Close your eyes and go back in time with me, not exactly sure how far, but let’s call it around 32 years ago, ok?  That would make me about 4 years old, give or take, and that’s about right because I was not yet reading at the time.  My parents had brought me to Pennsylvania to visit family and on the day in question we were off to see the wonders of a natural treasure known as Penn’s Cave.  As their website clearly states (although 32 years ago there was no such thing as a website) there are 48 steps leading down to the entrance of the cave.  I remember walking down those steps almost as clearly as if it was yesterday.   Somewhere among those 48 there was a sign which described the wonders that we were about to experience and showed a large diagram depicting a cross section of the cave.  At the top of the picture there was grass, trees, the familiar landscape we were leaving behind.  And if you happened to be a young child looking at the picture you might also have noticed that it showed large cracks beginning at the soil and leading straight down into the depths of the cave.  Hmm, large cracks don’t look like a great idea to have in the ceiling of a cave you are about to enter.  At least, that’s what I was thinking at the time.  So I turned to the smartest person I knew, who happened to be in close proximity, “Dad, what are all those cracks in the picture?”

Ah, my father.  He is still probably the smartest person I know even all these years later.  I’d like to think that I inherited some of his intelligence, although not enough.  I did inherit a few other gems from him in spades, a hot temper and a dry sense of humor are among them.  And at the moment when his sweet little girl looked up at him and inquired about this troubling sign she was viewing, it was the latter that fueled his answer.

“It’s showing how water trickles through cracks from above when it rains and makes cracks in the ceiling of the cave.  It might just collapse at any moment.”  I imagine that there was probably a smirk on his face at the time and my mom probablyrolled her eyes at his sarcasm.  Perhaps she even tried to correct this invalid statement by telling me it was about the formation of stalactites and stalagmites.  I honestly do not know.  I did not hear anything else, I was frozen solid, confused beyond words and terrified.  We were descending into a dark cold creepy cave and the CEILING MIGHT COLLAPS ON US AT ANY MOMENT????? Are you people CRAZY???? Those were the words in my head, but nothing came out of my mouth.  I believe what emerged was more like a quiet, panicked, “I don’t want to go.”

But I was small and everyone was still moving forward down down down the stairs and I found myself carried along too.  Soon I could see that there was a boat in the water inside the cave and it became clear that we were to get on it.  Now my heart was beating quite loudly and I found my voice a little clearer.  ”I don’t want to go.”

“Don’t be silly, it will be fun.”

Um, no thanks.  Doesn’t sound like much fun to me, I think I’ll pass.  But my suddenly insane parents continued towards the boat, they got ON the boat and it was clear that there were going into the cave.  And I snapped.  I had a tantrum that would have made any self respecting two year old proud.  I was NOT getting on that boat.  Was I the only sane person here?  What was going on?

My parents could not understand my fit, children having fits are not generally known to be excellent communicators.  And they were not going to give in to the screaming lunacy of a child.  They left me behind with my grandfather and sailed off into the cave of death.  As I watched them drifting away my screams echoing back to me I wiped my fast flowing tears away to try to catch one last glimpse of my beloved parents before they were buried alive.

In the hour that followed my hysterics eventually gave way to that hiccupy gasping breathing that kids do after a good long cry.  I waited next to my Grandfather in silence, prepared to run for the steps the moment the ceiling started to go.  I wondered if I would be left to live with my grandfather, which was another unpleasant thought.  I wondered how this terrible event had come to pass.  And as I sat there wondering a miraculous thing happened, their boat returned!  I could not believe my eyes, it was them, they were back, they survived!  I was overjoyed and I was anxious to get the heck OUT of this place before our luck ran out.

And  that is the story of how we all survived a near miss with death in the bowls of a cave in Pennsylvania.   I learned a few things on that day that are worth repeating.

1. Children do not see the world in the same way as adults and this can cause some really big problems if you’re not careful.

2. You need to speak up and speak clearly if you want anyone to understand you.  If it’s important, you better make yourself heard.

3. I love my mom and dad.  Even though you left me at the dock, you did come back and you’ve been there for me ever since.

xxoo

Everyone dreams, and everyone talks about what they would do if they won the lottery.  But as we all know, you have to play in order to win.  Logically I completely understand that purchasing lottery tickets is the equivalent of throwing money out your car window, and for that reason I rarely do it.  But sometimes in my travels I will pass by a certain gas station that will sometimes put out a big sign when the jackpot gets high and those times I will occasionally start to dream.

I’m at a crossroads in my life right now.  I’ve been spending the past several months trying to decide where I want to go from here, what I want to do with my remaining allotment of time on earth.  Or at least for this next chapter.  I am not religious, I do not believe in a higher power and I do not believe in afterlife.  I have often said that I hope to live a long and happy life and I hope at the end of it to look back with no regrets for missed opportunities.  That idea has lead me to many exciting and interesting pursuits so far and even when those paths have lead me to failure I have appreciated the journey.  But at the moment my journey is stagnating a bit.

A few days ago I was traveling past that station and the sign was out and as it turned out I needed gas too.  It sure seemed like the universe was pointing me to buy a ticket, and I did.  I purchased a ticket to ride the train of possibilites and see where it took me.  Two hundred and fifty two million possibilities.  What would I do?  I spent the next few days imagining it, wondering what choices I would make, wondering how my life would change and hoping not only to win, but more importantly, hoping that this exercise would shed some light on the darkness in my life right now.

The jackpot drawing was last night.  I did not stay up to watch it, I was tired and turned in early.  But this morning amid the chaos of the usual getting ready for school routine I did remember to check the numbers.  And now this little exercise has come to a close with the following results:

1. I did not figure out what is next.  I am still working on that and the process is very difficult.  Unfortunately, my ticket to dream did not show me a clear path to a wonderful happy future.  I guess that the lesson here is that there is no easy answer.  I still have more hard work ahead of me, there is no free ride and I suppose that if there was it wouldn’t be that great after all.  It’s hard to appreciate a free ride, but it’s a lot easier to appreciate something that you work hard to attain.

2. I did with the lottery.  Well, I won my money back plus a few extra dollars.  So it wasn’t a complete waste, and I guess the universe was giving me a pass plus a tiny bit of bonus.  No free ride for me, but a tiny litte affirmation that if I want it and if I go for it there is more out there for me than what I have right now.

I just need to figure out exactly what that is.

I’d like to say that I’m just far too busy to get around to that task, but that’s silly too, after all, it takes all of a minute and a half to water them.  I could probably spare that time out of my Facebook allotment to get it done every few days.  I don’t think I’d miss anything earth shattering.

And it’s not that I don’t like my plants either, I actually do like them a lot.  I’d like very much to have more of them in fact, but I can’t bring myself to adopt another unsuspecting seedling in need of love and care and thrust it into my sick little world of drought and monsoons.  I’m not evil either.

It’s not genetic, that’s for sure.  My father has an actual greenhouse attached to his home and he raises hundreds of orchids in it.  He carefully rotates them through his home as they come into bloom, lovingly spends hours watering and draining each one every few days, and they are truly a sight to behold.  Sigh.  Once he actually brought one to me as a gift.  I think you can guess what happend there.  Orchids don’t do well in stressful conditions, not well at all.

I suspect that it might be a control issue. I cannot control my children, try though I do.  Even though they spend their waking hours working their way down a checklist of things that drive mommy nuts, I cannot (and would not) withhold food and water and any other basic need from them.  No matter how crazy they make me, I love them both and would never harm them.  I cannot control our two cats either, one of them has recently taken to crapping all over the floor in our basement, and occasionally NOT in our basement, even with a spotless litterbox mere steps away.  But I love them too and would never harm either of them .  . . although, if I find out which one is crapping everywhere she might start sleeping in the basement at night instead of on the couch. I cannot control many aspects of my life that regularly spin out of control.  I don’t like being out of control.  And a lot of the time I don’t like being so needed at every moment.

I think it gives me a little boost to take it out on my poor helpless plants.  They don’t cry, they suffer in silence. Which is a mirror on how I often feel as well.  And when I begin to get really down and out, when I start to feel like I just don’t have the energy to get it all done anymore I get mad at the plants for being one more thing on my ever lengthening to-do list.  One more thing that needs my time and attention.  But eventually I start to feel badly for them, the guilt wins out and I go pick up the watering can and apologize to each of them.  I guess that deep down I really understand what they are going through.  I should since I inflicted it on them.

In the end I guess I feel like I need a silent witness to my daily struggle and a few kindred spirits to help me feel understood.  And it would also seem that I prefer those supporters to be completely unable to throw a fork at me or to defile my floors.  Perhaps that’s not so difficult to understand after all.  I should really appreciate my plants a lot more for being there for me in my times of need, and for being the least needy of all the things that require my care.  Yes, I need to go make amends now to  my vegetative cheering squad.  And you know what?  I think I’ll join them as well.  We could all use a nice big drink tonight.

I cook dinner pretty much every night.  Perhaps once a month, twice if I’m really lucky, we’ll order a pizza or eat out.  And the rest of the time I’m slaving in the kitchen.  Now, that being said, I do slack off now and then, especially when hubby is out of town.  Slacking off for me would be pasta with a jar of tomato sauce, frozen veggies and chicken nuggets, or (shudder) frozen mozzerella sticks.  Slacking off can also mean grilled cheese sandwiches or prepared bratwursts.  Anything that takes less than 30 minutes to prepare is a real treat for me.

I know I’ve blogged about this before, when Ollie was smaller, but it’s still a major issue.  The time I spend trying to make dinner is the most stressful part of my day.  There is always a fight about cleaning up toys, always a fight about which TV show they will watch, always a fight about who will set the table, on and on and on.  And in the middle of the chaos I am expected to prepare a wholesome, delicious meal that meets the different tastes of all my 4 family members.  It’s enough to make me want to scream.  Actually, I often do scream.

Tonight I had to decide between a “real” meal or a “slacker” meal. Since last night was slacker central I decided to make a bonafide gourmet dinner.  Pork Lo Mein with loads of fresh veggies and home made potstickers.  And I was even able to cheat a little since the potsticker filling was already made and frozen from the last time I made a batch.  I wanted to feed my family good fresh food.  My heart was in the right place.

The problem was that the boys had already been screaming at each other and at me for two solid hours.  They were completely unable to play together without it ending in a disaster.  Perhaps because it’s been raining all weekend, perhaps because I am already very stressed out, perhaps because the moon is waxing 21% full and the wind is from the west, who knows?  But it was a lousy afternoon filled with screaming and tears.  And I thought somehow that a good dinner would help.  Sadly, not so much.

I spent an hour in the kitchen preparing this feast while they continued to fight about cleaning up, while Nate selected Spongebob since Ollie didn’t help at all, while Ollie screamed at my ankles “Ollie HUUUUUGRY!!!!!” since he doesn’t like Spongebob.  Somehow I managed to actually make the food.  And I was so very very excited to sit down at the table and eat it.  But that wasn’t meant to be.  Ollie couldn’t manage to get his giant adult fork to stab the pork (meltdown), I got him a more appropriately sized utensil which he threw at me, screamed in my face, and hit me, I transported him to his crib with a firm, “NO hitting, NO throwing!”  I sat down and ate 2 bites and then went to retrieve the sobbing baby to try again.  He informed me that he was “All Done dinner!”  and pushed his plate across the table hard enough that it nearly landed on the floor.  Then he demanded an Oreo.  My response sent him into more screaming fits.  Finally, when he had ascertained that no Oreos were forthcoming regardless of the volume and durration of his howls, he adjourned to the playroom.  I took a few deep breaths and looked up at Nate, “So, how’s your dinner?”

He smiled and said, “I like it!  Well, not really.  Actually it’s a little too spicy for me.  It’s burns my tongue and my lips.  I think I’m done.”  And with that, he got up and cleared his place.

I sat alone and contemplated my plate of food that took me an hour to make.  All those great fresh veggies.  I sighed, took a few more bites and then got up to start the dishes.  I am not in favor of fast food.  I am not a fan of frozen crap meals.  I am all about eating well and local and in season and all that great stuff.  But I think all this healthy cooking might just kill me.

Ollie LOVES his trouser mouse.  Diaper changes are a special treat, an all access pass, and lucky me, I get a front row seat.  Sigh.  I’m pretty liberal, and I don’t have  a problem with self exploration.  But I don’t particularly like watching it.  And it’s not just at diaper time either.  Do you watch American Idol?  I adapted a very special moment from this season for my little man, a song I call “Hand in your pants”  I think you can probably figure out my revised lyrics if you try.  Ollie thinks it’s quite funny, and now when he’s wandering through the house with one thumb in his mouth and the other hand comfortably inserted into his diaper he’ll often grin up at me and start to sing it.

But as I said, I’m a pretty open minded gal and mostly, I laugh about his little obsession.  But there is one time I find it considerably less amusing, that’s first thing in the morning. The problem is that he likes to wish himself a friendly “Good Morning” when he wakes up.  And it must be the VERY first thing he does too, because every single morning by the time I get in the door to collect him, he is covered in pee.  And so is the rest of the bed.

This was not a problem in the cooler months, those zip-up fleece sleepers kept everything locked down tight.  But now that the warmer weather has arrived those sleepers are a bit too toasty and we’ve graduated to Nate’s hand-me-down pjs which are all separates.  Little shirts and little pants.  Open access.  I’ve been doing an awful lot of laundry.

So last night I found myself with an opening in the sewing schedule.  A break in the costuming job I’m working though.  And I knew that the one thing I needed to make above anything else was a Pajama straight Jacket for Mr. Busy Hands.  I flipped through my pattern catalogue and could not find exactly what I desired, but found two different patterns with the components I needed.  I hacked them together and came up with something great.  I put it on him tonight after dinner and it met with his approval, even passed the “dance test” before bed.  Tomorrow morning will be the true measure, but I have high hopes.  And now I’m off to go throw together another one for tomorrow night, so that I can stop doing so much laundry all the time!

Ok, I have learned a few things this year while sewing the boys’ clothing.  First thing, my boys are skinny.  The patterns need to be slimmed down to their pencil waists to fit correctly.  So I wisely decided to make mock-ups of the suits in cheap-o fabric before ruining the adorable crabs.  Good move.  In my fabric stash I have some old quilters cotton that I used in a project from the olden days, pre-kids, when I worked at the Long Beach Aquarium.  This stuff is circa 2001 give or take.  I didn’t have much of either print, but I hoped it would be enough.

Cutting out the patterns was challenging on the irregular scraps I had, but at least for Ollie’s shorts it all worked out just fine.  Note the adorable matching marlin on the front pockets and matching seals on the rear.  Yup, I’m that good.  Sometimes.

There are a lot of details in these, but overall I was pleased with the results.  And the fit was absolutely perfect.  At this particular moment.  Sadly, we will not be leaving for a couple months yet and I fear there is no way these cute little shorts are going to fit him by then.  Oh well, at least it wasn’t the crab fabric.  For the suits I’ll go up a waist size and they will fit just right.

Nate’s shorts came next.  Cutting out these was a bigger challenge.  I had just enough fabric to squeeze these out.  I really wanted to match the marlin pockets from Ollie’s shorts and was extra careful when cutting out the pockets for Nate’s.  Here’s a picture, didn’t I do a PERFECT job?

The sewers are laughing.  The non-sewers are likely confused.  let me clue you in, I cut 2 right pockets instead of one right and one left.  Intense bummer.  No more marlins to cut out either, that plan had to get tossed out.  But I let it go and VERY carefully lined up another pocket with cute little hermit crabs.  And I did the same stupid  thing again.  Now I had THREE right hand pockets.  After I finished smacking myself I looked over the remains of my fabric.  Finding another piece of fabric big enough for the pocket was a challenge.  Lining it up to center a cute animal motief was out of the question.  I ended up with some hermit crabs and parts of a manatee or two.  But the good news, this time I managed to cut out a LEFT pocket.  The bad news, there was noting left of the fabric to speak of, belt loops were out of the question.  Oh well, he’s not gonna wear a belt anyway.

And in the final analysis, Nate’s fit pretty well.  They seem a little tight to me as well although he says they are just right.  In fact he’s still wearing them right now despite the fact that it’s forty degrees outside today.  He loves them, hopefully they will still fit in March.

So now I have the boys suit patterns settled, next I’ll be moving on to swim shirts, rash guards, sun t’s, whatever you may choose to call them.  And after that’s all worked out, board shorts for Jay will be up.  And then finally, the really scary part . . . a tankini for me and those board shorts . . . stay tuned, that’s sure to make a good story.  But don’t expect too many photos, unless the tummy fairy visits and magicaly removes all extra remaining baby pouch and leaves behind a brand new six pack : )

That was also the year that I started noticing these lovely little wooden houses in fancy overpriced catalogues like Pottery Barn.  But at $120 a piece, it was love at a distance.  The idea was great though, and it stuck with me.  The next year I found more options at much better prices at one of my favorite stores, Target and  $20-$30 sounded a lot more reasonable to me!  But the idea was not complete, because I needed to figure out what to put inside each door too.

We always have too much candy in the house and it doesn’t get eaten.  Halloween candy sticks around until the next Halloween, so does the Easter stuff.  Unless I break down and throw it out that is.  Needless to say, the idea of candy in the calender did not thrill me.  Niether did itty bitty plasticy toys from China.  Choking hazards and the federal deficit aside, they just break instantly anyway and that’s not only a waste of money, but also disappointing to the kid.  And then one day at Michael’s inspiration struck.  There in the “Ready to Paint Wood Craft” section were these little bins of already painted tiny decorations.  They were small enough to fit in each door and could be used every year, and with a little imagination they almost looked like tiny Christmas ornaments . . . PRESTO!  I bought 25 of them (at .25 a piece it wasn’t exactly a huge investment) and rushed to Target to pick out my new advent calender.

I looked at all the fun and silly ones they had, but finally setled on a very simple one.  It was a rectangle with 25 doors in a plain antique white finish.  I loved the simplicity of it, and frankly it was the sturdiest one of all.  The openings behind the doors were big enough to accomodate my ornament as well as a small toy or chocolate should I change my mind in the future.  I also saw potential for embellishment and personalization . . .

All the way home I fleshed out my plan and by the time I arrived I nearly flew up the staris to my craft/sewing room to dig out my paints.  Over the course of several days I transformed that advent cabinet into a masterpiece that I am very proud of.

Next I needed to make the christmas tree for all the ornaments to get placed on.  After all those tiny little doors it was a real relief to put away the paints and break out the sewing machine!

Each little wooden ornament got a tiny square of velcro hot glued on the back.  And then it was complete.  And without a moment to spare, tomorrow was December 1st.

With great fanfare I brought it all into our family room and explained the process to Nate.  I was unsure if the thrill would still be there without the chocolate or toys . . . but my instincts were true.  He loved it.  I mean, LOVED it.  And now it’s our second year using our advent cabinet and he loves it again.  In fact, even little Ollie is in on the game, they are taking turns.

It’s our new family Christmas tradition and it’s in all the right spirit too.  Joy, sharing, beauty, love, and of course the thrill of the unknown surprises life has for us all.  Happy Holidays to all my family and friends, and may 2010 be a year of wonderful surprises for you and those you love!

-Danielle

I already had that fabric, it’s a blanket made from micro fleece that I picked up cheap at Marshals.  I loved the design and the colors and immediately knew I’d never be able to buy an equivalent amount of yardage at that low price so I grabbed it.  The pattern was a bit harder to decide on, but after much debating I chose an Ottobre pattern for a Women’s Sweat Jacket and figured I could modify it as needed.  The shell went together very quickly and I was pleased with the way I was able to line up the pattern on the different pieces as well.  Once that much was accomplished I tried it on to check the fit and felt like it was a little too lightweight for my liking.  So I decided to line it for added warmth.  But with what?  As I looked around my sewing room my eyes fell on a piece of striped jersey I recently purchased online simply because I loved it, no particular project in mind.  The colors were a perfect match to my fleece and I decided to use it.  But after re-tooling the pattern for the lining (a more simplified pattern with less pieces) and cutting out the front and back panels I realized I would not have enough to make the sleeves as well.  Can you say poor planning?  I went back to the website to order more only to find that it was no longer listed.  I wrote to the store and they sadly informed me that there was no more to be had.  I was devistated.

But, I had to finish it somehow, so off to Joanns I went and I was able to find a solid jersey in a very close match.  As it was going inside the sleeves anyway I figured it would be just fine.  I also seamed a bit of the stripe to the cuff ends so that I could turn them up to show off the stripes, the solid would never even be seen.  I’m so clever.  SO very clever.  I couldn’t wait to try on my pretty new jacket all lined in my stunning striped jersey, so cozy, so warm, so . . . so . . . tight.  Um, tight and clingy.   The jersey stuck to my shirt sleeves and made it impossible to put on.  and I should have known that would happen, I DID know that would happen, I just didn’t THINK about it, I was too caught up in the perfectly matching fabrics to consider function.  Now the fabric I loved was cut up into pieces already and could never be used for anything for me, maybe I can salvage it into a shirt for Ollie.

Ok, back to the drawing board.  How about a silky lining that would make it easy to slip the jacket on? Just so happend I have a piece of dark brown lining fabric in my stash waiting to line a dress I have yet to make.  Score.  So, I cut out the new lining and sewed it up.  And inserted it into the shell and found .  . . it’s not the right size.  It has no stretch and the pattern is for a stretch knit, it’s too small, it won’t fit.  Now, lining fabric is cheap and easy to get, so this time I’m not sad about the fabric loss, this time it’s my time, my sanity and my overwhelming stupidity.  Yet another amateur mistake, I know better than to cut that way.  I decided to hang the jacket shell up on my dress form and take a break, my head needed a little time to clear so I could stop making dumb mistakes.

That same day my new duvet fabrics arrived.  Ohhh, they were beautiful online and they were delicious in person, I couldn’t wait to get working on those!  So, I pulled out the graph paper plan I had made and started cutting and sewing away.  And soon it became apparent that what I thought would look good was actually not going to work out so well, my tiny little paper looked a little different when blown up to actual size.  I ducked out to the fabric store again to pick up a few yards of ‘filler” fabric.  After sewing on the filler, I immediately hated it.  HATED.  And so, I turned around and walked away.

For three days now I’ve been cleaning the house and doing laundry.  The jacket hangs on the dressform, begging me to come back and finish it, those luscious fleecy curves longing to be complete.  The duvet hangs over the side of the loft wall, looming into my family room and taunting me with it’s too blue border.  Every morning as I rush out the door to take Nate to school in the ever colder weather I too wish for my snuggly jacket and every night as I curl up in bed under my tattered and torn duvet I toss and turn as I think about my stack of fabrics in the next room.  And I’m sad.  Frustrated and sad.

I’ve been sewing up a storm for the boys and overall it has all come out so well.  I’ve been very proud of what I’ve turned out.  So why is it that my failures and stupid mistakes happen when I sew for myself?  Which I so rarely do.  Almost all of what I make goes to others, and I love to do that, it’s immensely rewarding to give something to someone you love, a gift that you MADE and are proud of.  It comes from your heart and from your time and it’s a piece of yourself.  And the items I sell are rewarding too in a different way, the idea that someone values what you make enough to purchase it from you, that is a wonderful feeling.  But every now and then I’d like a little piece of that as well, a beautiful thing that I can wear or use and know that I took the time for myself.  Some love from me to me.  That’s important too.  But those things, they rarely work out and it’s just not fair.

Soon I will return to the sewing room and try again.  Hopefully I can salvage the jacket and with luck I’ll be able to turn the duvet into something I love instead of hate. Cross your fingers for me, I need it.  And I’ll need to get them done soon as the great Christmas sew off is about to begin.

Which never lasts long.  All of a sudden I hear my name being screamed in a wail, “Maaaaaaaaaammmmmaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!”  It has that edge of panic to it, that tone that immediately sets any parent into full throttle mode.  I drop the plastic plate I am rinsing and tear for the door.  I run out the back with wild eyes scanning for my son, nowhere.

“Nate!!!!”  no answer, louder, “Nate!!!!!!”  Still no answer.  I run around to the side, no one there.  Back around to the other side, no one.  My heart is pounding, “NATE!!!!”  Still no-one.  I run for the door to see if he has come inside and realize that I’m freezing and shoe-less.  He is not inside.  I slip on my shoes, no time to find the coat and back out the door once more.  And then I see him.  Weeping and sulking around the side of the house to the back yard.  I can only see the top half of him but a wave of relief washes over me.  He’s unhappy, but he’s ok.  ”What’s going on? Are you ok?”  He continues sobbing and walks around the deck towards the steps.  He’s mumbling incoherently through his hysterical crying.  And as he rounds the corner I  get the full picture, he’s black from the knees down.  Absolutely covered in impossibly thick ooozy mud that comes from only one place around our house, the swamp.

My blood pressure which had been beginning to settle down suddenly skyrockets again.  ”WHAT IS GOING ON???”  He’s not allowed down there.  That mud is like quicksand, it comes on fast and pulls down hard.  It’s hungry and its smelly and it plays for keeps.  He knows that’s out of bounds because he’s been down there before.  I thought we’d made it clear enough the last time the two of them went into it, we hosed them off outside and it was not a warm day.  The freezing well water seemed like an apt punishment and I’d hoped it would serve as a memorable reminder.  Wishful thinking.

He’s choking on his words he’s so hysterical.  Clearly he needs to tell me something but can’t make himself understood through the gasping and sobbing.  ”Take a breath Nate, calm down.  I can’t understand you.”  He points to one of his black feet and says something about a shoe.

“What?”

“It’s sssssstuck  mama!”

What’s stuck?  Your shoe?”

“Uh-huh”

“What do you mean, it’s stuck?”  He points to the swamp.  And then I realize, the shoe is not on his foot.  Impossible to tell since every inch of him from the knees down looks exactly the same.  But I understand now.  The shoe is still in the swamp.  My turn to take a breath and try to calm down.  I’m still freezing and now I need a minute to compose myself before I kill my child.  ”Stay here.”

“bbbbut maaaamaaaa . . . .”

“STAY HERE!”  I turn and go in for my coat.  And while I’m there I get those silly grabber things my mom gave me.  If they can retrive toy cars from behind the couch and littlest pets from the street gutters perhaps they can also remove shoes from the swamp.  It’s worth a try.  I zip up my coat and steel myself for a nasty trip into the muck.  When I open the door once more I find him on the deck, still sobbing.

The walk down the hill into the woods is unpleasant for both of us.  He’s freezing cold and soaked through.  I can now see that his hands are black as well and he’s more miserable than I can remember seeing him ever before.  ”I’m ssssssoo cccccold  mama!!!  I ccccan’t ddddooo thissss!”

“Oh yes you can.  You came down here in the first place when you knew you shouldn’t and I don’t care how cold you are, you’re coming down again.  So quit complaining and get a move on.”  He only stopped complaining long enough to try to explain how it was all Timmy’s fault for suggesting they go there in the first place.  It’s always everyone else’s fault for Nate.  He’s never to blame.  He mouths off to me and gets sent to time out, it’s my fault for not giving him his way when he wants something.  He stubbs his toe on the chair and it’s the chair’s fault.  And whenever he and Timmy are in trouble it’s always Timmy’s fault.  This little comment landed him a big fat earful of lecture from me the rest of the way down to the muck.  The usual, “if he told you to jump off the roof” stuff.  And as I’m saying it I know he’s not really listening, just like I never did.  I wish I had a better line to give him, one that would actually make him understand the stupidity of following your friend when you know it’s wrong.  If I could only show him exactly where that leads.  But he won’t understand it until he’s no longer invincible.

And then the ground starts to give under my feet and I stop short.  We’re here, we’re in the muck.  ”Where?” I demand.  He points in a vague direction.  I look at his face angrily and then realize that he doesn’t even know himself.  It all looks the same down here.  Swampy, gooey, wet.  I start to scan the surface for glimmers of a bright blue sneaker.  Instead I begin to make out the depressions of five year old footprints.  They are hard to see, deep and small and already caving in on themselves as the mud claims all evidence for it’s own.  But if I look hard I can still see them and I follow the disappearing trail with my eyes out from where I stand.  I take a few carefully planned jumps to the highest ground I can find as I trace the path but almost immediately it’s clear this is a lost cause.  Those little prints go way out there, I can’t even tell where they end.  And I can go no farther than I already have gone.  It’s over.  RIP blue sneaker.

Did he learn his lesson this time?  Probably not.  While he was still shivering and crying I explained that the mud can claim more than a shoe, the mud can keep the rest of you as well.  I inquired if he thought it sounded like fun to be stuck in the freezing mud for an hour where I could not hear his calls for help or see him trying to desperately escape.  Did it sink in?  Will he heed my warnings?  I don’t know, I never know what he actually absorbs into the stubborn little brain of his.  All I can say for certain at this point is that he’s no longer allowed to play outside unsupervised since he can’t be trusted.  That’s going to put a real damper on his social life since I’m not interested in dropping everything to stand outside in the cold and watch him play whenever the mood strikes him.  He’s also going to replace  his sneakers with his allowance money.  Which might make a small impact the next time he wants to buy a special toy he can’t afford.  And finally, he’s going to wash the black mud out of his clothing.  Well, he’s going to try anyway, for a good long time.

Take this week.  I have an avalanche of fabric upstairs right now and a giant binder full of patterns I plan to sew for both boys, and even a few for myself.  I’m slowly getting through them, but there’s a lot there.  Couple that with the weather, it’s been getting really cold here, far too cold for October.  And throw in a minor crisis, Ollie got sick this week, pretty bad.  He came down with a really nasty case of croup and it happened the day after I took him out for a stroller walk.  In the snow.  Finally, throw in a little guilt, he doesn’t have a hat yet.  His jacket does have a hood, but with the croup, I’m thinking a hat might have been a good idea.  Not to mention mittens.  Stir gently, and voila, an idea is born!

What if I knit him a snuggly little hat?  I could make it blue to match his coat.  Oh, and what if it had a cute little spider on the top with the legs all running down the sides, that would be adorable!  And so perfect for this time of year too.  I could add some 3-d eyes on the top with pompoms to really bring it to life . . . this is gonna be the best hat EVER!!!!

Now, you need to know that I’m not a knitter.  I do know how to knit, but I’m not good at it and I’m not fast.  I don’t do it very often either.  I can count the number of completed knitting projects in my lifetime on one hand, and we’re not going to discuss the number of unfinished ones, mostly because I have no idea what that number would be.  But I do have a knitting bin, of course.  And in the bin you will find many half used balls of yarn from various projects, a few knitted scraps that never became anything real, several sizes of needles, a knitting gauge and a tiny little box filled with stitch markers and needle caps.  Some of that stuff used to be my moms and she gave it to me long ago, some I’ve amassed through the years.  So, hat time.

Step 1.

Check the yarn box (shake the dust off first) hmm, nope, not enough blue yarn for a hat.  Probably not anyway, but I don’t really know how much I’ll need since I’ve never knit a hat before.  Oh, wait, aren’t you supposed to use one of those circle needle thingies for hats?  Don’t have that either.  Perhaps I should look for a pattern that will approximate my vision and start there.  Now THAT’s an idea.

Step 2.

Surf the web for a free pattern.  Write down the needed supplies and then acquire said supplies.

Step 3.

Touch base with friend who actually does knit and get some questions answered.

And Step 4.

Start knitting.  Step four doesn’t go so well.  I’m lousy at casting on.  It all seems fine at first, but inevitably, once I start knitting the first row, this huge length of excess yarn begins to develop between my needles.  I’d forgotten about this problem, it’s probably a simple fix, but I’ve never actually had anyone show me how to do it since I learned to knit from a book.  Like 20 years ago.  Oh well, I knit that first row, tighten things up at the end cut off the excess and tie a knot.  Moving on.  Knit 5 rounds on my new circular needle in what is supposed to be a ribbed pattern.  Realize it ‘s not ribbing, my stitches are off.  It’s not salvageable.  Tear it all out and cast on again.  Which I’m still lousy at.  Take 2, about five rounds in again, realize this thing is way too big.  WAY too big.  Sigh, curse, rip it all out again.  Adjust pattern.  Make a guess and start again.  This time I decide to use 10 stitch markers to help me keep better track of the ribbing.  I am NOT casting this damn thing on again.  It works, the markers help, the ribbing is perfect and it looks to be a decent size.  Hooray!!!!!

Step 5.

Start working in my second color for my spooky spider friend. Hmmm, should I tie each new section on or stretch the yarn across?  I’ve never worked with more than one color before.  I decide to stretch it across.  It’s much quicker that way and I’m loosing patience since this is now take number three.  I figure I can go back after it’s done and cut and tie if I need to.  I worked that pattern all the way to the end this time.  I finished the hat with the little spider on top.  And it looked . . . terrible.  All the stretched across sections pulled the hat into a weird shape that would never fit on Ollie’s little head.  No worries though, I turned the hat inside out and started cutting and tying.   I did that for about an hour before giving up entirely.  It’s pretty damn hard to tie 1/2 inch pieces of yarn together, in case you’re wondering.  And they get smaller and smaller as you get towards the peak of the hat.  It’s hopeless.  3 days and three attempts and my hat is a mess.  An unsalvageable mess.  And there’s no way I’m casting it on again.  Not this week anyway.

Step 6.

Find a cute hat pattern in one of my sewing magazines and sew a hat.  Done in an hour.  Oh, but I did add a cute yarn pompom to the top to remind me never to knit again.  Now I’m going to go toss the spider hat into the knitting bin as another reminder.  It won’t help the next time inspiration hits, but perhaps it will encourage me to at least cut the threads while I’m kniting.  Maybe.