Because I keep busy that way...

The Impertinent Daughter has a friend, we'll call him Toast Boy. Well... actually, I think she and her friends call him "Turtle" so... perhaps I should call him that, too. Not because he is turtle-like in anyway, but he loves turtles. And the other important thing for you to know is that he is obsessed with toast.

I guess there are worse things to be obsessed with!

Anyhow, because they are good friends, and rather silly together, when Miss Priss and I were looking through the many very, very cute wearables on shanalogic.com and found this very, very cute toast scarf, she immediately said, "Oh, Turtle would loooove one of those! How much is that?"

I said, startled, "You want to buy this??"

"It would be perfect for him, Mum! He's got this thing with toast..."

So I looked at the price and promptly inhaled my tongue.

A few hearty slaps of the back later, the Impertinent One said, "Can't you make that? I mean, it's crochet, right? You can crochet that... right?"

And here is the result...



As you can see, she is as pleased as Punch with that scarf! And because she's giving it to a friend who happens to be a boy, rather than a boyfriend, we decided to make the butter pats square rather than heart-shaped. I think it turned out rather well, considering I had to make up the pattern myself!

Evidently, it's rather tasty, too...



I told her that when she gives it to him, she should ask him, "So, are we going to be friends for life or what?" And if he says yes, she should hold it out solemnly across her hands and say something like, "Then I present you with the order of the Toasty Scarf!" and drape it around his neck!

Hey, for all the work I put into it, completing it within a month, I figure some over-the-top dramatic gesture should go with it!! Would have finished it sooner if I hadn't had to undo it, and redo it until I figured out the stitches, then had more than a few minutes of uninterrupted time to work on it!! As it is, I hope she remembers to tell me how he reacted when he got it! I do know that the very idea of me making it for him (because her best friend let it slip, not knowing he was behind them when she asked about it) was enough for him to come up to me two weeks ago and introduce himself to me, squeaky voice and terror-stricken eyes and all!!

Seriously... I'm not that scary... am I??

Anyway, after telling me who he was, and why he was shaking my hand with damp palms, he made a few incoherent statements that might have been about the Impertinent Daughter's comics and drawings (I'm sure her name, comics, and cracking up were in there somewhere), he blurted something about being happy to meet me, and disappeared rapidly.

I wonder what it will be like when a boy she's dating introduces himself to me?

*dies laughing*

Anyhow, I'm done, and I'm glad! And glad it's going to Turtle, who will hopefully be very happy with it!

First Post

Hello everyone,

I'm not new to blogging, but I am new to Blogspot. This is an experiment, to see if writing under my own name will work as well as writing under a nom de guerre did. We shall see what we shall see!

Look for more posts to come!

Just thought you'd like to know...

As most of you are well aware, the Impertinent Daughter wants to be a manga artist someday. Thus, she is constantly drawing, and while she makes up stores for most of her manga, there are comics that she draws that are taken from her daily life from school. I have to admit, I love those, because they give me a glimpse into the workings of her day. I've complained about the math department at her school, and her algebra teacher in particular. Her latest stunt? Putting stuff on the tests that they haven't gone over yet!! But, she's covered it in other classes (maybe) and thus thinks the kids in her honors class have ... absorbed it by osmosis, I guess. Well, here, to give you an idea of what her class (and her teacher) is like, two of Miss Priss class comics...  
 


Yes... her teacher really talks like that. *rolls eyes*


*head-desk* 


Ugh, I hate this school district so hard!!

"I've got sunshine... on a cloudy day..."

Last night, I kissed my thirteen year old daughter for the last time.


*dramatic pause* 


This morning, I smooched my brand-spanking new fourteen year old daughter and wished her a happy birthday!  


I never expected to be a mom. In fact, I never expected to be married, quite frankly. There's always at least one spinster in every generation in my mother's family, and I had rather expected to be the Chosen One. But, I did get married, thanks to the Husbandly One, and then, this little elf-sprite showed up and made me a mom, much to my shock.  


No, seriously, the moment I heard her first cry, my first thought was, "Oh, no, what have I done? I'm not mature enough to be a mom! I have no idea what I'm getting myself into!" But the moment they laid her on my chest, and I got a look into those weary little eyes... I knew we were going to be okay, because she and I were in this together, and we'd figure it out somehow. And we have. I mean, so far, so good, right? She's bright, she's creative, she's strong, and I love her so much!  


*warning for Extreme Mom Moment*  


No, I'm not going to slobber all over my daughter and get maudlin about how perfect she is. She's wonderfully imperfect, and I like her that way, to tell you the truth. I'm just proud of her, proud of the way she meets the challenges in her life, and I'm just amazed that there's this totally awesome person in my life that is always surprising me. And... she came from me, that is the shocking, completely unexpected part.  


Happy birthday, Impertinent Daughter. I love you, I am proud of you, and no matter where you go or what you do, I fully expect to be your biggest cheerleader. You are truly awesome!!

Char, this is for you...

Okay, Char, you were right.

You were right, you were right, you were right.

It's totally your fault that I got hooked on the Harry Potter series in the first place, you know that, right?

Now it's totally your fault that I'm apparently getting hooked on Thursday Next.

I'm three fourths of the way through The Eyre Affair, and I'm ... hooked. You're right, it's a slightly rough read, but still good, and since you've assured me that the following books are better, I'm depending on that, and I apologize for taking such a long time to start reading them. Blame it on the fact that I thought they were still in a box in my closet, and instead, the Husbandly One had put them on the bookshelf in the living room where he thought I would be sure to see them.

He really should know me better than that!

Anyhow, I thought you would like to know, and that every time I see you for the next year or so, I'll be bowing my head and muttering, "You were right, you were right, you were right," until you are satisfied that I have suitably humbled myself to your far superior knowledge of my reading habits.

I should have learned my lesson by now, right?

*sighs*

You were right, you were right, you were right...

It's a Manly Sort of Tool...

So, I was listening to this earlier today. It's President Lyndon Baines Johnson, ordering some custom-made lightweight slacks from Hagger, and while I was cracking up at him saying, "Leave me about an inch from where the zipper ends around under my... back to my bunghole," it was something else that he said that got me all thoughtful and wandering around in my memory.

Ol' LBJ has a very strong Central Texas accent, which is something I've gotten used to hearing since I've lived here, though I think it got softened somewhat during his years in Washington, D.C. It got my attention, though, when he asked that they add about an inch to the side pockets, because whenever he sat down, "my knife and my money fall out." And boy, wasn't that a familiar complaint, because my dad used to say that all the time after he moved out of the oil fields and into the office, a change which required him to wear suits and dress slacks. The pockets weren't deep enough to hold his change, his keys, and his jackknife, and my mom usually ended up at her sewing machine, with his suit trousers over her lap, pinning extra fabric to the pockets to make them deeper. Because in the South that my dad grew up in, a man was never caught without his jackknife in his pocket.

A jackknife was sacred.

What's a jackknife?

Well, I don't know how it is up north, but most men from the southern half of this country used to carry what we called a jackknife or a pocket knife with them everywhere they went, and they weren't used for defense or for cuttin' somebody up bad, etc. They were used to do little things, like... sharpen a pencil, or cut the gordian knot most little kids manage to mangle their shoelaces into when they're first learning to tie their shoes, or pick out a splinter in the same kid's foot because Daddy let them run around barefoot, because they couldn't tie their shoes any more, etc. It could be used to cut string for bundling newspapers together, or the tip of the blade could be used as a makeshift screwdriver when that little screw that holds the ear piece to one's glasses fell out, or to cut a blooming rose from the rosebush in the front yard to give the elderly lady from across the street who'd come over to give the family the cookies she'd just baked. Need a fishing pole? Daddy would whip out his jackknife, cut a tree branch, then cut some string, pry apart a paperclip to bend into a hook, and there you go. Were you misbehaving? Out would come the knife to cut a switch from the hazel bush so Mom could apply it in the way she deemed most effective.

It was sort of an everyman's tool of the trade. You'd see them pulled out in barbecue joints to slice sausage into small pieces for little ones to nibble, or into chunks for chewing. Or to cut a plug of tobacco for chewing (EWWWWW!!!). I remember watching one of my great uncles whipping it out and using it to pry a rock out of a horseshoe when his horse started limping, and then wiping it on his pants before cutting a chunk off an apple to reward the same horse for her patience. You don't see them much any more. Especially in these days of heightened airport security.

My dad got me one for my thirteenth birthday, and I was very proud of it, too, even though I'm not a boy. I guess he got tired of me asking to borrow his all the time when I needed to put a new hook on my fishing line! I still have it, though I don't use it any more, because it's very fragile now. But, I have a Swiss Army Card Knife that the Husbandly One got for me about ten or fifteen years ago, which I keep in my purse. It's not the same thing, but I use it for just about everything when I'm out and about.

It's kind of weird, I admit, to walk by the little shelf where the Husbandly One puts all the things that he keeps in his pocket; wallet, keys, phone... but there's no jackknife. I'm used to it now, but... it just seems like such a husbandly, fatherly sort of item, and it's odd not to see it there.

And I remember after my father had died, and one of the first times I went back to the house where I'd grown up after the funeral, I was walking toward Mom's room, and hesitated, because right there, on the sideboard by the door, behind the photo of my nephew... there was my dad's little pile of things. Wallet, keys, assorted change, odd little items he'd either picked up, or been given by friends... and his jackknife. Yeah, it made me tear up.

And do you know, when I went to Mom's new house, I walked into her bedroom and there on her dresser, in "his" corner, his little pile of things. Wallet, keys, change, odd little objects... and his jackknife.

It seemed kind of right, and made me think that maybe it makes that house feel a little more like home for her. Like he's still there with her, even in the new place.

Whatever works.

It's still funny to think that even when he was president, LBJ carried a jackknife in his pocket. How the world has changed, in ways large and small.

WHEEEE-OOOOO-WHEEEEE-OOOOO!!!

I was awakened at the ungodly hour of 4:45 a.m. this morning, and now, here I sit, at 5:20 a.m., making a post. Why, you ask?

Because the Husbandly One, when setting his alarm last night, for some inexplicable reason, also set his clock one hour ahead.

O_o

Yes, it is his job to wake us both up in the mornings, since he is a light sleeper, and I am a notoriously heavy sleeper, even though I have the bizarre and utterly useless tendency to wake up 5 seconds before someone actually wakes me up. Dunno why, but I've always been that way. I have to be completely and totally exhausted for that not to happen.

Anyhow, I didn't notice this until after I had checked the weather, and looked at local news, and was about to log into my writing blog. The Impertinent One had asked me to get her up a little earlier than usual so she could shower, and I automatically checked the computer clock to see what time it was... and blinked when I saw it said, "5:15." Turn to the clock on THO's side of the bed. 6:15.

Okay, so maybe the computer clock is off? I look down, there's my cell phone, so I pick it up to check that clock. 5:15.

B'zuh?

So, I trot into the kitchen where THO is making himself some coffee, and I said, "Honey? What time is it?"

He stops right in the middle of the kitchen, looks at me like I'm nuts, and says, "Huh?"

"What time is it? Check the time on the microwave," I said encouragingly.

So he looks at it, frowns, and then... his whole body slumps. "It's after five?? What the hell...?" He checks the living room clock and yes, it's still after five. He smears his face around with one hand, then says, "I must have reset the clock when I was setting the alarm."

"Yeah," I said sympathetically. "I was wondering why I was feeling so stoned." I mean, I had to force myself into "bright-eyed and bushy-tailed" mode!

*an hour later*

He actually tried to go about his morning as usual, but while I was sitting here typing, he came in, stripped down to his boxers, tugged me away from the computer, and said, "We can't sleep, but we can doze for an hour, so... let's go back to bed!"

*grin*

Who'm I to turn down an invitation to bed with a handsome man?

I know this is going to turn into one of our funny family stories. Can't wait to see the expression on the kids' faces when I tell them what their papa did! When I'm a little more awake, that is!!