, every year, first thing in the morning by having to spend it with S.
So, as I was saying, I asked him what Santa gifts he had. He looked at me sort of dumbfounded...as if he didn't exactly know what I was talking about. Little A was in a far back room changing and the only other people in the room clearly couldn't hear two inches past their face, so there was no danger in letting out classified information. He just looked dumbfounded and I tried to control my eyeballs that were begging to roll around in my head. Luckily, this year, I've already made up for his lame ass showing and she should be perfectly delighted if he shows up with a smelly piece of cheese.
But here's the real pisser. I NEVER wanted to do this Santa nonsense. No offense to anyone who does it and ENJOYS it, but my parents never did it, and I was perfectly fine with that. I saw no reason to partake in the fiasco of Santa Claus with Little A. I always loved Christmas WITHOUT him. Our Christmas was far more about traditions and family time than anything else and I knew I could make that happen with Little A.
But S and S's family....oh MY! How dare I even THINK such a thing??? They basically acted like I was trying to rob my child of her childhood by even conceiving of eliminating Santa from our own personal Christmas and made it clear that they would enforce Santa in some way, with or without me. I really didn't care (at least as much as those psychos did), so I said fine....WHATEVER....we'll do Santa. And BOY, have I regretted it EVER since.
EVERY year, I've taken Little A to see Santa, S...nada. EVERY year I've totally overspent trying to keep the magic alive while trying to give Little A gifts from me that tell her how I love her. S has pretty much shown up with some stupid addition and pretends to be the big god damn hero. EVERY year I've been in a hellish flurry of shopping trying to find that last little thing that would complete the magic. Last year, it was the damn bell from Polar Express. Don't get me wrong, I think its a lovely little movie, but I'm sure that every stinking kid who saw it made that last minute wish for the bell. I looked EVERYWHERE for the bell. Finally I had to buy a Valentines door hanger from JoAnn's....because they were the ONLY bells left in this country. I cut off the heart....tied the bells together and included a note saying the were Rudolph's bells...he especially wanted Little A to have them because he'd been watching her all year and thought she was glorious. It was Christmas torture at its finest.
So, as I was lying in bed last night, totally pissed off that I had missed almost a whole day of knitting because of hellish stomach ache and thinking about what a putz S is, I had a revelation. Santa is not JUST the idol of commercialism, a potential pedophile, or even a red nosed drunk. SANTA IS THE MYTHOLOGICAL KING OF PATRIARCHY. That's right. Mothers throughout the land drive themselves to exhaustion just to maintain the reputation of this big, fat, white guy who does SHIT! We shop, we bake cookies, we search countless stores for a god damned bell...and what does Santa do?? Gives a jolly laugh and takes all the credit??? Oh wait...AND HE GETS PAID FOR IT. Santas everywhere get paid to pass out candy canes while mothers everywhere still get squat for doing all the work. I'm so over Santa. And I am quite convinced that I might start to enjoy Christmas again once he's out of the picture.
But there you go....the REAL clincher. Not only does Santa enslave every mother in the shopping and baking shackles, he also makes it impossible to break those shackles. Listen, my kid SOBBED, more than once, over a tooth. A TOOTH! What the hell do you all think she's going to do when she makes the grand realization that Santa is all bullshit? Do we think that the other annoying white guy in on all the enslavement her dad is going to step up and console her and explain the facts of Santa life? HA! Fat chance. It will all be right back on me when I never even wanted to do the Santa shit in the first place. And to tell you the truth, I have no freeking spark of an idea what I will say. "Don't worry honey, I'm Santa. We just like to pretend he's a big fat guy obsessed with red fur because it's funny." "I'm sorry honey, the tooth fairy took Santa away....that bitch." It's all a wonder. The wonder of Christmas, right there.

Ok....I just had to get that out. Now we'll return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

"...all seem to say, Throw cares away, Christmas is here, Bringing good...."

Unnatural Attachments

Some of you know, some of you may have heard, that dear Little A tends to get very attached....to people...to things....you name it. If she's encountered it and it didn't bite her, the chances are that she now loves it.
Last night as Little A sat down to do her reading homework, she read 1 and 1/2 sentences, followed by an "Oh!" I looked over and saw that she had, in her hand, her FIRST lost tooth. (Yes, she's 7...and this is the first. She also got her first tooth when she was 14 months old. And I truly appreciated her waiting until we were done breastfeeding. I lost my last baby tooth when I was 17 years old. Needless to say....we are late tooth bloomers.) So there she was, holding her first little tooth.
(You're wondering what the connection between these two pieces of information is, are you? Well, its this.) As I jumped around the living room, hugging Little A, and exclaiming how wonderful it was, she stood frozen, staring down at the little tooth in her hand. I asked her if she was okay and the tears welled up in her eyes.
"What's wrong honey? Does it hurt?"
"No...sniff....sniff...sob....It's just that...sniff....I...SOB...LOVED THAT ONE....SOBSOBSOBSOB."
That's right, my kid is the only kid I've ever heard of who was traumatized, and not delighted, by the loss of her first tooth. She cried and cried...and then cried a little more.
"Well honey, we can leave it for the tooth fairy and I bet she'll leave something great for you!"
"Noooooooo.....sob.....I don't want to leave it for the tooth fairy. I don't want her to have my tooth....sobsob. I'll miss it if she takes it! SOBSOBSOB."
"OOOOOOKAAAAAAY. Do you want us to keep the tooth? Do you want us to keep it in a special place so that the tooth fairy won't come and get it?"
"YEEEEHEHEHEHEHHSSSS.....SNIFF"
"Okay, we'll put it in this special little box, and I'll give you a dollar because I bet that's what the tooth fairy would have given you."
So I bribed her with the dollar. She put the tooth in the box and the dollar in her piggy bank. Cried for a good 15 more minutes and finally settled down.
As different people came around...N...L...wifeJ...and exclaimed how great it was and how cute she looked, she gave them looks like they were somehow in on her great loss, the great conspiracy to rob her of her beloved teeth.
She's got 3 more loose teeth. It's gonna be a rough couple of weeks for tender Little A.

Growing old

I'm not sure if it's the coming of the new year, the fact that I'm closing in on 30, the wonderful recent posts about grandmothers that I've read from Roo and Jen, or something totally unrelated, but I've been thinking a lot lately about growing old. I'm not really worried about it so much as just increasingly aware of its inevitability. Before now, I think I was in that nice haze of I'm so young....I'll never be old....I'll never worry about my body and mind falling apart. But lately, it sort of sits in the back of my mind all the time. When I read posts about grandmothers, I wonder what sort of old woman I'll be....will I do it gracefully...or will I get pissed off and more resentful as every year brings one more element of everything that I cannot do? Will I be able to embrace it with release and watch my daughter and her children take over the family traditions, or will I always be in her business and on her back...trying to exert the past onto the present? I know I can resolve to be a certain way, but when I'm really there, will I be able to pull it off?
Maybe its just another symptom of the holidays, as I hear endless tales of what people my age have chosen to do on Christmas...still succumbing to their childhood traditions, or vehemently establishing their own as they start their young families or somehow finding a way to gracefully combine the two. I wonder what it will feel like, the first time that Little A declares that she's not coming home for Christmas, that I'm welcome to come, but that she wants to have Christmas morning for her kids in her own home. I wonder if I'll be able to brave through this without tears....as I go to her home instead of having her come home, watching her make magic for her own child(ren), remembering how her eyes used to glow the entire Christmas season when she was so young and so sweetly innocent that a midnight stocking stuffing would make her heart soar. I hope that I will be that perfect grandmother....the one who knows just what to do so that everyone, especially my Little A, anticipates my arrival with glee, rather than dread. I wish I could peek into the future, just for moment. Just to see.
But I've never even had the imagination to do it. My mind is hopelessly realistic when I try to envision such things. I remember, even with my first love, my high school/college boyfriend A...I could never envision us marrying. And it would make me so sad. I could see a wedding, a dress, relatives, but the person standing next to me....who I willed in my heart to look like him, was almost formless. The man refused to take his shape and I knew that it was always a sign. We loved each other, but we would never last. Even when it seemed like it would, I knew it wouldn't.
I had the same problem with Little A's dad. Though we did marry, and assumed that we would be together until the end....I could never envision us older. I couldn't imagine for one second what we would be like when we were in our 40's, even 30's. I ignored that one for a long time, until it became painfully clear just why I could not see us older...we could have never been older together. As long as we were together we would be in our twenties, never really growing, never really being whoever either of us was headed for.
This is the most striking change in my thoughts of growing older. For a long time, even when we were in the days of heated fighting, I could always see N and I together, old. I can see us clutching to each other for stability as we walk a block down the street for the early bird special at a diner. I can see us sitting together in a cozy living room...we're wrinkly and tired looking, but he's still watching his endless parade of crime shows and I'm still knitting. He's still making me laugh with his little pranks and hysterical stories. Its so very clear that its startling to me. Startling to feel so warm and stable that it projects into the future. Even though it scares me a little, I love it.
And I hope it's true. I know that the old woman that I want to become will be much more possible if we can maintain this love. That the love will let me know that its ok to watch Little A grow into an amazing woman.....that the love will allow me to let go a little outwardly, even though inwardly I'll cling to every moment I'll have ever had with her. That the love will allow itself to be molded so that I might become her best friend and N's best friend even when I still want to protect them every second of every day. I hope the love will help me grow old.

The Danger Zone....

I'm worried that I may be entering the Danger Zone for 10 reasons:

1. Santa Baby has recently become my favorite Christmas Carol. I put it on repeat.

2. My right wrist to elbow area is starting to scream Carpal Tunnel into my right ear. I've, thus far, been ignoring it.

3. Food seems optional when compared with knitting. As does cleaning.

4. I've started to think of projects in terms of their deadlines. "Ok...this one doesn't HAVE to be done until the 27th. This one....the evening of the 28th." And yet this had no bearing on what I choose to work on. I still just do whatever the hell I want.

5. I'm going shopping with N tomorrow. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

6. It took me 13 days to watch The Aviator, falling unconscious after 15-20 minutes of movie everytime. Narcolepsy?

7. I've started yelling at the TV whenever ANOTHER presentation is everything clip comes on. You'll get the knitting and you'll like it. It may be delivered in a plastic grocery bag.

8. Coffee is now known as vitamin E....E is for ESSENTIAL.

9. I can't say the word fucking Christmas with out putting the word fucking in front of it.

10. I don't even have the brain power left for a thoughful post. Only lists. More lists. Lists, lists, lists!!!!!!!!!!!

Christmas Blues.....BEGONE!

There seems to be a lot of Christmas blues going around in the little corner of the blogosphere that I frequent, so....it's time for a game. Aren't you excited??? Heehee! I saw this on Faggots on the Third Floor and thought it was funny.

If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, even if we don't speak often, please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL MEMORY OF YOU AND ME.

It can be anything you want--good or bad--BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE.
After that, post it on your blog and see who remembers what.

Picture Day: T-11 Days.

Disclaimer: Yes, I know that the 12 days of Christmas are supposed to start on Christmas, but for your picture day delight, I'm bastardizing the tradition.

Disclaimer #2: Forget #12. There's no time! And who really cares about the drummers drumming anyway?

On the T-11 11th Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me....weird wonky baby doll clothes.


My true love: played by my mother.
11th day of Christmas: played by Thanksgiving
These are homemade doll clothes from when I was a wee one. You don't see just a HINT of 70's in them, do you?? The ones on the left are CORDUROY!!!

On the T-10 10th Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me....a laundry machine the works (I hope!)


The 10th day of Christmas was brought to you by my landlord, who has not fixed our laundry machine for 3 weeks now and has forced me to wear the first socks that I ever knit. Yup, they're not only knit wrong, but I knit them from a striped sweater that I recycled, so they have all sorts of wonderful flaws.


On the T-9 9th Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me....a secret gift for baby....all completed.

But this hint is all you'll get.

On the T-8 8th Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me....a really retarded clown.

We went Christmas caroling at town hall last night, and Chistmas caroling in my town means there must be a retarded clown. Actually he was a great clown. Goofy enough that he was the LEAST scary clown I've ever seen. He was great and his only downfall was when he said, "These balloons keep popping because they were made in China." Poor clown. It was quite a flop and he tried to recover, but eventually just went back to making balloon aliens, animals and swords, a little more quietly than before.

On the T-7 7th Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me....a talk with santa and a purple poodle.

On the T-6 6th Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me....a Griffindor scarf.

Completed for the nephew. Double knit in pain with love. With a kitty litter paw.

On the T-5 5th Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me....the 5th....pair of socks.......

I lie. It's really the sixth pair of Christmas socks (but it didn't go with the song). And it's not a pair yet! It must be....by Monday when I see L.

On the T-4 4th Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me....a pretty, pretty scarf:

For wifeJ. We'll pretend that she's getting a really nice gift because I think she rocks. Not really because I have a little fixation with lace scarves right now and I really want to keep it for myself.

On the T-3 3rd Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me.... a perfect little girl, all dressed up.

On the T-2 2nd Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me....a double knit chess board.

That I desperately need to be done today. Not just for time. But for sanity. I do NOT like double knitting. It's dangerous to my health.

On the T-1 1st Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me....a hellish list that never shrinks:

Little A's Blankie (this is actually crochet, about 1/3 done...takes forever though)
L's socks (1 done, 1 to go)
JDad's slippers (1 and 1/2 done, 1/2 to go))
J2's socks slippers
MC's chessboard (3/4 done, but I'll post picture and pattern when it's done)
S's gloves (Gel candle making kit is sitting in reserve if I can't do these)
Roo's something (Roo reads here, I can't SAY, but it's 1/3 done, sort of. It may get frogged, i'm worried about too little yarn. Uh yeah...frogging it...starting over with new yarn. Roo may be the knitting victim of the year!)
T's Washclothes (got 1, still need 1)
B's baby something (Chosen, not yet started)
N's sister and family are visiting. I should suck up. We'll see. That's *5* more people.
N's cousin, wife, and their kid that live upstairs - I really should've added them to the list before, but....uh....I'm thinking wifeJ will get a pretty lace scarf (1/2 done), husbandP will get cookies (not knitted) and littleJ will get a toy. See that, my grand plan is already faltering....cookies...toys.....
Nephew's Hat - DONE!
Neice's Socks and Hat - DONE!
Brother's socks - DONE!
Dad's Socks - DONE!
J1's Griffindor scarf - DONE!
M&B's Baby thing - DONE!

Home....on a lighter note.

Last night, as we lounged on the couch, N told me that the living room was so homely.
It's looking pretty good lately, so my eyebrows went crooked and I asked, "Homey?"
He repeated, "Homely."
So I said, "Homely is what the press used to call Chelsea Clinton while she was in her awkward adolescent years...I really hope you mean homey."
"Right...that's what I said, homey..."

Home.

I was helping Jwife write a couple of essays the other night. One of her topics was about home. I was shocked to see that this seemingly benign (even warm and fuzzy) topic disturbed her as much as it does me.

There's no place like home....There's no place like home.....

I never got it. People will ask me where I'm from and I'm basically dumbfounded.
"I'm from here," I'll try out.
"Oh, you were born in Boston?"
"No, I was born in Pittsburgh."
"So, you're from Pennsylvania. How is Pennsylvania?"
"I have no idea. I only lived there until I was three months old."
It's really no wonder that I'm so bad at small talk. I can't even get past the most basic element of small talk without going into a tale of being moved out of every home I ever knew. I've never known how to answer this question. Sometimes I'll just say, "New York," and try to get away before further explanation is required.
"Where in NY? The city or upstate?"
"Well, I lived in Westchester for about 2 years and then about 5 other towns further upstate."
I never get out of this conversation without feeling horribly uncomfortable, like the words "New Kid" are still emblazoned on my forehead. It almost seems that when people hear how I can't even identify a "home", they realize that I must be a little off. And, admittedly, I am a little off. I'm not one of those people who embraced the moving and came to think that moving to new places was exciting and full of new opportunity. I just saw it for the loss that it always was to me. I'd lose friends, a hard won feeling of fitting in with some group that had adopted me, and just simple security. And I think, to this day, I don't really ever feel like I belong anywhere. I feel comfortable. I've chosen a place to call home, and usually I'm pretty happy. But sometimes, without notice or without cause, that homesick feeling will creep into my stomach.
Do you know this feeling? I've had it as long as I can remember. I remember feeling it was when I has in grade school, even preschool.....from the first time that my parents told me that we were going to move. I stood at the window of my bedroom and looked down on my friends playing in the next door yard. And just cried and cried. I didn't even want to play with them anymore. I was only 4 years old, but I knew that I was not with them anymore, so I just stayed at the window and cried over the first friends I would lose in the move. I could hear their voices at the window....fading already.
The most striking time that I remember this feeling was when I realized that it wasn't going to let me off the hook, even in times that I felt stable and convinced myself that I was home. We were living in my grandma's house in upstate NY. It was the place that was most constant home during most of my childhood, so it shocked me when I felt that homesick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was sitting in my room, in the sunshine of the summer sun coming through my window. I was happy, playing with the cat. And all of the sudden, my stomach dropped. For no reason, I just felt so homesick and utterly alone. I started to cry, and then just sat and tried to reason with myself...."You are home, weirdo! Stop crying!" (I was 9....that would be nine year old reasoning) I got so mad at that feeling on that day. So incredibly angry that it could sneak up on me even when I felt happy, safe, and as close to home as I had ever been.
I still get this feeling. Just the other day, as I was driving home after Little A's Holiday concert, in the car, it hit me. Though my external reaction to it is more subdued than it used to be, I still hate it with all of my heart. Especially now, when I've tried to make this place my home for years, it still comes to punch me in the stomach at the most unexpected times. But what I can I do? I usually just have to take a deep breath, acknowledge it and realize that I may never feel like I'm home because I never had the home to go back to. There's never been that place to return to....a constant place that I knew would always be there for me to find safety and comfort. Home is a thing I've longed for since my very first memories and I'm still searching. I hope, in the least, that I'm able to create that place for Little A, but I'm afraid I'm woefully unqualified having never had it myself.

T-17, Checking the list twice, thrice....

This is mainly for me, so that I can maintain the appropriate amount of panic to get things done. Pictures will come:
Little A's Blankie (this is actually crochet, about 1/3 done...takes forever though)
L's socks (1 done, 1 to go)
JDad's slippers (1 and 1/2 done, 1/2 to go))
J2's socks slippers
MC's chessboard (1/2 done, but I'll post picture and pattern when it's done)
S's gloves
Roo's something (Roo reads here, I can't SAY, but it's 1/3 done, sort of. It may get frogged, i'm worried about too little yarn)
T's Washclothes (got 1, still need 1)
B's baby something (still yet to be chosen)
And another something to M & B's baby (which will also not be disclosed since he reads here sometimes, but it's ALMOST DONE)
N's sister and family are visiting. I should suck up. We'll see. That's *5* more people.
N's cousin, wife, and their kid that live upstairs - I really should've added them to the list before, but....uh....I'm thinking wifeJ will get a pretty lace scarf, husbandP will get cookies (not knitted) and littleJ will get a toy. See that, my grand plan is already faltering....cookies...toys.....
Nephew's Hat - DONE!
Neice's Socks and Hat - DONE!
Brother's socks - DONE!
Dad's Socks - DONE!
J1's Griffindor scarf - DONE!

Roo's not the only dork around here

1/2 tagged by Jen (seems she didn't want to require compliance, so it was a 1/2 tag in my mind)
10 Random Facts about me:
1. I like to knit. Duh. Actually I have quite a fixation out of making any pretty or useful thing out of something that is not pretty or useful.
2. I've given birth, but it wasn't so bad. And I will be eternally grateful to Little A for kicking her way out when she was still a tidy 5 lbs, 13 oz. I wish that someone would stop scaring women about childbirth.
3. I like to drive standard cars. And I like to say, "I like sticks."
4. I'm bad a small talk and amazed my people who can pull off hours with strangers. I either go quiet or tell tales that are too personal for such encounters.
5. I'm not that tidy. But I like to pretend I'm not that disgusting either.
6. Coffee keeps me alive. If something is floating in my coffee, I'll fish it out, but still finish the cup.
7. I love all my friends and I'm not one of those people that stays close with people I don't like. Sometimes it makes me feel guilty, mostly it just makes me happy.
8. I'm a horrid liar. So, I rarely lie. I don't have the attention span to keep lies straight.
9. I would do anything for Little A.
10. I have really strong and pretty fingernails. This feature is totally wasted on me.

And the tag will have to go to SO and Mel. And maybe Roo, just in case she has another 10 already up her sleeve. Feel free to ignore!

The New God Box

We have a new God Box.
Well, *N* has a new God Box. But its in my living room so its mine too.
I have to tell you that I was a little concerned about the arrival of the new God Box. My own versions were small, small enough to not even be mistaken for a George Burns type of God Box. But this one, THIS ONE, shall not be mistaken. It is a true God Box, in every way, shape, and form. The way, shape, and form being a sizable 51" shape. 51 bloody inches. Mine could fit into it at least 12 times.
So on Sunday, with immense trepidation, I opened the door for the delivery people. They brought it in, told me that I had to keep the box the size of two refrigerators for 30 days, and that I couldn't turn it on for at least 2 hours. It was cold, and apparently, the God Box would crack if the heat hit it too soon. I appreciated this delay. For me, it was like a stay of execution. I would still be in charge on my brains for another 2 hours. N did not appreciate this delay. He felt unbearable anticipation as it sat in the living room, staring at us, keeping its godly secrets deep inside.
Finally, the two hours were up. We plugged in the DVD player, and plugged everything into the wall, and after only about 6 tweaks, the God Box came to life. It was big. It was wide. And it was a little buzzy and showed us nothing but Sex and the City. It was then that I realized, this was my kinda God. There was no need to be scared. One should embrace the God Box. Or at least my God Box because in it's beautifully wide screen, it tells me that the Sex and the City girls are fatter than I thought. And ironically, when the God Box is silent, and the emptiness fills the screen. It reflects me. Thinner. Yup, THINNER. So, when all is evened out, the new God Box tells me that I'm just about the same size as Sarah Jessica Parker.
Now if I can just get it to tell everyone.

T-18 days. Present talk.

Little A and I are going out this afternoon to do a little of her Christmas shopping. She gets no allowance, and I'm not made of money, so we generally hit a dollar store and she picks one thing out for each person. She does good, and it's cute, especially between cousins and friends. Having them exchange gifts that actually picked out for each other usually works out really well.
It's a little trickier for the adults and I usually have to dissuade her from giving grandma a douche (because there's a pretty flower on the front) or grandpa a figurine of Mary and Santa. Last year, N received a Bingo game. He still has it, and probably always will (because he's a gigantic sucker for Little A), still safely in the shrink wrap. N tends to dislike games of all kinds, but she was SURE that it was the best gift for him even though I tried to sell her on a couple of other more disposable types of gifts (who doesn't love a candy bar, anyway? No muss, No fuss.).
So combining Little A's trip with my obsessive resolution to knit all my Christmas gifts this year, I'm guessing that our car load will hold the most "worst gifts" of this year. The sad part is, I like that. It's like payback. "Yes Mom, I crocheted you a Bible Tote because you gave me that red sweatshirt with applique snowmen all over it, even though it was clearly only made to fit Sasquatch." "Yup bro, socks. That's what you get for a tub of popcorn." "Indeed other bro, wonky wallet for a sponge on a stick. You betcha and Merry Christmas."
But really, it's all payback for my mom. My poor mother, who I love dearly and means no harm, is OUT OF HER BLOODY MIND. Year after year, I try to convince her that we should do a swap instead of trying to buy for everyone. It's too much for any of us (except for brother bucks, but even though he has the money for it, he doesn't have the time for the shopping...Hence bucket of popcorn). Too much money, too much time. And usually everyone gets shitty gifts. I tell her every year. Wouldn't it be nice to be able to give just one or two people a REALLY nice gifts instead of a crappy little gift they don't even want??? Noooooooooooooooooo! Never. She's out of her freeking mind and will never relent. And I hear tell that she almost ate my dad alive after he suggested the same thing a mere week after I had badgered her.
So my car load of gifts can be seen in two ways, "Happy Holidays. We love you. Fa la blah blah blah blah blah blah blah." or as payback for motherly obstinance. Simple and pure Christmas revenge.

Understand this: I live in Massachusetts, and I like it

Which is why I find things like this to be quite amusing:
Top Ten Arguments Against Gay Marriage

• Being gay is not natural. Real Americans always reject unnatural things like eyeglasses, polyester, and air conditioning.
  
• Gay marriage will encourage people to be gay, in the same way that hanging around tall people will make you tall.
  
• Legalizing gay marriage will open the door to all kinds of crazy behavior. People may even wish to marry their pets because a dog has legal standing and can sign a marriage contract.
  
• Straight marriage has been around a long time and hasn't changed at all; women are still property, blacks still can't marry whites, and divorce is still illegal.
  
• Straight marriage will be less meaningful if gay marriage were allowed; the sanctity of Brittney Spears' 55-hour just-for-fun marriage would be destroyed.
• Straight marriages are valid because they produce children. Gay couples, infertile couples, and old people shouldn't be allowed to marry because our orphanages aren't full yet, and the world needs more children.
  
• Obviously gay parents will raise gay children, since straight parents only raise straight children.
  
• Gay marriage is not supported by religion. In a theocracy like ours, the values of one religion are imposed on the entire country. That's why we have only one religion in America.
  
• Children can never succeed without a male and a female role model at home. That's why we as a society expressly forbid single parents to raise children.
  
• Gay marriage will change the foundation of society; we could never adapt to new social norms. Just like we haven't adapted to cars, the service-sector economy, or longer life spans.

Barbie Destruction

Muua Haaa Haaa!
I know that Barbie destruction is supposed to be left up to cruel older brothers and their wars against little sisters, but I found out, over Thanksgiving weekend, that destroying Barbies still gives me a little more delight than is probably should.
My parents are moving soon. This is not a new thing for them. Before going to college and finally being in charge of my own location, I had moved 13 times. Even though I've now been in the same town for 10+ years, they've continued the trend. Moving this often usually means that you don't have a lot of weird old shit lying around because you're cleaning out and packing up every few years. But I had saved some of my old stuff and it had been nestled safely in whichever attic my parents had above them for many years. The boxes had large bold marks on them saying "DO NOT THROW AWAY. V's STUFF." My mom "lugged this stuff all over the countryside," so she says, though in reality she lugged it up and down NY state only. And finally with this last move, into a much smaller house, she demanded that I take my stuff.
JMom brought it out to me over Thanksgiving weekend.
Most of it was junk. Absolute smelly-useless-couldn't-even-remember-why-I-kept-it junk. Some of it was not. I'll have to take a few pictures. (See....better picture day's ARE coming!)
Amoung the junk was an old Barbie trunk containing 1 Barbie, 1 bullshit discount Barbie, and 1 smaller doll with dark hair. There were also some VERY fashionable clothes and accessories. I decided the Barbies were a little too....stinky to pass on to Little A, but I would give her the clothes, etc... I went to remove the dress that the bullshit discount barbie was wearing and her arm snapped right off. I wished Roo were there to witness the Barbie bloody stump. But sadly she wasn't and now I was a Barbie destruction machine. Her limbs broke off so quickly and with such a satisfying little snap that soon she was nothing more than a head and torso. I went for the head, looked around to make sure Little A was not watching, and POP! Off came the head. I put Barbie in a pile on the table and decided that it was quite a masterpiece. I wish I had been lucid enough to take a picture.
I gathered the remains pretty quickly (I still wasn't sure how Little A would respond to my maniacal Barbie-homicide) and tossed them in the garbage. Little A has about 50+ Barbies in her room and they just don't quite seem safe anymore. I'm sure that they wouldn't snap quite as smoothly as a 20 year old bullshit discount barbie, but I know for a fact, the heads....THE HEADS are fun to pop. And I keep remembering....maybe Little A wouldn't be too upset about a little Barbie destruction...after all when one of her's naturally lost it's head, she thought it was hysterical and liked to make it drive theBarbie-mobile while holding her head in her lap. She may have a sense of humor that I should be concerned about. Especially when mixed with my own Barbie massacre-ing fantasies. Muaaa-Haa-Haa!

(Just a little)Picture Day at T-23 Days

So which one won? Can you guess?



















Well, it's sad but true, but the right one, not only WON, but lapped the left one:



















N has been sort of drooling over these ever since I started them. I know he wants a pair, but hasn't admitted it quite yet!
And I still managed to finish these a couple of days later:
















Let's ignore the fact that they look like completely different socks? Ok? My dad will see blue. That's it. And so shall I.

JDad's Slipper socks are making swift progress and J1's scarf much less swift progress. Sorry I don't have pictures of them today. That lack of progress had nothing to so with this: (I swear!)















I just really needed a scarf. REALLY! I did. And well, you walk into a yarn store, touch the Misti Baby Alpaca and let's see YOU walk out without it. I will not be mocked. (Well, I probably will be, but I'll still have my Baby Alpaca to keep me warm.)
This skein turned into this, about 2 hours after I got home with it. It's bulky so it went fast.

















And finally, this would be JMom, sporting the hoodie that I made her for her birthday. It's knit WRONG, but she loved it anyway. It fit perfectly and she gratified me all during the long Thanksgiving weekend and wore it everyday. She desevered it. But I knew she would.





















So here is where my life list stands now:
Little A's Blankie (this is actually crochet)
My crazy sister's L's socks (Casting on today for Chicken Little at the Theater)
JDad's socks slippers (1 and 1/2 done, 1/2 to go))
J1's socks Griffindor scarf (1/3 done)
J2's socks slippers
MC's chessboard (1/2 done, but I'll post picture and pattern when it's done)
S's gloves
Roo's something (Roo reads here, I can't SAY, but it's 1/3 done)
T's Washclothes (got 1, still need 1)
B's baby something (still yet to be chosen)
And another something to M & B's baby (which will also not be disclosed since he reads here sometimes, but it's about 1/3 done too!)
Promised kitty to Little A's friend who has a Birthday on 12/5
Hat or something for Little A's dad. Maybe hat and scarf. Another tortorous December Birthday.
Nephew's hat - Done!!!
Neices's hat and socks (she's got a birthday December 28th!) - Done!!!
Brother's Socks - Done
Dad's socks- Done

And finally I have a brain again.

Sort of. It's still stuffed with boogies, but there is hope that I will now be able to string together sentences. The hope comes from this: I just emailed the submissions off to Knit.1 (which if you haven't picked it up yet, you should! It's great! Its published by Vogue but I think the patterns are a little more, uh....street fashion I guess, as opposed to runway fashion. I love Vogue knitting, but sometimes the patterns are a little too....well, let's just say I'd have to be the anorexic model that I am NOT in order to pull them off. Anyway....this statement has now exceeded the legal limit of what should be contained with parenthesis, so I'll stop.)
So Knit.1 now has 8 designs (4 sets) by me. And I need to forget about this RIGHT AWAY. I'm not really good with people evaluating me. I have a tender little ego that sways between thinking I can do everything and thinking I suck and can't do anything. And one little rejction tends to sway me to the sucky side.
That's why I hedged my bets. I sent *8*. If I sent 1, well, I'd be sure of rejection, but I sent *8*, so I'm hoping that at least one of them is up to snuff. I felt good doing them, but now that they are out there in the un-known world of evaluation, well.....
But wait, I have pictures, so we'll just move onto a long-procrastinated Picture Day, shall we? Be forewarned, my pictures kind of suck this week. I was busy taking pictures of some other things!