My Bit of Earth

Five Senses, Right Now

A few sensorial experiences of note this week....

Taste, Smell, Touch, Sight.  

I bought a handful of these zingy little kumquats as a treat last weekend, and have been pulling them from their tiny bowl on my windowsill and nibbling at them all week.  Their plump, smooth skins, and tart, puckery interior would bring me out of even the deepest Winter funk.  (If we were having Winter this year, that is.  Because apparently we've just skipped ahead to Spring.)

Sight, Hearing, Touch.  

Sweet Husband bought an India Stone yesterday to sharpen our knives with.  They were getting terribly dull--particularly a problem when you're trying to cut every meal into toddler sized pieces.  

Last night he stood in the kitchen and carefully scraped each blade along the stone until they were all nice and sharp again.  The rhythm of it--schhwoop...schhwoop...schhwoop--was soothing, and I love watching his hands as he works with them.  (Loved having sharp knives to cook dinner with tonight too!)

Sight, Touch, Hearing.

I found a whole cabinet full of bargain knitting needles at the flea market this weekend.  While bamboo needles are undoubtedly easier to manage, I like the colors of the anodized kind.  And although I know it disturbs some, I find the more pronounced "click, click, click" they make very satisfying.

(Just to let you all know, I am tickled to be guest blogging on the Rhythm of the Home blog this month.  The plan is to leave a note here whenever I post there, and my first post is up today.  If you're so inclined, please pop on over and say hello!)

Waiting For a Guy to Jump Out of the Bushes and Say, "Punked!"

We have somehow become a Nielsen family.  

Like, Nielsen...you know, the TV ratings people.  We don't have the magic box yet, but so far we've gotten two or three surveys.  The latest one is a "TV diary" that we are to fill out in the next week.  It has cute little charts and graphs so that we can tell them exactly who is watching what and when.

The hilarious part is that our TV hasn't even been turned on this month, except for maybe some Pandora here and there.  (We stream music through our DVD player.)  The last time anyone even watched anything on Netflix was just after Christmas when my mom and sister were up.

So I will return the cute little booklet empty.

But with every survey they send five bucks, which--in these days of being frugal at our house--is the price of exactly one honey latte with tip.  So, essentially, they're buying me coffee to not watch TV.  It's insane, but I'm not complaining.

One of Those (Awesome) Weeks

Do you ever have those weeks when you just feel like you're "on"?  Like, everything is getting done at work and the laundry is put away and your child is happy and healthy and "oh look, I got four inches of knitting done".  

I used to shy away from acknowledging those times, even to myself.  Listening to my own inner monologue say, "Hey there, I'm pretty awesome!"  feels inappropriately egotistical.  It triggers my inner Marmie March voice re: how a polite woman should think and act--in a word, humble.

But, here's the thing, I have no problem listening to that voice when I've mucked something up.  In fact, it's hard to get it to shut up at those times.

So if I have to live with it at it's worst, why shouldn't I get to enjoy it at it's best?

So, I'll say it.  It's only Tuesday.  And I've had some lovely help.  But so far this week...kicking ass, taking names.  Off to get s'more done while this productive streak lasts!

It's Nice

It could be that I slept in this morning.  (If you had told me at sixteen that 7:12 a.m. would someday be "sleeping in", I would've said you were smokin' somethin'.)  

It could be that my co-workers took me out for a delightful, Italian carb-fest for lunch.  

It could be that the dishes are done and the baby is asleep and the laundry is...well, out of the dryer, at least.

It could be that I'm sipping the season's first hot toddy and have turned on the Christmas music.

But I'm feeling very cozy this evening.  And it's been awhile, so it feels nice.

A Post Office Box

...Or, why I am a completely silly human being.

Every time I walk by the wall of P.O. boxes at our post office, I have to fight the urge to get one.

In my imagination, it's a magical numbered glass box.  I would keep the special little key on a pretty piece of ribbon, and I would only open it on weekends as part of my downtown stroll to the farmer's market and coffee shop.  

Of course, only really special mail would arrive there--handwritten letters from long-lost friends, pretty envelopes with stamps from exotic places.  No junk mail or credit card offers.  

Alas, I'm afraid the reality would be much different.  My P.O. box would be sadly empty.

But a girl can dream, right?

Right This Second...

...I am craving some risotto like no one's beeswax.  I'm still not convinced it's going to stay this way, but the temperature outside is strongly suggesting to my body that it's Fall.

...I am convinced that the Kiddo needs to remain vegetarian for a bit longer, after his tummy--in no uncertain terms--rejected the "chick-chick" he ate for dinner last night.

...I think my husband is a little evil for opening yet another tiny container of java chip frappuccino ice cream.

...We are devouring episodes of the new version of Battlestar Galactica like it's java chip frappuccino ice cream.  

...I am almost done with the Kiddo's Halloween costume.  I'm not ready to reveal it just yet, but it's a riff on this guy and it's going to melt your hearts.

The Bad Parent Chronicles: Kid Does Not Equal Swiffer; Kiss Does Not Equal Eating Face

Sweet Husband:  "This means we're going to have start cleaning the floors sometimes, doesn't it?....Or we could just attach swiffer pads to his knees."

I am the mother of a mobile child....even if he only has reverse gear at present.  While we've spent months longing for this milestone, it's--justifiably, I think--petrifying for several reasons.  

The practical...we have to pick up the wine corks now, because I'm pretty sure they're choking hazards...and cover the outlets...and not leave him unattended on any elevated surface (no matter how big and how in-the-center-of-it he is) for even a nano-second.

The philosophical...where did my baby go?...no, seriously!...next thing you know he'll be in college, drinking lattes, and majoring in philosophy or some-other-such-nonsense.

But I can tell you this--he'll never kiss another girl the way he kisses his mama...at least, I hope not.  Because, although we both think his "giving kisses" is a hoot, I'm not sure anyone but a mother could truly appreciate his let's-see-how-much-of-your-cheek-I-can-get-in-my-wide-open-mouth technique.

Defending Marriage (But Not How You Think)

*Rant-warning*

I am the first to admit, I married young, and don't have a lot of "grown-up" experience dating.  I am also very happily married.  Rarely a day goes by that I don't thank my lucky stars for my husband.  

But I don't believe that we're all that special.  We're not some bright, shining beacon of what a committed relationship should be.  I can name ten couples just like us without even thinking hard.

So what's with the articles and commentary like this?  Dating is sexy and exciting, marriage is "a sentence" or "purgatory"?  (And, just because the title of the article puts the idea in play, when I say "marriage" I mean "a committed, 'till death do us part, relationship".  The legalities are unimportant for the purposes of this rant.)

I don't know what bitter bug this guy swallowed, but when you're married to the right person it's more exciting than anything else I've ever experienced, motherhood included.  

It's knowing that someone always has your back, is always on your side.  It's having one person that you can talk to about anything.  It's the instantly relaxing, safe smell of someone's chest or hair each evening when you come home.  It's a thousand little bits of thoughtfulness--from "I'll stop on the way home to get him some cold beer for the fridge" to "I'll take the baby downstairs so she can sleep another hour."

And Mr. Bitter-Bug-Columnist, if the sex isn't still hot, you're doing it wrong.  (And that's coming from a woman with a four month old, by the way!)

Marriage is also work.  It's negotiation.  It's trust.  It's communication.  But that doesn't make it dull, in fact, that's what makes it incredible.  It's a bit like mountain climbing--if it was easy to get to the top, no one would appreciate the view.

I'm not saying that every relationship is destined to last forever. Or that there isn't reason out there to be cynical (Arnold...*cringe*).  But just because it doesn't always work out isn't a reason to scrap the whole idea...because, when it does work out...it's a breathtaking view, I promise.  

The article (combined with a few conversations, of late) makes me feel the same way I do when I encounter the "bumbling, incompetent father" stereotype (a rant for another day).  Assuming that "married" is a synonym for a boring, sexless relationship is offensive, and I, for one, am done--done--with letting that unthinking drivel about what marriage is or should be pass by without comment.  

If you're happily "married", I think you should be too.

Everything I Know About Obstetrics, I Learned From the Tudors

Somewhere along early-to-mid pregnancy, I got a call from our midwife, "Your blood test results are back--did you know that you're rh negative?"

"Huh," I thought, "Just like Anne Boleyn."

Quick and dirty explanation for those of you unfamiliar with blood typing and Tudor history.  "Rh negative" means you have a negative blood type.  This can cause problems in pregnancy if your Baby Daddy has a positive blood type that gets passed on to the baby, because, if ever your blood and the baby's should mix (in amniocentesis, a car accident, or--commonly--during delivery) your blood will make antibodies to fight the baby's blood.  Bad stuff!  

Most of the time it doesn't effect the first baby--if the blood doesn't mix until delivery, he's already out before it's a problem.  But, in subsequent pregnancies it can lead to pretty horrific complications and miscarriage.

Fortunately, modern medicine has come up with a shot (Rhogam) to prevent the formation of antibodies.  However, blood types weren't even discovered until sometime around 1900, so back in the 1500's women would have a healthy, normal first pregnancy and then nasty miscarriages from there on out.  

Which brings us back to Anne Boleyn.  One theory about her healthy first baby (Elizabeth I) and subsequent miscarriages, is that she was rh negative and Henry VIII was positive.

All of this got me thinking about how completely different Anne's life may have been if just a few of our modern practices had been available to her.  For example, in addition to the unavailability of Rhogam, she had to wait until her baby was born to find out its sex.  How would it have changed history if she could have gone in for an ultrasound at 20 weeks and ended the suspense early?

Or, since we're talking about Henry VIII's wives, what about poor, sweet Jane Seymour, who died of infection after spending three days in labor with Edward VII.  Say what you will about the over-abundance of c-sections in this country, but, again, how would history be different if one had been available to Jane?

And let's not even get into fertility treatments and older women having babies.  If IVF had existed, we may not even know the names of Henry's second and third wives, because he may have been able to conceive later with his first wife, Katherine of Aragon.  England's break with the Catholic church totally may not have occurred if Katherine could've had a healthy boy.  

Makes you grateful for modern medicine, for sure, but thinking about it all also makes me feel a sort of oneness with them.  Granted there's no danger that Sweet Husband will arrange for my murder if the Peapod surprises us and turns out to be a lady, but still.  It's neat to think of the univeral-ness of it all.  Jane most likely felt the fetal Edward kicking her in the ribs.  Anne reputedly shared my craving for apples.  Katherine lovingly hand-sewed bits of baby clothes....

It's fascinating to me to think about how I have those things in common with women who lived so long ago.  

A Collaborative Hat

Last winter, I made Sweet Husband a very nice alpaca hat.  And he lost it.

I'll admit, my first response to this problem was not terribly charitable--something along the lines of a nice, but non-joking, "People who lose hand-knitted hats have to make their own replacements."  

He dutifully began a new one, in the easy "Hat Fit For a Boyfriend" pattern.  But it was clear he wasn't enjoying himself.  

After watching him curse his way along for about three inches of rib pattern, my better nature took over.  After all, this is the guy who has rubbed my back for the past seven-and-a-half months, readily forgives when I put too much red pepper flake in our dinner, and cheerfully pitches in with all of my hair-brained schemes--like starting an urban chicken flock. 

Further, as the goddess-of-knitting, Elizabeth Zimmerman, says, "If you hate to knit, why, bless you, don't . . . ."  He hates to knit.  I love to.  And, as a result, I'm considerably faster at it.  I'm not sure how long it would have taken him to finish on his own, but I was done in about three hours.

I think this may be a little deep for a simple, fuzzy hat, but it's sort of a metaphor for happy marriage.  Forgiving mistakes, each person pitching in with what they're best at, and (a big one for me) not getting so caught up in "the principle of the thing"--particularly when both the thing and the principle are ridiculously small--that you forget that you're on the same team. A collaborative hat, indeed.

An Ode to Wool Socks

 

Wool socks are the greatest thing

They make my heart just sing'a'ling!

A few new pairs, every Fall,

and feet don't feel the chill at all.

They also come in gorgeous colors,

stripes, cables--all sorts of others.

Yes, wool socks are wicked neat,

if only I could see my feet....

(Found wool socks on sale the other day and had a little stock-up.  They're like crack for your feet.  Even Sweet Husband--who is definitely a "socks are socks" kind of guy--slipped on a new pair and grinned, "I forgot how good these feel!"  And did you know SmartWool makes baby booties?  Must get the child started on the wool sock crack while he's young!)

Fall Happies

 The first batch of chicken and noodles.  I actually rarely make homemade noodles.  You really do have to let them dry for a day for them to cook right, and I can't always plan that far in advance.  But for the very first batch of the season, I made it work.  It was worth it!

 Some of our first official baby presents, beautifully sewn by Nice Cousin.  And that thing on the right?  It's called a taggie.  It crinkles when you touch it.  I had to hide it so that Sweet Husband and I don't wear out the crinkle before the baby gets a chance to play with it.

 My little paper aviary.  I made these paper cranes about a month ago for a project, but then had to stop and think how exactly I wanted to go about the next step.  In the meantime, they're just hanging out making me smile.

Observations, Curiosities, and a Question

1. In order to remain comfortable in my own skin, I typically have to exercise a degree of self-control about what goes into my mouth.  (We're not talking celery-for-lunch deprivation, more like picking the small doughnut over the gigantic one.)  It appears, however, that one of my magical pregnant super powers is the ability to gorge at will with no consequences.  

I'm under instructions (both from our midwife and my mother) to eat healthily--not really a chore at this time of year when produce is ample and delicious--and our midwife even told me I can pretty much eat all the cheese as I can stand.  (I've been waiting my whole life to hear those words!)  Within those guidelines, I've been eating as much as I want, whenever I want, yet the scale stays the same.

While it's a little disconcerting (pregnant people are eventually supposed to get fat, after all), it's also amusing in an Alanis Morisette, "Isn't It Ironic?" way.

2. I cannot stop accumulating yarn, even when I'm being good--my reputation as an adopter of abandoned fiber has grown too large.  Last weekend?  A skien of chocolaty-brown Lamb's Pride pressed into my hands by a weaver who was tired of it.  Wednesday?  Six-hundred-and-some yards of creamy, chunky wool left on my desk by a co-worker.  

While it's such a strain to adopt so much new yarn (*cough, cough--sarcasm*), I'll just have to deal with it all somehow....

3. Macy the Duck cracks me up.  Of all my ducks, she's the one that most still seems to think of me as "mama".  Whenever I come into the yard she quacks loudly in greeting and trails along behind me like she did when she was small.  But she won't come close enough to let me pet or touch her.  She'll come just outside of arms reach and look up at me expectantly, but if I reach out she runs away.  She obviously thinks I'm somebody she likes, but even the best bits of kitchen scraps won't entice her to come nearer to me. 

I'm starting to feel like I need a duck-y psychologist to explain what this behavior means.

4. The pregnancy superstitions people are sharing with me are also cracking me up.  I feel like I can't share most of them here (because, although they're, um...interesting, many are sincere and well-intentioned), but when laughing about it all with Nice Mom the other day she passed on another one that I can talk about.  

Apparently, when she was pregnant with me, her grandmother very seriously impressed on her that she had to be careful not to be scared by anything or I would be born with an ugly birthmark in the shape of the thing that scared her.  As it was storming when we were having the conversation, Nice Mom joked that I should run outside so that the Peapod could be born with Harry-Potter-esque lightening bolt.

5.  It's getting to be about the time of year when I consider booking a little Fall getaway to our favorite little cabin in the woods.  I love going, but I wish it was just a little closer.  Does anyone happen to know of a nice, secluded little cabin that's within a few hours of Kansas City?  One with pretty old quilts and views like this?  Anyone?

 

 

A Stormy Day

Saw this picture heading out of the coffee shop today, and just had to stop and take it, even though I only had my cell phone for a camera.  It just fit my mood so well.

Not a good day, I must admit.  In addition to having a friend that's going through some not good stuff, Fiona the chick is getting downright worrisome.  Sleepy, listless, still eating and drinking, but still so tiny compared to her sisters.  It's kind of a helpless feeling on both counts.  As a do-er kind of person, it's hard to be so ineffectual.

And then, bad news at work.  One of my favorite judges died last night.  I don't want to pretend I had some special connection with him--because, truth be told, he was just the guy that was really nice to all the clerks, and really just everybody in general--but I was sitting at lunch today and suddenly remembered when he was trying to learn to blog and kept calling down to my office for me to come up and help.  And how I was happy to do so because he was just the kind of guy that was so fun to shoot the shit with.  And how he was the first judge that really made me realize that judges are nothing to be afraid of.  Just a few months ago he was giving me hell at oral argument and now he's gone.  That fast.

After work, I went to the feed store to get some electrolytes for the wee Miss Fiona.  I put her in isolation (a shoebox), left her food, water, and a little hardboiled egg, and left for knitting--half expecting to come back and find her dead.  

When I came back, she was still sleepy, but she had eaten a little and pooped at least twice.  When I woke her, she almost immediately started craning her neck to rejoin her sisters, so I put her back in the brooder with them.  I'm still not sure if she's going to make it or not, but--for better or for worse--my optimism for her is starting to come back.  And, at the end of the day, that's something, right?

How 'bout those brackets?

Living in Lawrence, it's hard not to get swept up in March Madness.  As a friend of mine wrote the other day "filling out your NCAA bracket as a Jayhawk is an experience not unlike rolling around in a vat of gold while being told how beautiful and smart you are."  Our team?  Kind of a big deal.

And as long as the 'Hawks stay in it, my bracket will be happy and wonderful and lovely.  (And K-State, you'd better make it to the Final Four too.)  Also, please note that--although I failed at choosing many of the upsets that occurred yesterday--I somehow managed to nail the Georgetown/Ohio game, so whoohoo for that!

Any one else avidly following basketball for the next few weeks?  How are your brackets going?

Happy Things to Chase Away the Sniffles

I'm getting sick.  I'm high on NyQuil.  And Moe just left a big muddy paw mark on my freshly washed bedding.  It's time for some happy things.

1.  I want my back porch to look like this for the summer.

2.  One of my favorite quotes in the whole wide world.

3.  Setting aside the fact that I can't breathe through my left nostril, I have been very happy as of late.  And I think it probably has a lot to do with the fact that I have all three of these things.

4.  I got into a really fun conversation with my knitting girlies tonight about great books.  We were split, however, on The Catcher in the Rye.  One friend loved it.  One friend finished it, but only by forcing herself.  I have tried to read it several times, and can never make it through the first few chapters.  I'm curious--is this universally either a you-love-it or you-hate-it book?  Does anyone just feel lukewarm about it?

5.  We've made this tomato sauce recipe about once a week for the past month.  I know it doesn't look like much, but it's seriously incredible!

6.  Sweet Husband keeps playing these videos (here and here) of This Too Shall Pass by OK Go.  Creative music videos--how quaint!

7.  Dear Fergus' Mom just about has me sold on making some itty, baby calling cards.  I'm thinking something like these.

8.  Cold medicine induced dreams make the best stories to tell at work the next day.  G'night kids!

Things my Grandma Did That I Used To Think Were Silly

Isn't it funny how a few years changes your perspective on things?  My grandma did all these things when I was growing up, and my cousins and I thought she was so goofy.  Now?  Not so much.  In fact, I find myself doing and repeating some of the exact same things....

1. Saving aluminum foil.  Really, she would take the foil off of, say, a vegetable side dish, flatten it out, wipe it off, and fold it up neatly in a drawer to use again later.  

I don't actually do this.  (Not for lack of trying, but the foil always rips on me--I guess they don't make it like they used to.)  I do save and reuse glass jars and zip-top baggies though. 

2. Taking pictures.  My grandma is a picture taker.  Every year at Christmas and Easter and whenever else the family would get together, we would have a ritual lining up "in front of the fireplace" for a family picture or two...or ten!  

Me...well, you guys read this blog so you are all too aware of my picture taking problem.

3. Buying things secondhand.  My grandma volunteered at a thrift store for years, and as such, always had boxes of clothes set aside for me when I would visit her.  I'm told it's a Midwest thing, but even in my upper elementary school years "name brands" were the rage at my school, so thrift store clothes--no matter how cute--did not impress me.  I always pretended to love it all because I loved her, of course, but often the clothes ended up right back in the donation bin.  

Now I dream of having someone who gets "first picks" to set aside all the cute clothes in my size--I mean, wouldn't that be awesome?

4. The brusha-brusha song and dance.  In order to get us to brush our teeth at night, my grandma (and sometimes even grandpa too) would sing the brusha-brusha song.  It varied a bit by grandchild for rhyming purposes, but my version went something like, "Brusha-brusha pan, Brusha Meryl Brianne..." repeated over and over again with a sort of Elvis hip-and-head shake.  When I was five, it was hilarious.  When I was twelve, less so.  

Now that I'm old enough not to be self-conscious about such things, the brusha-brusha song occasionally slips into my bedtime routine.  The first time I did it with Sweet Husband in the room, he was very bemused.  Silly, yes--but that's the point!

5. Taking naps.  I fully believe my grandma has taken an afternoon nap every single day of her life.  When my cousins and I were little, we had to take naps also.  When we got a little bit older napping wasn't required, but our parents put the fear-of-god into us about being quiet while my grandma took hers.

My daily napping spot isn't quite as cozy as Grandma's.  It's typically with my head propped up against a window during my evening commute.  (Don't worry, I don't sleep and drive.)  All the same though, I always feel so much better--about my day, about my evening, about my life--when I get just that little half-hour snooze in.

(The pictures are two of my favorite shots of my grandma.  The first was taken when she was a teenager.  The second was taken by me when I was a teenager.)

Trying is...a Bit Trying

So, on the...well, I guess more personal side of things, Sweet Husband and I are trying to have a kiddo.

Only for a few months now, so we're still definitely having more fun than not (yes, that's a euphemism for "lots of strategically timed sex"), but nonetheless, a few things I'd like to get off my chest....

1.  I'm honestly a little surprised that it's taking this long.  Conventional wisdom (read: teh internets) says you should try for a year before you start worrying that something is wrong.  However, I come from a line of pretty darned fertile women, and have spent much of the past ten years petrified of getting pregnant before we were ready for it.  I assumed that without the magic birth control pill to protect me, it would be a matter of seconds.  I feel tricked and a little silly at all the times I--apparently needlessly--freaked out.

2.  It is so weird not to know what's going on inside your own body.  Like, seriously, I should know if there's something growing in my uterus.  Little lights should start flashing or a text message alert should start beeping or...just something.  The not knowing makes me nutty.  My freaking straightening iron has a "ready" light for goodness sakes--is it too much to ask for my lady parts to come similarly equipped?

3.  For as much as I thought it was a pain in the ass, I cannot wait to get back on birth control.  I never realized quite how much it kept me leveled out on the hormones.  This achy, weepy, bitchy, angry person that comes out once a month needs to go back to the depths from whence she came.  Moe and Porter are kind of afraid of her, and--although he's a saint--I don't think Sweet Husband's very fond of her either.

4.  But hey, you know what, if all else fails, there's always this option:

(Picture c/o Marilyn Jane / CC BY 2.0.)

Or even this one:

(Picture c/o Kendrick / CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.)

And those aren't so bad, right?  ;)

Living Without TV

OK, don't panic--we have do have a TV (the appliance).  But for about the past six months we've been living without TV (the activity).

Let me 'splain.

At the old house, we had free cable.  Don't worry, we didn't steal it.  We actually once told the cable company they might want to come shut it off, but they just never did.  

We debated whether or not we'd get cable for the new house, but were so busy dealing with home improvement all summer that it just never got done.  And by the time fall came around, we'd already been without it for three months, so it was like, "Wonder how long we can go?"

Turns out, quite awhile.  We watch a movie on Netflix once a week or so, and catch our favorite shows (mostly Grey's Anatomy and Burn Notice) on Hulu.  But we're honestly probably down to less than three or four hours per week.  The TV is never just on for background noise, and, actually, we don't even have an antenna hooked up, so unless you purposefully put a movie in, it's just static.

I really don't miss it.  I get a lot more done without it, and at this point I'm so used to the quiet that I think having the TV blaring at me all the time would be annoying.  Plus, I find that because I do have to actively seek out things to watch, I end up watching things that actually matter to me rather than just whatever happens to be on.  (We watched The Garden the other night--an awesome documentary, although the ending just sucked!)

Also, I read the book Living Without the Screen not very long ago, and the statistics on brain activity while watching TV are a little scary--in summary your brain is more active when you're sleeping than it is watching TV.  (I additionally thought it was funny how this issue throws together both very liberal families ["We don't want our kids trained to be consumers"] and very conservative families ["We don't want our kids seeing smut"].  Really, if you're interested in the subject at all, or even just a social science nerd in general, you should go check out this book.)

But, all being said, there are some definite social implications to living without TV.  

For example, you will never notice how much people talk about TV until you stop watching regularly.  That doesn't mean you get left out of conversations though.  Most of the time someone in the room is always willing--or actually thrilled--to catch you up if it's necessary that you know what's going on on a TV show in order for you to get the point of their story. 

A bit more awkward are people's reactions when you outright admit that you don't watch TV anymore.  It's almost like it doesn't compute--I mean, everybody watches TV all the time, right?  What's wrong with you?  Why don't you watch TV?

Of course, it does make some things impossible.  Although we've figured out that we can watch KU basketball on ESPN online or listen to it on the radio, I don't think we'll talk our friends into coming over for that for March Madness.  Then again, after last year, I'm not sure we're allowed to host tournament parties anyway (the 'Hawks lost when everyone came to our house, bad juju, can't do it again) so that's not truly an issue.

One thing that really is becoming an issue is that sometimes it feels like we've just swapped the internet for our TV.  (Says the girl who's blogging, sitting next to her husband checking his Facebook.)  We're in negotiations for lessening that as well--limiting the internet to an hour a night?  a whole night with no internet a few times a week?--but it's been difficult to find a compromise because, a) while I'd be perfectly happy to sit and knit and chat all night, Sweet Husband has no similarly portable hobby, and b) while I'm near a computer all day at work (and thus have access to newspapers and the like) Sweet Husband is not, and feels understandably out of the loop without some time to find out what's going on in the world.  

It's definitely a situation in progress, but I think that figuratively tossing out the TV has been, on the whole, a really great thing for us.  

Is anyone else living without, or with limited TV?  If so, how's it going for you?  If not, have you ever thought about it?

(Picture c/o narisa / CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.)

Loving Right Now

1. This thrifted clothes photo set from Buttons McGee.  I really love the idea and the look of thrift store finds--they have more personality than my usual head-to-toe Gap--but I often don't know how to pull such an outfit together without, well, looking like I shopped at the thrift store.  (In the bad way, not the good way.)  Ms. McGee has looking cute on-the-cheap down pat, and I'm taking pointers!  (I really think it's the layering thing?)

2. My co-workers.  Not that this one hasn't occurred to me before, but it's so nice to work at a place where everyone is there because they want to be, and everyone pretty much likes each other.  I love the work, I love the people--it's pretty darned awesome really.

3.  Pickles.  Free cute knitting patterns.  I think I might have to make a Puff Mama soon.

4.  And speaking of knitting, I had to unknit five rows of a sweater tonight.  (Lesson: alcohol and knitting only mix to a certain point and no further!)  Miraculously, even though I thought that I had dropped stitches--I hate unknitting!--when I got back to rights, my stitch count was exactly what it should be.  Not only that, I'm adoring both the yarn and the pattern so much--details on my Ravelry page....I love it when knitting just works!

5. Giver's Log's 13 ounces or less category.  This website is a trove of thoughtful little gift ideas, but the fun thing about "under 13 ounces" group is that they can all be mailed for just a few bucks.  Can't wait to see what she comes up with for Valentine's Day!

6. Wee ones.  Chelsea just had a baby.  Aphrodite, Bird, and (in people I actually know) Stacy, have them on the way.  The cuteness and tiny toes and round bellies and nesting is delightful!

7. Acorn Pies' winter cookout and jek-a-go-go's adventures on the West Coast.  I obviously need some outside time this weekend.

8.  Vintage Heaven's living room.  Sixth picture down.  Doesn't it just look so cozy?  I love how she's incorporated the vintage goods--particularly the throw pillows, blankets, and tray in the background--without making it look frumpy or overly busy.

9.  This hilarious story from Sherando, wherein a defendant tells off a judge to good purposes.  A) It's just funny.  B) It reminds me of a few judges 'round my parts.  C) I think judges with that kind of plain old common sense are treasures.  (On an unrelated note, Sherando has also started a new wine blog--this is a girl after my own heart!)

10.  My lovely bed and pillows and snoring dogs and Sweet Husband.  Such a cozy little nest, that I don't think I can resist it any longer--g'night kids!