No Witty Title

It's been one heck of a week. What is it about moving that just makes you want to jump off a very tall bridge into very shallow water? We have almost been in this house for two weeks, and my head is still spinning. I've been running around like a chicken with its head cut off, cleaning, cleaning, cleaning, shouting at Artemis, organizing, cleaning... yuck.

Today, I walked downstairs with Miss Elodie, of course, and sat her in her high chair and then shuffled over to make her an eggo for breakfast. Wait a minute...why does it feel like I'm on a beach? Why is there sand between my toes? You see, my friends, there is a chinook in town.

Now you may be wondering how this chinook (love them though we may) caused a small, sandy beach to wash up in my kitchen. We are in a new development. This means that there is no grass. No grass, plus much snow, plus sudden hot spell, equals a lot of mud. A lot of mud means very, VERY dirty dogs three times a day when they go pee. The dogs go pee, get dirty, come inside and drag half of the neighbourhood with them and into my kitchen!

Le sigh.

In the old house, this really didn't matter. I mean, the floor was literally crumbling beneath our feet. Elodie simply could not crawl on the floor upstairs because she was liable to get splinters in her wee little handsies. But in the new house, this was simply unacceptable. So what did I do? I blocked Elodie in the livingroom with some handy dandy gigantic toys, shoved the dogs and cat in the basement, and pulled out my broom. I swept, my pretties. I swept. A veritable mountain of dust arose around me and still I swept. When I was done sweeping, I decided to find a dust pan (perhaps would have been smart to do before I started) and got my katooshie out to the garage where half of our belongings have been living.

Guess what I stepped in. I'll give you a hint: it was dog poop. That's right...I, barefoot Kayla the yarn pluralist, stepped in nice, squishy dog doo. I found my dustpan before I went back inside (after you've had a baby, dog crap on your bare foot isn't all that gross...) and then hobbled over to the sink and stuck my foot under our spray thing. Got the dog doo off. Mopped the kitchen.

Bleached the sink -- dog doo, if you'll remember.

Finished organizing Elodie's room and discovered that she has more clothes than Robbie and I put together. Okay, that may be an exageration. Robbie and I haven't unpacked our clothes. There are no less than 10 giant black garbage bags in our beautiful walk-in closet which are stuffed with clothing. Still, for a little girl, Elodie has a shocking amount of clothing, half of which is still too big for her. At 10 months of age, she still only weighs 14 lbs and fits nicely into 3-6 month clothing.

IN KNITTING NEWS: The baby blankie is the same, but longer. I'm nearly done the second skein and will post another pic when I am. The other thing is still purple. Laceweight is still untouched--and has been fondled many times. Is it normal to drool over red laceweight the same way I drool over Richard Gere? Hmmm... I'll have to ponder that.

Tune in tomorrow (or maybe the day after) when I have--The great yarn stash show-off!