Here are two things I’ve noticed over the course of the last two days:

1. Every time Sam from the service department at the car dealership calls me, my repair bill goes up another $200 – $800. Fortunately, after repairs and a few hours at the tire place on Saturday (after new tires and a front-end alignment at a local tire place, after Sam told me I’d be better off at a tire place than at the dealership), I’ll be good to go and safe as can be. I’m thinking now might be a good time to trade in and start over.

2. We had our first (and, heaven help me, please let it be our only) kindergarten class parental meeting yesterday. The Husband and I both went. We sat on the back row because we were a tiny bit late.* To our great relief, we know many of the parents and we like 99.9% of them.

A couple on the front row, however, turned out to be the sort who have to distinguish themselves loudly–they had another half dozen questions (compared to the standard number of questions the rest of the parents had, which was none) about things like: when is the class list going to come out so they can coordinate carpooling to ballet class;** why can’t we buy the rest blanket things before the first day of school so they can have their daughter’s monogrammed ahead of time; what’s the boy to girl student ratio; blah blah blah-freaking blabbity blah.

When they asked about monogramming the little rest blankets, one parent in the audience turned to another and said, “there’s a first time kindy parent.” (Sitting in the back row has outstanding eavesdropping/lip-reading advantages.)

When they complained, to the Husband, while chatting afterwards, about the uneven boy-girl ratio, he just stood there and fake-listened.

* because of me, you see. The Husband told our friends as we walked in that his tombstone is going to say “I was waiting for my wife.” I hate late, but I hate not showering more.

** at which point I said to the Husband, “whereever their daughter is going to ballet class is where our child is not going,” but it turns out that I was probably wrong because it seems to be where McPantses will probably go, too, but I will be FINKED, I say, RAT-FINKED, before I carpool with that obnoxious, loudmouthed freak mother. FINKED. No idea what her kid is like, but I have already developed a healthy loathing for the parents.

for babykind…

Yesterday, a mere week shy of the fourteen month mark, the boychild took his first steps. Like his sister, he took them at daycare, but it was while I was there.

Only I wasn’t in his room. Every afternoon when I pick the kids up, I sign McPantses out and she runs off to the Crabcake’s room and yesterday, while I stopped to gab with McP’s teacher, the boychild tottered three uncertain steps to his sister.

So, at least she was in there. Last night, he obliged with another dozen or so steps at a few different times. It’s thrilling and bittersweet to watch. Even more bittersweet was when McP jumped into the bath with the boychild for the first time last night–they put their faces together and laughed and laughed. I hope it’s an easily-recalled memory 20 years from now.

Seriously.

The place: lovely Helena, Alabama.
Helena is a small burb just south of Birmingham. I was surprised when I drove past the Husband’s grandmother’s (the one who isn’t deceased) street on my way to the knitting store. Their little downtown main streety sort of area is fantastic.

The knitting store: Knit Nouveau, situated right in the downtown main streety area, is hands down (needles down?) the best knitting store I’ve ever been in, what with the Rowan and the Euroflax and that Blue Sky cotton and, more importantly, the crowd of lovely people, including the knitting store employees and one tiny, week-old baby girl. I didn’t abide by “use what you have,” but can you blame me? I came home with cotton for Mason-Dixon warshrags, Euroflax for the dishtowels, and three hanks of the palest pink Blue Sky cotton for a big doll blanket for McPantses (but McPantses scoffs at the palest pink color and told me this morning that it’s so pale, it can’t really be called pink, the little twerp). I got a couple of bags of colored roving to attempt some wool beads with McP, which interests her muchly, especially since crafty Z sent us a package of felted stuff a few months ago. I also left with a frequent flyer punch card, where the store employees punch out a hole every time you spend a certain amount of money. I plan to visit often and, if I could manage it, what with the distance and the boychild and the screamering, I would try to attend their stitch-n-bitch sessions.

The other blogger: Rachel, who came up from the Gulf Coast to hang with the authors, who started her own stitch-n-bitch group* down home, who lived in my town when we were both in third grade and who knits Rowan sweaters (I bow to that achievement, particularly the plural aspect of it.). I see from her blog that (a) she drove further than me to even buy the Mason-Dixon book, (b) she drove further than me to get to the signing (y’all, I felt like a rock star when I got there–people kept saying “Oh, you’re the one who drove from wherever!”) and (c) she does something that I always thought I was the only person to do, which is to compare a book she loves to something edible. I think people who like books and food do that, maybe. Or, maybe really brilliant, imaginative people do that. It’s absolutely not that hungry people do it. It’s just not. Because I live in between Birmingham and her home, I am hopeful that we’ll catch up in the middle at some point in the future. For right now, I am going to plow through her blog and admire her knitting and her writing.

The famous authors: Oh, I met them. Oh, yes I did. Ann and Kay are themselves–their writing is exactly how they are: funny, down-to-earth, insightful and caring. I loved getting to meet them and, if anything, I appreciate the beauty of their book even more now. I left the event convinced that the person(s) responsible for the art direction of their book liked them very much and, as far as the finished product is concerned, put together something that reflected them and their knitting perfectly. The book isn’t just gorgeous fluff like so many lifestyle/hardback/Martha-y books are today. It’s practical, it’s funny, it’s chock full of anecdotes and tips and interviews and projects and it’s gorgeous. Does that make sense?

Ann and Kay showed us some of their projects and I sat in the back row and marveled at the scribble lace and the log cabin blankets and the negligee (knitted by a very busy mom/student blogger!) and thought, if I ever finish that rib-knit scarf, I am totally going to learn how to do that.

(And then I laughed uproariously in my head.)

This was the first time I’ve sat in a group of knitters outside of the knitting store here (and I haven’t sat with them all that much) and it was lovely. Knitters have a common bond and they’re just nice people. I don’t think you can be a snoot or a jerk and be a group knitter because the learning process, at the very least, is a humbling experience and also because it’s just plain ole fun to be around people who share your interests. No one laughed at me when I asked for help picking yarn for projects in the book or when I marveled at the gorgeous stripeyosity of really nice sock yarn (which I have never seen in person). No one seemed to mind that I fondled a lot of yarn, but the fact that I didn’t drool probably helped that.

I had a swell time at Knit Nouveau. I had a swell time afterwards, too.

The afterwards: Dinner. Highlands Bar and Grill. I hogged along with Ann, Kay and Rachel and was treated to an incredible meal and much hilarious conversation. I heard about everyone’s careers and families and about how hurricane Katrina blew through almost immediately after Rachel moved to the coast, almost as if Katrina was after her, that cruel bitch, and I just enjoyed myself tremendously.**

Also, tho it pains me mildly*** to say this after that whole dinner whore thing that I found so distasteful, blogger Belle’s boyfriend can certainly serve up a fine meal. I had the opportunity to attend Frank Stitt’s book signing last year (I think last year) and wasn’t able to go, but I think I’ll pick up the cookbook pretty soon.

Note to self: You never know when you will need to tip a valet, so think about having cash on hand because it’s embarassing to ask a famous author for a loan at 11:15 p.m. on the way out the door.

* Rachel may have solved one of my main knitting problems. I have a hard time learning new stitches from books and an equally hard time learning them at the knitting store here, so she suggested that I put up some flyers and start my own local knitting group. Except for the fact that I have yet to even attend a craft night for my local mom’s group, I think that’s the perfect solution and I’m grateful for the suggestion.

** In case you have never noticed, I love a good superlative. Also, this morning, from my vantage point at the ironing board, the Husband said, after I told him more about the women and the book, “So why did they want to go to dinner with you?” and I said, “because I am such a cool blogger.” And then we both laughed a lot.

*** Really mildly, like hangnail mildly. The food was divine and the service was, too.

I’m sure the little kid nightime routine plays out the same worldwide with a few variations here and there, but the one at my house last night cracked me up.

More often than not, McPantses ends up requesting a bathroom jaunt about 12 seconds after her lights go out. I should not complain, for more than one reason: first, the Husband handles McP’s bedtime while I get the boychild down; second, for some reason, it still hasn’t dawned on the girl that she can pretty much get up and wander around the house at will at night, so she calls us when she needs something or when she’s ready to get up in the a.m.*

Last night wasn’t unusual. McPantses headed to the bathroom shortly after going to bed (and despite the fact that a post-toothbrushing bathroom stop is routine) and sat in the bathroom singing to herself and carrying on a very long conversation with, I assume, her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door.

After a spell of listening to this from the vantage point of a couch in the living room, the Husband and I realized that she’d been in the bathroom for at least five minutes, so the Husband knocked at the door and the following conversation ensued:

Husband: “You’ve been in there an awfully long time and it’s pretty late.” [It was late by our bedtime standards.]

McPantses, with awe in her voice: “You mean it’s the middle of the night?”

Husband: “No, not that late.”

McP: “And all the children have gone to bed?”

Husband: “Well, maybe not all the children, but most of them.”

McP, first silence, then with great awe, and in a whisper: “And I am the last one awake?”

Husband, trying not to laugh and taking it all in: silence

McP, still whispering and said thoughtfully: “I’d better go to sleep then.”

* Only just now has she started getting up on her own in the mornings from time to time. Watching the rumply-haired beauty emerge from her room in full grump-face, usually clutching the favorite doll or stuffed animal of the moment, shuffle over to the couch and settle herself under one of the several small blankets is a such treat.

If you’re a knitter and you live in the south, hie thee to a Mason-Dixon Knitting book signing. There’s one in Alabama today in Huntsville, one tomorrow night in Birmingham, Alabama, and ones Thursday and Friday in Nashville. I figured I’d have to go to Atlanta for this kind of author-action.

I am tempted to jump in the car and drive off right now, but I think I will attempt to wait until tomorrow after work to steer the car Birmingham-wise. I called and put in a reservation for a seat a few minutes ago, even before I called the Husband to tell him that I have plans for tomorrow night.

I wonder if the Crabcake would prefer to stay home and scream at his father in the bedtime hour or if he’d prefer to scream his way to Birmingham and back. I’m not sure Ann and Kay would appreciate the screamering* during the book-signing…

If it weren’t for the complete lack of leave I have available at work (see entries below about strep throat, etc.), I’d leave now and just camp out on the knitting store doorstep until tomorrow night. Oh, and, I guess if it weren’t for those meddlin’ kids of mine. Harumph.

A few years ago I almost jumped in the car and drove to Birmingham for a Foo Fighters concert at the absolute last minute and during tornado warnings. My, how things have changed.

* Easter 2006: The Screamering; thusly named because from the hours of 4 p.m. until about 7:30 p.m., the boychild screamed almost nonstop.

Surely not.

I’m sticking to use what you have month just fine when it comes to products, if “just fine” means driving by the local yarn shop and gazing wistfully at it through the car window thinking of a certain bamboo circular I rilly rilly neeeeeeeed (okay, not rilly, but I want it).

I haven’t bought anything crafty, not one single damn thing.

I haven’t even spent all that much time thinking about what crafty things I’d like to buy.

However.

I joined an “along.” I’m starting to think about crewel yarn, but only a little bit. I’m sure the craze will get hold of me at some point in the near future.

An internetty shoppy sorta gal can’t just quit cold turkey, you know. Especially when there are embroidery books and a gorgeous crewel book and, most especially, when Ann and Kay’s epic knitterly tome has finally hit the shelves.

Monday, the Husband played in a golf tournament and then zipped to the northern part of the state for work on Tuesday morning, so I treated myself to the most gorgeous big ole knitting book that ever was. I went to my local indie bookstore (there’s only one here) and snatched that sucker off the shelf, stuck my nose in it and inhaled deeply–it’s a proven fact that inhaling deeply of books you love will impart to you a tiny fraction of the goodness contained betwixt the covers of the book.* Their book is delightful. It made my heart sing, which is a falling-in-love element of very good books for me. I looked at it while sitting in traffic all the way back to work and I medicated the chirrens and shoved them in bed while it was still daylight outside so I could read in peace as soon as I got home from work.** I haven’t read every single word yet, but I’ve turned every page twice and read approximately 98% of the book and let me tell you, these women are onto something. I’m only a novice knitter, but their book is my favorite knitting book so far.

(I hoard books like I hoard crafty and notebooky things, so I have a few.)

Buy it, cherish it, haul it to a signing near you. Worth every penny and then some, and you’re hearing that from the girl who paid full price on purpose, rather than wait for a box from amazon.com.

So, anyway, more books. I’ve purchased five this week. What else did I get? Yesterday, I noticed some adorable embroidery on Tree Fall’s blog (scroll down to the 3/14 entry) and clicked on the book she mentioned (and showed pages from), titled Creative Embroidery, by Joan Nicholson (which was on another wonderful craftay blog, Soule Mama–got all that?). I found a copy of the book on ebay yesterday afternoon for $4.99 and snagged it immediately.

Today, I was inspired by an online friend (more on that in a moment) into some instant amazon.com shopping, so while I was “there,” I got the book I’ve been salivating over for months now: Katherine Shaughnessy’s The New Crewel: Exquisite Designs in Contemporary Embroidery.*** I have wanted this book since I first saw it mentioned in a blog, but local bookstores (the non-indies and the one indie) tell me it’s on backorder. This week, after joining Crewel Along, I knew the book was a must, so…

All I need is the tiniest nudge to go hog wild with the book shopping. This week, the nudge came about in the form of the aforementioned dear online friend, Z (who is a splendid writer and crafter, who is full of great sentiments and ideas and who really should have a blog if only so that I can read more from her!), who suggested two books for my edification. Thus, my amazon spree also netted a book about relationships between mothers and daughters that Z tells me has helped her consider her daughters not only as children, but as the healthy adults she wants them to grow up to be.

But wait.

It gets better.

She also turned me onto a book about people who have numerous creative passions who have trouble centering themselves. A reviewer calls it “a life-making guide for the over-interested and undecided.” Know anyone who might benefit from that?

I told the Husband about it and about a personality type author Barbara Sher calls “The Scanner,” whom she defines as “someone who frequently has a multiplicity of interests, but finds it hard to create a successful life he or she loves because their passions and abilities are taking them in so many different directions,” and the Husband said, “Wow, that’s you!”

I can’t wait to get my greedy, grubby bookhands on that one. Thank you, Z, for the thoughtful suggestions.

* That sentence exhausted me.

**Of course I didn’t, as far as you or anyone else knows.

*** If you’re crafty and you have ideas, take a very careful look at Lark Books. There could be a book in it for you! I love the site and I love their books.

I am so tired of reading about women versus women.

I’m tired of gauging people’s reactions to my choices in life by what people say about themselves.

If you’ve met my children, the chatty one and the screamy one, you know full well that they’re just fine. They’re better than fine–they’re wonderful. They’re outstanding. They’re, well, they’re every good superlative you can dig out of your vocabulary. They love daycare and their teachers and I love their teachers, too. At the end of the day, sometimes McPantses has trouble switching from the teacher’s name to my name, so I get called “Miss Teacher” every once in a while. By today’s pop culture momwriter rules, that should prick my heart deeply.

But it doesn’t. McPantses calls me “Nana” after spending the night with her grandmother, too. I care naught. It tells me she’s happy and loved at the place where she spends a majority of her waking hours (school) and the place where she spends the night every couple of months (Nana’s).

We tear people down to build ourselves back up. It’s as simple as that. However, when we do enough tearing down, eventually, instead of building up ourselves and our own life choices in the process, we start to become negative and bitter people. Condemning one portion of society’s life choices, when the life choices don’t involve felony crimes, just flat out sucks eggs. Moms who spend all their time fighting moms who make different choices weaken the mom forcefield as a whole, and we don’t need to be any weaker than we already are, do we? Isn’t the best way to widen the choices available for moms to work together to get what’s best for parents and our children?

Save your bitching for the horrible parents, why don’t you? Or, better still, volunteer to do good if you have enough spare time to yammer endlessly.

My favorite group of people who build themselves up by tearing down other moms are the newest self-satisfied authors who embrace the tranquil peace of the domestic life: when you become a mother, they tell us, it’s your duty to leave your job (never mind the mortgage, the student loans, the little things like food and prescription medication) and stay home with your precious wee babies. It’s your duty to keep house and serve cocktails a half hour before dishing up a hot meal to breadwinner hubby.

Gosh, that sounds lovely. If I ever finish paying off my own debts, I’ll dish up the hot meals happily and I’ll certainly pour cocktails first.

Are the authors really doing that themselves?

Anyone who has smallish children, please tell me how one writes a book, promotes that book and does a national book tour while keeping house, nurturing the children properly and dishing up hot stroganoff every night? Certainly the best, most smug and self-assured Stay Home or Your Children Will Wither and Your Marriage and Your Household Will Perish aren’t–gasp–neglecting their duties to write and sell books, are they? Aren’t these mommy authors doing exactly what they preach so stridently against? They’re working, sometimes out of the home, yes?

Wouldn’t that make them grand hypocrites?

My favorite friends are the ones who do what they do well and happily. They listen to me complain when what I’m doing isn’t making me happy and I try to return the favor. They offer suggestions and solutions, sometimes, but what they offer that I appreciate most, that I truly cherish, is the shoulder to cry on. They may not agree with my choices, but they don’t fuss at me about them. Moms who spend all of their time tearing down half of the mom forcefield must be pretty lonely, because, like a child who gets scolded too often, eventually you just start to tune the negativity out.

Let’s face it, no matter what your household situation is, if you have a household and you’re not working two jobs to scrape by and you’ve popped out a child or two or more with relative ease, you’re lucky beyond belief and you have precious little to complain about. The next time someone sucker punches you with some inane judgmental baloney about how all mothers should do this or this or this, remember, what’s being said probably isn’t about you at all.

It’s really about the person saying it.

I was reading Salon’s Broadsheet this morning and came across a bit about Jennifer Hoffman, whose tee shirt company Emotional Armor is just something else. She wants people to wear shirts with great messages instead of the profane, overtly sexual stuff we see all over shirts today.

This Boston Globe article explains how she got started pretty well.

I hope I can get a “princess not in need of rescue” shirt for McPantses in a girly girl color. I think every little girl I know could rock that.