cocoa purl

Chocolate Covered Misadventures (knitting, childrearing, surviving) of a Passable Mind

Now I really mean it and FO’s July 13, 2009

Filed under: adventures,blog,kid's stuff,LG — cocoapurl @ 3:33 pm

Clearly, I wasn’t being completely honest in my last post. Three months and one baby later, now I’m RILLY, RILLY back.

Introducing my latest FO: Evelynn Faye (after her grandmas). Born April 10, 2009 (five weeks early) at 5lb 6 oz. Another C-section on account of my water breaking AND her being sideways. Sorry to those with sensitive sensibilities for the TMI. That’s as bad as it gets.

Evie at 3 months

Evie at 3 months

Oh. My.

Oh. My.

Can you stand it?

Can you stand it?

Oh. So. Cute.

And I’m not just saying that. She’s cute from a completely aesthetic, non-Mom-bias perspective. So cute that I like to nibble on her from time to time. And now that she’s smiling – oh, help me.

She is now 3 months and nearly 13 pounds, thanks in large part to constant nursing. Apparently, I’m good at growing babies and feeding babies – just not so hot at actually birthing them.

Given the round the clock nursing of the last few months, I haven’t been doing much knitting. Or spinning. Or sleeping. But I have been surfing Ravelry and reading knitting blogs voraciously via my iTouch. I have spun and knit thousands of projects, virtually, in my head.

I’ve actually STARTED a pair of booties, Magic Slippers, by SockPixie, in the real world. Well, I started them twice. Apparently I can screw up even the “super easy” “mindless” project that its supposed to be – my February Lady Sweater is being put aside until I’m getting five hours, solid, a night. Until then, I’m knitting remedial.

On the topic of the iTouch, one handed computing is the best thing ever for a nursing mom. There’s even an app called “Blogger” (Baby and Logger together, I’m figuring) that allows you to record every feeding, sleep, pee and poop of your baby. Sounds dumb to non-parents, I know. But the pediatrician likes to know these things, and I’m too out of it to remember to apply deodorant, much less remember how many times the baby pooped today. Oh, and as a bonus, I can even upload my Blogger log to Twitter! (Not that I do, but I could. I don’t tweet. I certainly don’t tweet when my baby last pooped.)

There are a couple downsides to the iTouch for a sleep-deprived new mom.  Namely, you can search anything anytime thanks to your handy WiFi-enabled browsing. This is a problem at three in the morning when the baby won’t sleep and you Google the little rash you found on her bum and come back with all the horrible things it could be, but probably isn’t. At 3 AM, though, its panic time. One Google later, I’m shaking the hubby awake, convinced she has leprosy.

Evie is tolerant, even amused by her folks. Her comedy de jour is Daddy doing raspberries. She smiles so hard that she’s teetering on the edge of a giggle. Now that we know it will happen any day, its a bit of a competition to see who gets her to giggle first. I think I have an ace up my sleeve, but the subtlety of a one-eye cross may be lost on my darling 3 month old.

In addition to her sense of humor, she has also found her thumb. Right now, this is GREAT news because it means she can “self-soothe” (Been reading a few too many baby books, have we?). A few years down the road when our 8 year old is still sucking her thumb, maybe not so much. But I have the willpower to completely ignore THAT possibility, because with thumb-sucking brings the potential for MORE SLEEP. And right now, sleep is my drug of choice.

Oh sweet thumb

Oh sweet thumb

Ive got you now

I've got you now

Snort, zzzzzzzzz

'Snort', zzzzzzzzz

Evie’s big brother LG is adjusting pretty well – it was a bit of a shock for everyone when she came early, and we were working up to preparing him for the big day. (We did the abridged version on the way to the hospital from the OB’s office). But he’s adjusting well to his new role, and even gives her kisses from time to time. And he likes putting her toes in his ear. Don’t ask.

Oh, and Little Guy is now officially a Big Guy. Thankfully, he’s a somewhat benevolent dictator. He decreed just today that Sunday is His Day to Complain. I inquired, and it is His Day only. FYI.



FOs and Flying off the Handle August 13, 2008

Filed under: knitting,LG,rambling — cocoapurl @ 9:10 pm

I finished not one, but TWO projects this past week. In fact, I got so carried away by Finish-itis (which I NEVER have had before, mind you) that I stayed up far past my bedtime to get the second projecxt done in the SAME day, just so I could say I did. Ask BG how personable I was the next day, but I have TWO FOs, people. Did I mention that this was heretofore unheard of?

Pattern: Liesl by Ysolda Teague
: Debbie Bliss Cotton Silk Aran, 10 skeins (I didn’t use that many, I don’t think)
: US 7 KnitPicks Options
: July 7, 2008
: July 31, 2008
: Changed to stockinette after bodice, continued garter stitch edging, bound off after about 2.5 inches of garter stitch.

Liesl is done – and she’s purty, and wearable (gasp)! I changed to stockinette under the girls to give a sort of empire waist look (but in reality, between the weight of the cotton/silk and the fact that my waist is a scant inch from my ribs, its more like my actual waist). Truth is, this was a bit of a leap for me, as I have been very much a married-to-the-pattern knitter thus far, but having the whole thing feather-and-fan would have been just too busy for me. After consulting my knitting group about my plan (thanks, ladies!) I modified. And wonder of wonders, it actually worked. Hooray!

Now I’m in search of a button to work with it – I’m in no hurry, as I inherited some cool clasps (the giant safety pin type) that are working just fine. I’ve worn it twice already, and it isn’t even blocked yet. Is that wrong?

I also finished my Jaywalker socks – finally. I’m not sure why these have taken so long – maybe its knitting wool socks in the summer, maybe this yarn, however gorgeous, has worn on my last nerve with no pattern being quite good enough for it. (You see, its NOT me, its the yarn. This beautiful, demanding yarn.) I am happy with the final result, and am already electronically window shopping for just the right shoe for them. What about these? Or maybe these? Doesn’t everyone dress around their socks?

Jaywalker Socks out of Koigu - a little loud, but I love em

Jaywalker Socks out of Koigu - a little loud, but I love 'em

Pattern: Jaywalker, by Grumperina
Yarn: Koigu KPPPM, 2 skein
Needles: US 1 KnitPicks Harmony DPNs
Started: May 27, 2008
Completed: July 31, 2008
Modifications: None, I don’t think

I’ve started two more projects, following my new rule: One mindless project (in this case, a pair of vanilla stockinette socks), and one more challenging project. I’m hoping this will keep me in my new mode of FINISHING things.

If you use your imagination, you can see a sweater.

If you use your imagination, you can see a sweater.

The challenging project is the February Lady Sweater – well, it is for me, since there will be lace, and you know how I feel about lace. Its not that I can’t do it, its that I can’t have ANYTHING else going on when I do. Like television. Or conversation. Or breathing.

OOOOH - Stripes!

OOOOH - Stripes!

The second project is a pair of plain, vanilla stockinette socks. Am I the only person who is endlessly entertained by self-striping, self-patterning socks? Completely rhetorical question. The yarn is Sockotta, and I’m using my size 1 KnitPicks Harmony DPNs. Because I refuse to use a size 0 – so there.

So it was the perfect opportunity to cast on for the FLS during our garage sale this past Saturday. Before you’re impressed by my ability to knit AND handle the swarm of people wanting to buy my wares, let me clear that up right now – there was NO ONE. It rained. It rained hard, and it rained often. So I knit, and took the fact that I had worked on setting this dumb sale up for the last week and a half in stride. (In other words, I swallowed my frustration like a good repressive does.) I knit under stress. Probably better than drinking.

No – I didn’t fly off the handle then. It was today, when it hit me – THERE ARE THREE MORE WEEKS UNTIL THE FALL, AND I HAVEN’T FIGURED OUT WHAT TO DO FOR PRESCHOOL YET. After beating myself up for a good couple of hours (lousy mother, what have I been doing with my time, knitting! instead of researching my child’s future, etc.), I’ve made several appointments to see a few schools. To be fair, I did the same thing a few months ago, only to discover that the one we had sort of settled on was mucho expensive. I mean, second-job expensive. So to plan B.

But I have a bone to pick and a bit of a rant to go on, since I have no idea how women people (sorry, that was sexist) who work full time (i.e. all year round, unlike me, academic slacker that I am, who only works ten months out of the year) are supposed to juggle most preschool programs given they are a HALF DAY. I completely understand that its probably the most academically responsible approach, given that most 3 year-olds wouldn’t do with a full day of school. What I don’t get is how I’m supposed to make that work, AND go to work so I can pay for said preschool, AND provide for the best educational prep for LG.

Did I mention that guilt is a huge motivator to this rant?

Ahh, MommyGuilt. Guilt is huge for me – its in my genes and in my upbringing. I can’t escape it. And now, I’m being told in order for my son to get the best start in school (which could ultimately color his perception of school in general, and cause him to either love it or hate it, and if he hated it he would end up living in the basement into his forties – you see what I mean about the guilt?) I have to make it work somehow to drop him off at noon and pick him up at three. While I’m working all day.

Is there something I’m not getting? Is there a transporter available? Or some sort of manipulation of the fabric of time and space?

Please don’t get me wrong – I WISH I were a stay-at-home mom. I do. If I could take a time-out from working, I would. But I can’t – that’s pretty simple and obvious. So, I need to make it work.

The last time I felt this level of MommyGuilt was dropping LG off to daycare for the first time. Nothing will make you question every decision leading up to that moment as leaving your 8 month old with a veritable stranger. He was completely fine – I was, however, a mess. For months – in fact, I don’t remember being anything but miserable for that first year. I still have a twinge of it EVERY time I leave him to go to work. It gets easier only because I know he has fun.

This is a different sort of guilt, because I know he’ll have fun and I know that its best for him. Its not so much “I’m abandoning my child” guilt as it is “I need to do what’s best for my child” guilt (You see? I have categories). What I don’t know is how everyone else in the same position makes this work.

/rant  (That’s end rant, for those not web geeky enough.)

Sigh. Please, someone who’s smarter than me, clue me in. ‘Cause I don’t get it. I guess its a lot to ask for the answer to the ultimate Mommy/work balance, but ya’ll are smart people. Throw me a bone.

And in response to the stress, I knit. Or spin. Or pretend to shop for shoes online.

I’m off to do all three of those things before I have to shower for work, and do laundry – LG and I are going on a road trip to see YaYa the day after tomorrow. I’ve decided that 8 hours in a car – with just me and a three year old, ought to cure me of any guilt – I may want to sell him to the circus by the time we get there.



Those Lazy, Crazy, Hazy, Days… July 29, 2008

Filed under: adventures,crafts,knitting,LG — cocoapurl @ 8:06 pm

Emphasis on LAZY. Not that we haven’t done a lot, but apparently, blogging isn’t part of what I call our newfound “lifestyle productivity”. You know -knitting, spinning, swimming, watching fireflies and hummingbirds, going ’round the house naked (LG, who quite enjoys it). Nothing productive in the true sense – we haven’t been fretting over the state of the economy, doing much housework, or even much real cooking (unless baking counts). We may be kicked out of the adult club for this summer, truly. Especially if there are any surprise house inspections.

Let me ‘splain. ….No, no – there is too much – let me sum up. (We just watched the Princess Bride again for the zilliionth time. Love that movie.)

  • I got a wheel.
My new Lovely Lendrum

My new Lovely Lendrum

And many ibuprofen later, I’m coming up for air. Seriously. I’m not sure I even showered those first few days. What sort of fiber freak gets so sore from spinning she actually ices her wrist?

YO! That would be me.

I’m figuring things out, little by little (namely, DON’T buy felted merino, no matter how pretty it is, and DON’T spin for two days straight unless you’ve trained for it) and am actually making something that looks like yarn – how about that?

This is a Lendrum DT (stands for double treadle) – its an upright wheel, as opposed to the Cinderella-style saxony wheel that most people think of. And not only does it fold, but it fits just nicely in this little corner next to the window. And the air conditioner (hey, if I’m crazy enough to work with wool in July, then I plan accordingly).

After much hemming and hawing and driving all over to try every flavor of wheel I could think of, I bought this one from the lovely Louise from the Marion Sheep and Wool shop (not ten minutes away from my house, I kid you not).

I’ve spun a LOT. At least, to me…

  • LG went to his first 4th of July Parade/fireworks.

He didn’t much care for the parade at first.

And then…the folks on the floats started to throw candy.



Instant convert.

  • LG got a big boy bed.

And since we’ve been talking a lot about how big boys also go on the potty, and have heard this is the best way to get them to learn:

The Pants-less days of Summer

The Pants-less days of Summer

It hasn’t worked yet, but we’ll keep on trying until A) He’s potty-trained, B) it gets too cold, or C) the neighbors start to complain.

  • We went to the Air Show.

BG was VERY excited. LG was game to go along, as long as he had earplugs. (We also may or may not have bribed him with a toy plane.)

And this was the helicopter used in the series Airwolf...

"And this was the helicopter used in the series "Airwolf"..."

Oooh, look! A tiny sliver of plane!

Oooh, look! A tiny sliver of plane!

Commiserating on who can make the best plane noises

Commiserating on who can make the best plane noises

My boys on the big plane - my photomerge experiment

My boys on the big plane - my photomerge experiment

Stick a fork in him...

Stick a fork in him

  • We’ve also been learning all about expressing our emotions.

  • I’ve been doing some knitting.

The hat is the Republic Hat (free pattern on Ravelry), made with my first ever handspun. Spindle spun, no less. I can’t quite decide if I love it or if it looks like a Redskin’s mascot threw up. On my head.

The dinosaur is Norbert from – I made this for my dinosaur-lovin’ nephew for his birthday. Knit up two weeks in advance, check. Assembled, check. Double-check on his birthdate…


Sorry DW – this one’s going to be late. Your Aunt C has a mental deficit when it comes to dates.

The end.



File Under: What Was I Thinking? June 9, 2008

Filed under: adventures,crafts,knitting,LG — cocoapurl @ 9:21 pm

Ever get caught up in the moment? Your heart pounds with anticipation, excitement, and a touch of fear, and that inner voice tells you, “Go for it! What have you got to lose?”

I’m old enough that I ought to take this voice as a warning. Otherwise, I end up with this:

What Was I Thinking?

Maybe it was a reaction to the giddiness of the summer’s first pedicure. Maybe it was the acetone fumes. It seemed so cute and summery in the bottle, and yet somehow, on me, it’s like I have caution cones on my feet. The photo doesn’t do it justice. They glow in the dark, or it sure seems that way.

Other than my personal fashion setbacks, I’ve had a fabulous week in knitting news. I FINALLY finished the Central Park Hoodie for Tori:

Central Park Hoodie

Needles: US 7 / 4.5 mm
Yarn: Cascade Ecological Wool
How much? 2.5 skeins = 1195.0 yards (1092.7m)
Colorway = 8063 (“Latte”)

I was pretty darn proud of myself. My first REAL sweater (not counting Green Gables, or the Baby Kimono Sweater, or Dean’s Sweater that Shall not Be Named. Okay, maybe not my FIRST FIRST sweater, but first fully successful sweater), with set-in sleeves (not fun), picked up button band (not fun until I found out the whole 3 out of 4 rule, then it was a snap!), and its not gimoungous. Its a little small for me, but that’s okay, because its for Tori, who is about half my size. I sure hope it fits her, or maybe it could be a cozy, lounge-about sweater. How’s that for rationalization?

A bit part of the CPH’s success was the pattern itself – it was so well-written, even I could follow it. The only modifications I made were to make it a couple of inches longer in both the body and the sleeves, and no buttonholes – I’ll add loops if she wants some, but am just praying she doesn’t want a zipper. I don’t want to push my luck.

Central Park Hoodie

In other knitting/fiber news, I took my first spinning class last Saturday, at Village Yarn and Fiber Shop in East Rochester. I was ridiculously excited to go, so much so that I was EARLY (and I’m NEVER early. Ask anyone). I’ve been thinking about it ever since going to my first Finger Lakes Fiber Festival last fall and seeing all that glorious roving and the resulting handspun. It wasn’t so much that I was interested in the process, in all honestly, as the product – sooo pretty. Not only that, but its an economical way to feed a yarn habit – you can get a pound of gorgeous handpainted roving for 30 bucks. That’s nearly a sweater!

There is a catch, though – I’ve never been one known for my coordination. I can hardly carry on a conversation and drive a car, much less treadle with my feet while my hands are supposed to be doing something different. And if I’m expected to talk and behave like a normal social creature all the while – invitation to disaster.

So it was a mix of excitement and trepidation that I went to my first class, and sure enough, my hands and feet steadfastly refused to listen to instruction (Deb’s or mine) for the first hour or so. The Louet wheel I was using was cooperative enough, but I couldn’t seem to avoid the mega-twisties (for lack of a better description), in which the yarn formed little twists that stuck out like dreadlocks all over the bobbin. So while most everyone else had lovely, delicately twisted yarn with just enough variation to look organic and homey, and I had dread yarn. NOT the goal.

I’ve come to terms with my lack of coordination many many moons ago (somewhere about the time when, despite my best efforts, I couldn’t hit the damn baseball even though it was sitting motionless on top of the T) but this was upsetting, as I started to get the feeling that I could REALLY like spinning. I LIKED feeling the wool in my fingers, treadling barefoot (Deb assured me that it counted as aerobic exercise, and politely ignored my garish toenails) and watching it literally and magically transform into yarn.

Just about the point where I resigned myself to the fact that it was going to take me a LOT longer than my classmates to get it (“Do you have a remedial spinning class?”), Deb told me to adjust my tension a bit (the little doojiggy in front of the orifice).

{Cue Hallelujah chorus}

Suddenly, wonderful, thin, even yarn started coming out of my hands. I can’t describe how cool it was – clearly, I’m easily amused, but it was just so ….COOL. I had a few hiccups whenever I stopped to get more roving, and had to remind myself to breathe, but I DID it. The downside is that when I went to ply, it meant I had to ply my Bob Marley single with my heavenly, even single, but that’s okay. I like to think its organic.

My first handspun!

So I’m now thinking about a wheel of my own. Ahh, but money is always the issue – these things are NOT cheap, unfortunately (how do I always DO this? Why can’t I come up with cheap hobbies?). Since bake sales or a “Buy Christye a Wheel” walk-a-thon are probably out of the question, I started to eyeball the giant kitty litter bucket full of change we have in our closet. I was thinking MAYBE fifty bucks out of it, and that would be a great start, like found money, right? Nick and I took two coffee cans worth to Wegmans this morning (they have one of those Coinstar machines that you just dump it into) and we walked out with $150. Dollars. I guess its a good thing I never tried to guess the M&Ms in the jar or anything, because I’m apparently lousy at it. But free money! Its a sign – the wheel will be mine.

The Louet is okay, but I’ve read that you should try as many wheels as you can before you buy. I’ve been scouting eBay and craigslist too, just in case I can score a bargain.

I’ve also been threatening to have a yard sale for awhile – this seems as worthy a goal to clean out my clutter, and our Scoop Away bucket of change, as any.

Cursed Koigu

My precious Koigu yarn, so pretty and yet so cursed, has finally agreed to be knitted into a sock pattern. One that fits my foot. I must have started and ripped and started again 6 times. First with one pattern – didn’t like it with the yarn. Then with another, and another. Then finally a good pattern (Jaywalker)- but I got all the way to the heel flap before I realized it was TOO SMALL – I couldn’t even get it over my foot. Finally the right pattern/needle combo: There’s a reason why Jaywalker is such a hit. It really shows the colors to their advantage, but is simple enough to warrant not-too-much concentration. Good for watching “Lost” or to distract from “War“.

In Nick news, he finally worked up the courage to go through the sprinkler.

Nick and the Sprinkler

Nick and the Sprinkler

Wet Boy

I miss the elbow dimples, but what a little man he is. A cheeky monkey, too.



Happy Big Three June 5, 2008

Filed under: kid's stuff,LG,rambling — cocoapurl @ 8:23 pm

Dear Nick –

Its that time again – time for me to collate the mental files for the last year and chronicle this, your third year (technically, it was your second – but that whole 21 century thing, while logical, just never sounded right given its not 2100).

Birthday Cupcakes

You’ve officially crossed the line from toddler to preschooler/little boy.

Yesterday, you were decked out in your shorts (with new longer skinny little legs), sunglasses (Crayola, of course), red Converse all-stars, and your new airplane watch. (Nothing transforms a little kid into a bigger kid than a watch). While it is extremely difficult in these sorts of instances to not grab you up and give you about a million kisses on your not-so-chubby neck, all the while telling you how painfully cute and grown up you are, I restrained myself with no small effort Instead, I told you that I loved you, and that I was so proud of what a big boy you have become. You told me you loved me back (I figure I have another year or so until I get the eye roll as it relates to Mommy being sappy) and returned to your “Hey, Pancakes!” book. Did I mention you were sitting on your potty at the time? Sigh.

Your latest thing is to ask me how to spell everything: while I love this from a developmental/learning point of view, it always seems to be at its height before I’ve had coffee. Spelling “refrigerator” is WAY more difficult from this perspective. (Also challenging: garbage disposal, marsupial, and chalkboard, for some dumb reason. It has, however, made me spelling bee-ready. Amorphous? Bring it on.)

Your sense of humor has also seemed to come into its own – you’ve become quite the teller of jokes (except you usually crack up before getting to the punch line). But as I’ve said before, neither I or your Dad have any illusions regarding the sophistication of our own humor – if it falls or flatulates (is that a word?), its funny. And nothing makes your Dad giggle like a schoolgirl than the scene in Austin Powers, International Man of Mystery, of MiniMe beating the cr*p out of Austin. Like I said, you don’t have much to work with.

But back to your favorite jokes, such as the following:

“What is a ghost’s favorite dessert? BOOO-berry pie”!

“How does the ocean say hello? It gives a WAVE!”

At which point you collapse into a riff of what can best be described as Cleatus-inspired laughter. Or Roscoe P. Coltrane, depending on your generation.

Not content to deliver your lines without your own creative twist, however, the original joke is usually then re-delivered with noun in the punchline replaced with “poop”. Or “poopy-head”. Or “tooty-head”. I know not what is this thing that attracts and amuses young boys (and let’s face it – all boys/men) to anything rear end-related. Its like a hard-wired Y-linked funny button. If you don’t believe me, walk into a room full of people, and say “FART!” at the top of your lungs. Then check to see who’s smiling. It’s not the women.

Teenager Flashforward

I do admit at being enormously and completely proud of all that you can DO now, even though you tell me all the time, “Don’t be proud of me!”. (But you dressed yourself! I can’t help grinning like an idiot!) I also know that you’re both sensitive (to the point of mind-reading, see previous sentence) AND stubborn – which are two characteristics I have mixed feelings about having passed on to you. Though the stubbornness can pay off in the form of terrier-like tenacity, and the sensitivity is already making you into a kind and generous little boy. You’re pretty giving with your affections, and are even showing Yogi (your nemesis!) a little love now every so often. You bring BooBoo his ball when you think “he looks sad”. It also, however, confuses the heck out of you when another kid yells at you, or is mean to you. And your little quivering chin breaks my heart, because I know there’s more to come. And that it will be HARD. And that there’s not a thing I can do to help, other than hug you when you need it.

The stubbornness is evidenced by the whole resistance to the potty thing, but I keep telling myself that you will be going on the potty by the time you’re twelve. I hope. All I know is that you’re already in “Goodnights” (the diapers for big kids who wet the bed sometimes) full time, because at 46 lbs and 48 inches tall, you’re a wee bit big for the Pull-ups/diapers anymore (they only go up to 5T). Pretty soon we’ll be using Depends.

You’ve become quite social lately, especially with the ladies. And I do mean ladies. The other day you asked our waitress if she liked your sneakers. And at the grocery store yesterday, you stuck your face nearly between the scanner and the cashier trying to catch her eye with a smile. Your subtle moves crack me up, mostly because you’re willing to share just about any and all information (“I’m three! I have four engines! I need a diaper change! I like boobies!”) except your name. At that point, you become “shy”. Somehow, shyness didn’t prevent you from entertaining the entire produce section at Wegmans with a spontaneous rendition of the I Love Boobies song (a Nick original, apparently). While I’m working on teaching you the meaning of the word appropriate, this lesson is not helped by the fact that I can’t really keep a straight face when trying to lecture you about time and place.

Brain Freeze be darned

Your favorite things at the moment (and have been for some time) are your books. Any books. All books. Library books, kid’s books, even Dog Training for Dummies. (The other day, you had pulled out Setting up an LLC, and were apparently riveted). Your current favorite books, in order of repetition, are Hey, Pancakes!, Harry the Dirty Dog, and Who Stole the Cookie from the Cookie Jar. That’s pretty much how you like to conduct your days – eat, get dirty, eat some more – preferably something sweet. Repeat.

One of my favorite things at the moment is our talks right before bed, after we’ve read at least three books, and you’re in your robot jammies. You’ve already run around and “gotten the junk out”, and are sitting, sometimes quietly, in my lap. Our nightly discussion of late has been what to dream about; last night, it was that you were going to build a rocket ship out of your crib and that giant box that your beanbag came in, you were going to Pluto, and you would make room for me and Daddy, and Tori (and even Yogi and BooBoo, but we would need to make spacesuits for them first). We discussed on how it was a really long trip, so you decided we needed plenty of snacks; a whole box of granola bars, M&M’s, and lots of juice boxes. The ones with the funny faces that they have at the grocery store (that I never let you get).

We’ll be getting you a big boy bed soon (another baby-hood relic you don’t seem too keen to let go) – that, with the giving up of the Paci (thank YOU, Paci Fairy!), sitting on the potty, the fact that you could now have a booster instead of a carseat, that REALLY you don’t need a booster in a restaurant – its all so much so fast. You are transforming so quickly into a little man that I can’t seem to easily let go of the baby that you were. But you remind me every day about how what a unique, brilliant, funny and kind little boy you are (and are growing into). And while I’m more and more nervous as you engage the world outside ours (and I’m less able to control what you see, what you hear, or what you experience), I know your good heart and sharp mind will serve you pretty well.

No caption required

I love you, big boy. Happy Three.



P.S. I’m really sorry about the potty picture. If this is uncovered during a future gubernatorial campaign, you have my permission to declare me insane and tuck me away in some beachside villa where I can subject you to no further public embarrassment. But if anyone asks, you’ll always be my cutie-patootie.


Running Commentary January 28, 2008

Filed under: LG,rambling — cocoapurl @ 1:14 am

LG is getting to the phase in his life where he makes comments. And exclamations. ALL THE TIME. This may sound odd and rather ordinary, but its a big leap from “I’m hungry”, to “Pie for dessert? That’s great!” He’s always had an opinion, but has never been quite as eloquent in his sharing. He is 2 and 3/4, after all. It seems that his vocabulary, awareness, and cheekiness have all come together, like some kind of preschooler perfect storm.

Exhibit A

Scene: Sitting at the table, eating a lovely snack. Some quiet, busy eating. Then, out of nowhere…

LG: The dog isn’t green!

I don’t even know how to reply. What dog? Dogs in general? Our dogs? What dog do you know that’s green? Which dog isn’t green? What the heck are you talking about?

Exhibit B

Scene: Getting ready for, and then eating, dinner. This is, word for word, exactly what comes out of his mouth in 240 seconds.

“This one (sink) is dirty and has some food. You are using one of those soaps! You see bubbles? Is it about ready? Is it hot? BooBoo’s trying to eat my food. He is! He’s trying! He’s not sitting. All the way down, BooBoo. I want a cup of milk, Daddy. Please. Scuse you, Daddy. I put it (milk cup) all the way over there so Yogi and BooBoo don’t eat anything. I put it (milk cup) right there for somebody else can eat it. Is your tummy full (Daddy)? What’re you having (Daddy)? What’re YOU having (Mommy)? I’m licking the sauce. Does Mommy want a piece of (Daddy’s) bread? Is that toast over there? Can I have a bite of your toast? Thank you, Daddy!”

And in the meantime, he somehow found the time to down 6 cherry tomatoes, a entire serving of macaroni and soy cheese, a cup of milk, and some of his Dad’s toast. All while carrying on snappy banter worthy of a White House dinner, or at least, a high school cafeteria. Granted, some of the above was punctuated by single word/syllable responses by me and BG, but we only managed to interrupt for 3 seconds, at best.

Then, as I’m writing this very entry:

“What you doin’ there, Mommy? What’re you doing with the buttons? What’re you doing with the letters? (Noticing old, unmailed Christmas cards) Those snowmans have no hats! They have NO! That’s the baby. These are all kind of things at our backyard. These are all cards. Round round round round ran, ran, ran: blue blue blue blue! (Sung to the tune of London Bridge is Falling Down.) I want Daddy! One car can going up, and jump and juuuuump. Peanut butter! Same for the other! Jump, Jump….and plop. Mommy! I’m holding this up! Can I put this up here so I can drive on top? The car is on top! It’s like a blue baby monster. This is for NO MORE RACE “R” CARS….”

It could be existential genius. I clearly wouldn’t know.


P.S. As a completely personal, self-pitying, off-topic rant, I need to share the following: I MAY BE “SENSITIVE” TO CHOCOLATE. Lately, whenever I eat it, I get the most sickening, throbbing, pounding noggin-ache of my life; at least until I eat chocolate again.

Where did I go wrong? I have no vices. I don’t drink, smoke, poke fun at people (except myself) or watch cable. I’m clean, polite, and obey most traffic laws. I throw the end pieces of the bread off the deck for the wildlife (Sorry, Honey). I even recycle. Oh Universe, why do you smite me? I don’t even eat dairy!

What on earth will I call my blog/alter ego in the face of a chocolate moratorium? I can only be so clever so often, you know.

What about dessert? Is there even such a thing without chocolate? Shall I just suck on a sugar cube?

Stupid Universe. Just for this, I’m NOT building a compost bin. HAH!


Half FULL, Da****t! January 23, 2008

Filed under: kid's stuff,knitting,LG,Uncategorized — cocoapurl @ 3:49 pm

It’s tough to be an optimist. It takes dedication and hard work with a hefty helping of self-delusion. A little ignorance doesn’t hurt either. I can’t remember what movie it was, but I remember this great quote that said, “If you expect the worst, you’re never disappointed. When things go well, its always pleasant surprise.” I think it might have been a John Cusack movie. Scary to say the Eighties were ANYONE’S formative years.

I generally look forward to each New Year’s because of my determination to see the promise in starting anew. While my typical New Year’s Eve consists of watching the ball drop while knitting, I have no problem with this. In fact, I prefer it to a crowded, weird party with a bunch of people I don’t know. Plus, that sort of occasion usually requires panty hose, which is a deal breaker.

Its actually New Year’s Day I look forward to, as I’m ALL about possibilities. The possibility of losing 20 pounds. Or coming up with THE most perfect chocolate cookie recipe (I realize the contradiction here). Or sitting in a clean house, fabulous dinner in the oven, knitting on the couch, watching my husband and son bond over a game of chess or some other equally intellectual pursuit, while my dogs (also clean) sit lovingly at my feet.

Like I said, self-delusion is a requirement.

And so I woke on the first day of the year to the sun shining, which can be rare in these parts, birds chirping (at least one – most are smarter than to be hanging around here), and the day full of promise and renewal. I walked into my lovely son’s room wearing actual pajamas (thanks, Mom) instead of the requisite sweats, letting my husband sleep/relax in a burst of altruism brought on by all this promise. And so it was with good cheer that I opened his door, and said:

“Good Morning, Sweetie! Did you have…. ”


It’s hard to put a spin on that, even for a determined optimist. And so began my 2008. Happy Frickin’ New Year.

I’m not bothered by the fact that LG want’s his Dad – I’ve had my glory days. Heck, I singlehandedly sustained the little critter for the first year of his life, well into the 98th percentile, I might add. Many, many nights, when he cried out in his sleep or had a nightmare, he asked for Mommy. I knew that my days as numero uno were numbered. Its just that I didn’t plan for that sort of animosity until at least, say, 13 years from now.

In other news, I managed to finish almost all my gift knitting, except the biggies – a sweater and a felted bag. I have been granted an extension due to a postponed visit in one case, and out of the goodness of their heart for the other. As it happens, I was 96% done with the sweater when my worst fears were confirmed – I HATED it. I had suspected this all along, but deluded myself into thinking it would all be OK. The yarn is scratchy (it was “rustic”), the pattern annoying (it will be challenging! ) and the size? TOO BIG (Aren’t baggy sweaters in?).

Occasionally, my optimism can border on an alternate reality.

With this realization came another pressing issue – now what? I had pledged (to myself) that I was going to make a sweater for this person for Christmas (no longer “by”, but now “for”), and by gum, that is exactly what I’m going to do.

Stubborness helps immensely when you are determined to see the bright side.

The good news is that my obsession to get this done has resulted in one felted bag, awaiting lining, and 3/4 of one sweater, awaiting a second sleeve. I’m encouraged by the fact that I started the sweater a mere two weeks ago.

I’m gonna be optimistic about it if it kills me.