*My baby has been sick for several days, and it was starting to get the better of me. I don't know what to do with that boy when he doesn't give me a smile all day long, and no amount of holding him will stop the crying. This morning though, we struck gold with a nap that whiled the day away and after that he started to resemble his old self. Thank goodness for recovery; from addiction and cancer and all that kind of thing of course but mostly today just from the sick baby blues.
*If I didn't know better, I might have been living anywhere today, my interactions with the world were so limited. It would have had to be somewhere highly pollutable, so not Bora Bora or Montana or anything like that, because the heavy grey sky is a hard reality to get away from. There is this massive surge of pollution particle awareness going on in the social networks that is either incredibly helpful (for those that can either move away from their polluted situation, or take serious political action against their governments, or are do it yourself scientists that can devise their own facemasks) or just plain depressing. I don't want to bury my head in the sand (but it's being buried in particles anyway, so do I even have a choice?) but I don't fall into any of the three categories listed above so what do I do? I'm seriously asking. So if you have any suggestions for how to safely survive ridiculously out of control, hazardous levels of pollution please let me know. Also, world peace while you're at it. And how to raise perfect children.
*Before bed, Scout the Intrepid was moaning about a large bruise on her leg. A brother piped up from the top bunk that he had bruises before. Three of them. All in the same spot. His knee. Only three, I asked? Of course. Three, all on the knee. And he remembered when they happened too. One in Qingdao, one in America, and the other he forgot. How could he forget, I wondered? Clearly, bruises make their mark and any six year old worth his stuff knows when and where and how they happened. It's cake. Three bruises, all on the knee.
*I have a knitting situation. The first part is: I haven't been knitting in awhile. Somehow the past year got the better of me and I went into a knitting slump. So there is this red sweater that I started 364 days ago and it still needs sleeves. Josey keeps asking me about it. She's sort of like a Knitting Holy Spirit, just like I used to feel like a Knitting Evangelist. I'm not sure if that's bordering on sacrilege but I hope it's not because it describes the situation pretty well. Anyway, the slump happened, I want to come out of it, the Knitting Spirit is there prodding me, and so I'm trying to respond. It sort of worked this past week. I am enjoying it again and have nearly finished a sleeve.
The second part of the situation is: the 364 day sweater may end up a few inches shy on one sleeve. I'm running out of yarn. How dumb is that? There is probably a rule about this in every knitting book ever written. I don't want to think about it. I just keep knitting, hoping more yarn will materialize like the oil in that one woman's jars.
*I have decided that I'm pretty much 100 percent sure I don't deserve my husband.