Pink Prickly Pear

Today was the perfect beach day...

...so we stayed home with the curtains pulled over all the windows, trying to stave off the heat.

Actually, we spent yesterday afternoon at the beach as it was my mum's last afternoon here.  I thought I'd judiciously applied my sunscreen, but woke up this morning to find I'd missed a spot.  A very tender spot indeed - the previously "innie" part of my belly button which is slowly popping into something that looks a little more like an "outie".  I do have a maternity tankini thing I could wear, but it's black and the idea of wearing something destined to warm up in the sun against my tender little red spot didn't appeal.  Besides, I'd previously made some wacky pact with myself not to wear anything other than a bikini to the beach, no matter how much I morph into a hippo this summer.  The tankini I purchased strictly for the pool.

Plus Mini-pear was feeling a little sick-ish.  Her nose is streaming, so she's continually sniffing, and coughing.  No karate this evening and no going to see her friends in Midsummer Night's Dream.  There's one last performance tomorrow evening, which will mean missing the roller derby.  Pout. 

We did nip out to pick up some supplies for an upcoming camping trip.  One of the friends who is accompanying us forwarded a very comprehensive packing list, which is making my preparations so easy.  The list is actually a little too comprehensive.  It lists "dish soap" and then, later on in the same category of "cooking supplies" it also specifies "dish soap for the outside of pots and pans".  Am I missing something?  Have I been using the same old dish soap for everything when I shouldn't be?  Do I need a separate sponge as well?

At any rate, packing is something that usually has me pulling my hair out and second guessing everything.  This time around I have the very comprehensive list and the clothing limitations of my burgeoning belly to make it all a doddle.

Technologically speaking...

...this week's been an annoying one.

I tried to burn a CD only to have the drive on my computer decide to stop recognizing CDs.  Then it decided to recognize a Netflix DVD as a recordable CD.  After much cajoling I was able to persuade my computer to eject!  Eject! Eject!  and not record a play list over a film I don't own - but it's not supposed to be able to do that, right?

Now I can't even watch films on there;(  Lugging my iMac to the Apple store is a chore I don't need to add to my list.

Then computer also failed to recognize my iPod!  This on a night when I could not sleep and badly needed someone to talk me to sleep in the dark of my bedroom.  I'm reading a couple of really interesting books this week and I knew turning on the light for a little put-me-to-sleep reading was not going to work.  And then my little iPod radio/speaker thingy in my room refused to recognize my iPod and then my iPod decided it wasn't going to turn on or respond to me in any meaningful fashion.  The following morning, it inexplicably turned on with no explanation for its extremely bad behavior.  It's been acting up and I'll be so sad if this is the end.  Having an ancient vehicle with no CD player (let's not even talk about having a little mps docking station or whatever they call them), I rely on my iPod being hooked up to one of those little magnetic cassette thingies to save me from our backwater NPR station and commercial radio while driving all over the place (yes, we do spend a lot of time in the car here in SoCal).  Plus, all those nights when I can't sleep!  And all those classes I sit and wait outside, knitting, but needing someone to whisper news of the outside world into my ears!  Sometimes when I go to the podcast menu, it just turns off and I have to start it up all over again and scroll through the menus 2 or 3 times before it will actually let me listen to what I want to;(  iPod drama.  How ridiculous to get this bent out of shape about something I totally didn't need a couple of years ago.

I also needed to scan in some photos - something I've done on numerous occasions with no problem.  And nothing worked.  The programs that normally just capture the scanned image wouldn't do so.  Since at this point I was ready to rip my sleek little computer from the wall and hurl it at the wall, I decided to take the dog for a walk instead.

Then yesterday something happened to the internets.  Was it the wireless router?  Maybe, because I wasn't able to print my transposed knitting instructions out on our wireless printer.  Mr. Pear had to come home and wrangle with it.  It's a mystery to me.  The internet is back...somehow...and now the printer is hooked up the old fashioned way.  Knitting instructions printed.

I have knitty picks to share (teeny tiny little boy baby cardigan to make you say "Awwwww," and just for braggin', the beginnings of my very delicate lacy shawl), but I'm loathe to hook up my camera because you know something would happen and my pictures would all delete themselves from my camera card or my fancy new camera would explode.

I think I will just ignore all this stuff that supposedly makes my life easier and go sit on the beach today. 

Who's legs are those?

Having finally recently mastered the art of riding a bicycle, Mini-Pear discovered this pair of hand-me-down skates in the dwindling box of "clothes to be grown into".  It seems we've hit some point where we're not on anyone's radar anymore with regard to outgrown clothing.  Actually, I take that back.  We're not getting any clothing for Mini-Pear, but Mr. Pear's co-worker's wife is pregnant with her third child (first girl), so she sent Mr. Pear home with enough baby boy clothes for this baby* to wear a different outfit every single day for the first year of his life at least.  Very handy, since you all know how much I hate the shopping.

You know, it's not so much how I hate the shopping as how inept I am.  I wrote recently about a disappointing search for maternity clothes.  My mother, who needs no excuse to shop, immediately took this on as a project.  She arrived with a complete summer wardrobe for me.  Would you believe that everything fit, with the exception of one pair of shorts which felt just slightly too snug around the waist?  I mean, here I go into a shop, with the actual body in need of clothing, try a million and one things on and none of it fits, and all my mother seems to need to do is hold it up on the hanger and squint at it.  It's been years since clothing me was her responsibility and as I've waxed and waned considerably in this time, I find this no small feat.

But this is about Mini-Pear and skating, isn't it?  She started out awkwardly clomping around the back patio large before discovering that concrete paving stones separated by 2" wide avenues of pebbles are not the best surface for skating.  Now she awkwardly clomps along the sidewalk - decidedly less awkward when someone (in this case, it's her granddaddy) agrees to pull her along.  I made the mistake of telling her how fast one can go down a hill when all tucked up like a little egg.  She immediately crouched into the position and shot down the driveway towards the street.  I saved the day by shoving her into the flower bed.  She probably has a different opinion about that one...

* Oh hey, yeah, it's a boy!

Buckets of blood!

I was awakened this morning by a nosebleed.  Despite Mr. Pear's sleepy assurance that "everyone gets them," I don't think I actually have.  I seem to have some recollection of laying down on our old blue couch with one, but the more I delve back into my extremely fuzzy memory, I think it wasn't me, but Mini-Pear.

I was ever so slightly aware of some post-nasal drip situation which suddenly exploded into the cavity of my mouth.  I staggered to the bathroom to spit out this horrific chunk of blood.  It wasn't so much as a nosebleed, but a need to continually spit blood that was clearly generated from somewhere above as opposed to below my mouth.  So not tasty.  And so boring (and cold) standing over the bathroom sink waiting for it to all finish! 

Anyway, now I'm all alone at home (don't read anything pathetic into that statement - I just had the last truffle and am very much looking forward to my day devoid of a plan).  Mr. Pear has gone off to work, Mini-Pear and my mother have absconded to Disneyland.  They just called to say they've arrived and that the overcast weather apparently hasn't put a damper on everyone else's plans to visit the park.

Maybe I lost some sense along with all that blood this morning, for I am just now feeling slightly horrified that I wrote my mother's cell phone number on my child's arm with a sharpie marker just in case they get separated.  Surely I could have pinned a little note to the bottom of her shirt or something instead.  Apparently I am one of those wacky paranoid mothers. 

Despite my plans to do absolutely nothing today, I did take the dog for a walk to drop off some mail.  There is nowhere to leave it for the carrier at our house, as they shove all incoming mail through a slot in the garage door.  Occasionally, I'll leave an outgoing envelope or two affixed to the flap with a bulldog clip, but now that the ne'er-do-wells from across the road have started parking their car right in front of our house, I am loathe to leave the bright red Netflix envelopes hanging around waiting to be stolen.  I thought I'd listen to a podcast and do a longish loop.  Podcasts and walking are fine, but I really need to stop listening to This American Life.  Something is usually guaranteed to make me laugh and so I either end up chortling along to myself like some sort of easily amused buffoon, or I attempt to quell my laughter which usually results in my face contorting in such a manner that I've been stopped and asked if I'm okay. 

I never know how to answer that one.

I can do better than a post a week, can't I?

Mum and dad are visiting.  Sitting in the corner writing to an imaginary audience on the internet feels anti-social (maybe because it is).

We went to the desert.  I refused to relinquish control of the driver's seat.  Nobody liked that, but damn if I was going to sit in the back and breathe through the hairpin turns and whoops-you're-dead steep drops off the side of the two lane roads.  We stopped at the top of Mount Palomar so dad could drool at the bikes.  I think the bikers were drooling over my dusty old Saturn - that really makes the mountain roads a bucket of fun.

Yesterday I was down at the library looking for a book on the latest crackpot educational theory to capture my interest.  For the first time, I noticed that literature on incarceration/corporal punishment/prisons happen to be shelved right next to the books on educational theory.

Just something to consider...

When the mouse is away...

Mini-pear is off at the Magic Kingdom with her Aunt and Uncle, so mama gets the day off.  I would have slept in but, as usual, my stomach dictated what time I woke up.  Bah.

I did take advantage of my rapidly dwindling kid-free time to go shopping for some maternity clothes, having popped out very suddenly over the last week or so.  We're also experiencing a little heat wave so my droopy yoga pants were not going to cut it.  Not that I really found much of anything.  Old Navy's theme for spring appears to be sort of inspired by Mexico.  I don't mind blousy embroidered peasant tops, but given my shape (and the shape of most pregnant ladies) at the moment, it made me look as if I'd hastily stitched a mumu out of a vintage tablecloth.  Not a good look for anyone.  I bought 2 black t-shirts and a pair of black linen capris that may or may not last as long as I need them to. 

And now I'm experiencing buyer's remorse because what person in their right mind buys an entirely black wardrobe when they live somewhere as sunny as this?  It's going to get real sweaty around here.

My efforts at meeting Mr. Pear for lunch were thwarted by a very long business meeting.  I resisted the temptation to eat out on my own, opting to make a very large salad and a smoothie once I got back to the house. 

Now that the mail finally arrived, I'm patting myself on the back for having saved my lunch money, as it appears we have started receiving medical bills related to my being great with child and all.  Adding these bills onto those related to our family's love affair with the dentist was enough to make me wish I'd pulled all my teeth out long ago and taken a vow of chastity. 

I don't have anything exciting for you.  Not much happens when you make great efforts to slow everything down and maintain a low profile.  I could tell you about how much really bad television I'm streaming off the internets, but that would be divulging far too much.

In which she is too clever by far...

PPP:  Want to finish up that Pompeii book?

Mini-P mumbles something non-committal, possibly "Nah".

PPP:  I really want to find out what happens!

Mini-P [with dramatic eye roll and dead pan delivery]: The volcano explodes.  Everybody dies.

PPP:  I guess that's a no, huh?

Mini-P heads out of the kitchen shaking her head.

My balloon is bigger than your balloon

Despite how often they thwart our nudist tendencies by flying over the back garden at dinner time, we've never actually seen the hot air balloons take off.  The location varies, depending on wind conditions.  This weekend, coming home from our reconnaissance mission to the local BMX track (Mini-pear has her eye on another hobby, while Mr. Pear dreams of reliving his glory days), we happened upon a launch just down the road from us. 

After a wobbly start in which impossibly skinny little beach bum kids attempted to guide its progress without getting catapulted into the air by guide ropes themselves, the wicker baskets were eventually righted, their middle aged cargo given a hand in scrambling over the edge, and they were off - in completely different directions.

It's not her birthday yet!

In spite of this, my mama opened her birthday giftie! 

No more surprises, so I can post a pic;)  It's mini-pear modeling, so the actual shawl is not quite so big.  I think it would be nice if it was big, though.  I think this would be really snuggly knit on much bigger needles with fat slubby handspun, but I also like this smaller, delicate version.

I had some fun with this as, over the years, I've discovered I quite enjoy knitting lace, although I'm still not sure if I'd be so enamored with it as a garment if not for the technical and rhythmical process of knitting lace.  Maybe lace is just not quite my style...yet.  I think I'd wear this though - with a little t-shirt and jeans, or with a little elegant shoulder-less dress.  At any rate, what I am most proud of is that I made a few mistakes knitting this project, yet I did not have to rip it all out and start all over again.  In fact, I think one would be hard pressed to find the (now corrected) mistakes.  It was tricky and shoulder-clenchy and I made much use of my crochet needle in the correcting, but this project (and the corrections in particular) have left me feeling like I can knit anything.  Even if I have never made a hat, or the blanket I had in my head when I first approached little Australian Alice at the knitting shop in Chapel Hill and asked her if she  gave lessons.