martinimade

"Years later and another world war later, Ian Donald, a Scottish obstetrician, figured that 'there is not much difference between a fetus in utero and a submarine at seas. It is simply a question of refinement.' He aimed an ultrasound machine at pregnant bellies and launched a new era of spying on squiggling unborn babies."

- from Randi Hutter Epstein's Get Me Out: A History of Childbirth, which was OK, mostly, but suffered from topic drift towards the end. 

In other news, the Diva is mostly back to herself, which is a huge relief for all. She's still a little peaky but certainly on the downhill side of the bugs.

In other other news, if you're available, I'd love to see you tomorrow.

The Boy is back in the pink of health. The Girl? Not so much. She started running a scary high fever last night and puking this morning. We just got back from the doctor, who drew some blood (just in case there is something exotic going on) and who is fairly certain she simply caught something viral on top of the Strep. We'll know more -- or rather be able to rule out a bunch of stuff -- when the blood comes back from where ever it goes to be run through the machines that boop and beep.

In the short term, she is propped up in front of the magic box, watching iCarly and drifting in and out of consciousness. I remind her to drink some fluids when her eyes open. She does. They have been staying down for now. *frantically knocks wood*

End impact on my life -- because it's all about me -- is that I've done nothing more than hang out with her on the couch and mildly fret. When she's out, I get to catch up on my backlog of crap TV. Mmmm. Crap TV. 

Like Wife Swap, which is a show I've only seen one episode of and which I recorded simply because I know the family on last Friday's installment. The Warrens are regulars at our local farmer's market. Maddy and I once went out to Stone and Thistle for their Farmer for a Day program. Plus, I wrote about them for Edible Hudson Valley. 

Having once been a home makeover show participant, I understand how only the extremes make the final edit. And that's cool, as long as you know going in that that's how it works. And, yes, the Warrens represent a back-to-earth extreme. And, yes, the Funderburghs represent a consumerist extreme. And, yes, Tom Warren is prickly when you first meet him (but is a great guy beneath his curmudgeonly exterior.)

My big takeaway, I think, other than how gorgeous the Warren's daughter is, is how much ground still needs to be covered before the message about how screwed up our food systems are permeates all of the country. My circle of friends should not be taken as a representative sample, which is something I frequently forget.

And now back to the couch. Next up will be Bethenny Getting Married or The Real Housewives of NJ. Decisions, decisions.

Last weekend, we went to the husband's homeland and visited its many shrines.

 

(And here let me mention that the child minding services - the special room where parents can drop their kids off for an hour - saved the Boy's life, because by this point in the trip we were ready to sell him to any passer-by who expressed an interest. Well played, Weggies. Well played.)

 

 

 

The occasion was a picnic, during which the Boy refused to have his picture taken.
  
   

For the record, he is against pretty much everything anyone suggests. He is our Bartleby, but not nearly as polite.

I did notice something while sorting through the pictures from the last few days. Look at his hands:

 

 

Anyone else think he may be coming down with a case of the Gagas?

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(For those scoring at home - the adults still remain Strep free. And I'm slowly starting to wrap my head about isotopes, thanks to your help.)

Short list this week. Both kids have Strep (woo?) and are well enough to require constant amusement, which means that one of them is always on my computer. Which means that I can't mindlessly surf and that I owe lots of folks email. Soon. 

We are, however, taking bets as to which combination of adults will get it. Your options: one, both or (my choice) neither. 

* Patrick Nielsen Hayden on one of my favorite books from the last year. Remember: no one promised a better future, only a different one. (Also, on the Making Light blog: the Top Idea in Your Mind. Glad I'm not the only one who believes this.)

* Question for the science folk, prompted by Slate's series on the elements. Isn't an element just itself, by which I mean, why are there designations like Uranium 233 or Thorium 232? How are those not simply different elements? I find this puzzling. If your can explain, please use small words and assume nothing.

* "Stop, chickens. Stop."

* This just blew my mind, man.

A couple of upcoming things that are blatantly self-promotional in nature:

* A column in the local almost-daily about how boring my children are right now.

* I'll be signing books (or anything else you'd like me to sign) and showing off the sweater on Saturday, July 31 at 1 p.m. at Knitting, Etc., in Ithaca. Please come! 

* Dave Holmes (!) on Sweater Quest. I squee.

* Guess who's in Publisher's Weekly this week? Thanks, Gwenda! (Also: the Yarn Harlot herself contributed an essay. Woo!)

"7. ACCEPT THAT EVERYBODY NEEDS ALONE TIME. Sometimes your spouse needs to go to the bathroom for 45 minutes. Look, he's not going to the bathroom the whole time; he's trying to get away from you. And that's OK. Maybe you're being annoying. Sometimes you can be kind of annoying, you know."

-- From Samantha Bee and Jason Jones' list of relationship advice in August's Real Simple magazine. The list is both amusing and true.

First, the purty thing:

 

Hilary Smith Callis' Citron from Knitty.com, with a few mods.* Made from Blue Moon Fiber Arts' Silk thread II in Lagoon. Size 4 needles. 
 

The color is more true here:

 

And, on a whim, I added a few beads to the cast off.

 

Because one should add beads when one can.

Second, the odd thing:

This may be the last serious knitting I do for a bit. As it turns out, I am not just a slow, old healer. The finger is fractured** and I'll be going to the hand guy on Aug. 2 to figure out what happens next. Right now, I can knit for a few minutes before it starts to hurt, which is probably a sign that I shouldn't be knitting at all. Again, I'l know more later.

But, yeah, I did not expect it to be visibly broken.

Third, a discovery:

I've figured out why the Diva's guitar is never in tune.

 

No, he doesn't know "Freebird."
 
 

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* I did the bulk of the pattern as written. Since my goal was to use all 1125 yds of the yarn, I did an extra pattern repeat and then kept going on the finishing ruffle until it seemed ridiculous, then knitted into the front and back of each stitch and did six more rows of an even smaller ruffle until I thought I wouldn't have enough yarn to get across again. Turns out, I could have done at least two more rows but - seriously - it was time to be done. 

** It is an "avulsion fracture of the volar plate." In short, the tendon ripped off and took a piece of bone from the knuckle with it. It's an injury that athletes are prone to. And, apparently, easily distracted bakers.

Yesterday, I went to the doctor and had the ring finger on my left hand x-rayed*. It still isn't right after the hand mixer incident. My wedding ring won't fit over the bottom knuckle, which is hasn't gone back to its non-swollen size. I get little lightening bolts of pain and owie aches on a daily basis. It's not excruciating. It's not acute. But, in that I am very very close to 40 and should be a grown up by now, I decided that a month was long enough.

While going through the pre-x-ray conversation about what I did and how long its been -- a laugh riot, apparently -- the PA pointed out that the bruise on my left hand was huge and surrounded my index finger, not the ring finger I was complaining about.

"Oh," I said. "That's from a few hours ago."

The PA gave me one of those calculating looks, where she tries to figure out if my real issue is that I'm a loon.

"I went for a walk in Wilber Park while my oldest kid had tennis and swimming lessons. Because I'm very very close to 40 and would like to be able to move by the time I'm 50. Because I'm proactive. 

"I was going down a really steep hill, which I've gone down a dozen times before with zero problems. The other side is nearly vertical and really gets your heart rate up. But today the wet pine needles combined with my new shoes, which I bought because my feet hurt in my old, no longer springy shoes, was a non-ideal combo.

"In short, I fell directly on my ass, tipping over backwards as my feet went out from under me, like a giant trust fall into the slope. I flung one hand out and bashed it into a rock, hence the bruise. My tailbone took the bulk of the impact of my bulk - but I don't think it's broken. Everything around it is just all out of whack, tho. I'll live."

Quiet descends.

"I have to ask the next question on the form," she says. "Have you fallen recently?"

Quiet, again.

"I'll just put down 'yes.'"

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* I don't have the results of the x-ray yet. The PA wanted the hand guy to look at it. I honestly don't think anything is broken - but wanted to know for sure. As the PA explained, fingers take a long time to heal because the blood flow isn't great. Besides, she pointed out, injuries take longer to resolve when you're older.

* Because glow-in-the-dark condoms came up in conversation not long ago, Scott and I recently rewatched Blake Edwards' Skin Deep. While it's flawed, there are some moments that are absolute genius, like this one. And, yes, if there is a God, he is most definitely a gag writer.

* This just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

* Knitting pin-ups. (Also: I want to go to Oakland to float. Seriously.)

* Freelance writing is full of time sucks. Chris Hardwick experiments with strategies for avoiding them. Dead squirrels are involved.

* If you've spent much time around me in person, you know my love of plaid shirts. Which is why this speaks to me. Do I dare? (I also have owned a striking number of shoes deemed ugly. And like the Indigo Girls. Which I'm sure says something.)

* Who hasn't been tempted to do this when faced with a question you can't answer.

* I want to go to Oakland to float. Seriously. 

* Mahasti Vafaie  home-delivered sandwiches to me when the Diva was born and I have never forgotten the gesture. She is a kind soul who is deserves all of the love that Knoxville gives her. Go eat at the T'Head.

* Yet another Maker's Market thing I might have to have. Curse them.

* Not only is River Song one of my fave Dr. Who characters, her hair is a style I can aspire to.

This weekend was fully of birthday parties, only one of which was for one of my children. 

On Thursday, the Boy will be five, which I still can't quite wrap my head around. Five! I'm certain I'll lose the baby weight any day now.

Because we thought the Boy would enjoy it, we celebrated this weekend at Chuck E. Cheese. When my kids are grown, I will not ever set foot in one again. For now, tho, they serve a purpose. 

 

We thought the Boy (not pictured above) would freak out in the ticket tornado thingy. Instead, he laughed hysterically the whole time.

 

We all laughed, too. Well worth the price of admission just to see how tickled he was.

Other than that, I am a painting machine. The Diva's room has been a weird purple gray since we moved in over a year ago. I couldn't take it anymore. I'd forgotten how much a new coat of paint brightens up a room. And I'd also forgotten how much of a great distraction painting is when you really ought to be writing.*

Besides, no one takes deadlines seriously in the summer.  All of the decision-makers are vacationing in the Hamptons, right? And there is no internet there, right?

Right?

Um. Look at the pretty bag!

 

It is now lined and handled. I've filled it with big books to try to get the edge where the lining meets the knitting to look decent without having to iron it. I suspect that ironing 100 percent wool is just asking for trouble. Soon it'll be ready to go.
 

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* Next up is the "master" bedroom, which is currently the color of orange sherbet. Maddy's room and our bedroom are my only two big summer non-work projects. So far, it's on track.