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Archive for the ‘socks’ Category

Sock failure

I stayed up late last night finishing off the first of my second pair of socks. I finished right at bedtime, but just had to sew up the toe, then weave the loose bits in.

When it was finally finished, I put it on for a test walk upstairs. I was delighted – it fit absolutely perfectly, didn’t slip down my ankle and was so soft. Only, as I walked around listing its marvels for J, I noticed that my calf was a little itchy. Then a little more itchy. Then a lot itchy.

By the time I got upstairs and got ready for bed, I had resigned myself to the sad, itchy truth – my legs do not consider the lovely soft angora wool to be lovely and soft.

So I’m going to pull it out and either knit socks for J out of it (he tried it on and found it not itchy at all, despite it being too small), or maybe mitts for me and socks for Boo. I wore the sock around on one hand for a while and don’t seem to have a problem there, although now that I think about it, the chances are pretty good that if I got a bit sweaty in the nice warm mitts that they would make, the itching might start. Socks for Boo are a good start, at least.

Ribbit, ribbit …

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I don’t think I mentioned that I finished my first pair of socks! I got all distracted by … oops, not mentioning him.

Well I did, and I love them. Here they are:

socks1.jpg

I immediately started on a second pair.

socks2.jpg

And I’ve just bought yarn for two more pairs (I meant to only get yarn for one, to take with me to Vancouver, but couldn’t decide, and it isn’t like I’m not going to need more socks ever). I love the portableness of them. One set of needles, one or two balls of yarn, and a pattern already committed to memory.

I used the pattern Yarn Harlot gave in her book Knitting Rules!: The Yarn Harlot’s Bag of Knitting Tricks. Only for the new pair I’m knitting, I increased the number of stitches at the start because I want to make a longer sock and so it needs to go farther up my fat calves. Then ribbed for longer so they’ll stay up. Then I decreased to taper into the ankle. Then I switched to purling for the sole of the foot so my sensitive feet won’t complain about walking on purled stitches. But other than that, it’s Yarn Harlot’s pattern.

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A couple of days ago, I made a lovely lentil rice soup for dinner, using smoked turkey. Everyone ate it and appeared to enjoy it. Yesterday, J wasn’t home for dinner and I had tons of the soup left over, so I decided we’d just have it again.

Man, you’d have thought I had told the kids we were having week-old bread heels and puddle water for dinner from the amount of whining. Spoiled brats. The only one who didn’t complain was Boo, but she then ate about 5 fruit leathers while I was folding laundry and politely said no thank you to dinner, as she was full.

I heated the soup, told the kids it was ready, and sat down and had a couple of bowls. The kids refused to eat it. Boo had stuffed herself on the fruit leathers, but she wasn’t whining, so I didn’t care. Asher ended up eating stale matzah with butter, an apple and a plain pita wrap. Maya had a bagel with melted cheese.

I can’t decide if this makes me a good mother, or a bad one. I stuck to my guns and made the one dinner I said I would – nice, healthy, something they liked. So that is good. But when they didn’t eat it, I let them forage for themselves. I didn’t let them eat total crap and I didn’t make them anything else, so that fits in the good mom category, I think. But I wonder if I should have been tougher and told them it was soup or nothing.

I hate making dinner.

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I had my second medical test. Oh, bad, bad, bad. I thought it would be less bad because 1) at least the barium is going in the normal route 2) air is not involved and 3) I am delusional and had deliberately blocked the last time I did this (10 years ago) out of my head.

They made me swallow some effervescing stuff, washed down – if one can put it that way – with some thick barium to create an air bubble in my esophagus. I’ve been fasting since Wednesday night and the first solid thing that goes into my stomach is bubbly ‘strawberry flavoured’ chalk. I got immediately nauseous. I managed to not puke up the barium, but it was a struggle.

Then they put me in a waiting room with two full HUGE cans of the shit and told me to drink them. “Do your best,” the nice techie said. Turned out my best was to open the lid, get a whiff of the ‘strawberry’ and gag. And close the lid. I drank none of it. I could not make myself put that stuff up to my lips.

I beat myself up over that – big wimp – until they took me back in to get another x-ray and see where the barium I’d already swallowed was, to decide what to do. What they found was that my colon was showing up on the x-ray. It wasn’t supposed to, but it was, making a clear shot of the upper GI difficult to get. Some of the barium they squirted up my butt last week is still floating around in there, despite a thorough ‘cleansing’. My guts are really slow and inefficient. (That can’t be a good thing.) This meant they had to cancel and reschedule in a few weeks. (more ‘cleansing,’ yay!) So I’ve I’d choked down that second dose, it would have been for nothing.

Next time, it will just be the second dose, but I am still not at all convinced I can force myself to drink it. You know on Survivor where they eat the disgusting bugs and cow brains and stuff? I would never even consider doing that. I’d be voted off first. I wish I could be voted out of the radiology department.

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So, failure on the medical side of things and failure on the doggy side. The little crap is still peeing, once a day, in the evening, in the upper or lower halls. Today, we had our first doggy obedience class. We showed up early and pounced on the trainer, begging for her help. She gave us lots of helpful advice, so we no longer fear all is lost with the big dope. We have hope. It does require that he be ‘tethered’ to me with his leash all evening, but whatever it takes, I’ll do it.

We met a mini-golden doodle there, about 3 months old. His name, unfortunately, was Marty McFly. Cutest little bundle of fur, though. When his owner, who I had just met, told me they’d had him a week and he was totally house trained, I smiled and said, “I hate you.” Thank goodness he had a sense of humour.

We also met a lovely Great Dane. He was so soft I didn’t want to stop touching him. His family had seriously considered a golden doodle, so we had a big mutual admiration thing going on. His name was Tumnus, because he was fawn-coloured, which I thought was pretty original.

The other two dogs – a lab and a lab mix, never stopped barking or jumping or biting at their owners. The two doodles and the great dane calmed down fairly quickly and lay down, but those labs never stopped, particularly the purebred one. Can someone please tell me why they are such popular dogs? They just seem to be overly-energetic, barky balls of neuroses to me. Their poor owners looked totally frazzled.

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The sock-knitting slowed down, because every time I picked up my knitting, some child picked up theirs and demanded help, but despite the distractions I am now almost finished my second sock! I am so excited, and all psyched to start on the next pair. I’m hooked.

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