home

Yesterday evening, Madeline's vet called and said that my little girl was howling at anyone that passed, running around in her cage, reaching her paws through the bars when anyone walked by, and had chewed through her IV. In short, she was ready to come home.

The adventure that had gone from "indigestion and mild constipation" to "possible peritonitis" to a step in the right direction to her actual recovery is almost over. Only 14 days of antibiotics left. Whew. It turns out that she had a nasty infection in her colon and intestines, probably from a suture from her little girl surgery that got infected and spread like wildfire.

So, fingers crossed, we think my little girl is going to be just fine. So now on to regularly scheduled knitting content.

Which there's not much of. Since I have been employed and calling myself a functional, contributing member of society, I have noticed two things. 1. There is not much time for knitting. 2. The only time that Mother Nature allows me to take pictures of my minimal knitting progress is when I am away from my knitting- at work. I seriously left work a little early today in hopes of making it home to take pictures before the sun set. As I raced that fiery ball in the sky, I sped up and took turns faster than anyone should take turns in a Jeep (they roll) I cried in desperation, just one good picture of my new pink handspun! Just one halfway decent picture of my finished sleeve! But no. I walked in and pulled the cats off my leg just in time to see the last glimmer of sunlight. The pictures will have to wait until the weekend.

As the knitting Olympics draws near I keep promising myself that unless I finish a substantial amount of UFO's, I will be WIP-wrestling, which (let's face it) sucks and is soooo not the point of the knitting Olympics. I could start anything! I've got it narrowed down to a couple things, including a really cable-y bulky sweater that I could totally knit out of yarn from work and get super-cheap, or I could continue to destash and maybe re-knit the sweater I frogged the other day that was so small even Calista Flockhart would have to grease up to get it on. I could start a new pair of super awesome lace socks, or a lace shawl, which would really be a stretch. But as the opening ceremony creeps up, I keep unearthing more UFO's and feel guilty for even contemplating a shiny new project. Even if it is from stash. In order to make myself feel better and less overwhelmed, I've started calling just about everything a WIP. Dirty dishes? Better finish that WIP. Okay- that's pushing it, but I am starting to include ancient cross-stitching projects as WIPs. I'm even going to put them on my knitting blog (gasp!) should natural daylight allow me to. And in my efforts to create a better system of pattern organization, I managed to unearth a few fat quarters from my failed attempt at quilting. And the inspiration struck. You know the feeling. You see it every time you look at your stash. You don't see the piles of yarn teetering, threatening to fall over and reveal your little laceweight problem to the world... you see a blank canvas. You see what all of that yarn, those beads, that fabric- you see what it could be. And for a second, you see hope in that dark little corner of your house where your stash grows like a fungus. And then before you even realize what you're doing, you're on the fourth row of a new project. I guess you just blacked out. Who knitted this while you were innocently admiring your stash? I don't know! That darn knitting fairy I think. Thrusting exciting new projects into your hands while your WIP-elimination efforts were going so well! What a selfish bitch!

I'm rambling. I'm going to go knit on a treadmill and call it marathon training. State of the Union my arse.