Wednesday, May 17, 2006
I wonder how big I would have to knit my ark in real wool, so that it will felt to a good size once it's wet. Sheesh! Every time we think the rain is over, whooosh. Downpour! I have been knitting overtime, working like a dog, and letting the house run pretty much to shambles. My chest hurts like the dickens and despite the antibiotics we think it is getting infected. Poop. Sorry for the hit and miss blogging this week. I am planning a nice, relaxing holiday week-end to refresh me and get me back on the five-day-a-week blogging habit LOL. Of course, DH wants to set off fireworks this week-end. I have always been able to convince him that it is not such a good idea, as danger is certainly NOT his middle name. But he thinks this time he might be able to escape that jinx. Let's see. When he put in a wall in the basement he managed to trap his ring between a board and the wall. I got home from work and he was standing there, acting all non-challant. I went and changed out of my work clothes, and he was standing there acting all non-challant. I made dinner and he was still standing there, still acting non-challant. I said "You are stuck there, aren't you". And he said "Oh yeah." LOL! He has managed to fall UP the stairs more times than I can count, the worst one gave him bruises at about one foot intervals from his neck to his ankles. One time in the winter I was talking to him out the car window. One second he was there, the next he was not. I blinked for a bit, then looked down to see him sprawled out on some ice. The only ice for blocks. It wasn't even that cold out. When we first got our chiminea he went and bought himself a hatchet - for splitting firewood. I kept pointing him to the little boy scout models, he was steering toward the gigantic axes used to fell redwoods. He settled on a mid-side all purpose hatchet. Truth be told, our first batch of firewood really didn't need to be split. It was a good size for burning. But he had to use that hatchet! Our patio then was lined with 2x2 decorative patio stones (the ones that look like cobble stones). Mr. Brilliant didn't think to split the wood elsewhere or use some kind of platform. Nope. He opted to split the wood right on the patio stones. It was a bad situation all the way around. Sure we got a nice fire, but it cost us two broken patio stones, a pair of ripped jeans, and a trip to the clinic to sew up his knee. He had managed to somehow clip his knee with the little pointy part on the bottom of the axe-head. Halloween left him with a cut on his face (slapped by a shard of plastic that split off a post he was hammering into the lawn), a sliced palm (a bamboo pole splintered while he was pulling on it), a bump on his head (dropped the hammer when attaching a fly line for our Frankenstein) and wax burns from knocking over a candle. Christmas, he had just turned off the camcorder when he tripped over a step-stool and fell flat on his back in the kitchen. Just in time for me to step on him. He isn't CLUMSY per se. He's just not observant to his surroundings. When he used to smoke, he often burned himself. Flicked hot ashes into the wind. Touched his leg with the heater. The first time he met my extended family, it was on a camping trip. Dh was sitting by the campfire, trying to look cool in his acid wash jeans and leather jacket. He smoked Players Light back then, and they were short to begin with. It was about half way gone and he went to take it out of his mouth, but it stuck to his lip and he miscalculated the distance with his hand. He bumped the bottom, and managed to basically stick the lit end of a cigarette up his nose. In front of my entire family. And then try to pretend it was not happening while general surprise and panic was going on around him ROFL. Now I ask you. Does it sound like a good idea to let this man put flame to fuse? I think NOT. He is insisting, however. And since I am not his mother nor the police, short of throwing my body on the box of incindaries I am at a loss of what to do. I can only hope this rain continues to douse the house so it would be too soggy to catch on fire from poorly aimed fireworks. To keep my mind off such things (and to burn off some work stress) I have been knitting. Half of my wrap is done. This is actually self patterning sock yarn but is not shown to it's full effect here because of the big needles used to knit it. Once it is blocked it will look nicer, I swear. There is that lace edge and a great expanse of stockinette. Now I have to do another half, starting with the lace and finishing with a great expanse of stockinette. Then the two pieces will be grafted in the center. This is that same lace pattern using smaller needles and worsted weight yarn. This is for a gift, and I have like three feet to go on it. I don't need it until the fall, but I wanted to work on it since the lace pattern is so fresh in my mind. I am also working on crocheting ANOTHER wrap. This one will be bigger, so it can double as a sort of blanket for naps and things while cool breezes come in the windows. The yarn I'm using isn't picturing well at ALL so I am not posting a picture until it is done. But I will post a picture of the rosary I made for DH's cousin's son (did you get that? LOL). His first communion is this week-end. I like to make custom rosaries for first communions. I choose the materials to best represent the recipient. For example, for my niece it was ribbon roses and crystals. For my nephew it was wooden beads and twine. I always include a "prayer box" charm for a junction piece. In this case the rosary is very heavy, crocheted in Pattons Grace in black. Those are sterling silver leaves and fiber optic beads with an onyx cross. The rosary bag is very plain, with just a few outer loop ridges for decoration. I think it fits this boy well. Nothing TOO flashy. Solid. Cool. And I know he loves silver.
Monday, May 15, 2006
Today we are going to talk about body piercing. Nipple piercing, to be specific. Let's preface this by saying that next time, I will let a professional do it. Now that I have your mind going in circles wondering what the heck I am talking about, we can begin. On Saturday, DH took MIL to her vacation trailer to pack things up as they are hoping to sell it. Since I am useless (can't pack, can't carry, can't lift, can't spend my day leaning into cupboards and things) I decided to stay home and spend the day with my lovely daughter. We had a grand old time. She did my hair (two ponytails). She did my nails (hooker red LOL). She did my make-up (burgundy on the top lids, white on the bottom lids, blue sparkle lip gloss, and enough blush to live up to the nail polish) - and yes I answered the door like that ROFL. We really did have a good day. Up until the cat got diarrhea. Yes, that is right. And in case you are wondering what the most disgusting thing in the world is, it just might be a cat with diarrhea. Because you see, when a cat is scared of something or feels pain, it's first instinct is to RUN AWAY. Now you have a cat running like the dickens trying to get away from it's own bottom which is spewing bad stuff everywhere in it's wake. Beds, carpets, couches, people, nothing is spared. Not even kitchen tables with the good tablecloth (which is now the GARBAGED table cloth) escape the onslought. So the first order of business is trapping the cat so she can't distribute any more horrifying substance around the house. And the cat is extra nervous because of the screaming. Mine and DD's that is. She usually is a very nice cat, but in that circumstance she was not herself. We trapped her in the bathroom (love those moppable floors) and commenced to cleaning the house at large. Well, I commenced to cleaning while DD screeched and screamed and announced each little blob of poo with a loud "It's HERE too!". A case of paper towels, two bottles of spot remover and three refills for the carpet steamer later, and the house is clean enough that I no longer want to sit in a tub of bleach and hope for the best. Of course I did throw away a good tablecloth, the clothes I was wearing, an area rug, and a few bath towels. I am sorry, but no amount of washing was going to make those poop stained items clean enough for me to use again. And I don't regret it, although I should have waited before tossing my clothes as it seemed I wasn't finished getting dirty yet. Now it was time to tend with the cat. In the last few months she has shown some fondness for DD, allowing her to pet, brush, and touch her. Up until now, if DD was awake the cats were under the bed in relative safety. Go ahead and picture a two year old with a flashlight, peering under the bed yelling "KITTY KITTY!" and you will understand 'relative saftey'. But if DD makes any noise at all, love in is over and Jasmine is back under the bed. And DD can't help but make noise. She would burst if she had to be quiet for more than a minute. She sings, she talks, she bangs things together. She stomps and clomps and thumps walls and furniture as she passes by. We don't know why she is like this, DH and I are both quiet as church mice (well, I can talk up a storm but other than that...). When the cats are agitated their tolerance for even the most minimal amount of noise generated by "that child" goes right out the window. Now throw in a bath. See how that might be a recipe for disaster? I manage to get the tub running and the cat deposited in it, as I spray off her bottom and soak her down. Cats don't generally like baths, in case you were wondering. But Jasmine knows the drill and usually if I sort of cradle her and let her clutch my arm she tolerates it as best she can. This time though, I had DD in the bathroom with us. Not a good idea. She was swinging her feet and kicking the edge of the tub. The cat jumped and tried to escape my grip with each "thump". Even so, I managed to soap up the cat and rinse her twice, and give that butt a good washing with antibacterial soap. Right after the last rinse, just as I loosened my grip to grab a towel, DD let out a howl (like a dog, she was just playing around) and scared the bejeebus out of the cat who immediately shot out of the tub and, using me as a launching post, catapolted across the bathroom - managing to get me one good with her back claws. One minute everything was fine, the next I was soaking wet and in more pain than I could fathom at that moment. "MOM! BLOOD!". There was indeed blood. My shirt was soaked through with it. I looked like a gunshot victim. I was kind of afraid to look, it was a LOT of blood. But I did anyway, I had to know what I was dealing with. There was triangle shaped flap of torn flesh and skin about one inch long (just pouring blood now, it was dripping on the floor) and a puncture on the side of the nipple. DD was hyperventilating by now, and trying desparately to escape the bathroom - as was the vile animal that did this to me. "DON'T LET THE CAT OUT!". That's all I needed, a wet cat spewing crap all over the house again. Grabbing up a towel and bunching it under my shirt, I told DD to get her shoes on. How I managed to drive to the hospital with a towel stuffed in my shirt and a wailing child I am not sure. I had one hand on the towel and one hand soothing DD, not entirely sure what I used to steer. But we made it there, she had calmed down a little by then "It's okay sweetie, it's just a little cut, Mommy's okay". I thought it had stopped bleeding, but when the triage nurse moved the towel it started gushing again. I remember saying "Cool, it's, like, going with my heart beat" and then feeling something cold on my face. Which was the emergency waiting room floor since I had passed out. Then I got to sit in the waiting area for four hours with an extremely bored child (they gave me a compression bandage for the bleeding and an ice pack for the bump on the head from falling, how nice). At the precise moment I was contemplating stitching up my OWN chest, my name was called. A nice nurse cut off my shirt even though I insisted I could put it over my head. There is nothing like sitting on an emergency bed, topless and bleeding, to humble a person. They put a paper gown around my shoulders and started cleaning some of the blood, but for all intents and purposes I was still pretty much topless. And the curtain was open. And I was near the entrance area so every person that walked by got to see me sitting that way. Good thing I have nice boobs ROFLMAO. DD was occupying herself by touching everything and I was keeping myself alert by hissing her name to try and get her to stop. Which worked well for keeping me conscious but did nothing for stopping her touching things. About two hours later, a child wandered into our area and started looking intently at me. I was about to ask him if his mommy was near by, but then the little boy introduced himself AS THE DOCTOR. What the freaking hell! Since when did I become old enough for a person to go through medical school and become a doctor and still be that young????? He looked a little embarassed as he looked over the damage. For all I knew it was the first breast he had ever seen or touched in his life. Okay I am being dramatic, but you get the picture...the guy was young. "Okay, we can staple that right up for you". PARDON ME? I do not think so. I am not a piece of paper, I am a PERSON. And that is a breast, not a receipt or something. He was a bit taken aback, I guess it never occured to him that maybe I didn't want a horrific dimpled scar on what just might be my only good attributes. I mean let's face it. My hair is thin, my eyes are the colour of dirty dishwater and my pupils are not quite centered, I have a double chin, thick ankles, and can't get rid of my baby belly even though the "baby" is six. And the epesiotomy didn't help things in the nether regions, so at this point those breasts are about all I have going for me. And he wants to STAPLE THEM? I scared him a little, I think. He ran away, promising to send over "plastics". Now we are talking. Barbie is plastic. This is starting to sound better already. My sister showed up around then and had her daughter take DD to the cafeteria to eat and colour and in general keep her occupied. The form asked for a contact name, and I gave hers and apparently the nurse called her. I would never have called myself, but I was glad she was there. We spent the rest of the time waiting and giggling, then DD and my niece came back and we waited and giggled some more. "Plastics" did show up, and I got sewn up (several layers, which means I will be shedding undissolved stitches like quills for the next five years from by bosom. Sigh) and he promised that the scarring would be minimal. No outside sutures, just steri-strips and glue since I did so well that way with my back surgery. The nipple puncture was a "through and through" which is why it hurt so bad, but a GOOD thing since the chance of a pocket of bacteria festering in there was reduced. No stitches needed there, which would have traumatized me for life. The worst part was the shots - both for the pain and tetanus. Right into the wound. YIKES! My sister had to leave the room for that, she can't take needles. Even when they aren't going into HER apparently ;). They sent me home with a follow up appointment in two weeks at a wound clinic and prophylactic antibiotics (which made my niece giggle, until I explained it was NOT what she was thinking and no Doogie Howser did not just hand me a prescription for condoms). The pain yesterday was intense (I am allowed to take extra strength tylenol, how nice of them), but breakfast in bed cooked by my very own daughter and husband made that disappear from my mind! Scrambled eggs, bacon, home fries, toast, and coffee. DD made be a beautiful card and painted a flower pot, and DH took us out later to choose a plant to go in it. I saw these gerbera daisies and they looked so cheerful I bought them for a small pot I already had. Which I promptly broke while getting things ready to transfer into the pots. So now I need something to put the daisy in! In case you are wondering, Jasmine is fine. She was still wet when we got home (talk about an undercoat!) so I combed her through and blowed her dry so she wouldn't mat. And there were no casualties LOL. I was gonna post a pic of my nicely bruised and red and swollen areas, but DH said NO. Did I mention that I had completely forgotten that I was still wearing the make-up that DD did for me, and in fact did not remember until my sister asked "What the hell is on your face?!?!".