Happy Walking Oct 08

Happy Walking Oct 08, originally uploaded by Kourtney_R.

The most wonderful girl ever.

Can all little children have painted on noses, please? Oct 31

Can all little children have painted on noses, please? Oct 31, originally uploaded by Kourtney_R.

Really, witha little painted nose, she's just so much more cute. And forgivable. Maybe it would work on all children... (pauses, imagining scene in Safeway where I get arrested for painting nose on darned little brat....) Maybe not. Still, for Halloween, awesome.

Princess Leia & the Ewok, out in the hood Oct 31 08

Princess Leia & the Ewok, out in the hood Oct 31 08, originally uploaded by Kourtney_R.

Yes, Happy Halloween. Am was pretty darn happy as an Ewok, & I was secretly ecstatic to finally get to be Princess Leia, the only damn female character in Star Wars, who my cousin Keeley always was when we were playing.* It's no fun being a storm tooper.
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And no, that's not my real hair.
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*She was bigger, & could read, so it makes sense that she got to pick her character first. I just always kind of y'know, wanted to be Princess Leia.

Princess Leia & the Ewok, out in the hood Oct 31 08

Princess Leia & the Ewok, out in the hood Oct 31 08, originally uploaded by Kourtney_R.

Yes, Happy Halloween. Am was pretty darn happy as an Ewok, & I was secretly ecstatic to finally get to be Princess Leia, the only damn female character in Star Wars, who my cousin Keeley always was when we were playing.* It's no fun being a storm tooper.
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And no, that's not my real hair.
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*She was bigger, & could read, so it makes sense that she got to pick her character first. I just always kind of y'know, wanted to be Princess Leia.

Thank you, my sense of irony is well-developed.

Yes, I know. The best laid plans of mice & Kourtneys gang aft agley. So no, no frequent posts for November, you noticed? You may also notice that whatever's wrong with my keyboard is not improving. I edit, & eit, becaus otherwise a properly spelled sentnce ens up lookin like this, I swear, I am typing just the same as on any other keyboard. It's just this one. So leters that are wrong are myfault, & letters that are missing are the keyboard, okay?
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So, it's been a busy November, wth a cuple super great highlghts, & some bummer things too. Also, there is less light in the days, & as the man remindd me, that gets me down. THank goodness e's here, I wouldn't have figured out the SADD on my own until January. Seriosly.
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All right. I give up. Now for some photo posts of Halloween, which was super cool, and then later, will tell youall about just how cool Yarn Camp was. (AKA: Knitting camo, aka: Make 1's Fall Fiber Arts Retreat)

Oh NoBloPoMo!

It's actually NaBloPoMo, as in "National Blog Posting Month", where a bunch of bloggers commit to blogging every day. Every year, I think of it too late, but this year, since I realized it on the 2nd, I'm jumping in the NaBloPoMo pool. Should be nice & warm, might be a little trite (at least on my behalf)... but! A good way to get focused & stuff & stuff, or so I'm going to treat it. And I might not formally join the NaBloPoMo group, because then I have another thing to remember (userid, password, etc etc), and I Am Completely Unimpressed With Trying To Keep Track Of Various UserID And PassWord CRAP. More about that later.

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For now, you're going to have to wait for the H'ween pictures promised, because my computer has frustrated me Yet Again, And I Am Going To Teach It To Fly if ths keeps up. So I think, for now, that I'm going to logg off, and try again tomorrow.

I don't get it.

I stopped by the office today, Amoryn (in costume) in tow, to do a couple quick things that are due for next week, but I can't do remotely. I thought I'd also show off my girl, some, because that's always fun too. Say what you want about seperate work & private life; Amoryn is a huge part of my world, and work is a good chunk of it, so it only makes sense that they overlap. And I think it's good to establish a certain level of person-ness at the office, as in "I'm not just an office drone". I don't blog about my work, because hello, good way to get fired, but. Today isgoing to spill out of the "work" box in my head, into everything else, so hi, blog.

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Today there was some really bad news. My old manager - who had been promoted less than a month ago, had positive family things going on, and seemed cheery and upbeat all the time. He killed himself last night. I already missed working with/for him - he was a great boss. And now he's gone, gone. Not just on another project, or at another office. It's so hard to understand how he can possibly be dead, and how he could have felt so low. I guess suicide is always an irrational act. The last death of a coworker (a couple years ago, in a car accident), was jarring, beacuse he was a young man, but this? This was intentional. I just don't get it.

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I'm going to go & dye some yarn, and continue to mull how confusing life can be. At this point, I don't really feel like handing out candy, or dressing Am up again in her _____ costume (took it off to nap). Maybe I'll compromise, set the candy by the garage with a note that says: "Honor System: Have Two", and take Am around to the people we know in the neighborhood.

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There'll be a pic of her in her ______ costume in a little while. Trust me, totally worth the wait.

Once Upon A Time, In A Kitchen Far, Far Away

My living room and kitchen are completely covered in short, fine, grey hairs. So is Amoryn; so am I. I've vacuumed & dusted & vacuumed again. I'm sneezing & have debated lint rollering my face.
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And yet, I feel grand about this. Why? Well, for once, I got to make the mess. And all in the name of a good cause.
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Stay tuned... all I'm going to say is that Hallowe'en is just around the corner....

A-ha!

I'm back! I bet you didn't even really realize I was gone, right? Well, this is partially because I didn't really go anywhere, in the geophysical sense of the word. However, my Yahoo email was being awful about my password, so I had to reset it, and I wrote that down, but then I couldn't find the paper.
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True, Yahoo has nothing to do with this blog's log-in, which uses my Google account. I think. However, I find that by changing one password, it's like my brain is temporarily reset and I can't remember any passwords. Maybe a design flaw, maybe a sign of the raging inability to focus I am suffering from as late. Waterbug brain, skittering from here to there. Zip! Zip! Zip! All valid lacations, but no continuity, no sense of order! Zip!
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I was just trying to think of some examples for you, & got sidetracked by realizing that I've neither folded my laundry, nor unloaded the dishwasher. These are both things that Am LOVES to help with, but sometimes, I selfishly unload the dishwasher by myself, after she's gone to bed. Ditto folding clothes.
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I honestly am trying to be more focused, more coherent; it'd be nice to be more efficient too. No, I don't want to be a mindless automaton (although: fun Halloween costume!). I just want to feel a little more on top of things. I'm not sure if it's the dregs of the summer's depression (depression usually hits first as inertia... difficult to overcome), the idyllic autumn (which tempts me into lollygagging outdoors - I mean, a 20C day in mid October? Come on!), Amoryn's blessed molars (which wake her up, and wake me up)...
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At any rate, I'm not condemning myself at all; all three above conditions are valid conditions (especially the gorgeous fall days - wowza!), so I'm not beating on myself. But I'm trying to get gathered, and man! Deciding what to accomplish during Am's nap almost does me in. And I really don't feel like I have enough time to let go of multi-tasking - even as we speak, I'm googling an Xmas idea - although maybe I should take a brief hiatus on multi-tasking, just to get refocused a little.
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I just sent an email.
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I think perhaps it's the sleep interuptions getting my order in my brain all scrambly. I make lists, then put them in my pockets, then spend ten minutes looking through my pockets for the list, decide I must have left it at home, get home, & discover the list in my pocket. Really. It feels like jet lag.
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I just sent an email about the Xmas idea I was just Googling.
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And I think it's time to go to bed, instead of continuing to blog abut my theories about how sleep deprivation is my enemy.

Gack. Ook. Gyuuuh.

I was at the fabric store yesterday to pick out buttons for Am's new sweater. Yes! It's done, it's adorable, it's too big for her in a good way, & I am inordinately pleased with it. As well, it took less than a month, which is a record for me & sweaters. (All of you speed knitters out there - no, I am not that slow... but I work part time and have a toddler. And I like to sleep. And it's been summer, so I've been dragging myself outside and stuff.)
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Anyways, despite slim button-pickin's, we persevered & found enough buttons. As it was Get Your Home-Ec Supply List day, there was quite a crush of teenagers & their mothers at the till. (I've never seen a father take a kid for Home-Ec Class stuff. I've seen boys taking the class, but no dads along for the ride.) So I found a pattern for a sleeper for Am, then finally got in line.
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And as the line wended towards the till, we went past a pile of interesting looking knits. Fascinating, really. Quite interesting. Missoni, actually, when I checked the info, and on sale. Hmmm. I thought "I'll go home, see if there are any patterns online that tickle my fancy, & maybe go back."
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Can you see where this is going yet?
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(Let me give you a hint: the horror, the horror... )
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I think I've addressed the "What On Earth Were They Thinking?" before, but in a european (ie: Burda) manner. These are all North American. And unfortunate. I was even playing fair & not looking in the Bridal section. (Typically, home of the heinous & horrible.)

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Although I can totally see the unfortunate red number in a wedding party.

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I'm not sure how cold I'd have to be to put on that blue jacket.

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And I'm pretty sure that you couldn't get me into that pantsuit jumper thing, no matter what. I'd rather be naked. I'd look better & be more comfortable.

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Why? Why encourage the pet-dressers? Why? PETA, is this not animal abuse? Pam Anderson, where are you?

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This is perhaps forgivable, as a sports-fan paraphenalia, until you realize that one of those is a two person poncho. A poncho for Siamese twins, perhaps.

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All right, this is charming, & the only reason why I'm not going to renounce McCalls forever.

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I'm going back to my sewing machine now, to mull the awful awful options ou there in the world.

Well. The Eagles Have It.

Yes, we're back from Napa Valley, hale & hearty. And over fed. And wined right up. And I'm trying not to be overmedicated, but the world, it hurts, without my DayQuil. I either found my very own headcold in Napa, or I caught the one that Mom & Am had/is almost done with. Either way, I am sick.

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California was sick too, but in that groovy cool way. And I didn't hear anyone say groovy or sick, or even cool. There was one use of the word gnarly, but it was (properly) in reference to a stand of trees. I think I need to maybe rethink my conception of California. Dude.

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I just reread this post, & I sound spoiled & vacuous & addled. I can live with two of the three being true. It's really nice being spoiled. And the addled, well. I think there's some kind of ratio between how much crap my sinuses are producing & how addled I am. Vacuous is just a temporary sub-set. Oh well, read on, my dears.

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Wait, do I sound confused? It's just the meds wearing off. Let me start over.

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Napa was incredibly, stunningly gorgeous. We didn't see a cloud until the day we were leaving, and it was hot. Hot. 103, 107, 110. And hot. And sunny. Lovely to sit outside - very still - and taste wines. One of the couples on our trip got engaged -hurray for them! - and so, well, it got drunker than the typical wine tasting, where you taste & swish, then dump the rest, but whatevs. The help of a disco nap had me in good shape (mostly) for supper, which featured the Most Amazing Tomato Soup Ever, a great sole, & an adorable lemon dessert. (Imagine a little snowman, made from Meyer lemon sorbet, nestled in a lemon peel, with a little lemon peel hat. Adorable. I feel fine eating things with faces though, so I ate it. Partially. I was pretty damn full by then.)

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The weekend was larely about consumption - sometimes consumption veiled as "experience", but mostly consumption. And it was grand to just wallow in the selfishness of it all, and have two disco naps a day, & then rest afterwards. There was another incredible meal, and a third amazing amazing phenomenal* meal, and some other really good and cool stuff, then there was Target, & Jack In The Box, & Ross Dress for Less, & Trader Joe's. There was the pool by our room, there was the gorgeous night air, there was the incredible fruit selection at the buffet breakfast. There was also the lame duck minivan rental, & the overrated taxi, but the rest? Pure gold.

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It was a very, very great weekend. And unlike almost every other great vacation I've take or had, I didn't take hardly a photo. One of the gals did; she'll copy a cd for us. When that happens, I'll post some. But rest assured, we were fabulous. There must have been paparazzi snapping pics of us, or something.

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I'm back to doing my thing here, I'll try not to wear my dark galsses too much. Particularily because it's overcast as hell.

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*Did you know there is a pork equivalent of Kobe beef? It is f-i-n-e, fine. That meal is going to get a post of its own, I promise.**

**I know, footnotes are usually smaller, but that porkloin, I've never tasted better. Wowza. Yum. Crazy.

Are you excited yet?

Because I sure am. Even as we speak, I should be packing my bags to go to Napa for 5 - count 'em - five days. With my husband. And two other adult couples.

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And no baby...er, toddler. I'm excited about the prospect of Time To Myself, with no need to worry About What Little Hands Are Getting Into, but I'm super going to miss my girl. If this is like my other stints away from her (1 day, 1 night; three days, two nights), I expect that I will thoroughly enjoy my time away, then fall ravenously onto her little pudgy self & eat her up once I'm home.

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The question is - do I wake her up that evening? Because I work Tuesday morning, you know, so I don't see her in the morning... or do I wait until I get home on Tuesday afternoon?????

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Only time will tell...

Conversations of late.

I knit publicly. I try to always have a little project* socked** away in my bag, so that if I unexpectedly happen into a block of unused time, I can fill it up by knitting, instead of fidgeting restlessly, reading anything in view, and fidgeting some more. This has proved to be a handy habit - one day, I was in a car accident - a minor fender bump, not my fault - but I still got to spend about an hour & a half, sitting in my car, watching the rain. And knitting! The police office who arrived to take my statement was very impressed with my industriousness. And prehaps my sanguine attitude - I really was quite content. I could've maybe had a purring cat & a cup of tea to complete the scene.

I also knit on the train. I've had a couple conversations with people who were knitters themselves (albeit private, closet knitters), and were commenting on either my technique or my projects. (I switched from knitting the way that pretty much everybody else here does - English style, with your yarn in your right - to Continental style, where the yarn acts like it's going to be crocheted, & curls lovingly about the fingers of your left hand. I look forward to someday holidaying in some far off & exotic locale, where all the knitters knit that way, to see how they do it. I taught myself, & I just recently realized that I was purling odd, so now I'm, alittle curous to see some working lace Continentally.)

(Should I warn you that today's post is about knitting? No? You've already guessed? Okay.)

I switched knitting styles to avoid getting carpal tunnel syndrome, because it's more efficient, & because the English style originated because when knitting moved up from the crofter's cottage to the lady's manor, it was considered that the motion of the hands wasn't very ladylike. So they changed it. To save my knuckles the wear & tear and to express my offence to 'them', I no longer knit that way.

S knits when she's a work, & she was telling me that people are always astonished, because "nobody does that anymore". I'd never had that response, although I had noticed that knitters are apparently regarded as exotic & possibly dangerous creatures, judging by the Transit Seat-Share Index***.

So when I was taking the train from the zoo to the spa, I was quite surprised to hear a man's voice over my shoulder: "Excuse me - are you knitting? You're knitting! I didn't think that people did that over here!" Turns out he's from Goa, INdia, & his grandmother knit jumpers up for them all the time. We had a brief discusssion about how knitting here is different, it's more of a luxury craft than a survival**** mechanism, and then I had to cut the conversation short as my top arrived. That's okay though, because he was shifitng the conversation from knitting to the fact that he met a Mexican (in Mexico), who knew where Goa was because of its 'like crazy weed, man'. In my experience with transit tales, a segue to drug stories inevitably ends in a cheezy pickup attempt. So do hat complimetns, actually.

At any rate, I'm off to put on my threatening cap, & continue to harrass people x about situation y, as per my mandte. (Don't worry, it's an office thing.)

*-Something small, that uses one color, that can have it's stitches dropped & pickedup again easily.

**-Not usually a sock, though.

***- You know - you get on a bus/train, and who do you want to sit next to? Nervous Asian women reading books are preferrable, because they're quiet & small. Big fat people eating potato chips are to be avoided, because they take up space & have greasy crumbs. (I know it sounds rude, but it's true. Sorry.) Goths usually are pretty cool. Avoid teenagers wth cell-phones, because like, Emily, seriously, Aaron was so into you at the mall, but you know, really...

**** - As much as I love knitting, & I think I would go bonkers if I didn' have it in my life, if I dropped my needles, my family wou;dn't go hungry or cold. ALthough there would be less yarn to help insulate the basement... really, it's my duty, I must struggle onwards! For the good of my family, I'm doing it.

"And you know you've seen it all..."

Some days have automatic soundtracks. You wake up, and there’s a song in your head, & it just fits the day.
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So what kind of day am I headed for if I’ve got the Dead Kennedy’s “Holiday In Cambodia” in my head?
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Time will tell… but it could be rough on the engineers that are wrapped up in their own little worlds….
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Turns out, it led to a happy & productive morning, followed by a slump in the afternoon. Fits with punk, I guess - all strong agression, not much lasting power. I guess it's hard to sustain that level of energy. And yes, it's true, old punk has lasting appeal; but what about the new stuff? Blech.
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Also, I changed listening gears forcibly as I spent 55 minutes trying to get across the rush hour traffic into the zoo to pick up my zoo-camper. Agh. I think I would have started clubbing people with my Club if I hadn't changed tunes.
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Now, to go & wake the baby, then zoom to the chiro, then back to the zoo! Oh boy! Wish me luck with traffic!

The Perils Of Home Offices

My desk is small and I keep grabbing my mouse and instead of my mouse, I stick my fingers in my salsa con queso.

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Ah well. It could happen in the office too... although there, I'm into seven layer dip more than salsa.

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And at least it's less hazardous than tea. Because who hasn't dumped a cup of tea into their keyborad at one time or another?

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Oh. Well, if you're going to be all judge-y, then I'm headed back to work.*

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*Of the less creative office variety.

Old, Old, Old.

The man got to bed the other night & told me I was old. I blinked, a little taken aback.
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"We're both old. We Are Old. Z was watching the movie, and Right Before They Blew Up The Deathstar, she was like 'I'm bored & I'm going to go and read.'. And she left! Right Before They Blew Up The Deathstar! We're old."
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He seemed kind of shocked by it all. I've been letting my inner granny out to play with all sorts of things since I was, oh, 5 or six? (Liquid embroider anyone? Wheat weaving? Never mind the knitting & the sewing.) So I'm a bit split personality age-wise, in that yes, I quilt, & I knit, & I do All Sorts of Old-Fashioned Square* Things. I guess my inner granny & I, we sit & spin in the rocking chair, & we're content with being old. And then I stack blocks with my toddler, and I'm happy being young. And** then Z walks by, & I revel in being square. I prefer to think of it as flexibility, not confusion.
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Z is currently out with Auntie S, they're hiking. Than man has gone to the gym, & Am is sleeping the sleep of the small & exhausted. I'm puttering in the basement, not really accomplishing much, because really, I've already cut quite a swathe through my UFOs***, and not every moment of my time needs to be spent in frantic action. I think the frenzied push to Get Things Done has a little bit to do with grieving for Hugh, actually, and I need to take a deep breath, realize that yes, time may be short, but by cramming every second with action & obligations, life isn't that enjoyable.
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I'm debating starting a new project or two. I think I'll polish off some more UFOs first though, but I'm mulling, variously, knitted socks, using the two-at-a-time, two needle method, dye projects, lace-weight cardigans, striped sweaters & vests... Not to mention taking up painting, in the smaller art-work sense, as opposed to the larger, room-reno sense, which I am already quite proficient at, thank-you. Oh, and, um. Yes. There's never a lack of things to pick up & poke away at.
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Anyways. I'm off to go & wheedle two BBQ covers out of the enormous pile of green MWCN****, wish me luck.
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*Square, as in the out-of-date slang term, not as in the orthogonal shape. Although some of my projects are square, it's true.
**And I know I'm not supposed to start sentences, with "And", but I I can't help it. I like it. And I'm gonna.
***UFOs - Un Finished Objects
****MWCN - Medium Weight Coated Nylon - old fabric store speak.

Great Googelly Moogelly

Things that Z said last night whilst we were letting the Phantom Menace: Star Wars Episode I wander across the tv screen. Arranged in both chronological order & scale of astonishment....

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"I've never seen that movie."

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"No, none of them."

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"So the Jedis are the good guys?"

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Wow. I have been remiss, brother A___, you have been remiss, we have all been remiss. How can a child grow to be ten years old and reamin unaware of whether the Jedis are good guys or not?

Ooooooo!

So, I've been back from SK for most of a week. I think. I was there & back & there again, so it's hard top tell. It's also hard to tell because yesterday felt like it was 14 years long.

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Why? Well, my poppet*, because of something that I plan on entering into my vocaublary of curse word: MOLARS. Am was pushing one molar for sure, maybe more, and she woke at midnite & every 15-20 minutes thereafter, screaming in agony, vibrating, & generally being understandably upset.

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I kept her company. In the literal, hugging, rocking, soothing, s'shing manner, of course, not the figurative, let-me-join-you spiritual way that involves me also pitching a fit, because solidarity rules.

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Although about 4:23am or so, I was tempted. Luckily, I was distracted by the fact that in 7 more minutes, Am could have another does of Tylenol, sweet sweet** Tylenol.

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Of course, there was hardly even a dreg left in the bottle, much to my horror. Luckily, the 1/2 dreg was just enough to allow the poor girl a rerieve from her molars, & she finally fell into a light sleep. Poor thing.

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I was quite shocked that the bottle was empty, as it's quite new, & didn't even have that nice sticky patina that baby Tylenol bottles seem to acquire. Then I was chatting with a coworker, and she commented that yes, they're such ridiculous little bottles. I looked at it when I got home - and yes! They are! Ridiculous little bottles. 24 mL. And when Am's dose is 2 mL, every 4 hours, well. The sticky bottle runneth empty, indeed.

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Speaking of other ridiculous things... (random, too. Did I mention that? Do I need to mention that?)...

1) I finally had the lightbulb I've been waiting for vis-a-vis C's babe S's crib skirt. Here's a hint: BROCCOLI! (Pictures will follow.)

2) The number one sign that your niece is not a budding fashionista: Vogue is pronounced vog-you. As in "Hey Aunt Kourtney, that vog-you magazine upstaris... (And no, I'm not mocking her. THat's a reasonable way to pronounce the word, esp. since it's all in caps on the magazine cover. I just can't remember ever not knowing that it's Vogue. In fact, trying to think up how to phonetically spell Vogue is making my brian short out a little bit. So we'll move on.)

3) I think we should enter the Internet Village Fete. http://belgianwaffling.blogspot.com/2008/08/village-fte-rules.html I found it because of Antonia at Whoopee. And I'll put a link in later, if you don't want to go & look at the sideabr, because the wee*** one is awake. After she slept**** all night! What a sweet girl.

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Later skaters!
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*Poppet. A real word, contrary to Z's initial belief.

**Sweet Tylenol - figurative use of the word "sweet". Have you tasted that crap? Bleh.

***Comparitive. A is smaller than Z.

****I think. Either the man didn't turn the monitor on last night when he plugged it in (unlikely), or I turned it off in my sleep. More likely, but I'm trying to comfort myself because a) I would have heard Am anyways, if she's been crying, it just would have been once she hit "I"M FREAKING THE F%&** OUT HERE PEOPLE" instead of "Waah" & b) she was crashed in pretty much the same position as when I put her down last night. Tired girl.

Irrational

Everyone has something they hate for no good reason. I think it's the rare (or decietful) person who admits only one.

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I have a couple. One is mating socks. I loathe mating socks. I once numbered each pair of my white sweat socks in permanent marker just to make mating them easier. I don't know why the sock-mating rankles so, but it does. I found it wasn't so bad if the socks were obviously meant to be paired, so I have a lot of interesting socks. Taupe with big butterflies. Acid green, orange, & purple knee socks. Etc, etc. The man does his own laundry (I know!), mates his own socks (totally!), & irons his own clothing (no wonder I proposed, eh?). I haven't trained Amoryn to do her laundry yet, but I almost enjoy mating Am's socks, because really, how can you hate a sock that is meant to cover a foot that is three inches long? The cuteness is irresistible.

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Lovely bobbin photo borrowed from http://crackersandhoney.com/category/sewing/

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Another thing that I loathe unabashedly is winding bobbins for the sewing machine. I hates it. I have always hated it. It seems like such a waste of time. I know that's irrational, because, well, you can't sew without a bobbin thread, thus winding them is integral to the whole process, but still. I'd rather re-thread the serger (with five cones of thread!) than wind a bobbin.

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These days, it's even worse that usual. The bobbin winder dealy* on my sewing machine is starting to strip out a little. It's not really a surprise, given that my beloved sewing machine is actually a Singer circa 1956. It does aggravate my hatred of bobbin winding though.

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And bobbles. Bobbles in knitting are a very bad thing as far as I'm concerned. End of story. I cannot envision a project where I would willingly knit a bobble. All right, maybe as a nose for a little stuffed toy, maybe. Maybe. But other than that? Nooo.

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I wonder if there's some kind of connection between them all - bobbles, bobbins, bobbysocks? Nah, not likely. Or I'd hate bobby pins.

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All right. There's no real conclusion to this, I'm just done ranting about socks & bobbins & bobbles, the end. Go & enjoy a nice sunny day.

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*Technical term.

Ah, sweet.

Two of the bestest things in my life. I'm not counting the beer.
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Yesterday was the five year anniversary of meeting the man. I remember calling Sar to confess that I was meeting an Internet Stranger, & that she was to call the cops if Anything Strange Happened. I think it's too late to call them, now. Ha ha ha.
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It does seem a little strange*, being married, and having a daughter, & being happy. I think it's the consistent happiness - maybe joyful contentment is a better word? - anyways, the goodness is what seems a little strange*. When I look at back at how life was before**, I remember an overwhelming feeling of struggling. Part of it was getting my feet under me for a work & financial standpoint, part of it was the incredibly awful men*** I dated, and I think part of it was just looking for my niche, searching for a way to fit into the life I wanted. Deciding what kind of life I wanted.
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I never really could figure out what kind of a vision I had for my overall life - but I realized that I wanted a partner, someone who would love me, & that I could be proud of, & laugh with. Someone that my friends & parents liked, that liked them too. I wanted someone kind & gentle & brave. Maybe it's be nice if they were taller than me & devastating manly, but whatevs, I was flexible on that.
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So it's still surreal that the Internet Godfairy delivered up to me the man! Amply qualified in the above conditions, plus many other features (likes to cook, gardens, adores me, etc.). We went back to Kensington, where we first met, this time with child in tow. We had a lovely supper. We had a nice toddle down the street. All the bums (well, both the bums) said sweet things about our staggering girl. Then we came home & I put Am down & the man hilled the potatoes & blow-torched the weeds****, & I spun some yarn, sitting in my rocker, watching TLC, and I just felt great about life.

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It does look like Am is thinking about it, though.

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In the continuing feeling great about life bit, the babysitter called this morning on her way over. "We're just at Second Cup, do you want anything?" Yes. And I adore you & your stepmom who drops you off on her way. Totally fantastico!
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Oh. Wait. The whole reason I have a babysitter this morning is so that I can get some Eng Office stuff done. Right. Um. I gotta go.
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*-In a nice way - like an awesome new pair of shoes you know you're going to love & they're not going to give you blisters, but your feet still don't know them yet. That kind of strange. Not ...strange... (see *** below)
**-I would abbreviate Before the Man as BM, but, well. Some of you work in health care & I KNOW what a BM is.
***-Okay, maybe some weren't truly wretched, but still. A couple were truly outstanding. And now, three whole exboyfriends all live in Small Town X! All my exes live in Small Town X... Luckily, none of them really like yarn or ice cream or know the T_______'s, which are the only reasons I go to Small Town X. And no, only one of them was there while I was dating them. They just moved there. Makes me wonder if there's some kind of weird gravitational force there.
****-Really. That's another whole post though. It'll need photos.