Finding Joy in Snarkville

I have a basic English question — when did we shift from using the word “respect” to “honor”?  In my way of thinking, respect and honor are not in fact the same thing.  Oh, yes, they seem to have similar components, but at their core there is something different.  To respect someone (or in the case I’m going to talk about once my rant gets full force — my time) means that you believe this person to be no less than yourself.  You would treat them as you want to be treated and nothing less.  To honor someone means more about the public acknowledgment of achievement or even of respect — but at its core, it is public.  We honor someone with a parade or a citation.  However, we show our respect in our daily dealings with this person.

Yes, yes, I know this becomes grey when I tell someone that I’m honored to meet them.  You don’t say, “I respect the pleasure of meeting you.”  Or how does, “I honor your wishes.” come into play with this?  English is an odd, odd language.  But I tend to think of honor is something you feel and respect is something you give.  (more…)

I bound off the body of the sweater.  I blocked half the body.  I’m 85% sure that this sweater will look and hang better in a larger size, even if there is a FIVE inch difference in the two sizes.  This is where you come in….

Which do I do…

1. Continue on, trusting that should it not fit me, I have MANY friends who would love it and it would fit.
2. Rip it out and try again — knowing in my heart that this would also allow me to add three inches to the length because frankly I think the cropped sweater look went out in the 80’s, right?

No, there are no photos.. sorry.

How it became Wednesday this week, I have NO idea.  Seriously, last I checked it was Monday morning and I’m not entirely sure how it became Wednesday without me looking.  But alas, it is and that means Knit Night tomorrow night and ever so much closer to the weekend, when I get to eat pancakes, go to a major case-lot sale (is what it sounds like, a sale on case lots of stuff, useful stuff like toilet paper and ziploc bags), and a birthday with Duke.  What happened to weekends of bon-bons and movies? (more…)

If I was a better blogger, my camera would have come out of the case at somepoint this weekend.  But alas, I was having too much fun to notice that I failed to take a single photo.

I spent my Saturday in the company of a billion of knitters, spinners, and weavers at a little thing called Stitches West.  Now, I’ve got to say, I spent one day at the market and it is huge and busy, and blurring and crazy — how my buddies do it over the course of nearly 4 days, I’m clueless. (more…)

There are a few things that indicate that I’m stressed out.  Most of them involve eating, avoiding anything that looks like work, and possibly grumping at the people I love the most.

Now, I have to admit that my stress level is greatly reduced lately, so imagine my shock when in the past week, I’ve have the other great stress indicator — nightmares. (more…)

…and we have ONE clean room, as long as you don’t look in the closet.

How we got there is the important part — who knew cleaning, purging, and screaming are growth experiences? (more…)

Ok, ok…so sleeping may have been too much to ask for last night, what with my need for nightly sleep and you know 3+ months of not getting it.  So, yes, I had to pry my eyes open this morning and beg to anyone who cared to “not anger the mother, she’s on thin ice today.”

In fact, Duke crawled into bed this morning and hugged me with a HUGE “HAPPY VALENTINE’s DAY!!!” which melted my cold, dead heart right there.  (more…)

In my life, I’ve known what it means to be burned out.  I often wonder how it is possible that a not yet 35 year old woman could have possibly been burned out as many times as I have.  It may be that I’ve burned out in some areas of my life; perhaps my own way of forcing me to move on (when on isn’t always forward); or it is further proof that I have the attention span of a gnat. The list is rather endless, but I’ve burned out of several jobs, countless boyfriends (but that’s normal, right?), a car, more craft projects than Prince wishes to think about, and random other things that used to be important to me and now I can not even recall what they are.

Well, I’ve been burned out again recently… (more…)

Yet again, I have to share conversations with my Duke.

Him: I want to watch Electric Company.

Me: No, buddy, it is 20 minutes before bedtime and there’s no time.  Let’s do something else…

Him: No, Electric Company.

Me: Don’t argue, I’m the Mama.

Him: No, I the Mama.

Me: Really?  You can’t be the Mama.

Him: No.  You Duke, I Mama.

Me: Ok, if your the Mama will you go to work and earn the money we need to eat while I go play at school?

Him: I the Mama.  I put you in bed, read you story, hug and kiss goodnight, and then I go to work.

Me: Work?  What will you do?

Him: (Points at my laptop on the coffee table) Something with that.

Ok, when you work it out get back to me.  I’m off to cut and paste and maybe a connect the dots for a bit.

Is it wrong that I’m just really happy that when he pretended to be the Mama that he did tell me to clean my room?

I don’t have the energy for a full on post, because yet again, I’ve been sick.  I’m finally going to do something about it — but seriously folks, I’ve been stuck in bed sick more in the past three months than I’ve been in the past 8 years.  I’m tired of being sick.

So, this is the little story of bedtime last night.

After we ate, bathed, and storied with the boy.  Duke looks up at me with eyes full of wonder and sparkle and says, “Mama, don’t say ‘butthead’ it’s a bad word.”

“Um, yes, sweetie, we shouldn’t ever call anyone a ‘butthead’.  But where did you hear that word?”

(Now, I’m no saint when it comes to language, but I’m pretty sure that ‘butthead’ isn’t a word he learned from me.)

(ignoring my question entirely)  “And no potty talk.”

“Ok, I promise, no ‘butthead’ or potty talk.  What can you say?”

(hugs me so hard he’s nearly choking me) “I can say, ‘I love you, Mama’”

Oh yes, yes you can.  I’m sure the teen years are coming for when I’m the ‘butthead’ — but until then, I’m loving the hugs of four and a half — the kisses however are a lot slimy.

(In other news, I introduced Prince to Uno last night.  He was skeptical at first, then a competitor — complete with his very own victory dance when he beat me.)