Crocheting is nothing like riding a bike.

Hello, long-neglected readers. You know that old adage, "It's just like riding a bike," that's supposed to mean you never forget how to do something? First of all, let me tell you that while you may never forget how to ride a bike, you will lose a lot of your bike riding skills if you, like me, go for nearly ten years without mounting a bicycle (haha - mounting I'm 12). When I was a kid, I biked all the time. My sister and I would ride our bikes for hours up and down the street in front of our parents' house. As we got older and our biking parameters were expanded, we would go on long trail rides or bike to friends' houses several miles away. I wasn't about to join the Tour de France or anything, but I was a proficient rider. I knew when to change gears, I could pedal up steep hills, and turn from a paved road onto gravel without wiping out. I loved to see how fast I could go down hills or on long straight stretches.

Fast forward to the present. I haven't been on a bike in nearly a decade. Last summer, I thought I would start biking for fitness with a friend of mine. I weebled and wobbled and huffed and puffed... sure I could keep the bike upright, but I was clearly out of practice. If I surpassed about 3 miles per hour, I felt like I was careening out of control. Forget sudden moves - I locked my elbows and was afraid to make any moves at all on the gravel. I could barely make it up a gradual incline and then rode my brakes the whole way back down ... I was a real embarrassment. Crista, if you're reading this, I'm sorry I put you through that whole charade and forced you to be seen with me (even if we were only seen by B's grandparents).

All of that to say, after ten years away from the banana seat (haha - banana seat I'm 12), you might not forget the basics of how to ride a bike, but you're not going to be any good at it either. Well, let me tell you this: Crocheting is nothing like riding a bike. Shocking, I know. You're reeling from this information. I'll give you a moment.

...

Okay then. For you skeptics, allow me to demonstrate the ways in which these two activities are different:


You know another way in which these two activities are nothing alike? You can totally forget how to crochet. ("Why didn't I add that to the table?" you ask. Well, because I already converted the Word document to a Paint image and then closed the Word document without saving it, and I don't want have time to go back and create another one with this information.) Last night I thought I would get started on my totally nerdtastic Ravenclaw scarf. In my mind's eye, it was going to look something like this:

I'd say this is drawn to scale, but that would be one wide scarf.
Actual scarf would be much longer in comparison to width. You get the idea.

There were a few problems I knew I was going to encounter with this project: First of all, I have never worked with multiple colors of yarn in one garment before. Second of all, I have only ever crocheted one thing (a tiny scarf for Scout when she was 15 months old), and that was nearly three years ago. Third, the person who taught me to crochet (Shout-out to Kristi! Holla!) still lives in VA, and we have since relocated to the North (cue sad banjo music). Still, I felt confident. I thought my only real issue was going to be learning how to graft the two colors together. Oh, self from yesterday at about 9:30pm, how misguided and overly optimistic you were.

I thought I'd start by looking up some "patterns" on Google. (Did you know that a crochet pattern is all text with no pictures and is written entirely in Granny jargon? I didn't. I'm still trying to figure out what a yo is, besides a slang term that I overuse in daily conversation in a desperate attempt to appear younger and hipper than I really am.) I finally found a site that included pictures of the steps necessary to incorporate the new yarn into the project, so I bookmarked it and sat down to begin. I held my crochet hook in my right hand. I passed it to my left. I picked up my blue yarn. I put it down. (This is riveting stuff, self. You're going to be the next Dickens, I can feel it). Suddenly, I realized that I had no idea how to start. I thought I knew what to do once I got started, but I just could not remember how to start that first stitch (stitch? chain? yo?) . Then I had an epiphany. I would find a YouTube tutorial on crochet! That would solve all of my problems! Oh, self from yesterday at about 9:35pm, how earnest and overly optimistic you were. I loaded the video and began to watch... After about 15 seconds, the woman was still adjusting her zoom angle on her hand and talking about holding the yarn at precisely the right tension between her middle finger and her thumb. By the 20-second mark, I was scanning the list of recommended videos in the sidebar and had Googled "how to start crocheting" in another tab. (Did I mention that I have a doctor's appointment this morning to determine whether or not ADD medication might be appropriate for me?) Finally, I felt ready to begin. I sat down on the couch and began to work, carefully counting stitches/chains/yos, and telling myself how proud of me Laura Ingalls would be (when in doubt, I ask myself, "WWLID?"). After about 35 minutes, this is what I came up with:

Roughly half the size of the actual product . In addition to crochet,
let's add drawing crochet projects in MS Paint
to my list of "Things I Cannot Do."

Just like when I went on that attempted bike ride with Crista, I felt like a total embarrassment. Where had that strange lump on the bottom come from? Why was the scarf getting narrower with each row of chains/yos/stitches? Where was a Finch when I needed one? (Kristi learned at the feet of her mother, who is a true artist with a crochet hook.) Would Laura Ingalls still want to hang out with me? I knew I had gone horribly awry when I tried to just pull the yarn to unravel the whole thing, and it got stuck on a giant knot about halfway through the scarf mess.

Sometimes, I think that I think I'm craftier than I really am. It's one of my biggest flaws (right alongside crippling social anxiety and flat feet). So... that's the story of how I wasted my evening. If you made it this far, I'm impressed. If you didn't, I can't blame you. If you know how to crochet or know of a good online tutorial, please leave a comment so I can figure out what the heck I'm doing instead of wasting six weeks' worth of evenings on the scarf that was not meant to be. Save me from myself.

Hey! Remember when I told you all those things?

Of course you don't. Because I haven't told you things in ages. Because I am a terrible bloggess who neglects you. Can you ever forgive me? I got my eyebrows waxed just for you! (Okay, that's not true. I primarily did it for me... but it's still a public service, much like putting on foundation and eye liner. I'm doing my part to keep Pennsylvania beautiful.) I have these aspirations and dreams, in which I write every day and become a really good bloggess, like my sister-in-law, whom I adore. And then ... I write one post in five months. I'd call it baby steps, but I'm pretty sure it's just laziness.

I inadvertently ended up not taking a class for the first half of this summer (long story short, it starts with my procrastination habit and bad memory and ends with some late paperwork and a less-than-pleasant email from the registrar), so I am hoping to put some of my newfound "free time" to good use (if you define "good use" as "redecorating the guest room to double as an office space," "crocheting a Ravenclaw scarf for my nerdy self," and "finally watching all of those episodes of How I Met Your Mother on my DVR"... oh, and "blogging more"). I'm going to try and start small. Maybe I'll only get a paragraph up every day. Maybe it'll just be a crappy list. Maybe it'll be a picture of something ridiculous my children got into. Whatever. In the words of a random blog commenter whose name I don't remember now, "You'll get whatcha get and you won't pitch a fit." (Way to go, self. You're really endearing yourself to the neglected readers, making them want to stick around. Keep sellin' it.)

For today, to start small, we're going with a list. Here are some things I think are super-cool.

1. Florence and the Machine

Some people think she's presumptuous, trying too hard to be "artsy," a Lady Gaga wannabe, or just making a ballyhoo. I think she's brilliant.




2. Coke Zero

Anyone who has known me for pretty much any length of time knows about my near-addiction status with this beverage. I'm also discovering that as I get older, I am becoming one of Those People. You know, Those People. Don't know what I'm talking about? Allow me to set the scene. You're in a restaurant, and the server has just asked for your drink order. Those People ask, "Do you have Coke or Pepsi products?" and if the server says, "Pepsi," Those People say, "I'll just have a water." I swore I wouldn't become That Person. I scoffed, "I might have preferences, but I am not going to become a snob about it." Well, neglected readers, I am a lying liar who lies like a lazy dog wearing an ill-fitting wig on a cheap rug because I am (slowly, but surely) becoming That Person. Lord, help me.

3. WheezyWaiter, Charlieissocoollike, and the Vlogbrothers

In my opinion, these are the three (technically four) most talented vloggers on YouTube. A lot of people think that YouTube is just for Family Guy clips, cute cat videos, and movies of sick skateboarding tricks, but that is just not true. YouTube is like television for busy, thinking people. There are a lot of original content creators out there (someday, I'd love to be one of them. I think sometimes that I'd be much more likely to vlog than I am to blog), putting out lots of funny, creative, intelligent stuff. I've discovered more bands, learned more science and history facts, kept up with current events, and given more money to charity because of YouTube than I have because of TV and regular newspapers combined. I am telling you this: YouTube is the future of media. You have been warned. Below I have highlighted some good "starting-point" videos from each of the aforementioned content creators:

Craig Benzine (aka The Wheezy Waiter) tells you why you'll never be original:

Charlie McDonnell sings a duet... with himself (WARNING: You will hum this song for days):

John and Hank (aka the Vlogbrothers) explain what it means to be a part of their community:

I realize that was an exceptionally short list, but I feel like I've inundated you with enough crap for one day. Maybe tomorrow I'll actually have original (but not really) thoughts or words of my own to share. If you're not bitter about my bad blogging skills and neglect, leave a comment and tell me about some things that you think are super-cool.

Stories from my Three-year-Old: Volume 1

Scout is a master storyteller. Here's one she shared with me just a moment ago. I should point out before we begin that Scout hasn't entirely grown out of her l/r speech impediment (she's good with most words, but a few still give her trouble), so everywhere she says wolf it should be pronounced as woof. Also, as an added challenge, you can try to guess which Bible story is being allegorically referenced in parts of the story. Without further ado, a tale of some noses, some bears, and a wolf trying to cross a river...

There was one day a bunch of noses. And there was a big, old wolf. And there was also a bunch of bears. And some of the bears were really ever so giant, and then there was a baby bear. And the bears were going to run, but the baby bear said, "No, Mom. I'm going to get at that big, old wolf." And the baby bear went down and said to the wolf, and the big, old wolf sat down and was quiet.

But then, the big, old wolf ... well, there was also a river. A really, ever so big river. And the big, old wolf, he went into it, and then he was going down it, and then he fell over a really so big waterfall!!!

At this point I asked, "And did the bears live happily ever after?" and Scout said, "Yes. And the bears went down the river, and they were happy."

The end.

My daughter thinks Jesus is Soren Lorenson

Have you ever seen the adorable Disney cartoon Charlie and Lola? It's based on a series of equally adorable children's books by Lauren Child (who has authored several other fabulous-looking books; I cannot wait until Scout is old enough to start the Clarice Bean series). Well, in the book, I Am Too Absolutely Small for School, Child introduces us to Lola's imaginary friend, Soren Lorenson.

Soren Lorenson is Lola's invisible friend. Nobody knows what he looks like.


Lola and Soren Lorenson have adventures together.


Sometimes, Soren Lorenson can get Lola into trouble.

Scout is kind of in love with Charlie and Lola. She loves the books, the show, the toys, everything about them. I've always loved them, too. In fact, we first brought Snow is My Favorite and My Best and But Excuse Me That is My Book home from the library a few years ago because I thought they were so painfully cute. What quirky artwork! How fun to read in a British accent! I found them all the more adorable when I saw the show, and when I first saw Soren Lorenson, I was in LOVE. (Part of this may have stemmed from the fact that I thought his name was "So Unlonesome" because of the funny way that Lola enunciates it. What a perfect name for an imaginary friend, no? Apparently not because ... that's not his name.) Thus Charlie and Lola were born into our lives and over time have practically become members of our family. They are our go-to books at the library. We DVR their show, and unbeknownst to her, Scout is going to have a Very Charlie and Lola Christmas (complete with talking dolls and, hopefully, the entire box set of DVDs - or at least the so-cute-it-makes-me-itchy Christmas special).

Jesus has also been a big topic in our house lately, what with Scout being a big three-year-old now, who can actually sit still for long(ish) periods of time and who has a little personality and thoughts of her very own. She loves to go to Sunday school and read her little picture Bible. She even insisted I buy her some Jesus stickers at the Christian book store this summer (which we then used as potty prizes, meaning she got to stick one on her little potty every time she "went," which her father deemed "a misappropriation of the image of the Lord"). Scout loves to talk to Jesus (incidentally though, if you ask her to "pray," she will flat out refuse. Ask her to "talk to Jesus," though, and she is all about it). Half the time, her "prayers" are more like a grocery list of things she did that day, just in case He might have missed something or forgotten. Last night's dinner prayer, for instance, was, "Jesus, thanks for the grub [at her Nonna's prompting]. And thanks for soap. And for washing my hands before dinner. And ..." until someone prompted her, "What do you say when you're all done praying?"

"Oh," she said. "Thank you."

"No," I said. "The other one."

"Oh. Aaaaaaaaaaamen."

It was darling, really.

At night, now, instead of B or me praying for her, we let her do the talking with just a few prompts.

"Would you like to tell Jesus some things you are thankful for today?"

This usually results in a list of things, sometimes crazy, off-the-wall things, like "the number seven" or "pancakes" (even if we haven't eaten pancakes in days).

"Would you like to tell Jesus some of the bad things you did today and that you are sorry for doing them?"

This response usually features such classics as, "I pooped in my pants again," and "I got out of bed and made a mess during nap," followed by the cutest, "Sorry, Jesus," you have ever heard.

"Can you ask Jesus to help you to be a good girl tomorrow?"

She usually ends up saying, "You be a good girl tomorrow, Jesus?" but we all know what she means.

"Can you ask Him to help you grow up to love Him and follow Him?"

[Insert an adorably botched version of the above statement here.]

"Now what do you say when you're all done?"

"Amen, Jesus."

That's the basic format. A few nights ago, after her birthday party, she was listing AAAAAAALLL of the things she was thankful for (it was a long list; it had been a good day). Then we moved on to the, "things I could have done better today" segment. She started out with the staples, then she suddenly said, "And, Jesus, I like graham crackers." When I mentioned it later, her Nonna said, "She has got to be one of His favorites." (Sidenote: We know He doesn't play favorites. We've read the epistles.) She's just so random like that, and we all love her for it.

So there's the praying and the Bible reading and the Sunday school going, and now whenever she misbehaves we ask her how she thinks Jesus feels about her behavior, and she apologizes to Him for making Him sad. It's all very cute and (hopefully) laying the foundation for a real and lasting relationship with Him in the future.

As long as the whole So Unlonesome Soren Lorenson thing doesn't get in the way.

"Wait, what does this have to do with Soren Lorenson?" you ask (not unjustly. I feel like I'm all over the place this morning. Trying to write while two small people vie for your attention is no easy task).

See, Scout seems to think that Jesus is like Soren Lorenson. He is her imaginary friend. No one can see Him but her. Occasionally, she will point upwards and say, "Jesus is up there, Mommy. He is up in [the sky/the clouds/my ceiling/my ceiling fan/etc.]." A few moments ago, she was looking out the kitchen window, talking to Jesus, who was apparently in the driveway, telling Him how happy she was that she just had a birthday and how excited she is for His upcoming one (Sidenote: Her obsession with birthdays is really going to pay off this Christmas, I think, when we talk about how it's Jesus' birthday ... even though it's actually not, but whatever).

Sometimes I worry that she will think she made Jesus up, that He is like "Eeny" (her imaginary "best cousin and also friend"). I don't know how to make her understand the bigness and realness that is God and Jesus and His plan for humanity. I worry that she's going to think He is this imaginary person she has conjured up or that we are going to create a "false god" and make her think He is a big guilt-monger by explaining to her that she hurts His feelings when she misbehaves. I hear these stories about people who were saved at the age of four and five, and I wonder, "How can I get my kid to that place? How can I get her to understand the concepts of personal responsibility and sin and redemption at so young an age?" How do I help her to understand that Jesus is not in her ceiling fan or some magical person in the sky that she has to spend half of her life apologizing to? What do I do to keep her from blaming Jesus for the things she does wrong (like when Soren Lorenson talks Lola into misbehaving)?

No, really. That's not rhetorical. How do I do these things? Anyone with older kids have any advice on how to take them from "Jesus lives in my ceiling" to "Jesus died for my sins?" I'd love to hear what others are doing/have done to move their tiny people toward a true relationship with Christ. I feel like this is one of those areas where it might be best to use the aid of a village to raise my child. Anyone with advice, please feel free to post a comment. Even if that "advice" is, "You worry too much. You should just relax and do another post about your eyebrows. I miss those."

Tales from my Google search history

I search some random things on Google. Just this morning, I found myself typing, "Do caterpillars poop?" into my search bar. You see, I am antsy about this homeschool thing. I can't seem to stop myself, even though my kids are obviously too young for formal education (unless we lived in France or Japan, in which case, Scout would be right on target, starting preschool at age two). Anyway, because I am a giant nerd lifelong learner, when her Papa mentioned that he saw some monarch caterpillars in the cornfield yesterday and wondered if she might want him to bring one up to the house for her, I jumped at the nerdiness opportunity. We've been reading Eric Carle's The Very Hungry Caterpillar a lot lately (thanks, Kristi!), and I knew that this would be a great way to tie science and reading together, to really make the story come alive for her. Papa was kind enough to bring up the caterpillar in a peanut butter jar, and B picked some milkweed for the caterpillar to eat and a long stick for the chrysalis to hang from. I remember doing all of this when I was in third or fourth grade. What I didn't remember, apparently, was the poop.

Oh, the poop.

So much poop.

At first, we marveled over the caterpillar. (We really ought to name him/her/it so that I can stop referring to it so formally all the time, or at least use a gendered pronoun. However, knowing Scout, she will want to name it "Caterpillar" or something similarly vague, in the same way that she has named her pink stuffed elephant "Pink Elephant" and her small stuffed monkey "Small Monkey." I blame Blue's Clues, with it's Green Puppy and Purple Kangaroo.) We were fascinated by how quickly it ate through the milkweed leaf, how much it ate in one go. It was all very thrilling ... for about 15 minutes. Then, Scout being two, and me being me, we got bored and wandered away for a couple of hours.

ETA: We have settled on a name. Scout has decided it is a boy caterpillar, and his name is Fish. I don't decide these things. I just report them.

The caterpillar's Fish's jar is right beside the table where I do my work. I looked over a little bit ago and was terribly confused by what I saw. There appeared to be little bits of stick in the bottom of the jar. "Now, how did a caterpillar manage to break off pieces of the stick?" I wondered. "It has no thumbs or limbs of any kind, really. It has been on the leaf this whole time and has not even ventured onto the stick" (so far as I knew because I wasn't really paying attention, if I must be honest). Upon closer inspection, I decided that the "bits of stick" really looked more like mouse droppings. In fact, I thought as I held the jar right up to my face, they looked exactly like mouse droppings. "How did mouse poop get in there?" I wondered. "Surely that can't be from that tiny caterpillar! Some of those are 1/4 his size! That would be like a human pooping something the size of his/her arm! Besides, do caterpillars even poop?"

At about this time, I decided I needed to call upon the Google to help solve the mystery. You know what I learned? I learned that caterpillars poop. They poop a lot. Some people on message boards were bemoaning their need to clean their caterpillars' jars every two hours. Welcome to the rest of my week. Good times to be had by all. I just hope this doesn't affect Scout's potty-training progress. "Why should I poop in the potty, Mommy? The caterpillar Fish doesn't poop in the potty!"

Anyway, after Googling "Do caterpillars poop?" and thinking, "Gosh, I Google some crazy things!" I decided to take a look through my search history to see some of the other random things we've been curious about in recent weeks. The following is a(n obviously non-comprehensive) list:

1. "Who's playing Reed on season 2 of The Fresh Beat Band?"
There are so many things that I didn't know I would ever want to know until I had children. In case you also were curious, it's this guy. I don't like him as much as the old Reed. The least they could have done was pick another Irishman. They might be kids, but they aren't dumb. They know that this is a completely different man. (Btw, If you had told me when I was a teenager that I would one day have a preference for one children's show actor over another, I would have laughed in your face.)

2. "What is a wench?"
Scout wanted a pirate birthday party. I wanted to make sure this term was not, in fact, synonymous with smelly pirate hooker before using it on her invitations. Turns out I was right - It just means girl pirate. Unfortunately, I still think the common misinterpretation/connotation makes it unsafe for a children's party.

3. "Are there fireflies in California?"
I don't remember the context for why I wanted to know this. I knew/know that some states have them and some don't. I guess I couldn't (still can't, actually) remember which ones are which. All I know is here in PA, we've got tons.

4. "How did Salvador Dali die?"
Again, I think this one was mere curiosity. I was watching something which made me think of something else, which reminded me of Little Ashes; one thing led to another, and the next thing you know, I wasn't sure whether he'd offed himself or died of cancer. (Neither, in case you were curious. It was heart failure. He was 84.)

5. "Are Sarah Paulson and Monica Potter related?"
This one is easy to remember (because it was two days ago). I was watching Parenthood (Hooray! It's Fall! New TV is back!) Tuesday night, and I thought they looked and sounded so much alike (and even had similar mannerisms). I determined that they must be related. As it turns out, they are not. However, I did learn this fascinating bit of trivia.

A look through your Google search history just might provide a creepy (albeit intriguing) cross-section of your daily life. What does your search history say about you?

Sometimes, life is like Monopoly

I love board games. Some personal favorites include Trivial Pursuit (don't even try to beat me at the Disney version), Apples to Apples, and Risk (What can I say? I am a total nerd), but really, I love them all. Even Monopoly (or, as we liked to call it growing up, due to its length and repetition, Monotony). I'm a little rusty, but at one time, because I have played Monotony Monopoly so often over the years, you could show me the picture on a Chance or Community Chest card, and I could tell you what the card said and how much money I needed to spend/receive. A few examples:

Grand Opera Opening Night: Collect $50 from each player for seats

Receive for Services: $25

Get out of jail free

And a personal favorite...

Bank error in your favor: Collect $200

Why do I love that card so much? Something about the look on Uncle Pennybags' face has always made me smirk (sort of like the images on these warning signs), but that's not the only reason I like this card. I like this one in particular because recently, not due to a bank error, but due to my own negligence and general inability to do simple mathematics (let's just say that when depositing money into your account, it's best to add the numbers, not subtract them), I found myself with a very not-small sum of money that I hadn't realized I had. This makes me exceedingly grateful. This gratefulness (gratitude? I iz English majur. I iz smrt) has inspired me to compose a list of other things I am thankful for this week:

1. Pizza Pub pizza (which is just as delicious for breakfast and/or lunch as it is for dinner)

2. Jalapeno-infused queso dip

3. An upcoming girls' night

4. An impending haircut

5. Sam's Club

6. my mother-in-law (I should pause here to denote that this list is in no particular order and not in order of appreciation)

7. my husband (previous note applies)

8. Beth Moore (even if I do want to beat her up and steal her wardrobe every time I see one of her videos - Lord, help me. I think I might have struggles with envy.)

9. Coke Zero

10. yard sales and good friends who are willing to host/organize them so that I don't have to

This list is in no way comprehensive. I have much to be thankful for. Just thought I'd take a minute and give a shout-out to some of the things that are making me smile this week. What are you thankful for, readers?

I'm done making excuses

I'll just show up when I show up, okay? And we can just pretend that my six-month-long disappearances are normal or socially acceptable or at least expected, okay? Okay. Let's just admit that I'm busy, I'm lazy, and I'm terrible at time management. I can hope that one day those things magically resolve themselves (and that my eyebrows suddenly decide to read 1 Peter 3 and just SUBMIT already), but until then... you get what you get. And today, what you get is a list. (I'd claim that I am going to do this every Friday, but ... we just talked about that. I'm a liar. A lying, lazy liar who lazily lies.) So, because it is Friday and I am here and I don't really have anything better to do...

1. I recently (i.e., this morning) decided to cut out Julian's morning nursing session.

2. At the moment, he has decided that he no longer likes me.

3. Upon pumping (sorry male readers, if I have had any), I discovered that he apparently only gets 2 oz. in the mornings anyway, so I'm not sure why he cares so much. I put 6 oz. of beverage in his sippy. He's getting 3x the fluid, and he can drink it on the go!

4. He's happily chewing on his Papa's shoe now, so I guess he's over it.

5. I'd try to stop him, but I know it's useless. He cannot be stopped. He cannot be deterred. He cannot be dissuaded.

6. That boy loves shoes. (In a goat-like, I should be worried about tetanus sort of way, not a Manolo Blahnik, I should be worried about his teenage years sort of way.)

7. My daughter thinks that tortilla chips are an acceptable breakfast food.

8. I feel like a hypocrite telling her no when I just ate leftover garlic bread.

9. I told her no anyway.

10. She's having a banana instead.

11. I hate bananas.