Fuzzy Love

My Mom

 

 

 

 

Karen Louise Brown Weir
June 24, 1946 - February 26, 2007

Olivia's a Big Girl Now

Relatively, anyway. Olivia had her fifteen-month check-up yesterday and thankfully all is well. She seems tall for her age (32 inches), seems slim for her height (22 pounds), and is meeting all the regular milestones: attempts to use combs, toothbrushes, spoons, and the like; hugs her dolls; uses a few words and signs. (There are more, of course, but I've forgotten them already).

I say "seems" because she was a complete disaster at the doctor's office. I wouldn't think that she'd remember a nurse she saw once for approximately five minutes three months ago, but the second that poor sweet woman (well, I guess she's not really that sweet) entered the examination room Olivia screamed bloody murder. I guess those immunization needles are memorable, even in the very small.

So Olivia fought tooth and nail through the weighing and measuring part, rendering all results suspect at best. Case in point: her head size has apparently shrunk by three quarters of an inch since her first birthday.

Then she was perfectly nice to the doctor. Maybe she's a sucker for the little plastic cups and wooden tongue depressors he hands out. Or, oh yeah, that he's never hurt her.

Liam, by the way, watched all this and then announced to Mark last night that, "Owidia was naughty at de doctor's and so dey shot her."

Anyway, Olivia at fifteen months will climb practically anywhere to get her hands on the telephone, which she then hits me with, saying, "Dada!" The beatings will continue until I agree to call him ("Hold please for Olivia"). She then carries on extended conversations with him using only one word - gah - but many different inflections.

Olivia will answer yes and no questions with very vigorous nods and shakes of the head. Such action sometimes knocks her off balance, so she plants her feet firmly and a bit apart, puts her arms out for balance, and leans forward just a bit. Then she nods or shakes away with all the enthusiasm she can muster without falling over.

When extremely excited, Olivia tucks her elbows into her waist, brings up her hands near her shoulders, and flaps those hands like she's trying to take off.

Olivia is not particularly patient. I realize patience is in short supply in any toddler, but I do think Olivia falls below average in this area. If she wants something and we do not MOVE to get it, well, she does a lot of whacking to get her point across, not only with the phone, but with her milk cup and books (must work on this). She will also pull on our clothing. Hard.

Olivia is the cuddliest little girl. Thank god, too, since I had been told many times that girls just won't cuddle and I'm happy to say that Olivia blows that unfortunate stereotype right out of the water. She snuggles in for book-reading. She backs up and plops (beep beep beep) on any lap she can find. And, for no reason at all, she'll lean in, wrap her arms around us, and say, "Awwwwww."

Progress

Well, it isn't much of a picture, but the back of Fern is finished.

Miles of navy reverse stocking stitch are not very exciting, I know, but a pretty mindless knit is manageable right now. The fronts are up next and the little ruffly bits should provide some, you know, interest.

So, for a little variety, I started these fingerless knits last  night. Talk about mindless and they only took about four hours do to. There are more details in the photo album. And please ignore my awful nails.

And then I cast on for these cute Cable Socks from the Sarah Dallas Knitting book. I have all sorts of odds and ends of Rowan Wool Cotton to use up, and these are just such happy socks, that I had to do it.

One Happy Hen

Thank you guys for all the nice comments and emails and calls (and that Frappachino especially helped <grin>). As you know, with little kids there is little time to sit still and dwell too much, which helps, I guess. So we are hanging in there.

Anyway, Olivia's Happy Hen sweater is finished and man, it feels good to be done with all that color work (and all those ends). I am pleased with this sweater. Olivia seems to like it too. Since I made the 2-3 year size, I thought it would be a smidge bit bigger, but there's still some room to grow and she should be able to wear it all spring (with fingers crossed for fall).

Not the most smooth intarsia ever, but I'm fine with it (picture taken in bright light and heavy shadow to distract you). But, this sweater is supposed to have a patch pocket opposite the happy hen. I haven't done it yet, since I really like the sweater as it is and I don't think I have enough of the green to make it happen anyway. (Note: if you ever make the middle size of this sweater, three balls of the green will NOT do - I made the smallest size). I'll probably try, since pockets are just plain fun when you're little. But at least she can wear the sweater now and I'm technically calling it done.

So yesterday we indulged in a little bit of retail therapy. Olivia got new shoes, Liam got a baseball cap ("Dis issa cool hat, Mommy."), and I got this:

Well, I had the purple (#79) Cash Iroha already (it's almost been two or three things), but I got the Silk Garden (#224) to go with it and make a Poppy from Yarn Play. I love these colors, even though I never knit with (or even wear) purple. I'm excited to start, but I am forcing myself to finish up a couple of other things I've got going first.

Mom

My mom isn't doing very well. She started having seizures on Friday and was admitted to the hospital on Saturday. There she spends most of her time sleeping, since both seizures and the medication to prevent them are sleep-inducing. For those people that read this blog that don't know what's going on, she has brain cancer: right frontal glioblastoma multiforme if you want to get specific, and her unbelievable fight seems to be coming to an end. You can never tell with my mother though; she was told in 2003 that she had maybe a year. But I've learned that: a) there are very many things that doctors don't know, and b) my mom is pretty tough.

But I'm not getting on a plane right now. For one thing, I was just there three weeks ago. Mom and I had a very good goodbye - the only real conversation of the whole visit. Every time I've left her over the last year I've said goodbye and cemented the moment in my mind. For another, we have no idea how long she has, and it's hard to leave two little ones when you have no idea how long you'll be gone. And Liam and Olivia can of course tell that something is wrong and are very clingy.

Well, I suppose Liam knows something is wrong because we had a talk, because he has seen me crying and we have to prepare him for what's going to happen (I think the three-year-old version of this is that we're going on a plane trip and that Mommy will be sad). This will be his first experience with death and I really don't know what he thinks it is. I told him that Nanny is very very sick (not sick like we get, but very very sick) and that she's going to die. And that I was sad and soon we'd go on an airplane to be with everyone and together we'd say good bye to Nanny. He was sad for a bit and we talked a little bit more and that's been it.

So, since I really can't think about anything but my mom, I'm going to tell you a story about her. If you've heard it before, sorry, but it is just so, well, my mom.

A few years ago, in the middle of winter, my mother came home to find someone in her house. She lives alone. She also lives in Nova Scotia, so she immediately set into pulling off her boots when she noticed CDs scattered around her living room floor. Of course my mid-twenties (at the time) brother lives in the same city and, since you never know when your adult kids are going to wander off with your stuff, when she heard some noises upstairs she assumed it was James. And she kept pulling off her hat and scarf and coat. Then she heard a strange voice from upstairs: "Get out of the house."

Of course, being my mother, she didn't leave. Her DVD player and CD player were stacked on the dining room table, along with some other assorted valuables, an unknown male felon is in her bedroom, and she didn't leave.

Instead, she offered to make him a sandwich.

You see, in my mother's mind, the only reason a person would break the law is out of desperation. And not desperation for things like drugs or alcohol, but for food. And perhaps he had a few starving children at home. So she called upstairs, "Are you hungry? Would you like me to make you some lunch?"

After a pause he said no, and he came downstairs. He kept his head tilted downwards, probably so that Mom couldn't identify him, but she thought he was embarrassed. He went right over to the stack of stuff on the dining room table, so Mom said firmly, "You can't take those; they aren't yours." and he immediately replied, "No no," and rubbed his coat on them a bit as if he were wiping off fingerprints. And then he left. Taking nothing.

Of course Mom then called the police, who quickly came out and gave her a stern talking to about leaving the house immediately and possible motives besides hunger and other such things. And of course they never caught the guy.

But that's my mom. Perhaps a bit nieve, perhaps a bit black and white about the world; when she sees the good in you she ignores the bad.* But very kind and generous. And a mother bear about her children.

So right now we're hanging in there, keeping our routine, and waiting for any news.

*This wasn't so helpful when I was a teenager and was looking for advice on things like clothing and haircuts. Being told that, "Sweetie, you'd look good in a paper bag," doesn't help when you have wide shoulders and no boobs and end up in a strapless prom dress that actually ROTATES while you are slow dancing. Not to mention the half-updo-half-down hair to go with it. (If I knew where the picture was I still wouldn't show you.)

Sweaters, Lots of Sweaters

You probably haven't noticed, but I have made a commitment to knit twelve sweaters this year. One a month. It doesn't sound so hard (and wouldn't be for lots of knitters), but the most I've ever done in a year is six, and all of those were for little kids. So this will be a challenge for me. Amazingly, I've almost finished three, and it's still February. Of course two of those are also for, ahem, little kids. Babies even.

I do need to bank some time, however, since one of my projects coming up soon is an Aran sweater for my (adult-sized) brother because he would like something hand-knit to wear with his kilt. Really. I picked out this one: Rhapsody in Tweed from IK Fall 2004. He likes the pattern, I like the pattern, and the yarn isn't too horribly expensive. It will be the biggest sweater I've done, ever. It might take a while.

In the meantime, Olivia's Happy Hen sweater (sweater #2) is waiting to be blocked and seamed and for all those ends to be woven in (oh, and some more embroidery). It should be finished this weekend.

But the line of stitches next to each pink stripe are a bit wonky. I don't know what to do about it, although perhaps blocking will straighten them out a bit? I don't mind too much, though, and I'm sure as hell not going to rip it out. Besides, it does look worse in this picture than it does in real life. Or at least I tell myself that.

Sweater #3 is a gift for someone who reads this blog, so, unless you are Jenn (and don't you dare peak, Jenn) you can see a picture of its progress here. It will also be put together this weekend, hopefully, although the zipper is on order, so I probably won't complete this project until next weekend. I've never put a zipper into anything before, so I will require Mark to distract the kids and perhaps even clear the house for a few hours. I know so little about anything-but-straight-line sewing that the kids and I trooped out to the fabric store yesterday to carefully compare colors and pick out the perfect little zipper for this sweater, just to discover (after Olivia chewed through the package, rendering it un-returnable) that it doesn't open at the bottom. Did you know there's more than one sort of zipper? I never really thought about it before.

Then the next sweater up is for me.

Fern, from Rowan 36, in navy Kid Classic (love love love KC). Perfect for Project Spectrum as well.

In kiddo news, Olivia is slowly getting over her cold, but still has a very runny nose (The Return of the Snot Monster). There are little snot prints all over the sofa, my legs, my shoulders, Liam, the cat...and lately when we pull her soother out a long snot trail continues to connect it to her. Anyway, one of the funny little things that she does from time to time is to stick her soother into my mouth (or Mark's or Liam's). This is very funny - much giggles. This morning she did that trick while I was sitting on the floor shoveling clothes from the washer to the drier. Immediately I noticed that the soother was extra-wet, extra-slimy....you can imagine, right? Oh yuck.

At least Liam just wipes it on his sleeve.

Sad Boy

Liam drew this a couple of months ago.

So what could I possibly be up to with all this stuff?

Even though Liam's not really happy with it (he likes his drawings to look just like the things they are, and this one made him frustrated), I adore that drawing. It is starting to look a little worse for wear, being stored on the fridge and all, so I am going to do this with it.

I'm going to shrink it down, since the original is on 11x14 paper, and I already had everything but the transfer paper (which I probably don't really need), so this should be a simple little project. After the embroidery is done I'll go look for some complimentary quilting quarters, since fabric is not something I generally have lying around the house (unlike yarn, which really could use its own room).

(This is another of those projects which may go horribly wrong, so please don't ever ask how it's coming along.)

Valentine's Day Fantasy

This is my third blogiversary. That’s a long time to have been broadcasting our family’s crazinesses to the universe. Oh, and here's some more:

Liam woke up in the early hours last night and was concerned about monsters, and, with several yells of "Moooommmmmmmy!" he woke me up from a dead sleep so that I could come chase the monsters away. He happened to interrupt a dream I was having, and that dream went like this: I was grocery shopping all by myself. My cart was full, and I had reached the last aisle of the supermarket (frozen foods), where I was searching for a bag of store-brand edamame. Before I could find it, I woke up.

That's what my brain thinks about when it gets a moment to itself? Grocery shopping for soy?

Mark and I soooo need a date night.

Fun Impersonator

I had a guilt-inducing conversation with one of Liam's preschool teachers yesterday. Actually, it wasn't even a conversation; it was that quick, first-in-the-morning chatting that we do every time I drop Liam off, but yesterday she happened to slip in there, "Your family does have fun together. You'll find that makes a big difference in Liam's development."

I know why she said that. A few months ago Mark and I decided to take the whole family out to dinner. A sit-down dinner (which doesn't happen very often) at The Outback, because we are fans of fine dining. Clearly, we should not have done this. Liam hadn't slept well the night before for some reason or another and was in a very cranky mood. The ONLY place he should have gone was straight to bed. But Mark and I wanted to eat out, dammit, and weren't prepared to do the unselfish and responsible thing.

Don't worry. We paid for it.

Liam was a complete disaster from the moment we set foot in the restaurant. He didn't want to wait for a table and tried to escape through the front door. He certainly didn't want to sit quietly in a booth, and he didn't even want to eat. By the time our food arrived, Mark and I were quietly fuming, exasperated and embarrassed, and any other adjective you'd like to insert here. If you've got kids (or even ever had dinner with a small child) I'm sure you can imagine. Since this was in the early days of toilet training, we'd also made three or four trips to the washrooms by this point.

(Since this took place in her pre-walking days, Olivia was just thrilled to be out and about and was a complete dream that night, thank god, or we might have ditched them both there and left to reclaim DINK status).

Out of desperation, Mark and I went through the diaper bag and my purse and whatever, just to find something that would keep Liam entertained long enough for us to scarf down our food and get the hell out of there. And then, a minor miracle occurred: Mark found a feather in his pocket. Of course he did; we're parents of a preschooler, remember?

And so the three of us began playing volleyball by blowing that feather back and forth across the table. It was pretty challenging to keep it up there and it kept falling into our still-uneaten dinner, but Liam was totally into it and Olivia laughed her little diapered butt off. It was pretty funny, actually. And, since each time Mark and I tried to put the game away Liam would resume his escape attempts, we managed to eat between puffs and kept that feather moving until the bill was paid.

At that point, as we were packing up to go, I finally noticed Liam's preschool teacher sitting at the table directly across from us.

Right away she said hello and, "You guys were having so much fun over there that I didn't want to interrupt you!" She was just getting her food, so clearly she had been there for quite some time. Long enough to see lots of Outback feather volleyball, but I don't think long enough to have seen the looks-like-a-brat-but-really-he's-just-tired behavior that necessitated it.

So I'm feeling a bit like a fraud. Her comment yesterday took me off guard so I stammered something incomprehensible like, "Um, yeah, I guess." and then it was time to go. Because, although our family does generally have a respectably good time together, we aren't one of those families that has rip-roaring fun all the time (are there such families?), and now I feel like we're impersonating one.

In fact, I used to be much better at the fun thing. I'm not sure if it's due to all this stress, or my being pretty much non-stop sick since fall, the cold winter, or whatever, but I used to be content to let the kids set our pace a lot of the time. After all, I'm a stay-at-home mom of practically babies; most of what I do is not on a strict schedule, so who cares if we take twenty minutes to get from the house to the car because there's a very interesting bug on the sidewalk? For the last few months, for no good reason at all, I've cared.

So today, being cold and quiet, and since (like most days) we had nothing terribly urgent to do, Liam and Olivia and I danced uproariously to Ernie singing that song about doing the rubber duck duck rubber duck. And then we rewound and danced again. And again. And then, for about twenty minutes (no lie) I pretended to eat them, stuffing them under my sweater and burping them out again. And I gave high-speed piggyback rides. And horsey rides too. Just because they wanted to.

And it felt great.

May I Recommend...

for any household with preschool children: origami. Who knew it would be so entertaining? My aunt, I suppose, as she gave us an origami calendar when I was in Halifax.* Sure, Mark and I do the folding (and that isn't always easy), but Liam watches us intently and he's really into the little animals and boats and such that result.

And, because they're made of paper, these little toys last about as long as Liam's attention span - then we get to make a new one. Genius!

It's also perfect for this art mobile that I got to display the kids' artwork. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but if the thing isn't perfectly balanced (meaning all paper is the exact same size and paintings have the exact same amount of paint), it turns into more of a vertical display.

Origami is always the same weight. Perfect.

(That's a crane, a songbird, a whale, and a fox.)

* Thank you Sue!