Leap Day

Tomorrow is Leap Day and I plan to spend it resting on my butt and knitting.  

For transparency's sake, let me be up front about today's post.  I'm writing it on Tuesday night.  And it's already been a looooong week.  I am SO looking forward to that extra day and I really, really, really hope I can spend it on my butt, knitting.  My plan is that the most difficult task I will have is choosing a pompom for my Lofoten hat.

Lofoten hat knit with Wool of the Andes

I don't have a coordinating store-bought pompom in my stash so I'll need to make one.  Should it be all yellow?  All gray?  Or a yellow/gray combo?  I'm thinking all gray.  What do you think?

even floats!

I'm so pleased with the way this hat turned out.  It was my practice project for learning to hold two yarns in one hand and well, it couldn't have been easier.  Look how awesome my floats worked out!  I have never in my entire knitting life been happy with my floats, much less been proud enough to show them off.  Anyway, I plan to knit many more Lofotens in the future.  Specially since I've finally learned how to spell Lofoten.

As for that loooong week I've been having....  We've all been having it actually.  

First, there's been the dog drama.  We live in a super rural area and we are the only house on a dead end road that edges the swamps of the Chickahominy River.  Hunters frequently ride up and down our road looking for their lost hunting dogs.  And sadly, hunters seem to love to abandon their unwanted hunting dogs on our road at the end of hunting season.  This year was no exception.

Since the first week or so of February, we'd frequently seen three hound dogs running together.  On Valentine's day, Animal Control set up a trap beside our property and caught one of them late at night.  We hadn't called to complain about the dogs running loose, but I did call to complain about the trapped dog's howling.  He was loud!  And my phone call set off a chain of events.

The next day, a Saturday, the one remaining loose dog showed up at our doorstep and never left.  He was so sweet!   He was terrified of us, but he was also hungry, lonely and needed a place to rest.  We fed him and gave him an old blanket to lay on.  I let Animal Control know he was here and that we were taking care of him until they opened back up for business on Monday. 

Sometime between my call to Animal Control on Saturday and their arrival on Monday, I fell head over heels in love with the dog.  We named him Andy.  Animal Control was happy for us to keep him. They provided us with a giant bag of food and a large box of treats and they called it a trail basis so that we didn't get jacked up for not having a rabies certificate and for allowing the dog to continue running loose.

Over the next week, we worked to gain Andy's trust.  We were jubilant when he finally took food from our hand even though he still wouldn't let us touch him.  Andy was an excellent walking companion.  He heeled, even without a leash or collar.  We all loved him and my mother-in-law particularly liked going for walks with him.

But Andy wasn't perfect.  He liked to bark, or bray, as hound dogs do.  He knew zero commands and no matter how many times we used his name, he didn't recognize it.  He also liked to chase dark colored cars.  Then one day, he became obsessed with running out into traffic on a nearby busy road.  A very busy, 55 mph road.  And the next day, during one of their walks, he lead my mother-in-law out into that busy, 55 mph road.  It was terrifying.  While my brain had known we couldn't keep him, my heart was set on loving him until the end of time.  But that moment of looking out and realizing they were both out in the road....  Well, I knew at that moment Andy couldn't be ours.  

On Sunday evening I made the dreaded call to Animal Control to say that we couldn't take care of him any longer and they agreed to come pick him up on Monday.  About ten minutes before Animal Control arrived, Andy allowed me to touch him for the first time.  I scratched his chin, then his ears, then the top of his head and he flopped himself over and presented me with his belly to rub.  And then Animal Control showed up and took him away.  It was horrible.  Horrible!  But at the same time, I know he wasn't the dog for us.  The timing just wasn't right.  He needed much more attention than we are able to provide at this time, not to mention a Huge fenced in area to run around in which we do not have.  

Animal Control assured me that Charles City's pound is a no-kill shelter and that they would take good care of Andy.  They'd give him his shots and some training and turn him into a much more adoptable dog.  I sure hope they are right.  I have tears in my eyes just typing this but I also know that all my interactions with Animal Control were pleasant, and there were many interactions! In fact, I spoke with Officers Wiggins and Miller so much I feel like they need to be added to the top of my Christmas card list.  They were both so kind and helpful. They seemed to love and respect the animals and were nothing like the wicked people you see portrayed in the movies.  They even put Andy's toys in his kennel before driving off.

I miss Andy desperately!

And if the dog ordeal wasn't enough drama for the week, my daughter is having her wisdom teeth surgically removed on Thursday.  Not just pulled, but surgically removed.  Surgically removed with real anesthesia, not just laughing gas and novocaine.  And it's a bit concerning.  The roots have wrapped around a nerve and there's a chance she may end up with some permanent numbness in her face.  Not droopy, like she's had a stroke, just numb.  Sarah is handling it well but I'm a nervous wreck.  And, since I imagine I'll be the hovering mamma bear on Thursday and Friday, I figured I'd go ahead and type this post tonight.

And so, I plan to spend Saturday, Leap Day, sitting on my butt knitting.  What will you do with your extra day?

Three on Thursday - D-Day

I've mentioned before that D-Day has always been a solemn day of remembrance for our family.  My dad landed on Normandy's Omaha Beach on June 7, 1944.  While he was a day late for making history, he still saw his share of action and carried a bit of German shrapnel in his leg to prove it.  So, for today's Three on Thursday, I thought I'd share a few links that you might find interesting.

SecB 1012th Sig Co WWII  (Dad is top row, left)

1.  Ten things you might not know about the Normandy invasion

2.  D-Day in numbers, the remarkable statistics

R. M. Owen, Jr.

3.  What does the D stand for in D-Day

D-Day

D-Day doesn't get much attention anymore but it has always been acknowledged in my household.  Our 'celebration' is fairly solemn.  We fly the flag and we spend a few moments thanking and remembering those men and women who gave so much that fateful day.

Omaha Beach, June 6, 1944; photo courtesy of irastehmann.com

Since I'm off to work in a few minutes, I'll simply say a little prayer and leave you with a link to a previous D-Day post.

Three on Thursday

My daughter will probably kill me in my sleep for sharing these, but I couldn't resist.

In a recent attempt to avoid cleaning up what ever it was that exploded in the microwave and was left to harden into a cement like mass, I decided to purge my file cabinet.  In the process, I came across a few letters Sarah had written when she was younger.  I hope you find them as humorous as I do.

The first, a Father's Day poem for her dad.

This is a photo copy.  The original is framed and hangs over my husband's desk.  As a point of reference, Mike's office used to be next door to a bakery and he'd bring home yummy goodness several times a week. He also brought truck loads of sand home occasionally for the kids' sandbox. The poem reads:

Dad, Dad, you're the best
Your brought us sand
And all the rest
Like cookies, pie and donuts
and now we have great big butts.
And so I'd like to say,
Happy Father's Day!

Next up is a letter to Santa that was found in Sarah's stocking late one Christmas Eve.

It reads, "Dear Santa,  How's your wife?  I have been extra good this yaer! I hope you have a safe tripe back home.  Love Sarah   P.S I hope your deer are ok!"

First, "How's your wife?"?? That just cracks me up.  And the "o" in "hope" has been turned into a peace sign.

And last, we have a letter regarding her feelings towards her brother.

"Dear Mom,
I find you're son completely EVIL. He steals my diary, messed up the still wet ink from my 9 hill (I have no idea what that is supposed to say, but that's what it looks like.) and did numeus (numerous) other crimes.  You should be thankful I, Sarah Wiant, DO NOT press legal charges.
Sarah"

Although I saved these masterpieces, I failed to date them.  I'm kicking myself for that now.  Sarah must have been eight or nine.  She had mastered the your/you're thing by the time she was ten or eleven and she obviously hadn't when writing these.  She had to have been at least eight when she wrote the evil brother letter though, because she'd put it in an envelope and written our return address on it.

Join me over at Carole's for the Three on Thursday link up.

Doing the Happy Dance!

I'm so happy!

 I'm happy because Zack finally came and packed up his room yesterday.  He moved out two years ago and when he left, all he took with him was his guitars, his computer, his bowling balls, one beach towel, a few pair of jeans and his toothbrush. All his 'stuff,' his manga, his rock band magazines, his stuffed animals from when he was three, his posters, bowling trophies, CD's, DVD's, 90% of his clothes.... have all been just sitting.  Sitting, waiting for him to come make the Toss or Keep decision. 

Now that Zack's room is mostly empty, I can have a yarn stash room.  A whole room to fill!  Happy Dance!

It's almost a fire pit.

Zack gave us a fire pit for Christmas and I knew if I waited long enough, he'd put it together for me.  Now we can have an outdoor fire.  I'm so excited.  I've wanted a fire pit for ages!

Some how the YMCA song got put into my phone's music thing and every time I press Shuffle, YMCA plays.  Of course I can't resist doing the arm motions, and it's played so much the dog has learned to jump up in the air every time they sing the Y-M-C-A parts.  It cracks me up that she's doing her on version of the YMCA dance.

41 Teeth on my Hitchhiker Shawl

I'm happy dancing that I've finally passed the 40 teeth mark on my Hitchhiker shawl.  (And how is it that I always notice a mistake in the photos, never in the knitting itself?)

I'm happy dancing over the weather.  It has FINALLY stopped raining and with the sun, we have warmth!  Actually, we have heat.  We hit 75 degrees today and tomorrow is supposed to be even warmer.  Record breaking warm, actually.  Actually, I might not be that happy tomorrow.  It was Hot today!  And if it's going to be this hot, I'm going to have to shave my legs & dig out some shorts.  Please, please, bring back the snow!

I'm frantically happy dancing over Sarah's new computer arriving today.  You wouldn't think I'd be so excited for her to get a new computer....  But she's been using mine every day.  I've only had computer access for an hour or two in the evenings for the last month or so.  It's been a struggle.

But, with all that no-computer time I've had on my hands, I've had lots more time to read.  I'm happy that I read four books this week.  I finished The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman (and it was Excellent!,) The Christmas Boyfriend by Taylor Hart, The One Hour Content Plan by Meera Kothand, and Lifestyle Blogging Basics by Laura Lynn.  The two blogging business books were interesting and motivational but not earth shatteringly educational.  The Christmas Boyfriend was what you'd expect from a story line where a girl hires a stranger to be her boyfriend to get her parents off her back.  In other words, total fluff but fun and quick to read.  And then there was The Ocean at the End of the Lane.  Wow! I LOVED this book!  It was one of those books where I found myself frequently highlighting whole passages and I was riveted from page one all the way to the very end.  I'm definitely giving this one five stars.  No actually, I'm giving it more than five.  Six stars and I'm adding it to my 'Re-Read Every Couple of Years' list. I'm also going to buy a hard copy that I can actually use a real highlighter on to underline my favorite passages instead of having to track them down on my Kindle. The Ocean at the End of the Lane may not have been a very happy story, but I sure am happy that I chose to read it.

I'm joining up with the #Unraveled crew over at Kat's.

The last ride

I've been putting this post off because, well honestly, I didn't want to see it in writing.  Documenting it makes it so official. So real....  And I so desperately wish it wasn't real.

As is usual in my life, Karma's response is quick and sometimes brutal.  Not three hours after my National Dog Day post went live and I publicly admitted that Max was my favorite, Max began to show signs of illness.

He didn't want his breakfast.  Not wanting breakfast was HUGE.  Max took meal times Very seriously.  If someone made the mistake of getting in his way, he'd knock them down to get to his food bowl.  If you were bending over too slowly to place his full bowl on the floor, he'd grab the bowl out of your hand.  Max liked to eat.

But after adding a little hot water gravy, he ate.  He ate with enthusiasm, although he did take the time to chew rather than his normal one-giant-inhalation gobble.  He seemed fairly okay so I went to work.

Within twenty four hours of wanting gravy on his food, three golf ball sized lumps had appeared on  his throat/neck, he'd gone totally blind and one leg wasn't working quite right. We had to carry him up and down the stairs and in and out of the house.  He was still eating though - as long as we put 'gravy' on his food and placed the bowl in front of him and he wasn't having accidents in the house.

I talked to the vet and she felt that he was 'stable' and she changed his Well Check appointment he had coming up in a few days to a Quality of Life Discussion appointment.  I cried.  A lot.

For the next few days, Max held his own.  The family made sure someone was with him at all times, I slept downstairs on the sofa with him at night so he wasn't alone. We placed his water bowl and food bowl in front of him and he ate and drank.  We picked the big lunk up and carried him outside where he'd wander around the yard, bumping into trees.

The morning of his vet appointment, he was able to find his water bowl without help.  I had high hopes.  Maybe my husband's theory that he had a sore throat & just needed antibiotics was actually correct.  Maybe his blindness wasn't the end and he'd be okay.  Maybe his restlessness the previous night was him wanting to get back to his old, mobile self and not signs that he was starting to feel pain.  Maybe, just maybe, he'd be okay.

Sadly, that was not the case.  On August 31, 2017, Max took his final car ride.  The diagnosis was lymphoma and the vet was able to feel 18 tumors.  The tumors were everywhere. Head, neck, chest, belly, legs.  Everywhere. One in his head had caused so much pressure, the blood vessels in his eyes had ruptured causing his blindness.  It was time to do the unthinkable.

My heart is broken and I miss him more than I thought possible.  But I'm also confident that he's in a better place. A pain-free place with an unlimited supply of pizza and donuts, and he can actually catch the neighbor's cat every once in a while.

National Sister's Day

It's National Sister's Day and I'm shouting out to the best sister a girl could have.

She may be ten years older and growing up, was frequently more like a mom than a sister, but she's the best!  Thanks for always being there for me, Cary.  Thank you for never killing me for playing in your makeup, thank you for allowing me to tag along on a few of your dates, and thank you for introducing me to 'real' music such as the Stones, Three Dog Night and Crosby, Stills & Nash long before my peers were tuning in.  You helped shape my life in ways you'll never know.

The scary part of this holiday is, how is it possible that the most recent photo I have of the two of us together is from the fall of 1980 when I went off to college? And why was I taking all those plants with me?

Twenty

It's an exciting day today.

I finished knitting  the my Autumn Fire scarf.  In the beginning, I'd questioned whether it would be a Christmas gift or a scarf for the Etsy shop.  It's no longer a question.  It's mine, all mine.  For the life of me, I'll never understand how that bright magenta, a fire engine red, a lemon yellow and three shades of orange can blend so well with ten shades of brown but it does, and I love it.  LOVE it!

And, I finished knitting the clown barf cowl.  I love how that turned out as well.  It's both bright and muted.  All at the same time.  Combining the clown barf with solid black was definitely a good call.

And while finishing those two projects is exciting (because they both felt like they'd dragged on for ages,) it's not The exciting thing.

THE exciting thing is that my youngest, my little bitty baby girl turned 20 today.

Sarah

Twenty!

Sarah, the fashion queen

 No longer a teenager.

Sarah & the shark

No longer a kid.  She's an adult now.

11/19/1996

How is it possible that my little bitty baby* girl is twenty?

*Yes, I'm aware that my "little bitty baby" was never very little.  She was over 10 pounds at birth and had shoulders to rival The Fridge.  Luckily, she grew into her shoulders and out of that angry newborn stage.

Sarah, 2010

Happy 20th Birthday, Sarah!

Pass the Valium

I have a new love.

Louisa Harding Pittura

Meet my new favorite yarn - Louisa Harding's Pittura.  Oh my gosh!  It is The softest and comes in The most beautiful color combinations.

I'll tell you more about Pittura later.  Despite how much I love this yarn, I'm too busy having a nervous breakdown to talk about it.  You see, my boy child, my sweet baby boy, my little punkin boy is at the airport about to board his very first flight for his very first business trip.  There's just so many things wrong with that sentence!  First, how is my baby punkin boy even old enough to be going on a business trip?  Isn't he still, like, twelve?  Nope, he's actually 21.  And he's getting on an airplane without his mamma?  Lord help me & pass the valium.

And yes, I'm well aware that I'm just slightly over protective of my kids.  Yes, I'm aware that they are grown and are capable of doing things and going places on their own.  At least in theory I'm aware.  In real life....  not so much.

And yes, I'm a helicopter and proud of it.

Twenty-three

Mike and I are celebrating our 23rd wedding anniversary today.  And it's pretty exciting.  It's exciting that we are still happy together.  It's exciting that we haven't killed each other.  We don't fight often, but when we do, the fights tend to be epic.  Epic fights over silly stuff, like whether we should buy mint chocolate chip or strawberry ice cream.  (It's true.  About 99.9% of our epic fights have occurred in the grocery store!  What does that even say about us??)  And it's exciting that we finally know how long we've been married.

We've been married 23 years, today.  Okay, so most people know when they got married.  Most people have big, fancy weddings with lots of guests who, on the off-chance that the happy couple forgets what year they were married, they could ask.  Most people have marriage certificates and photo albums and scrapbooks....

Mike and I are definitely not 'most people.'  We aren't the mushy, love & roses type.  We decided to get married, bought the rings & said the I do's all within about three weeks time.  We got married in the magistrate's living room with only our parents & siblings in attendance.  We didn't even make reservations for a honeymoon suite.  We went fishing on our honeymoon.  Fishing!  (See, it's a wonder I haven't killed him yet.)  Can you even call going fishing a honeymoon?  Starting our marriage out by going fishing may be part of the reason I've blocked our wedding date from memory.

Anyway...  We didn't have a big, fancy wedding with lots of dated memorabilia.  We also had a flood that destroyed what little documentation we had.  For years, we've known the month and day we got married, but we couldn't remember which year the joyous fishing trip occurred.  Well, recently, while cleaning out a junk drawer, I came across the receipt for my engagement ring.  We were married on June 25, 1993, which means....

Happy 23rd wedding anniversary, Mike.  Despite my sarcasm and complaints about going fishing, I wouldn't have changed a moment of our time together.  Not even the fishing trips.  Despite your choice of ice cream flavors, I still love you and am looking forward to the next 23 years.  Happy Anniversary!

(And hint, hint.... Maybe next time, we can find a fishing hole near a yarn shop.)

Come on and sing it with me

"At the car wash, working at the car wash..."

My car got it's very first by-hand car wash today.

Sarah washed.

(And she didn't appreciate being photographed doing it.)

And I supervised and knit from the safety of the porch.

Sing it with feeling, y'all

"At the car wash
whoa whoa whoa whoa
Talkin' about the car wash, yeah
Come on, y'all and sing it for me
Car wash...."

Fascinating Friday

Today marks the beginning of a whole new adventure.  My baby boy turns 21 today.  As an over protective, helicopter parent, I'm not sure how I feel about this.  I suddenly feel older than dirt.  Knowing how I spent my own 21st birthday and knowing the stupid things a 21 year old boy can do, I'm slightly terrified.  On the other hand, we've raised Zack well and are extremely proud of the man he's become.

Zack, 3 months

Zack wears the right colors.

Zack, 1 year old

He's laid back, enjoys life and doesn't stress.

Zack driving the dump truck

He learned to drive and is responsible behind the wheel.

Canoeing in Gaston flood waters

Zack captains of his own ship and doesn't crumble under the weight of peer pressure.

A perfect score

He taught himself how to bowl.

Tournament Winner

He's learned to win graciously,

Heartbreak 

and how to handle disappointment just as well.

A boy and his dog

He knows how to love.

Manning up at tax time

And Zack even does his own taxes.

We've raised a fairly responsible adult and I shouldn't worry.  I should celebrate the day.

Happy 21st birthday, Zack.  May you live long, prosper early, laugh heartily and love deeply.

Giving Thanks, Day 19 & My Baby Girl

Today, I'm thankful for my baby girl.

Sarah, the Redneck Hillbilly

I'm oh-so thankful she came into our lives 19 years ago today.

I'm also thankful she outgrew her five year old sense of fashion.  Her Redneck Hillbilly phase was even more embarrassing than her three year old Barbie Princess phase.  At least when she wore her Barbie Princess costume to the grocery store people realized it was a costume and not something I'd purposely bought for her to wear on a daily basis.  But the Redneck Hillbilly phase.... ah, that was just painful.

Happy Birthday, Sarah.  I love you!

TBT - Halloween Dress Up

It's TBT/Throwback Thursday, Halloween is only a few days away, and I'm reminded of my grandparents.  My hippie for a day grandparents.

Hippies

Okay, so my grandmother's choice of hats isn't what I'd call "hippie" but my grandfather's hair sure is!  They'd dressed as hippies for a costume party and if I remember correctly, they got stopped by the police on the way.  I was pretty young & don't know the details, but just seeing my grandfather with that hair makes me laugh.  He was a judge and didn't have a "hippie" bone in his body.  Neither of my grandparents did.  My grandfather sat around the house in his coat & tie while my grandmother was the type to wear white gloves when she went out to lunch.  They may have dressed immaculately, but they enjoyed life and were great fun.  When they let their hair down, that is.

TBT - The Rescue Rider

It's Throwback Thursday, otherwise known as TBT....

The Rescue Rider

For Zack's first Christmas, Santa brought him the Rescue Rider.  And, boy! Did Zack love that thing!  He pretty much learned to walk by pulling up on the back end of it and pushing it all over the house.  Later, he learned to sit on it and propel himself forward with his feet.  I never understood why it was called a "rescue" rider because it was really a dump truck.  What ever.  Zack carried all his favorite toys, loads of sand and more frogs & turtles than I could count around in the back of it.

Later in life, by the grand old age of 2, Zack had perfected steering his Rescue Rider.  Zack would start at the back of our house & race straight towards our front door.  A glass front door, I might add.  He'd get within inches of slamming into the door, turn the steering wheel, do a half a donut spin, and end up with the back of the Rescue Rider literally only an inch or two away from the door.  He did this over and over and over again and never hit the door!  Not once!

Later still, when his little sister was grown up enough to be chasing him around, calling "Hack, Hack" (because she couldn't pronounce the "z" in Zack,) he'd give her rides on the back and he even carried her dolls around for her occasionally.

Zack drove that Rescue Rider until its wheels fell off.  Literally.  Well, that's not true.  They didn't fall off.  They were hard plastic and he wore huge giant holes in them (from sliding towards the front door, I'm sure) and eventually, the holes got so big the Rescue Rider would no longer role.

It was a Very sad day the day the Rescue Rider went to live with the garbage men.