Yet another rainy day and our ward social at the neighborhood pool was cancelled. I guess that means I have to think of what to make for dinner tonight. There was much weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth at the prospect of not getting to swim AGAIN, but they all soon settled down when Husband announced we'd take the Oldest Child, Child Two, Child Four and a friend of Two's to the dollar theater to see "Horton Hears a Who." Child Three was with her "other family." She's attached at the hip to her best friend, Tina (all real names have been changed), and after spending the night at Tina's house last night, she went fishing with Tina's family today.
Child Three also dyed her hair blue last night. She had our permission, so it wasn't a shock, and I loved it. I have always wanted to dye my hair blue. Three has dark brown hair so the blue isn't really apparent, but in the light you can tell.
Child Two and her friend got good and lost today. I had anticipated the possibility, so Two had my cell phone just in case. They ended up a couple miles from home, not sure of where they were. After grilling them about landmarks, I found them and brought them home, but I won't let them go so far next time. They didn't panic (cell phones sure do bring security sometimes), but I think Husband was shocked to find I'd let them go like that. I also let Child Four go to the pool alone (yes, it was freezing but the pool was still open and she was determined). She's a pretty good swimmer, she promised to stay in the shallow end, and she was driving me crazy. When she's bored she loves to tease Child Five, who reacts with a lot of screaming and hitting. When Husband found out she'd gone by herself AND that Child Two and friend were lost, I don't think he knew exactly what to say. Still, he helped me with Google Maps to locate lost children and I explained my reasons for Four going to the pool alone and he was okay.
Child Five told me the other day what he wants for his birthday: "Clothes, music and shiny things." Exact quote. He'll be four. He has also invented a store called Dreams that he always wants to visit. He says, "It's a place that sells dreams you've never heard of." When he gets really mad that we aren't going, I tell him I don't know where to find it. "That's easy," he says. "You go west, then you turn and there you are!" So far we haven't visited, but I hope to in the future.
Oldest Child is sick and tired of being a teenager. The mood swings, the annoying siblings, paint fumes from painting flowers on her wall that made her stomach hurt (we told her to sleep on the couch). I told her there are good things about being a teen, like a healthy, strong body, lots of energy, fun with your friends and no huge responsibilities, but she wasn't in the mood to see the bright side today. I'll check back in five minutes. Maybe her mood will have changed.
I indulged this violent urge to crochet something. Normally violence isn't associated with the quieter domestic arts, but I think it's appropriate when speaking of sewing and counted cross stitch in particular. Case in point: I had terrible sewing machine. It was always unthreading itself and jamming up. Sure, I made some Halloween costumes and such, but I always vowed never, ever to sew ever again, after ripping out thread snarls and ripping out seams (the seams weren't the machine's fault. I must sew at least one seam that wasn't supposed to be there.). The other day I was "helping" my friend sew a banner for her wards' Girls Camp. Snarls, jams, all the usual shenanigans ensued. The phone rang and it was for my dad. I unthinkingly got up to get him, leaving the machine on, when Child Six, crawling on the floor under the table, happily pushed the foot pedal. CHUNKA-CHUNKA, CHUNKA-CHUNKA went the machine, as fast as it could go, rattling itself toward the edge of the table. My friend and I dove for the machine, but she was closer and managed to unplug the machine in a few seconds. The damage was done, however. Parts rattled loose that I cannot by any sheer muscle power or will get to go back in their proper places.
Violence associated with counted cross stitch is just self explanatory.
But, to get back to crocheting. I just needed to create something that doesn't immediately get undone, like housework does. I have now completed five squares of a new afghan, and I may even complete it when I find my hook that Child Five buried in one of the skeins of yarn.
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