Boo

I... don’t like scary things.


I don’t like scary movies, I don’t like scary stories, I don’t like scary buildings/houses/corn mazes, and I don’t like scary costumes. Some people enjoy the feeling of being scared, but I am not one of them. I can’t even sit through most fifteen second movie trailers this time of year. I think I’ve probably passed this disinclination for scary things to my daughter, since she can’t even take suspenseful music; she fussed and ran away from the intro to Monty Python and the Holy Grail, she couldn’t enjoy the subtitles since she can’t read yet, so part of her distress probably came from the fact that we were all laughing while the scary music was playing and she couldn’t understand why.


One thing I have never understood is the need certain people have to make sure the front of their house and their lawn is strewn with festive things whenever a holiday approaches. Christmas I understand, the lights are pretty and are not terribly invasive to the eye of the passerby (that is, if they are applied tastefully and not completely over done). And I’ll applaud Fourth of July decorations, since it’s wonderful to display the love you have for your country (again, within reason, giant balloons featuring Lady Liberty and Uncle Sam are a bit much). But I don’t like decorations for Halloween. The reason for this is not just because I’m not a fan of scary things, but because it seems like it’s impossible for anyone who decorates for Halloween to make it tasteful. So instead, they go completely overboard, buying the entire Halloween aisle at the Family Dollar and depositing it on their lawn.


Ghosts made of masks and ripped up fabric just look ridiculous during the day. And it seems like any place you drive by that has one ripped up fabric ghost absolutely must have sixteen ripped up fabric ghosts. Plastic orange jack-o-lanterns are cute, I guess, but not when you have eight million of them. And what exactly is achieved by placing fake grave stones in your yard? There isn’t anyone buried there, and if there is, it was either so long ago that you don’t know about it and therefore deserves more than something you bought at the Dollar Store, or so recently that you probably wouldn’t like to draw anyone (especially the police)’s attention to it. Fake cobwebs?! When you work very hard to keep real cobwebs off of your house, the motivation behind fake ones does not exist for me, because not only do you have to pull them down, you have to put them up in the first place.


Once when I was very young (probably in kindergarten or first grade), I was out Trick or Treating with a friend. It was cold, so even though we were only a few blocks from my house, we were in the car with her mom, dressed as a princess and a bride. She stopped in front of a place with a couple of scarecrows on the front porch, the ones that are usually stuffed with leaves and dressed in old clothes. These had monster masks propped on them for heads, but since we knew they were just scarecrows, we approached boldly, hoping for candy. We trooped up the steps and stood next to them as we knocked on the door. Before anyone answered, though, one of the scarecrows moved, and grunted. We screamed bloody murder all the way back to the car. I can’t remember how Kristy’s mom convinced us to attempt to gain the door again, but it may have had something to do with the empty porch. Someone answered when we knocked a second time, and told us how cute we were as she handed us candy. To this day I can’t remember the woman or what candy she was awarding us with, but I can see vividly in my mind’s eye the guy who loomed around the side of the door and made the same grunting noise that had terrified me minutes earlier. I hope they enjoyed their joke, because I didn’t.


I don’t like scary things. Movies, costumes, decorations... There isn’t much in the list of silly things that people do on and around Halloween that I would say “hooray” to.


Mostly, I’d just say “boo.”

Come for the Grandchildren, Stay for the Clean House

My in-laws are coming to visit! We’re very excited to see them, since we haven’t been able to hang out with them since July. But despite the fact that we don’t live in a sty to begin with and that they wouldn’t really care one way or the other, this means that I will spend my entire week cleaning.


You can’t neglect to clean your house when your in-laws are planning to visit you. A clean house is one of the best ways to show respect to your guests, no matter who they are. You can show that you respect them after they show up by moving the pile of trash off of the chair so they have a place to sit down, but it’s a better idea to have it gone before they arrive.


In the past, I have made a list (in my head, admittedly) of all the tasks I plan to complete before the arrival of my guests. Sometimes it’s hard to see what needs to be done, like looking at that shelf covered in stuff that’s been sitting there for the past three months... So? What about it? It’s fine, right? Oh no wait, it’s covered in random stuff. I should probably find an actual place for that blanket that’s not on top of those magazines. Anyway, I look around to decide what I need to do, and the next step is when I plan to do them in some kind of order. Hang on, I have to roll on the floor laughing for a second.


Okay, I’m back.


So I plan to do these things in order. I think, “okay, first I’ll tackle the laundry, then I’ll get the closet in order, then the dishes...” and what actually happens is that I start on the laundry and then forget that I was doing it because my kids distract me or I look at the kitchen counter and think that I really should scrub it off really well while I’m thinking about it or whatever. So then I go ahead and start on the closet but I remember that I’m not finished with the laundry so I go back to that, and get almost finished when it’s time to make dinner but I haven’t touched the dishes yet, so I drop everything and do them while remembering that while I make dinner I should make sure to wipe off the counter quickly if I accidentally spill anything because I just scrubbed it really well earlier and it would be a shame if it got dirty again so soon. And at the end of the day I have about two actually finished tasks and four or so half finished ones and another that I didn’t even start on.


Today, I’m going to go ahead and make my list. But I’m not going to plan to do them in any order, since they won’t get done that way anyway. I’m going to let myself snowball from one thing to another. Maybe that way I’ll have more tasks done at the end of the day.


The final step of the process is to forget something. I always do, whether it’s cleaning tiny hand prints off of every mirror in the house or forgetting to arrange the couch cushions so they’re all facing the same way. Hopefully this time it won’t be something big.


I should at least get the living room cleaned really well so that when my mother-in-law gets here she’ll have a place to sit that’s not covered in baby toys.

In Dreams

I was writing a blog post about Spanish class. I was going to be late getting it up, but I typed along, thinking that late was better than never. I suddenly remembered that I had completely missed my last update, and even though my schedule is only self-imposed, my heart sank as the light began to filter in though the window near the ceiling. I typed faster. The realization dawned that I had already written about this subject before; how could I forget? I’d have to start on something new. My mom started calling that we needed to leave now or we’d be late for school. I opened my eyes and heard the baby crying. It took me a few minutes to realize that everything but my child making noise had been a dream.


What a terrible nightmare!


I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. I snuggled with the baby when my husband brought her to me.


As I lay there thanking the stars that my blog had been updated and that I didn’t have to rush off to school, I thought about the nights that my two year old wakes up crying, and wondered what kind of monsters she could be dreaming about. In some ways, I’m thankful that I’m not scared of monsters anymore, so that I don’t have to dream about them. But after some nightmares, I’d think I’d like to have them back.


There’s nothing scarier than a rapidly looming deadline.

Time to Crochet! Week 3

Day 9

I was right about zipping along as soon as I’d got going. The dinosaur hat is done (it looks awesome) & so is the piggy hat (so cute)! Maybe I’ll take some pictures sometime.


Ravelry has an awesome way to keep track of the progress of a project, a place to put pictures when you’re finished, even a way to document the yarn that you’re using. I like it quite a bit.


Now I finally get to start on something new!

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Day 10

ZEBRA HAT.


Also, it is super easy to keep track of one’s stitch count when one is using different colored yarn for each row. I didn’t even have to use a stitch marker.

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Day 11

The zebra hat looks adorable. It turns out I can work up a hat in two days if A: the main body of it is put together with a half double crochet, and B: I spend an entire day just on the ears (or whatever extra attachment it requires). The reason this hat’s ears took extra long was because I had to make 2 pieces for each ear, so 4 pieces altogether. For the lamby hat, it was just the hat part and 2 ears, then I stuck the ears on the hat and I was done. For the zebra, I had to make the inner ear (a triangle) out of white yarn, and then the outer ear (a cone) out of black yarn. After that, I had to stitch the inner ear to the outer ear, fold the whole thing in half long-wise, and fasten the bottom together. The finished ear looked way more adorable than I thought it would, and much cuter than anything else I could have come up with that would have involved less work.


I had a bit of day left over after tacking the ears on the zebra hat, so I finally grabbed the rainbow yarn and started on a party hat. When I was halfway through the pattern, I stopped to check my progress. It wasn’t big enough for a Barbie doll at that point. One thing I took away from the two week long fiasco of the piggy hat was that I should follow directions and use the hook that the pattern suggests, but now I’ve decided that rule should only apply to patterns that don’t use a single crochet.
I’m still going to finish it, if nothing else I’ll stick it on my 8 month old, or if it’s too tiny even for her, my two year old can put in on her doll.
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Day 12

Today I learned that once I get on a roll, I can slap together two party hats at once while I play with my children. But that much productivity means that something in my life has to be neglected, so thankfully it was my blog and not something that needed my attention in order to live.


The party hats look cute!

Sugar, Spice, and...

My daughter has more hair than any other two year old in the world. Well, maybe not, but some days it seems like it. Her hair is as long as mine was when I was sixteen, and that doesn’t count the added length for it being ⅔ curls at the bottom. I’ve had people ask if I curl her hair for her, and so far I’ve avoided answering sarcastically, “yes, I make my two year old sit still for twenty minutes so I can hold a hot iron near her head.” Instead, I usually say no and explain that her father has curly hair. I’ve always had a bit of a wave in my hair, so my daughter got the best of both of her parents: it’s not too curly, and it’s not too flat. With her cute nose and rosy cheeks, she looks like she’s come straight from the shelf at a toy store.

I used to joke while I was pregnant with my second child that she had better be born with long raven locks, because of all the heartburn I was having. I couldn’t drink a glass of milk without my esophagus going up in flames. I was rewarded with a beautiful girl with tiny head full of hair. She has twice as much hair now as her sister did when she was this age. If it grows at the same rate, she’ll be a brunette Rapunzel by the time she’s two. Now, though, her hair looks like Matt Smith’s in his first episode as The Doctor, no matter how much I brush it.

My dad is always pushing her hair off of her forehead as he says to me, “when she gets older she’s going to ask you why you never combed her hair.” But I do, it just sticks up adorably in every direction whether or not I try to tame it, so I usually don’t. Although, if I make extra effort with it, you can usually tell that all it’s really trying to do is to curl just like her big sister’s hair, but it’s not yet long enough to get the job done.I realize that not everyone’s daughters have the same amount of hair as mine do, but sometimes I feel that the old rhyme got it completely wrong: “sugar and spice, and everything nice, that’s what little girls are made of,” or at least left out the necessary part about “and hair. Lots of hair.”

First, But Not Annual

It has always annoyed me when any event is referred to as “first annual.” I guess there’s not a concise way to say “this is going to be a really good time and we are definitely planning to do it again next year and it’ll be a good time then too,” but “first annual” just seems a little presumptuous to me. How do you know the event will be such a success? What if no one shows up? What if you’ve failed to plan anything sufficiently entertaining for those that do? What if the things you’ve planned to entertain the people who do show up aren’t actually entertaining at all? “First Annual ‘I’m Totally Not Going to Show Up at This Boring Event Next Year’ Fest.”


Another thing that totally baffles me is people who are completely consumed with hiding their age. I understand that it’s very flattering when someone mistakes your age and thinks you’re much younger than you actually are, and I understand that everyone has days when they feel terribly old, no matter how long they’ve been around. The point of confusion comes in those people who make a big deal out of refusing to admit their age, or answering the question with the incredibly idiotic, “I’m 29, tee hee!”
I think it might be just a female thing. It’s not that I mean to be sexist, it’s that the one man I’m guaranteed to see every day has occasionally had to ask me, “How old are we, again?” He’s not going to be celebrating his 29th birthday again next year. Unless he forgets it’s his 30th.


When I was a kid, I would gaze off into the future, trying to decide when I would be old. The age milestone changed as I (and the people around me) grew, because those I knew who were reaching these “old” ages didn’t seem to be any older to me. I had to grow old enough to acquire the knowledge that one trades youth for experience over the years. And given the chance, my 29 year old self would slap my 19 year old self, so I would say that I would rather have experience and age than inexperience and youth.


I’m sure I’ll feel similarly about my 29 year old self when I’m closer to 40, so why would I want people to think that I’m less experienced just so that they’ll think I’m young?


Today is my 29th birthday. It’s definitely not my “First Annual 29th Birthday.” There’s nothing I can do about getting older, so I might as well enjoy the new experiences and wisdom that comes with it.

Enjoy it Again

All I really want to do today is crochet and watch Downton Abbey.

I’ve written before about how I love a good story, and I do. The best way to know when I think a story 
is good (aside from when I go on about it endlessly), is when I want to experience it over and over again: a wonderful book series like The Dresden Files, an awesome webcomic like Girl Genius, and an intriguing television program like Downton Abbey.


I almost didn’t read The Dresden Files. I heard the word “vampire,” and my disinclination for anything involving that crazy fad kicked into overdrive. Admittedly, the vampires of the Dresdenverse are different from your average vampire. Less sparkle and more monster. I’m glad I did, though. They’re fantasy/detective novels that happen to include vampires in the very large pool of bad guys. The intrigue with finding his family, the friendship between he and Murph, and the puzzles that he solves make Dresden’s exploits well worth reading and enjoying over and over again. I’m not quite sure if I’ve read the 13 novels through five or six times, but I’m sure I’ll read them through again before the next one comes out in the end of November.


I can’t count the number of times I’ve reread Girl Genius. It’s gorgeous, wonderfully written, and keeps its readers continually on the edge of their seats. It began its Monday/Wednesday/Friday update schedule in November of 2002, and my husband has observed that if it continues the way it always has (which we can be sure it will), we won’t be any nearer to a conclusion even when another decade has passed. In a world of airships and mad scientists, Agatha lives a relatively calm life until one day when she is swept up into an adventure just like one embarked on by heroes of the previous generation and romanticized by those of her own generation. We check back three times a week to find out whether she’s any closer to finding out who were parents really were (or are), which of her love interests will triumph, and if indeed she will have to “punch every monster in the snoot.”


Downton Abbey is not like every other British period costume drama you’ve ever seen. I mean, it starts out that way, but if all you watch is the first episode, then you’re not qualified to form an opinion. Of course it does have Brendan Coyle (North and South), Hugh Bonneville (various Agatha Christie dramatizations), and Maggie Smith (Harry Potter), but that doesn’t mean it’s just like every other thing these actors have ever done. It’s a wonderful series about the joys and sorrows of all classes of people during the time when great landed estates were still thriving, and the way things change, not only for the people, but for the estate. The first series is about the joys and fears of those at Downton Abbey, set in a time when the class lines were very distinct; the second series blurs those lines, and we see Downton at war. The third series (the one currently airing in the UK) is set in the age of the rapid decline of estates like Downton Abbey, and the effect that has on everyone associated with it.


I can’t help experiencing these wonderful stories over and over. Even though I’ve seen or read them many times, I always find something new with each retelling. It may seem a little silly to keep repeating them, but the fact that I know what happens in the end (whether it’s the end of the novel or the end of the chapter or the end of the episode) makes it more fun for me to watch how things move toward that end.


Now it’s time to relax with my latest yarny project and my favorite show.