About Me

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Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!

Sunday, July 27, 2008

“What do you have in your mouth?”

“Come on, open your mouth, let me see what you have in there. I know you have something in there, open your mouth.”

I thought that Secondborn was talking to BittyBubba. He had been trying to eat the wrapping paper all afternoon. But when I heard, “Mom, LittleBit got her tongue pierced,” that pulled my nose up out of my knitting.

Sigh... I guess if this is the stupidest worst thing she does as a nominal adult, I will eventually heave a huge sigh of relief. But yes, I am disappointed in her choice, particularly because she tells me [fairly often] that she wants to marry in the temple. This is a poor choice for someone who is trying to live a consecrated life. If you claim to believe in modern revelation, and you accept that there are living prophets on the earth, and the most-recently-departed prophet made a public statement that tattoos are inappropriate for Latter-Day Saints, as are body piercings except for one genteel pair of earrings, and your own mother [that would be me] took out her extraneous pairs of earrings at that broadcast to set a good example, then what spirit are you hearkening to? Same one that gets each of us in trouble, every time.

Not to mention the additional wear and tear on tooth enamel from the incessant clanking. [But since she is no longer on my insurance, that is now officially her problem.]

I had had the sense that she was avoiding me. Now I guess I know why.

On to happier subjects: look! knitting progress!



I am on the straightaway on Juno Regina, and I am loving it. Second star on the right, straight on till morning, or at least until I am 42 inches past that last diamond.



Made another double batch of brownies for the ward social last night and brought two-thirds of them home. Which solves the question of what we will be having for dessert tonight. [And possibly lunch today? No, will save them to feed those hungry elders and send some home with them and take a few for my lunches this week.]

Found my Russian linen table runner, neatly folded under the basket on the chair in my bedroom. [The basket where the paint chips used to be, until I found the blue tape.]

Decided that I would take some of my #10 cans and the dilapidated bits of that bookcase and improvise more shelving in the kitchen. I broke down a bunch of cardboard boxes for recycling and got a few more stacks of dishes up off the kitchen floor. It also freed up a few square feet of floor space in my studio and by the front door, where boxes of food storage had been patiently waiting for me to put them someplace where I would see them and rotate them through my pantry.

In order to do all this, I needed to empty several other boxes which were stacked in the kitchen where I wanted to put the new shelves. The last drawer is now filled with cling wrap and foil and that roll of baking parchment and sundry ziplock bags. And the last cabinet is filling fast.



One of the brethren who helped me move in, shook my hand at the social last night and asked, “How is the house coming?”

I said, “A little better every week.”

He shook his head and sighed, “Wish I could say the same for my own house.”

I told him, “You have kids. Little kids. Not happening!” But I bet their house is neater than ours was when my kids were little. You don't need to go to the dictionary to find the definition of disaster; that would be chez moi for much of the past thirty years.

Which is why I am sneaking up on order one or two boxes at a time, so as not to perish from the shock of it all.

BittyBubba appears to love his new washcloths. When I left their house yesterday afternoon, he had one crammed in his mouth and was gnawing away on it.

Which brings me back to the topic of things crammed into the mouth that were not made to be there. Aughhh! Time for more knitting!

Went through all the junk mail that had piled up during the week and recycled most of it and shredded the rest. The store where I got those $1.99 a pound chicken breasts has them on sale again; sounds as if I will be clucking thankfully for another two weeks.

Just remembered that I need to change the address on my drivers license. And on the registration for both cars. The insurance premium on both cars has dropped slightly because of my move, as has the premium on my renter’s insurance. They made an adjustment to next month’s bill.

NonSequitur is positively brilliant today [7/27/2008].

And I found my T-pins [!!!] when I went into my room to liberate the other slant-top basket so I could stash the extra plastic lids that fit opened #10 cans. The container of pins popped open when I tumped the basket out on my bed, which means that I will definitely be dealing with them sometime between now and bedtime.

2 comments:

Bonnie said...

Hah, I know LittleBit will probably never speak to me again or show up to any of my kids' future birthday parties, but the mother in me had to bust her when I saw that. On the bright side, it is much less permanent than a tattoo. Still not a great idea, but at least when she is done rebelling and decides to grab hold of the rod again, she can remove her excess piercings.

Jenni said...

So I was so shocked when I read this yesterday I fogot to even comment. I did run in the other room and tell Derek though. She is a silly goose.