Monday, March 24, 2008

Never promise what you can't deliver.

I have too many knitting projects going that need to be finished by this weekend. Observe:

That is not including Christian's Aran sweater and my lace shawl, which are both on the needles but close to smothering me with their unfinished, wooly bulk, and I'm sure that everyone is wondering where THEIR promised projects are.  I know where they are.  Lurking in my sewing cabinet, sending out guilt waves and taunting me with more interesting patterns than the ones I'm working on now.  

I got absolutely no work done in Spokane.  I had the sheer overpowering nephewitude to contend with:

My boys, minus one.  Deco was sick with the stomach flu, so we got the chickens for almost the entire time we were there.  As a non-parent, I have never really understood how you have to
 keep little boys busy all the time or they will eat your head, but be really cute while they do it.  This photo was the only time I think the sat still the entire day.  This was, of course, before the St. Patrick's Day parade started when they were given candy by every business owner, cross-dresser and guitar playing gorilla that rode, walked or cycled past them.  A side note:  apparently, parades like the one we attended are community affairs, and Dad said that anyone who wanted to be in it just had to show up wearing green.  There were daschund clubs and cement companies and, inexplicably, one older couple riding a golf cart with sparkly antennae on their heads.  However, I still don't get how the crowd could have been more interested in this:

Than this.  No one even seemed to notice the camera crews.  All I have to say about the film that was shooting is that it's by the director of Mansquito.   Go read the review.  It's worth the five minutes.  Maybe that's why no one cared.  

Anyway, back to the boys.  Jayden is wrestling now, and won a silver medal.  Seriously, though, I felt bad about how hard I was laughing at the tiny, skinny, big-headed little kids politely pinning each other to the mat and then crying if they were pinned too hard themselves.  Jayden was an amazing little champ, and so polite.  He thanked the boys he beat and was even gracious to the one boy who beat him.   He didn't understand what the "grey" medal meant, any more than the "brown" (bronze) one he had won the week before.  He made me and Shelly wear them as he couldn't be bothered.  He was more interested in showing us his outfit and explaining how important his shoes are to his being a real wrestler.  It was all very sweet, earnest and five.  

So, after wrestling and McDonald's, we took them to the parade, brought them home, went to church, got pizza, watched SpongeBob, ate popcorn and were given more unadulterated, unrestrained love than any non-parental adult gets in a normal, full year.  Jayden is so skinny now that he's all knobby elbows and knees, and, when he hugs me, all I can feel are ribs and spine.  However, he somehow gets squishy when he wants to lay his head on my shoulder and fall asleep.  Kyan's arms are so chubby that I can't help but bite him constantly, and nom on his fingers, especially when he's in his jammies and all sleepy and warm.  He, apparently, though, is forty, and, when Mom asked if he'd like one of us to sit with him on the hide-a-bed before he fell asleep, he shrugged his tiny shoulders and said, "No, that's OK.  I go to sleep by myself."  And then he asked for his binky.  

Shelly played with them all the next morning, winning their love and eternal devotion.  I had an audition that afternoon, and if only I could tell you about it here, I would, but it's just too, too unbelievable.  We also went to lunch and then to the symphony, so we only got to see the boys for dinner that day, but they told both of us how much they loved us and would miss us.   And then they fought over which of them Mom would carry to the car.  Our victory was short-lived.  

So, with no knitting having gotten done for three whole days, I'm backlogged.  Meh, it was worth it.

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