What a Life!

Each week, over at Mama Says Om, there is a different theme for mom’s to exlore on their blog. This week’s theme is joy, and this is my entry.

There are a lot of things that bring Ben joy, one of them being spending time with his Grandma Pageler. This is a moment I captured today when everyone was over at our house celebrating Steve’s birthday. Ben is playing with a funny birthday card that has a moving flap when you open it (the card was given to Steve by his mom who is in the picture ejoying the card with Ben).

Spring must be here…mowing season has arrived!

Careful, though, or you’ll get stuck!

I didn’t start my socks last Sunday. I’m really looking forward to doing them and decided to savor the anticipation. I love this picture I took of the yarn and the pattern. It makes me smile every time I see it. I’ve even contemplated setting it as the wallpaper on my computer. Isn’t it pretty?

Meanwhile, I have been working on the basketweave jacket I started for myself last month. I got the body completed, but then it just sat waiting for me to start the sleeves. The hang-up? I needed to figure out exactly how I wanted to do them, and that involves starting, stopping and frogging. I spent Sunday afternoon trying six different ways of doing the short-row sleeves, and finally settled on a way I liked. Then I worked on the sleeve cap, which seemed to take forever. Finished that and started the sleeve, but I didn’t calculate the frequency of the decreases correctly so I had to frog a few rows and re-do them with the correct decreases. At this point, I’m half way down the sleeve, and I’d like to finish this sleeve this weekend.

Here is a picture I took of it as it was yesterday morning:

The thing about knitting for myself (vs. my children) is that making one thing takes a lot longer. Single basketweave stitch on a baby sweater isn’t bad, but I must confess I’m getting rather tired of it on this sweater for myself.

I really want to make some sweaters for myself, though. Almost all of my sweaters are store-bought, so when I go to our knitting get-togethers, everyone else is wearing pretty things they’ve made themselves and I’m just wearing plain old civilian clothes. Ugh!

I have yarn to make another sweater for myself. A short-sleeve blouse done with a wool-cotton blend. Blue and grey. I have the design all cooked up in my head, but I’m afraid to start it. I’m afraid it will look silly when I wear it. I think the idea I have is great, but I would be much less fearful of actually knitting it up if it was for someone else.

Which is probably why I knit more for other people than myself. Most of what I’ve made for myself is socks…lots and lots of socks. And I do wear them…and I get compliments on them…but wearing socks one made for oneself is different than wearing a sweater.

Am I just a big chicken?

I do think the design for the blue and great wool-cotton sweater is rather vogue-ish, and I doubt that I will look stupid in it, really. But what will I wear it with? A skirt? Nice pants? Jeans? I agonize over things like this while I knit.

I am sure I will like the basketweave jacket. I’ve tried on what I’ve done so far and it fits exactly as I planned it. The sleeves are perfect, if I dare say so myself. Most of my sweaters are worn over turtlenecks, and I’m making this the same dimensions as one of my favorites. I am sure I will wear it alot. It will go perfectly with my jeans.

When I think of the wool-cotton yarn, though, my mind starts to contemplate what I might use it for to make something for my boys instead. Pullovers? Cardigans? How might I jazz them up? But then I stop myself. I really do want to knit things for myself. And wear them. I really need to let go and just do it. [Deep breath.] Just do it…

But first, I shall finish this sleeve…

It’s one of those days where I feel like I need to do something exciting, but for the life of me, I cannot think of anything to do that sounds exciting. What is happening to me?

The weather is delicious. I have a couple windows opened. When Ben saw me open them, he announced that we were going to air out the house. Note to self: Must be careful what one says around said child lest he repeat something I don’t want him to even know about. Ach!

This weekend is Steve’s birthday. We will be having a delightful little gathering with his family on Sunday. Of those who have been invited to attend, one party is always early, and one is always late. Before we had children, their lateness annoyed me. Now that I have children, it really annoys me. You don’t know how much I am looking forward to going to a restaurant and not just being hungry and watching other people eat while we wait for the rest of the dinner party but trying to keep my children from tearing the place down in the meantime as well. Believe me – this happenes every time we get together with these people. And they’re not always the same-amout-of-time early or late – no, it’s anywhere from ten minutes to an hour and a half (yes, in both directions!). So you can’t tell the early crowd to come a half hour late and the late crowd to come a half hour early or anything like that. No, you just go to the restaurant and wait.

Then, after you’ve waited and waited while watching other people eat and listened to your stomach growl and gotten more and more peeved by the minute, the late party waltzes in as though they are five minutes early. That’s right. No explanation. No apology. No remorse. Never.

It makes me angry just thinking about it.

They come and they’re late and they act as though it’s perfectly acceptable to arrive when they do. They’re all socialable and chatty and glad to see us. I get short tempered when I’m hungry. I get short tempered when people are late and I have to wait for them. I get short tempered when I have to try and make my children act like their adults rather than children because we’re at a restaurant and they have to behave (they’re good for the length of a normal meal, but not much beyond that, and of course, waiting extends the length of the time we’re at the restaurant). Let me tell you, when they walk in like that, the last thing I want to do is be socialable, chatty or even civil. And no, getting together at home isn’t any easier because it is my job to keep the food warm until whenever it is that they finally arrive.

I’ve read all sorts of inlaw problems and people advice online. Every time, it seems, say it’s the daughter-in-law vs. the mother-in-law, everyone thinks the son needs to be the one to address the problem with his mother (though in this case, it’s not the mother-in-law who is the problem). That sounds great and all, but my husband is not someone who confronts people. He just isn’t. He won’t even negotiate the price of a car because he said the one time he did it, it was “the most miserable five minutes of his whole entire life.” And it isn’t like his life has always been happy and perfect either. So no, my husband isn’t going to say anything, and according to the advice I hear other people give other people, it isn’t my place to say anything either because I’m not related to these people.

If it was up to me, when we got to the restaurant and they were ready to seat us, we would sit down. When we knew what we wanted to eat and they asked for our orders, we would give them. When our food came, we would eat it. If the party that always arrives late didn’t come until we were eating the last bites of our dessert, no problem – as soon as we had paid for our meal, we would leave. Oh, they’d be hungry? Wonder what we might do about that? I think it would just be their problem and they would have to deal with it. I simply would not sit in a restaurant and wait for people who are late…always late.

Do I separate myself from the crowd and take things into my own hands? Or do I just go along with things and if nothing else, try to suffer with dignity? The party that is late all the time seems to think it appropriate to send me nasty little emails when they think I’ve done something wrong. Do I give them a taste of their own medicine?

This would be the eternal debate. Do I be “nice” or do I stand up for myself?

What part of “being habitually late is incredibly rude and inconsiderate” do they not understand? Dare I ask them?

Okay, I need to go do something else now. I’ve done enough fuming about this…every single day this week. I must go find something else to do and quit thinking about it. I’m so tired of thinking about it. I just want it to be over…until the next time I’m obligated to get together with them again and wait and wait and wait…

Last week I recounted my disastrous attempts at teaching Ben how to use the potty. Another mom from another blog I read stopped by my blog and posted a link to her own potty training saga. Her child may not be exactly like mine, but considering the challenges I face motivating myself sometimes, I decided to back off a little and try something more along the lines of what worked for her. Namely, talk about it, talk about it, talk about it, and give them the equipment, tools and know-how that they need, but let them make their own decision about when to start using the potty.

So we’ve talked and talked about it. I give him a choice as to whether he wants to wear his diaper or underwear. We’ve continued to tell him that once he learns to go potty, he can go fishing with Daddy and Uncle Schon. I’ve even gone so far as to tell him that big boys aren’t allowed to play on the playground at the park unless they’re wearing underwear, and that as soon as he learns how to use the potty and wears underwear successfully, we can go to the park every day.

Well, ladies and gentlemen, I’m proud to report some success. Apparently Ben has been listening to every single word we’ve said. He has be repeating everything we’ve told him to his teddy bear, and now his teddy bear is successfully using the potty. According to Ben, Mr. Teddy Bear does both pee-pee and poo-poo in the potty, not in his diaper. See?

From now on whenever someone asks me about potty training Ben, I shall be recounting this success with great pride.