Avast, ye Googler
Somebody went looking for Supafine blob and landed here. I’m trying not to be too offended … I am rather lumpy these days.
Other popular terms:
- Maruchan Instant Lunch Pregnant Women
- mommy drinks
- cheese booty
I hope my humble blob could be of service in your quest, O searchers. But compare my bottomside to cheese one more time and you’ll be wishing for some protective Maruchan Instant Lunch For Pregnant Women to shield you. (I am way filing a patent for that).
Hey baby, what’s your sign?
You know what? I totally believe in that whole Sun Sign astrology thing. Gonna tell you that straight off the bat. I know it’s irrational but there it is.
So. That said. I was thinking the other day about this new kid I’ve got cooking, and what he’s going to be like. Contemporary wisdom has it that if your first kid is easy, your second one is going to be a two-legged demon, and vicey-versey. And I thought, um. Is Owen an easy child? (If you had one of those demon children first I give you full permission to slap me.) Yes. He really is, by most modern definitions. That’s not to say he doesn’t give me crap, but mostly it’s not in his nature.
See, look:
The Dates: December 22nd through January 20th
Keywords: ambitious, self-reliant, disciplined, persevering, resourceful, creative
The Shadow Side: materialistic, stern, melancholy, strict, pessimistic
Not only did I definitely marry one of those, I gave birth to one, too. I mean:
The Sun in Capricorn has an intense drive for achievement that never lets up. They strive for a personal standard of excellence, even if the rest of the world settles for mediocrity. The ones that pursue the Arts have a disciplined approach that sets them apart from mere dreamers. If the Capricorn seems serious, perhaps it’s because they’ve got so much to do. They won’t linger too long in idleness or rest on their laurels when there are mountains to climb.
And also:
They are born with a sense of purpose, and many Capricorn children are mature beyond their years. As they get older, they seem to age in reverse, becoming childlike and retaining a youthful glow.
I mean really.
So I thought, let me see what the stars predict for Flipper’s personality, this potential hellraiser I have a-brewin’ here. Let’s see:
The Dates: May 22nd through June 21st
Keywords: engaging, curious, childlike, versatile, witty, entertaining, charming
The Shadow Side: superficial, duplicitous, flaky, restless, nervous, chatty
I can totally handle that. Charming? Flaky? Come on. My middle name is Charmingly Flaky. And look:
You might hear the laughter of Gemini Suns before you see them, since they’re always finding something absurd to giggle over. They’re great wits and their interest in people often puts them in the role of social ice breaker. … The Gemini needs to be able to reinvent themselves many times and to follow the threads of inspiration wherever they lead.
Doesn’t that sound like a fun kid?
And anyway, some of my favorite people are Geminis (we’re a good match astrologically), so I have experience with this sort of person. So even if Flipper turns out to be Owen’s polar opposite (which very well might happen), I have faith that he and I will get along every bit as well as Owen and I do.
And maybe it’s pathetic that I am relying on internet horoscopes to reassure me that this unknown quantity, this Second Child, will be every bit as wonderful and sweet and lovable as my O-boy is. But maybe I’m seven months pregnant, and “pathetic” is a good day.
Now I *know* he’s back to normal.
As I predicted, Owen woke up during the crucial last five minutes of ‘House’ last night. He was flushed and hungry for ice cream. The fever didn’t break until sometime between 4 and 7 a.m. At seven, he came toddling into my room, waving and smiling as normal, to climb into bed with me and cuddle.
Suddenly, he sat up. “Wait,” he said, in Serious Toddler Voice. Scuttles down off the bed and toddles away. I bury my head in the pillow again, dozing until I hear a clamor from the kitchen —
“Son? What are you doing?”
“SEEPIN’, mom.”
Suddenly he’s back in the bedroom, wielding the broom, in order to illustrate. Of course. Sweeping! Before he’s fully awake! Duh!
I tell you what, he gets that kind of work ethic from his father, no doubt. If he were really my child I’d have to push him physically out of bed and spoon feed him everything he ate before noon.
This is boring.
Owen is home sick today — I had to leave work early to pick him up. Seems to just be a fever but he’s already in bed, and has been since he screamed for his binky at about 4:30.
And now I’ve had almost three hours to eat dinner in peace and frankly, it’s kind of boring if you’re not used to it. I still have two more hours to kill until HOUSE comes on and I’m a little too pregnant to do anything but wish my son would wake up and entertain me.
(Dear Karma, please note that I don’t actually want him to wake up; I’d rather have him asleep so I can complain about it. Thanks.)
Delicious springtime
It’s supposed to hit 75 degrees today. I’ve unearthed my Birkenstocks and am more than ready for this weather. (If only I could do my job outside!) Our yard is, too — we’ve been tapping our toes, waiting for the last frost. I don’t think we’re quite there, but soon. Hopefully soon.
Oh my God I’m PREGNANT!
I really think somebody should have told me.
…
Apparently this pregnancy is winding down faster than the speed of light. I only have until the end of May, and I know that in M.B. time that’s like, three hours away. It’s not that I’m forgetting, exactly; it’s just that … well, OK, I’m forgetting. And the reminders knock me on my ass every time.
On the plus side, I’ll be able to tie my own shoes again by summer, so that’s something.
hell is other parents
Took Owen to the library yesterday. No few than three children, in three separate incidents, came up to him and took toys right out of his hands. Their parents (when they could be discerned) merely watched. In one case the mother reached in to take a few more from in front of him. In one case I could not tell who the mother was, because there was a gaggle of Rich Bitch mothers complaining about who had the busiest schedule and the most community service projects and the most inept husband, and none could be bothered to remove her daughter, Kevlar, from being all up in Owen’s shit.
I pride myself on his good manners. He says please and thank you to employees, he shares with other children at the toy tables, he does not yell or hit. He picks up what he drops.
But it’s pretty fucking hard to teach him that sharing and good manners is the right thing to do when none of the other parents are enforcing that with their own children. What. The fuck. Just because he is well mannered does not mean, Mrs Loud Hippie, that your daughter is entitled to HIS trains, which he dutifully followed library protocol to obtain, merely because she prefers them. And you should certainly not be encouraging her to take them.
Goddamn.
This is why I hate people. This is why I do not join playgroups. I am trying to teach Owen to respect personal space and property. And the poor kid is rewarded by being pushed aside and having things forcibly removed from his hands. And I am having to sit on mine, because MY mother taught ME never to smack uppity strangers in the face.
Please to note the awesome
My friend Victoria — should I still be calling her my “internet friend”? — she sent me this shirt for Owen. And a matching one for Flipper. And I’m not going to lie to you, my eyes welled up with tears when I opened the package, because sometimes life is too awesome for words.
Like a little round seamstress, I am
If I asked you to guess where my attentions have been, and you guessed “nesting,” it would be a very good guess.
It would be wrong, of course, but very close: Sewing. Sewing with a maniacal, crazy firey passion.
This pregnancy thing, man. Whoo. I get an idea in my head and then bam, that’s all she wrote, I’m lost to the world.
So! That’s where I’ve been this last week. Sunday night I decided I could totally sew my own maternity shirts for this last trimester, and by Monday evening I was cutting out this pattern on an old sheet.
I haven’t sewn anything garment-y since, oh, high school, maybe college, so it took me a few days. By Thursday the first shirt was done and by Thursday night the second was done and if I make it upstairs to my sewin’ room tonight I’ll have the third one done (I swear the view I’m making is not so horrendous).
So. Having practiced on old sheets, this morning I took Owen to the “sewing store” to buy real fabric (eyelet! gauze! calico!), and now I’ll be able to sew up some more shirts, in other patterns, for post-partum and Regular Old Supa wear. Am a touch excited, I must say.
A side note about shopping with Owen: holy monkey. It’s fun. (At least it’s fun if you catch him bright-eyed and bushy-headed, and not twenty minutes past bed-time on a no-nap day). I set him loose in the quilter’s calico section of Joann’s with the warning not to touch, and so I hear echoing from across the batiks, “No touch the people’s fabric.” Or maybe it was the People’s fabric. I’m sure there is some sort of republic of Peoples and to fuck with their fabric would be very bad indeed.
He also would pick up random little items at toddler-level and cradle them as we shopped — a book of stickers and, a little more weirdly, a ceramic picture frame in the shape of, if I recall correctly, a cat in a boot. (Hey. It’s Joann’s, and it’s Owen, and there you go.) He was a mite bit upset that I didn’t let him purchase and subsequently bring home this little picture frame but c’est la vie, I told him.
And when I sidled up to the cutting counter with six bolts and precise instructions for the lass on the other side, he was churchmouse-quiet the whole time. Think of the temptation available to a toddler at a cutting counter and then imagine, if you will, the self-restraint. Damn but he’s amazing.
Anyway! A trip for the ages. As I was saying: After I master shirts (I have two more patterns to try), and after I finish the other stuff I said I’d master … I’m going to sew my own jeans. No really. I will finally have pants that fit.
‘Course, if I don’t get to it before little Owen the Second is born I may never get to it, because I’ll have two kids and no more pregnancy insanity, but the idea is there. Someday. Someday.
Crochet for beginners
A charming and timely post from Alicia of Posie Gets Cozy, about teaching oneself to crochet.
I, too, never learned as a child; this week marks the third time I’ve tried to teach myself (with from help from my cousin last time). But this time … things clicked.
Credit is due to Alicia’s ripple afghan for inspiring me to give crochet another go, and to Simple Crochet for the scarf-color inspiration (all acrylic from my meager stash, worked in sc on an H hook).
Now I’m ready to try my hand at knitting again, this time following (or at least adapting) a pattern and making more than just a scarf. Then it will be on to more complicated crochet stitches, and then back to knitting … this time on double-pointed needles and circulars. I just need to work up to it, first.
More links: del.icio.us/supamb/crochet
recent flickr
-
my sewing tutorials
See my tutorials featured on SMS' Handmade Holidays!
