Hanging in.

Barely. June is turning into one seriously sucktastic month, my friends. I suspect it would be less so if the AC didn't require servicing, but right now it's been running all. day. long. and it is 82 degrees in my house and the temp is rising. If I'd been smart I'd have turned it up ages ago to save the strain on the motor, but I am not smart.

In knitting knews, Mary Jane is finished. More or less. The ends are all woven in (by holding them together with the new strand and knitting 5-8 stitches) but this is somewhat slick yarn, so I am still considering whether I want to weave them all in further. The yarn was cheap on eBay (here) and had several knots per skein, but given what I paid for it, and the fact that the whole sweater took 3.5 balls and I bought ten, I'm pretty happy with it. I still think I'm going to overdye it because Lynn in Tucson and the other gals from the knit night think it's chartreuse when I know it to be gold. I'm thinking either black cherry kool aid or deep forest green jacquard acid dye. Anyway, I won't do a "reveal" until I dye (or not), weave in ends (or not) and block it. Plus I need DH here since my camera doesn't work so great on a timer, and he'll be gone for a while yet.



That's the main reason for June's suckitude. DH checked into the hospital a couple of days ago to try to get the autoimmune stuff and valley fever under control. Since then he's been told he has an enlarged heart, he doesn't have an enlarged heart, he has thrush, he has vascular blockages, he doesn't have vascular blockages, his heart is strong, his right ventricle is under strain, he has a node in his lung, he has a hole in his lung, etc. Currently he's there waiting for a muscle biopsy and the beginning of his autoimmune treatment. If the autoimmune treatment doesn't help his breathing, he'll be having a lung biopsy as well, but for now they think the breathing problems are due to the wasting effect the autoimmune disease has on the major muscles (yay heart and diaphragm) of the upper body. Emotionally we're in a better place today than we were yesterday, when we were thinking he had asbestos-related cancer or something.

In the meantime, I'm hoping this turns into something good.

Another week.

People, it is RAINING in Tucson. Let me repeat, IT IS RAINING IN TUCSON. I know you people who come from places where water isn't a museum-quality oddity think I'm flipping out over nothing, but I can't remember the last time it rained in May. It is currently 64 degrees as I type. Yesterday's LOW was 78. Think about that one. COOL and RAINING in MAY in TUCSON. The zombies are coming, people, or the apocalypse, or the zombie apocalypse, or the four horsemen zombies, or something, because this is NOT NORMAL. (Please note: this is in no way intended to be a complaint. I am ecstatic. RAIN! I just worry that it comes across as complaining because this time of year, I don't know how to talk about the weather any other way.)




My knitting has been monogamous on Mary Jane. I have about 5 inches to finish the body, and at that point will need to finish the sleeves and pick up and knit the neckline. I'm pretty excited about this one and am at the point where, by the time I get sick of stockinette, it's time to do the serpentine stitch, and vice versa, so I'm still entertained. I think it will be nicely wearable and I'm excited to try it on.

In DH's health news, the doc says no RA. He was tested yesterday and they're going to run for valley fever antibodies, and if it's not that, it's biopsy time. (Even if it is valley fever, he'll probably still need a biopsy because there was a "nodule" in the lung xray when they were looking for pneumonia. Oh, and he forgot to tell the doc about that time 10 years ago when he gutted a house and found out later that all that dust he was making was asbestos-laced.) The doc says he has no bacterial or viral infections (hooray, no swine flu, or bird flu, or deer flu, or whatever), and if fungal infection is ruled out, the doc is at a loss. He's due to see the pulmonary specialist in about 10 days I think - it was tough to get him an appointment because apparently there was some big pulmonary conference in SoCal this month so all the lung docs are all full up. Anyway, they're squeezing him in, he's reducing his smoking and still talking about quitting, and he's FREAKING ME RIGHT THE HELL OUT. Overnight he stopped talking about buying rims for his car and started talking about "making sure the family is taken care of". My mind keeps yelling at itself to stop flipping out because they haven't found anything wrong and it's probably going to be no big deal and treatable, but then he goes and makes some comment about running out of time and I get all flipped out again. I told him he's absolutely forbidden from having anything serious or untreatable, and if he dies young it will be because I kill him and no other reason, but you know, he's a contrary jerk and will probably get something insane just to piss me off. Because it IS all about me, after all. Anyway, more healthy lung thoughts for him, and healthy brain/heart thoughts for me. Bug is starting to wonder what's wrong with my eyes that they're always red and leaking. (DH told me not to go blogging about how he's dying or anything like that, but keeping it in my head was making it get bigger and scarier than it needed to be, so I figured I'd let you people textually smack me upside the head and tell me to quit being so dramatic because it's nothing.)
Anyway, it's already 9:45am and I haven't started drinking yet! I'm going to go make a margarita and knit some Mary Jane.

Liftoff.

My mood may be lifting, and it has little, if anything, to do with the giant bottle of tequila and unopened bottle of margarita mix I found stashed in my pantry. (Okay, it does have something to do with that, but that's just incidental.) My dear and long-gone aunt is visiting this week. Usually I complain about this one, but when she's late, I feel such relief that the bitch finally showed that I can't help but be in a good mood. o.0 Anyway, now I realize why I'd been so very darn pissed off and heat-sensitive the last week.
Yesterday I went outside in the heat of the day. It didn't suck as bad as I thought it would. I sat in the shade, even knitted a row, while Bug played in the dirt. It was too warm to stay out for long, but the sunshine and the breeze was nice. DH was late getting home from work, so rather than keep dinner for hours and hours, we went out and had some pasta. On the way home, whilst listening to DH complain about feeling crappy (more on that later) I spontaneously decided Bug needed a park outing. (I thought DH was going to kill me when I mentioned the park in mid-complain, but I asked him to drop me and Bug off and we walked home.) I thought I was a pioneer, but it turns out that I am just dumb. Tons of neighbors came out in the pleasant evening, walking their dogs, playing with their kids, and messing around in the park. I've been living in this desert for 29 years and only now just figured out that I can go out in the evening and not die. The slides didn't burn the boy child, and I could stand there and push him in the swing for what felt like hours and not wilt in the sun. All in all, an enjoyable time. Then we walked/jogged/sprinted home together in the twilight and waved at the neighbors sitting on their front porches. Seriously, if we get any more Norman Rockwell around here, I might gag. But I felt all relaxed in spite of my commitment to cynicism and bad attitude.
DH is having health issues. One would think that the inability to breathe and the fact that there is "something fuzzy" in his lung x-ray would be more incentive to quit smoking, but one would be wrong. He's thisclose but won't let himself make the final leap. The dummy. Anyway, he was tested for RA (no results yet), he's been given antibiotics for pneumonia (didn't work), he's been given a referral to a pulmonologist. Two separate medical professionals we know in private life suggested he get tested for valley fever, but one of them pointed out that it's so common around here as to be a standard test, so he'd probably already been tested and ruled out. Not sure, though, as his PCP is an internist who specializes in diabetes and may not know the local fauna (valley fever is a fungus that lives in the lungs) well. I may never know what he's been tested for because he is a stereotypical man when it comes to doctors, and he doesn't ask questions and only goes in when he thinks he's dying or he can't stand me nagging him anymore. (Seriously - last year he lived with double pneumonia for weeks and finally went to the doctor to shut me up - he SO thought the doc was going to tell him he just had a cold. My I Told You So dance was big and mighty that day.) Anyway, good healing thoughts for DH's lungs, if you please.
I managed to get the Bug sleeping in his own bed for the first time in about 18 months, and it's mostly glorious. The last few nights he's woken up in the middle of the night. This morning at 3:30 I actually heard noises and went in to find that he'd taken down the baby gate, turned on all the lights and was playing with toys and had woken Squeak up. SIGH. I scootched him back to bed, gave Squeak a bink, and bless the little boogers, they both went to sleep with nary a tweet after that.
Not much else is happening, really. I spend my days surfing for jobs (and it doesn't help that the same job appears posted by the hiring company and three different recruiting agencies. I thought the tech writing market in Sierra Vista was a-hoppin' until I realized I'd applied like six times for the same job through different agencies.) and cuddling my kids and mostly ignoring housework. There has been knitting, mostly on Mary Jane. Look! I even have a picture.



You know, as much as I whine about not being cut out for stay-at-home-motherhood, I gotta say that having this time with my boys is pretty excellent. I still start thinking about drinking at 9am, but god, they're great. Yesterday, Bug came over and leaned on my shoulder and said, "Mama? You're my best friend." *melt* I'm glad I get the time, because damn, this kid is getting big.



And this one gets smilier and bouncier and sweeter every day. (And MAN he loves his little satin butterflies.)



You know, I could get used to this.

(Oh, and a purely hypothetical PSA. When your kid writes on his face and says, "I'm a kitty cat," and you think, "WTH, they're washable," and fix him up a little, they aren't as washable as you think.)

The cake said eat me, I swear it.

I did not go to the job today. We did some figuring, and after accounting for daycare, said job would have paid $100 a week less than unemployment. (I should never have applied for it. I skimmed the job listing and thought it was maintaining technical manuals as in EDITING them, not like printing out a changed page and filing it. Actually, that was two different jobs. One person printed. One person filed. Tax dollars at work, y'all.) I can use that $100 to buy happy pills when the "what are you makin'? coffee? are you making coffee mama? can I see the coffee mama? are you makin' coffee? where's the coffee? can I see the coffee? are you makin' coffee mama?" routine runs a little thin.

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This morning I noticed the cover of my new IK was cut up and the scissors were laying nearby. I said to Bug, "Don't cut things like this, and DON'T PLAY WITH SCISSORS!" He smiled sweetly at me and said, and I swear this is a direct quote, "Maybe you should put your scissors away."
Touché.

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I have been knitting on Mary Jane. I thought it would go all speedy like when I took the armhole stitches off the needles and only had to do the body. I forgot how many sport weight stitches are required to circumnavigate my girth. There are many. It is still not fast.

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Don't tell Nora, but I jogged the other day. For five whole seconds, whilst chasing Bug on his bike. (Surprisingly, my rack did not smack me in the face and knock me unconscious.) I burned off so many calories, I came home and ate a whole cake.

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DH did get the job he interviewed for, and started Monday. (They REALLY wanted him.) This exacerbates the mental issues revolving around myself, my attitude toward being a housewife, and my mother, and perhaps a little jealousy regarding the fact that my husband is eminently more employable than I am. I hate cleaning, and the cobwebs in my psyche have been there for a while. It's not pretty. I've been weeping and gnashing my teeth about how my DH isn't supportive and how he sucks and blah blah blah (most of this has been in my head, you can thank me for sparing you) but it turns out most of my recent unhappiness is my own attitude. I gotta say, it sucks deeply to find out you're to blame for your problems. (Not to say he's totally blameless for the fighting, but there is little resolution when the fighting isn't really the reason I'm fighting. Clear as mud?) Will I tell him that? Oh hell no. Can't have too much personal enlightenment at one time, y'all.

What day is this?

Cuz I have not the foggiest notion.
Yesterday was a stellar day, folks. (Looking up, I see yesterday was Monday. Another reason to love forced retirement - when was the last time YOU had a good Monday at work? I certainly never did.) Yesterday I took Squeak to the doctor to check his recovery progress and my beloved pediatrician said his condition showed "remarkable improvement" and told me to go away until my next well-baby check up. I puttered on the computer, I tidied the kitchen and the living areas of the house, I planted flowers, I sat outside and knit with my Squeak.



It's hard to tell, but he's holding my knitting - that's the first photo of my progress on Mary Jane, which has been chugging along slowly for the better part of this month. (Since shortly after this post, in fact.) I'm using the gold soy yarn, and knitting top down. I am thisclose to putting the sleeves on waste yarn, which means each row is about 400 stitches long and takes about half an hour at least. The body, when I finally get to it, will simply fly, I think.

The weekend looked much like this:



That's our back yard, which DH spent much time cleaning. (I only pointed out once that it wouldn't take all weekend plus if he did it more often than once a year. Look at me! A model of restraint.) That's the Bug revelling in the ability to see the dirt and dig in it, instead of playing in dead leaves, sticks, and destroyed toys. That's the Bug wearing a sleeveless shirt outside in January and being perfectly comfortable.

In other news, I found this interesting little website, walkscore.com. It rates the neighborhood around an address in terms of "walkability", which I believe depends on the number of goods and services that can be had within a reasonable walk. It also serves to show one's prejudices when it comes to walking. When my cousin lived in Santa Monica and I'd visit, we'd walk everywhere. It was a mile to the beach and less than that to grocery stores, restaurants, shops and movie theaters. Here in my neighborhood, there is no beach (alas) but it's still less than a mile to grocery stores, restaurants, shops and movie theaters. (Okay, it's a little further to the theater, but not by much.) And yet, it feels like it might as well be 20 miles away for all I think about walking to any of those things. A few years ago I noticed (as I was driving by, natch) my neighbors walking to the mall at Christmas time. The mall that is about 1.3 miles from our houses - the mall that would require parking ALMOST that far away at Christmas time - and I thought they were nuts. But are they really? This whole time have I been holding on to the myth that out in the west a car is NECESSARY in life to get anywhere, when in reality I rarely go farther than 2 miles from my home in any one trip anyway?



Years ago I remember my father commenting, upon seeing a young woman pushing a stroller along the road in Phoenix, how sad it was that "young people today" have babies before they were financially ready. I am starting to see that I took away from that single comment the idea that walking was for poor people and that she must have been poor, instead of either out walking her kid for enjoyment, or making an environmental choice, or any other number of reasons. (I'm pretty sure that was how my dad meant for me to interpret it.) In the past if the family walked to a restaurant or the drug store, I'd feel all self-congratulatory and smug because I'd done something "green" and "exercise-y". I'm coming to the conclusion (slowly, cuz dammit I loves me some misconceptions) that I should in fact feel slightly ashamed when I DON'T walk to these places.

And now that I have finished navel-gazing, I will leave you with a photo from Friday's doctor visit - Squeak had a diaper blowout (no, there's no picture of that, I have SOME standards) and "got" his blankie, so the nurse gave me a bag to put it in for the ride home. I am DEEPLY entertained by her selection.

bu-kawk!

Yes, I am a big chicken. Somewhere back in time I made this statement about ripping out what wasn't finished by the end of the year. Yeah, not gonna do that. It was a welcome push to get some things done, though, and it did help me to get a few things off my psyche. The horrid lace and sonnet were ripped, Haiku was finished, and .... hmmm, a couple other things I can't quite recall at this point. I made some progress on the other things I had going, I knit scarves for The Aunts, I enjoyed myself. Now my plan is to not beat myself up about having those WIPs. When the time comes that I can't think of what I want to knit, I'll look at my little list and pull something out. Or I'll start something new. Or whatever I feel like. I'm done feeling guilty about my fun hobbies.
Along those lines, I started something new. (Linden? What Linden?) My gauge is already 3 st/4 in off from my gauge swatch, but I think it will be fixable in the pattern without having to rip what I've already done. (Fingers crossed.)

Pretend there's a picture here - I'm too lazy to go take one.

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Noob isn't Noob anymore, he's Squeaker. Squeak for short. Blame the DH for that one, but it fits.

For those of you who are missing your Bug fix (you can't fool me, I know you come here just to see kid photos and hear poopy stories and that sort of parental crap) here is a picture. He's been anti-photo lately, unless he's the one taking the photo, so he was "hiding" behind the light, but you get the gist. I can't stand it how this three year old suddenly looks like a teenager sometimes. (But then he got all excited about the stingrays on Planet Earth that we were watching together and gave me a big hug, so he's not fully morphed into a teen yet.