FemiKnitMafia

For some odd reason, I haven’t been spinning for the last few months. But today, after going to see Nemo on Ice with Little Man, he requested that we make a robot costume. Random? Yeah. Apparently his dress-up box is not complete without a robot costume. Who knew? He drew a picture of what the robot should look like, and insisted that we make it out of fabric, as opposed to paper. Even Little Man understands that fabric will wear better. So, one old pillow case with head and arm holes, some fabric scraps and some fusible interfacing later, the robot costume was complete (including my colander as a hat - his idea). Then, he insisted that we make a ghost costume. This was easier: old sheet + strategic holes = happy boy. Then we made brownies (No-Pudge which are surprisingly tasty) and he suggested that we smash some almonds and sprinkle them on top. I have no illusion that this was purely cooking creativity on his part. He just really loves this gadget and begs to chop something every time we cook. After the mid-afternoon brownie attack, I figured we should eat something healthy for dinner, so I set off to make baked sweet potato fries and turkey burgers. It’s a tricky way to get a vegetable into a 4-year-old. In fact, I’m thinking about cutting parsnips and broccoli and squash into french fry shapes. Though I shouldn’t complain because he tried edamame last night and liked it!

Anywho … while I was busy cooking, Little Man went over to Cheryl’s spinning wheel and started treadling. He does this with some regularity, but the drive band has been too loose to get the flyer going, and he gets upset about this. Apparently tonight was the night that a loose drive band was no longer acceptable to the wee one. He insisted that I fix it. I’m not kidding. He kept saying:

“Mom. You need to fix this. I want to make yarn. If you don’t fix this, I can’t make yarn.”

Who can argue with logic like that? So I fixed it. And we played with the wheel, and then the yarn winder, and then the lazy kate, and then the other wheel (because he wanted to see the brown alpaca fiber (not kidding!)), and then … before we knew it, the living room looked like this:

Which is good, because Kellee proposed the most incredible trade — her beautiful Traveler + stool in exchange for my sweaty labor expertise in home renovations. I’m not sure about the expertise bit, but thanks to Ms. 1890, I can scrape and spackle ceilings like a pro. I guess she needs some ceilings done. So we have a deal, and I couldn’t be happier.

This means that Cheryl’s Traveler is going to the next victim home and Julia’s Joy is going to the next victim home. With departures pending, Little Man’s spurt of creativity was perfectly timed, because I have several full bobbins of practice singles hanging around. So I spent the evening plying, and it was good.

Not so balanced 2 ply, before its bath

My first attempt at Navajo Plying, thanks to this video, also crazy unbalanced and pre-bath

After bathing and hanging that yarn, I started throwing lustful glances at Rabbitch’s Visions of Revenge. Perhaps I’ll just pre-draft a little of it.

It’s good to be back at the wheel.

Motivation comes from the most unexpected places. Thanks, Little Man.

*extra points if you know where the title comes from*

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.

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.

In looking through my ‘07 resolutions, I didn’t do too poorly. Especially when you consider the two huge life changes that were unexpected and largely out of my control: the divorce and being recruited into a graduate program. Still, as I look at the list, I feel a twinge of guilt for not achieving everything I set out to do. It’s silly, I know. But I’m a striver like that.

However, this year I pledge to be a realist. Life is short. Relationships are unpredictable. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. Therefore, I intend to focus more on the present, less on the future, and way less on what other people are doing/accomplishing. Accordingly, my goals are:

Human
… pay attention and go with the flow
… continue to be mindful of my body, fitness and health
… continue to love my little boy with all of my heart, and make all decisions with his needs in mind
… regularly tell friends and family how much I appreciate them

Employee & Student
… focus. focus. focus. produce. produce. produce.
… imagine. envision. create.

Home-owner
… buy a mattress & box spring
… buy a couch
… make wise financial decisions

Creator
… look to the stash (both fabric and fiber) before buying anything new
… finish some WIPs
… have fun

In looking back, I realize that I finished more crafty projects in 2007 than I thought.

It’s funny how you can forget about things that are finished and gifted away, temporary, perpetually in progress, or outgrown. If you ignore all of those items, that leaves 2 pairs of socks, one washrag, a pair of mittens, a hat, and my first skein of handspun. No wonder I’m forgetting my accomplishments!
I fudged the definition a little to allow the Dale to make the cut. After all, I finished the whole body. That’s a finished object, right?

Note to self: try to take more photos of completely finished objects before using/gifting them.

In a moment of crazy youthful impulsiveness, and thanks to blogless Deanna’s tip, I convinced Cheryl to drive across the state to Northampton tonight to see an incredible New Year’s Eve show at the Calvin: Melissa Ferrick, Erin McKeown and Alix Olson, together! There’s also talk of additional surprise guests, and I bet Pamela Means will be one of them. I am so f-ing excited I can barely contain myself!!! Happy Dance. Happy. Happy. Happy. Dance. After the show, we’ll drive east in the wee hours, crash hard, and then go to Danielle’s for the afternoon. What a way to welcome the New Year! Hoooooray!!!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Today I draw strength from the smiling face that awoke me this morning with peals of “Mommy! Wake up! It’s Christmas! Santa came! He was here! Mommy … wake up!” You see … the Mafia, MafiaMom, MafiaBro, Nick Claus and Nancy Claus were up too late drinking chocolatinis, opening gifts and debating the effects of nature v. nurture on mini-men, so I was a little zonked out during my 6am wake-up call. Thankfully I got my big morning snuggle before being dragged into the living room to assess the booty. Booty indeed. MafiaMom, likely sensing that this year needed some extra bling, certainly did her grandmotherly best in spoiling the lad. And she spoiled me too. I lost the sewing machine in the divorce, but MafiaMom made right in my world by asking Santa to bring me a new one. He did, and I can’t wait to play with it. After a full day of *playing, being overwhelmed, acting like a punk, redeeming himself with snuggles (repeat from *), Little Man crashed early. MafiaMom — where’d you put that Godiva liqueur? I have a date with Ms. Singer.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

[this is the part where i resist the temptation to make an inappropriate and offensive joke about what kind of "ho, ho, ho" i'd like to hear outside my window tonight ... i know ... sighs and eye rolls across the land, but who can resist a terrible pun, even on christmas?]

I’ve been sleeping on the spare twin bed in Little Man’s room for the past couple months, and by way of explanation, we told Little Man that Mommy and Mama are fighting a lot and that sleeping in separate bedrooms might help. But since Xifey got the refinance of Ms. 1890 and I bought a condo, we had to tell him that I’ll be moving out. For posterity, here’s his teary response: (for reference: Mama=Xifey, Mommy=Mafia)

“But I want Mommy to stay here. This is our house. Why can’t Mommy live here with us?”
“Mama, if you and Mommy stop fighting, can Mommy come back home?”
“Mama, if you and I fight, will I have to get another house?”
“Mama, when I’m an adult, I’m going to fight with you and get my own house.”

It was the worst moment of my life, and I’d rather saw off my right tit than experience that again.

Tonight sucked too, because I was gone for Thanksgiving, and while I was gone, Xifey moved everything around the house, making piles of my stuff and hers. Welcome home, honey.

Plus, Little Man was super needy tonight, bouncing around the house and refusing to settle down to sleep. So I resorted to an old trick — the stand and sway. He’s a lot heavier now, but a mama’s love knows no boundaries. Instead of folding his little infant legs into my chest, his long legs dangled with toes near my knees. He twisted my necklace in one hand and twirled my hair with the other, and eventually he snuggled his chin into the side of my neck and his body went slack. I laid him down; he moaned. I pulled a pile of quilts over him; he twitched. I kissed his forehead, said goodnight, and apologized:

“Little Man, I am so sorry that this is happening to you. It breaks my heart to see you so anxious and sad. But as of Friday, you and I will have a new home. And yes, my dear, of course I will paint your room green and buy you a huge dinosaur to put on your dresser. Whatever you want, my love, whatever you want.”

I packed too much yarn and not enough clothing last night.

I tossed the antique wheel in the car* this morning. It’s going to visit Dave for a little TLC. On the way to daycare, Little Man decided to play with the wheel. Testing his knowledge, I said:

Mafia: Little Man, can you point to the flyer?
Little Man: Here it is.

Mafia: Ummmm. [gulp] Can you put it back now?
Little Man: Yeah, sure Mom.
[and he did. properly!]

Danielle and I are hitting the road at 4pm. We’re meeting up with my Mom, who’s newly enthralled with needle felting. If you see this bag, you’ve found me.

Watch out Rhinebeck! Here we come!  And for all those who promised to buy me an alcoholic bevvie this weekend, consider it a date.  See you in a few hours!

* Please give Danielle some extra props because she and her wonderful husband insisted (and I really mean insisted) that I borrow his car so I can get home from grad school at 10pm instead of 12-midnight. Apparently they think I “have a few things going on” and could benefit from getting some sleep. It’s an incredibly generous gesture and I’m eternally grateful. Meanwhile, my car shopping is bolstered by some excellent suggestions from Cheryl, the queen of the late-model luxury car. In fact, go see Cheryl’s Imogen. It’s stunning!

Xifey and I split custody** of the house and Little Man for the weekend, so LM and I hit the road. We imposed upon two very generous friends for an overnight in Ithaca NY, and were graced with a in-person performance on the Cornell Chimes at the McGraw Tower. Despite huffing and puffing up 161 steps, this was a very cool experience. I’ve never been inside a giantic clock, nor have I ever seen the bells, the instrument, or the effort required to play it. Fascinating.

It requires both hands and a foot to play this thing.

This is the practice room, so LM got to play.

Here’s the inside of the clock, a 1875 Seth Thomas clock with a 14-foot long pendulum and huge gear-driven mechanical workings.

And the Bellfry, which houses 21 enormous bells.

And the View of Ithaca from the Bellfry

The next morning, we explored the Sciencenter, an incredible children’s museum that was nearly as fun for the adults as for children. My favorite/most embarassing moment: The Scream Chamber.

That photo was taken mere moments before I closed the door, screamed as loud as I could, and opened the door to a crowd of people staring at me. Yeah, the booth was apparently NOT soundproof. So I acted like that was all part of the plan: I read my score of 117 on the scream-ometer, and partnered a congratulatory fist pump with a “yes!”. Then I quickly disappeared to privately experience the horror of screaming bloody murder in front of a crowd of peace-loving-Ithaca-hippie parents. Well done, Mafia, well done.

* Northampton is, of course, lesbian mecca #1.

** Custody was only decided for a 5 day period, and there is much gnashing of teeth and butting of heads about the long-term plans.

Last night.

11:45 pm: Wifey wakes up to our docile kitty Grace growling and jumping around in Little Man’s bedroom. Then she hears the tell-tale sounds of a bat.

11:45 & 30-seconds pm: Yours Truly, self-appointed leader of The Feminist Mafia, and protector of pansy-ass-Wifeys worldwide, discovers TWO bats in Little Man’s room. One under Grace’s paw. One circling the new light fixture. I scream like a little girl, grab the boy, and run back to our room.

11:55pm: Heart still racing, I re-enter the war zone. I gather my courage and perform a Xena-howling-back-flip (watch from the 1 minute mark). While the cat holds the bat down, I throw a plastic washpan over it. Yes, Batilda is trapped! But where is Stellaluna? I return to base camp to assess the situation.

12:05am: After creeping around the entire house with my sword held high a broom, I hear the cat again. She’s standing on Little Man’s bed, and meowing at his curtains. If she could, she’d be standing there rolling her eyes, pointing to the window and saying, “dumb ass, it’s right over here.”

12:05-12:30am: Wifey is practically pissing herself with laughter on the -outside- of Little Man’s door while I’m engaged in mortal battle with Stellaluna. The bat circles my head, I swing the broom and shriek. The bat circles my head, I swing the broom and grunt. The bat circles my head, I swing the broom and curse. And so on. Finally, I stare deep into Stellaluna’s beady little eyes and say “I’m gonna kick your ass.” Thankfully Wifey is laughing so hard that she doesn’t hear that line.

12:30: There’s a glitch in Stellaluna’s sonar and I finally knock her out of the air and trap her under a basket. Yes! But what now?

Our local Police Department, entirely unhelpful (as usual).
Me: Can I get an Animal Control Officer over here to pick up a couple bats that I found in my son’s room so I can get them tested for rabies?
PD: Ma’am, did the bat bite your son?
Me: I don’t know, he was sleeping.
PD: Well, did you wake your son up and ask him if he was bitten by a bat?
Me: No, he was sleeping. If a bat bit him and he realized that a bat bit him, the entire neighborhood would know it.
PD: Can you see any bite marks on your son?
Me: No, but do -you- know what a bat bite looks like? [resisting the urge to say, "well let's see, there are two small circular wounds on his neck that are swollen and oozing a slightly green substance, and there's a tall pale man standing in the corner."]
PD: Ma’am, did you see the bat bite your son?
- - ad nauseum - -

Long story short, the bats are still alive and trapped in Little Man’s room (11:30 am). The local Police, Animal Control and Conservation Offices were all complete a-holes when I called them this morning, so I called the State Department of Public Health, who assured me that I did the right thing, and that Batilda and Stellaluna should both be tested for rabies.  Supposedly someone will come to my house to get the bats today.

I made an appointment with a Bat Exclusion company for Monday.

And I’ll be buying some lumber to make a bat house this weekend. I’ll even apply a fresh coat of paint, pay for utilities, and provide free parking if they sign the lease.

And docile kitty Grace, the hero of the house, got an extra scoop of Cat Chow this morning.

If the Yarn Harlot can create verbs, so can I. I’ll see your Kinnearing and raise you one Harlotizing.

Harlotize
verb (harlotized, harlotizing)
1. The act of the Yarn Harlot linking to your blog.
2. The panic that grips a blogger when their blog stats go wild: She was so harlotized that she couldn’t even click the mouse without twitching.

3. When bloggers hide: She ran off to Alaska after she was harlotized.
4. The evil grin of the Harlot when she realizes that another blogger will face a mere 1,000,000th of the exposure that she deals with every day: She was harlotizing in glee at the thought of some blogger twitching behind the computer screen.

Here’s hoping that all the new visitors were so horrified by my irreverence that they returned to their nice normal lives unscathed. Nothin’ to see here …

except maybe a cute boy in his new Kenneth Cole suit ($20 down from $88 at Macy’s!!) that we bought for an upcoming family wedding. My boy in a suit! I’m beside myself with pride!

Now we have to convince him to wear real shoes. Maybe.