Randomonium…

(Thank you, Scooby Doo Two…)

Anyway, thanks everybody for the wonderful suggestions–I’m thinking I’m going to do a website, and thanks to Catie’s excellent ideas, I’m going to put some of my older short stories on it. (And thanks for LIR, who, bless her, sent me an cool idea for setting up my own web-site. Let’s see how I can *&^%up something that’s supposed to be supposedly very simple, yes?)

We took Ladybug and the Cave Troll to see the Wiggles last night at Arco Arena–it was a lot of fun, although the Cave Troll spent a lot of time with his ‘potato face’ on–he was all eyes, and not a lot of dancing. Didn’t matter–he was enchanted through the whole thing, and loved the crap, I mean souvenirs that I bought him…well, my plan was to buy one for him and one for his sister, but he loved the light wand, and much to my surprise, appropriated the Dorothy the Dinosaur. I went (because we ARE made of money when at such events) and bought a Big Red Car for him to have instead of Dorothy the Dinosaur, but he eyed it speculatively, ran it over his leg to see if the (stuffed) wheels actually work, and then gave it to his sister, because he didn’t like it as much as Dorothy, and, hello, he can talk and that gives him the advantage.

We left the older kids alone, with the following admonition: “Lock the doors, don’t answer the phone unless it’s us, Auntie Wendy, or Grandma and Grandpa, and don’t open the door for anyone but Auntie Wendy, Grandma or Grandpa, or that ax wielding psychopath I e-mailed about you guys being home alone.”

“Mom, there aren’t that many ax wielding psychopaths–but there are a lot of gang members three blocks down, and we won’t let them in either.”

Good. I”m glad they’re up on both their sarcasm and on their zeitgeist… they’re coming along nicely on the whole.

For that matter, so is the uber-bright baby blanket…fucking intarsia. Seriously…(and did you notice that blogger doesn’t think ‘intarsia’ is a word? Whose entrails do we have to turn into potholders to get a little zeit-fucking-geisty respect around here?) cotton intarsia. Who put the hallucinogens in the chamomile-lavender air-freshener, folks–what in the hell was I thinking?

And, while I’m bitching about my ‘sane’ hobby (as opposed to writing, which mostly just makes me an exposed nerve bundle, ready to hit the ceiling at the slightest hint of carpet static) I need to add, I’m on my LAST pair of baby socks for a while. They’re for a student, and I feel that they are forcing me to violate that whole knitters code of ethics that says we knit love into every stitch. All I can think as I knit is “Dumbass kid, dumbass kid, dumbass kid…” I actually LIKE this kid–I think it’s just that A. She is 16, skinny as a rail, and looks, simply, like she swallowed a basketball by mistake–and envy is a dirty little monkey riding my back, B. She’s really not very bright, and I worry about them when they’re like that with children–life’s just harder that way and C.I’m starting to really dig this yarn and I want to work on a project with it for MY family, sometime AFTER the second try at socks for my Aunt’s b-day (the one in Sept., where the SOCK got stolen w/my purse) and AFTER I actually use Julie’s sock yarn which I’m rapidly falling into a severe case of unrequited ardor with. I just want to work on shit for myself, now is that so very wrong?

But other than that, things are also very right–I’ve got time to go Target shopping without the children (thanks to a minimum day) and I just enjoyed lunch with grown-ups…I mean, it’s almost criminal, how much the Goddess is gifting me with today, and heavens forbid I should waste it. That, and it’s looking like rain–Spring is not nearly so cruel when it rains.