FemiKnitMafia

Thanks for all the well wishes.  I’m feeling better.

I won’t be bullied into deleting the blog, or into shutting down my Flickr account. Even if someone goes into my Flickr and deletes photos. Even if she threatens “pursue a different approach with regards to custody.” If there was actual power behind her the custody threat, I would worry. After all, Little Man is everything to me, and she knows that. It’s her strongest weapon.

Obviously there’s a much bigger story (isn’t there always?), but I can’t go into it here.

I can say that through it all, I can’t stop wondering why I’m the one being attacked? I am not the person who left the marriage in exchange for the girl next door. Shouldn’t there be some guilt? Some apologies? Some walking on eggshells? Some sensitivity? Some compassion? Any shred of basic human decency?

I just want to end this senseless fighting. Even if we’re not fighting in front of Little Man, which we don’t, he must pick up on that energy. And he’s displaying tell-tale signs of stress, which his teachers are telling us about.

We must stop. We must try to be civil. We must cooperate. If we can’t, then we’re harming him. And that breaks my heart. I must protect my boy from the stress he’s experiencing.

Oh god Little Man, please stop hurting. It’s going to be okay. I’m trying so hard. I’m nearly biting my tongue off to keep the nastiness safely unspoken. I’m doing this for you, my little love. I know the fighting hurts you, so I’m trying to bite bite bite bite bite bite bite bite my tongue. Trying to be civil. This is so hard. But for you — anything. Anything. My sweet little love. For you, I will bite my tongue and try to stop this fighting. My boy. Oh, my sad little boy. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow and enclose you in my arms and rest my nose on your soft little curls.

Most importantly, THANK YOU for the great links. L said:

“thanks for the sites.  they have kept us going!”

Secondly, what do you think this is?

There were some slap-happy designers in that room.

Okay folks. I have a request. My friend Steel Womb had her hysterectomy last Thursday and was supposed to leave the hospital on Saturday. There were some complications, which are fairly minor from what I can gather. She and her partner/finance L have been there for an extra 3 days already and now the docs are estimating another 6 days! Steel Womb and L are going absolutely stir crazy. But they DO have a laptop and internet access in the hospital room, so this is clearly where we can help. Go team!

Can you please post links to your favorite hilarious, heart-warming, sexy,
inspiring, or just plain raunchy websites in the comments?

Steel Womb is a knitter, but L is not. I can’t wait to see your ideas. The girls will be delighted and eternally grateful, I’m sure.

Okay, here’s the crappy part: I mailed this little womb last week, which was supposed to be part of an inspirational corkboard that L was compiling. It went to the wrong address and was shipped back to me! I nearly cried when I saw it in my mailbox. This little wombie was supposed to be in the hospital right now! Grrr. Argh.

Meanwhile, I’m knitting a pair of fingerless (or fingered, who knows?) mittens for Steel Womb from the same yarn (Ella Rae Palermo) together with Cascade 220 in a deep red. You like?

Post those links, okay? Thanks!

Chapter 1
Little Man has been acting out a bit, so we had some serious Q.T. this weekend. Without fail, our Q.T. ends up being some variation of body painting, which is certainly encouraged in his new favorite book: I Ain’t Gonna Paint No More, a hilarious tale about a kid who’s seriously into body painting. Anyway … the design is 100% Little Man. I’m his ‘high level assistant’, helping here and there, mostly when he wants something to be “stripe-ity.” I paint a stripe, ask which color comes next, paint another stripe, and so on … I take no ownership of the design elements. This is pure 4.5 year old work.

Chapter 2
Dr. Hot and I went to the new Institute of Contemporary Art on Sunday. Strangely, I was petrified of spending time with another single lesbian. I wasn’t a total geek, but I wasn’t exactly Ms. Charming 2008 either. By way of explanation, I hid behind the fact that art makes me introspective. She was both charming and a little nervous, which was sweet. Nobody said the word “date”, but I believe it was one.

I loved this David Muller work called As Below, So Above, which chronicled the development of rock and roll and had an audio soundtrack of the artist’s music. The soundtrack was like an iTunes party shuffle on crack.

I did not enjoy Kader Attia’s work. So.freaking.creepy! I suppose it’s good art, because it evoked such a strong emotional reaction in me. But I didn’t like it one bit. {shudder}

Bourgeois in Boston was excellent. There was a description of spirals that I regret not photographing because I can’t find it online. Overall, I really like her work, except that I nearly walked out of the museum when I saw her room-sized bronze spider. I leaned over to Dr. Hot and said, “I’m going to have nightmares about this for a week,” and yes, they’ve already started. Fun times, arachnophobia. Fun times.

Chapter 3
I have been knitting on the Rhiannon sock here and there, and have completed repeat #2. I love it deeply and intensely. Cables make me so freakin’ happy. It must be genetic, because it’s completely irrational.

Chapter 4
With any luck, I’ll soon be able to blog about two mini-projects that have been flying under the blogdar for the last two weeks. I’m hoping for good news and once I get it, I’ll blog it. Oh the agony of waiting for news.

Back in early 2005, I got a heaping pile of Cotton Ease at Building 19.  Now they’re unloading a pile of craft books (including knitting books).  I have NO idea if they’ll be good books or not, but I’m going to take a peek.  For locations, go to the Building 19 website, and if you’re interested in how they’re advertising it, here’s the flyer:

I haven’t seen you in 8 years, and good god girl, you have.Grown.Up. Wow. Yeah, I was checkin’ you out from across the bar, and thought to myself ‘that girl looks like Hot. Nah, can’t be.’ I looked and looked and looked. Did you catch me looking? I think you did. When you came over to say hello, I gasped in shock. Holy Shit! It IS You! Oh.My.God. Girrrrrrl … you look good! HUGS and Hugs and hugs that last too long. Quickly turn into something. Something? You’re wearing black cashmere. It’s tight. I can’t stop petting you. This is something. Definitely something. The bass is pumping and you keep the rhythm. hot. We try to talk. It’s futile. So I watch words develop in your little touches and the way you move to the music. You’re telling me something subtle with that body. Something nice. Girrrrrl … you’ve Grown Up since I saw you last. You used to be so shy. Those 8 years of sporadic contact brought me a stalled career, a failed marriage and this AMAZing man-child. You — with your head stuck in your books — discovered dykedom, wrote a dissertation and boarded the tenure track. All before you turned 30. Yeah, that’s hot. Real hot. Smart . Hot . Dyke . with hips pumping out the rhythm. Meow.

Say what? You’re single?

Oh …

really?