Feet-first into the swap

Roo asked:
What is your favourite way of keeping your feet warm?Do you have a favourite pair of socks you reach for to keep your toes toasty?Is there a pair of socks/slippers you have been wanting to make for ages but haven't got around to?What is your favourite finished object that warms your feet?What is your favourite yarn to use for socks/slippers?

I have no effective way of keeping my feet warm :( Since we got the new flooring put down, they are always cold and I would love socks, or slippers, or anything along those lines. I do own a few pairs of handknit socks, but none of them are perfect.
I've had a pair of beaded felted mary janes in my rav queue forever, but they were recently joined by the prairie boots. Erm, would like to add more but the poo is quite literally hitting the fan here. Got to go.

Look, ma, one needle!

This is the starting point of the quilt that was going to be for Skye, is now destined for mum for mothers day, and is fundamentally just me trying to see what I can do with this machine. I'm really enjoying using it, actually (it's a Brother 2220NT, if that means anything to anyone) and I'm actually finding it a lot easier to use than my wonky old Singer. It goes slower, and the tension isn't mullered, and that makes a big difference. It's loosely based upon a pattern in Sew Hip, but I tidied the magazine so from now on I'm winging it. It'll be fine. Honest.

In other news, I frogged my article for the Winter Warmers swap because I decided I hated my left-leaning decreases and it looked ginormous. I'm nearly back to the point where I gave up, but I can't honestly say I like this lot of decreases any better. Ho hum.

Christmas looked like this

The spinner-in-training thought he was in heaven when we erected a lump of plastic in the middle of the living room and decorated it in beads and baubles, tinsel and tat and even candy canes and biscuits. It was almost, but not quite, enough to distract him from my knitting.

It's been plague season here at the biscuit barrel, as both Skye and River have been down with colds- nasty ones at that. Skye's been running a bit of a temperature and was feeling poorly enough that she went back to bed for most of Christmas day, and River hasn't been sleeping- but then, what else is new?

Without intending to, this has turned out to be a bit of a handmade Christmas- I gave Steve a camera of his very own and one of every different selection pack on the market, and he, bless him, trashed the budget totally and gave me a sewing machine AND the Celtic Collection by Alice Starmore AND a beautiful pair of ebony needles from the lovely Doreen at Scottish Fibres AND

an itunes gift card. The boys got what they wanted- Alex wants money for a bike and Isaac wanted lego- and Skye slept through most of it. River got the aforementioned destructatree and was very happy with it, thankyou very much, but we also bought him a rocking horse.

We all got lashings and lashings of glitter and paint, thanks to Alex, who crafted all of his presents to people but also bought me a truly beautiful little ceramic mirror from the brewery arts centre in Cirencester: the perfect colour to go with our newly decorated living room, which is an intensely unfashionable warm violet and I love it. My father-in-law and I are both in recovery from 20+ years of smoke-dyed white anaglypta and DH just goes with it- after all, he and I met as a result of a hot pink and purple living room, so there's some sentimental memories there for us.

Appropriately enough, the question on the UKSwap blog this week is about neck warmers, and at the moment I'm working on Wabenschal in 2-ply cashmere from Plum Knits that I got in a magic ball swap on MDC. I'm knitting the goodies out of it (because I just couldn't be bothered to unwind and rewind that kind of yardage of laceweight and I've lost my ball winder somewhere) and I'm just getting to the good bit now- I'm literally about 10 rows away from a pot of handcream and trying hard not to cheat. Unfortunately, River loves this a lot and is obsessed with breaking the yarn (and this is exceptionally fragile stuff) or pulling my needles out, which is making it slow going. The colourway is called peacock, but I'd describe it more as a bottle green, if I'm honest. It's very pretty, and definitely one of my colours. Oh, and in the absence of a finished lacy cashmere scarf I've been wearing my clapotis wrapped around my neck a few times, which was knitted in hipknits silk in their pixies colourway.

Cold hands, warm heart?

Last night, I sat and watched mindless TV whilst seaming the first quarter of Lizard Ridge together, my mindful mindless knitting blanket, the blanket I knit when I need to let go and allow the universe to sort itself out. I say quarter, but as I believe I seamed my squares in the wrong order it might well end up being bigger or smaller or something... but that's OK by me. At the moment it all seems like very small stuff.

I love it. I really do. I love the way that the colours are blending into each other and I love the short row bumps and the symbolism they have in my life as a whole. It's a small thing, but it really does make me happy, or as happy as anything does these days.

And in order to let me get some sewing done, I needed some heavy duty distraction for my Spinner-In-Training. Therefore, we erected a Christmas tree, complete with sweeties, baubles, bells and crackers. Oh yes, oh very yes. My knitting is safe for a while.

On the UKswap blog, Roo asked

So, what is your favourite winter warmer for your hands?
Do you have a favourite pattern or finished object?
What is your favourite yarn for gloves/mittens/handwarmers?
Are there any patterns out there you would love to own?
Or do you already have a winter warmer and you would like some mittens/gloves/handwarmers to match?

At this point, I have to confess that the only winter warmer for my hands I really actually like are mugs of steaming hot chocolate, or eggnog latte (oh, how I miss the eggnog latte) sipped slowly whilst watching the kids go insane at the park. I'm actually the kind of fruitcake who takes a mug of tea on the afternoon school run tucked away in an insulated mug because they take so long to come out of school. It's partly a legacy of the dermatitis on my hands that made my life a misery growing up, and partly just the fact that I don't like things flapping around my wrists. The only jewellery I ever wear on my hands are my wedding and engagement rings.

For this reason, I have yet to knit myself a pair of anything. I have thrummed mittens in my queue, ready for that mythical day when I get to take my two youngest out to make snowmen: given that Skye is three now and has yet to make her first snowman, we may be waiting a while longer, and some fingerless mittens too- but I honestly don't know if I'd ever commit to making them. Would I wear them? Well, yes... I think.

Winter Warmers (UK Swap Questionnaire)

It's been a lovely frosty day here: we went orienteering this morning in Lydiard Park with the North Wilts Orienteerererereres and then for hot chocolate to warm ourselves up. We did OK, but are still very much just beginners.

I signed up for the Winter Warmers round of the UK Swap, and I'm ashamed to say that I got my partner before I got my questionnaire up. I know what I'm knitting her, though ;) Here's my answers...

Handmade Item Swap
What kind of items are you interested in receiving?
I'd really love anything that someone else made for me (heehee), but I'd love some woolly socks, a shawl or something else to snuggle up in, or maybe a pair of fingerless mittens or gloves? I don't like wearing wool on my wrists, though. Ooh, or a hat, one with earflaps- that could be fun...

Do you knit, crochet, or both?
I knit and spin, I can crochet but I'm really not very good at it. I love the way it looks, though, and I adore the textures of scrumbling and freeform crochet.

What is your favourite colour?
I like warm greens and blues- peacock and teal. I'm currently watching warm violet paint dry in our living room (Dulux Starlit Night, in case you were wondering.) If it's a deep and complex colour, I'm sure to like it.

What is your least favourite colour?
I'm not terribly keen on yellows or oranges, or very sickly pinks.

What’s your style? (elegant, traditional, glamourous, girly, natural, sporty, outgoing, etc.)
You know how some people look effortlessly put together? Well, I'm not one of them. I'm an extremely eclectic dresser- I tend to live in jeans, Dr Martens and ... except for the days when I'm in a long flowing skirt and DMs, of course.

Do you have a favourite type of fiber or brand of yarn?
Nope, sheep is good, plant fluff is good, it's all good. I really do prefer natural fibres though, I'm a bit of a snob that way.

Do you have a least favourite type of yarn?
Pure virginal handspun acrylic doesn't do it for me...I don't mind blends, but see previous comments about natural fibres.

Do you do any other crafts?
I do some feltmaking, am teaching myself (badly) to sew, and I do a lot of random glue-and-stick stuff with the kids.
Are there any knitting accessories you are interested in receiving?
Ooh- erm, stitch markers are always nice.

What do you like to eat?
Everything! Except coconut, that is.

Any allergies/preferences (fiber-wise or treat-wise)?Anything we missed that you’d like your partner to know? No allergies. No preferences- we're locavores, shop local and eat locally produced foods, but I'm not expecting anyone to change their way of life just for me.

I'm really very easy...

My beautiful daughters and violence against women.

A combination of too many sad posts on too many message boards about violence against women has got me thinking. Too many people are saying that if a woman doesn't go to the police, then it wasn't really rape. If she wore a short skirt or drank alcohol, it wasn't rape. If she shouted at him, then it wasn't really domestic violence (and men get abused too, dontcha know?) and of course, domestic violence doesn't really kill anybody. Not any more, not these days. There's all these womens refuges and divorce is so easy to get, then there's really no reason to stay, is there?
I called my daughter a young lady in my last post, and this is how I want her to grow up. I want her to grow up believing that she will be treated with honour and respect in every aspect of her life, in her public life and her most intimate relationships, and that the inherent good in people will respond to the inherent good in her. I want to believe that in another decade, this battle is over: my boys won't be called pussies or girls as an insult, my girl will never be teased as her body grows from child to woman, never be sexually harassed, never be assaulted for no other reason than her sex. I know that the chances are that even if she is lucky, she's going to know the pain of sitting with a close friend after a lover hits her, the dull numbness of sitting in the police station waiting room after a friend gets raped, those long nights of talking. My friends carried me through, and whilst I love them for it I know it cost them dearly. It cost them their innocence.
A rape cost me my firstborn daughter's life. It cost me my marriage, my ex-husband his sanity. It took my confidence, my belief in myself, in strangers. It left me afraid of enclosed spaces. Those brief hours at knifepoint turned my world upside down, and for what? Was his life really significantly improved by his experience of that time? I'd love to know. What I do know, the article of faith that I have to cling to, is that is was not my fault. It was bad luck. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. HE, not I, was to blame.

The Women's Institute has commissioned a survey into people's perception of and experiences of violence against women. Please, take a minute of your time and fill it in.

Birthday blessings

Ten years ago on Monday, Alexander was born, a strapping (stroppy) bouncing boy, into everything, refusing sleep . Today, he is a great hefty lump of a lad, with size 4 1/2 feet, up to my ears and despite the best efforts of his father generally growing up quite nicely. He has the biggest heart of anybody I know, tells the worst jokes, and will be the first one on the scene with a hug for a child or an animal.
Eight years ago on Wednesday, my daughter Skye was born, and has brought an inestimable amount of joy to our family. She and River are the bond that unite my sons from my first marriage, Alex and Isaac, to my husband, that made us a family, but we love her for her own sweet self- she's bright, unsuppressable, the queen of the mud castle and flatly refuses to take no for an answer in any given situation, and has gone from being a very shy toddler to really quite a confident young lady. It's wonderful to see.

I'll leave you with one of Alex's finest:

The absentminded professor asked
"have you seen my coat?"
"you're wearing it, sir."
"thankyou for reminding me, or I might have left without it."

Marie-Therese Gown GIVEAWAY !!!!!!!

Marie-Therese Gown GIVEAWAY !!!!!!!

Isn't this just- well, breathtaking? Skye saw the picture on a friend's blog, and is jumping up and down shouting PRINCESS at the screen, as one does when nearly three and obsessed with dressups. I love it. And right now I am feeling really meh because I can't sew like that, and I truly wish I could.

Like iggle-piggle's boat.

The good news is that my replacement mooncup arrived and I am extremely not-pregnant. Kittykins also very kindly sent River a few additional nappy wraps, for which I am extremely grateful.

The even better news is that we know where the camera is- unfortunately, it is locked in the safe at a National Trust office that is only open Monday-Friday, 9-5. Embarrassingly, I described it to her, and told her that if she checked back through the pictures she'd see pictures of four gorgeous kids who looked alike enough to be siblings, and far too many pictures of yarn. A second or two later, I heard an embarrassed "oops" I'm left wondering what I should have deleted and hadn't, but I suspect it's a picture of my boobs. I hope. After fiftysix months of breastfeeding, I doubt there's many people on the planet who haven't already seen them, so I'm hoping that that's all it was. Pictures of swaps, magic balls et al will be up as soon as my camera gets back into my hands.

The good news is that Alex is finally confident riding his bike without stabilisers- the bad news is that he rang into a group of the local kids his first time out solo and they got extremely aggressive with him, took his bike and rode it, the works. It stinks. They also punched and kicked Isaac in the chest and body, and right now neither child feels safe going out by themselves. On the same field was the body of a tortured cat, weighed down with bricks and with eyes out- we've reported it to the police and the RSPCA, but this is reinforcing the fact that we need to get our family out of Swindon (or at least this area) as soon as possible. The whole logic behind the move here was to improve our quality of life, and this is diminishing it. At the same time, Alex's newfound status as a cyclist will give him an escape route and hopefully enable him to socialise with his schoolfriends, rather than being stuck at home or with me all the time. 

DD, DS, Dear universe

Dear Daughter,

If you remove the piece of silicone from your mouth, it will aid you in talking and speech and all that guff, which will enable effective communication between us. If we can communicate, then you will not need to lie on the kitchen floor for half an hour screaming and sobbing in a heartbroken fashion because you want to eat a whole toffee cake and don't want to share and I want to take your brothers to school. We can find a win-win situation. It's OK, we can try this.

Oh, and please put the poo in the potty. I KNOW you can do this, so please try it. The house is full of toys and sweeties and stickers as bribes and rewards, so no more dirty knickers, huh?

Dear son the first,

I realise it looks untidy having the tail of the letter g hanging below the line, but that's just the way it is. If you write your letter g hanging in mid-air, unrelated to anything then your teacher is going to ask you to change it and so am I. Similarly, I know that the letter b looks a bit odd sometimes, but you can't just turn it round the other way and substitute d for it. That gets really confusing for people who want to read your handwriting , like me. I appreciate that you could just use D all the time for d, but that also gets confusing and Disorientating. Please Desist.

Oh, and please also refrain from storming up the stairs with much slamming of doors when we suggest making changes of this nature. I'm quite happy for you to just shout no at me. Kevin the teenager is not a Desirable role model, though Kathy Burke (aka Perry) is a genius.

Dear son the second,

Please wear your own school trousers, and not your brothers, even if you don't actually remember where you left yours. Please do not lose your socks, or your underpants. Sleeping in socks and underpants so you don't lose them is not a strategy for success in the long run, but if you will do this, then why do you insist on taking your jumper and coat off at school and forgetting where you put them????

I love your new glasses, by the way, and I think they're going to look great on you. It just really bugs me that I got the phone call telling me that you'd broken another pair, please come and get you from school just after I'd spent an hour on the bus taking Skye to see her friends and I hadn't even had time to have a cup of tea yet.

Dear son the third,

Eight months old is far too young to play on the wii. Thirty-one is far too old to be up all night whilst you party on down. Calpol is a pain killer, and it was meant to aid your sleep. Please let me nap, and not during the school run.

Dear universe,

Please get the psychobitch who is having a go at my husband to back off, the dotty old neighbour to stop writing us horrible letters and sticking things in our car tyres, and please help me find my missing digital camera. I realise that having poured water over it, I don't really deserve it back but right now, I'd value being given a break. 

Oh shit. Was so busy moaning on blogger that I've just boiled a hole in my mooncup, and I'm extremely premenstrual right now. Frankly, I think I made the wrong decision with the emergency coil last month. Pregnancy is far easier. 

A brief update

Life continues apace here. I broke the camera, thought I'd fixed it, spent a few days at my mothers in the north-east- this trip included a visit to the inspiring Seven Stories gallery of childrens literature. Everyone who has ever been a child should go there- and spend lots of time on the top floor with the dress-up box and the books. We also went to the "best park in Britain" (aka Saltwell, in Gateshead) which was good, but not exceptional, IMO.  Isaac and River's sweaters are both finished bar the buttons, which is good. Everything else is generally dull and boring, which is even better, as long as you don't count deaths, psycho neighbours, money stresses and eccentrics. 

Hopefully, I will be back soon with a vast collection of photos for delight and delectation. Oh, and just to add insult to injury we're having a pregnancy scare (a bit of an oops the day before I ovulated.) If you (anyone) could keep meditating firmly on empty vessels, that would be a help. 

Sweet dreams are made of these

On Monday, we tried to take the children to @bristol, the museum where I had my "children are miracles" revelation back in May 2007, which I promised myself I'd take the kids back to when I got pregnant again. Well, I did- and soon, but didn't take the children back there. They had been warned that if they didn't behave, we'd go straight home. I redirected (sometimes really quite loudly and with a degree of bad temper) three times between the car and the entrance. We went home.
BUT we actually took a scenic detour via Stroud, which is one of the Cotswold woollen towns, and it's a nice place to visit. That is, of course, if you can find it because the signposts are impossible- driving you round and round in an ever-decreasing spiral until you're finally there. As Steve puts it, we should take my mum there. The architecture is nothing special, and it's built on a bloody big hill that slopes in every which direction, but it has an independent bookshop, AND a childrens bookshop, no less than three branches of the independent health food store (I have no idea why a health food store requires three shops, but I didn't like to ask) and a very cool boutiquey type place called Moonflower which again, has an obscene number of premises considering its a small business based in a single town. All the teenagers were distinctly alternative but were wearing bright colours and smiled lots, which struck me as unusual, and the walls were fly-posted by stroudwater textiles trust with poetry about wool and weaving and knitting. 
The soundtrack was provided by a brightly coloured teen with a guitar, sitting there singing Sweet Dreams (are made of this). Well. Very well, in fact, and I'm extremely judgemental of buskers.  (He got two quid from me, but was worth far more.)  It set my mind wandering to how strong a musical memory can be. When the Eurythmics wrote it, I was just a child, stil bopping along at school discos without a care in the world. When Manson covered it, it was the theme song to the end of my bitter, twisted abusive relationship, and I still can't hear it without shuddering. It brought back so many memories hearing it again: but at the same time, listening to it in the sunlight sung by a bonny young lad with absolutely no idea how dark and twisted human relationships can get felt good. It felt cleansing, and wholesome.
More importantly, perhaps, I've been thinking about the role music plays in our life as a family. None of my children play a musical instrument- Alex asked to take a break from violin lessons when we moved here, and Isaac was really too young at that time. We have my beloved  piano, which is desperately in need of tuning, and my saxophone mostly lives under the bed gathering dust and beetles. Nothing exceptional there, right? The thing is, during my teenage years music was THE most important part of my life, the defining facet to my personality, who I was and what I did. I sang with the school choir, the local choral society, conducted the school wind band and performed with various orchestras and bands, and it was a huge part of my life. It was also a bond with my parents, who loved me but found it hard to show it: my dad was a music teacher (like me, a solid musician but nothing outstanding- his talent lay in sharing his love of music with others) and mum is a talented amateur. These days, she's conducting choirs for fun- back then, she was just singing. I I broke my wrist badly when I was 17, which made everything more difficult- I have both strength and flexibility in that hand now, but not together, not the way it was. I have difficulty in taking the weight of my saxophone and keying with my right hand, for instance, and similar problems with the piano. What I do have is my voice.
My children have always had lullabies to calm and soothe them, just like my mum sang me to sleep when I was little, but for some reason I haven't done it as much with River. What I've found, though, is that the sound of my voice singing him the songs I love: the songs my mother sang to me, that her mother sang to her: will help him stay asleep. They ease his transition between sleep states, when he will often wake and call out for me, and they give him a greater gift as well. They're giving him a sense of continuity and of history, and of connection with his grandparents and the generations before. He won't understand this now, because he's a tiny baby boy lying on the floor chewing my feet, but one day he will.

And in her first event...

she takes the bronze. Isaac's sweater is done,  and I am sitting here duplicate stitching soft toys onto the front because it seemed like a good idea at the time. Pictures will be up after blocking, or when I buy new batteries for the camera, whichever comes soonest.
He seems distinctly underwhelmed, if I'm honest, but that's more positive than the reaction of most of my family when faced with handknits. Hopefully, if I apply said bear to the front, that will get him excited.

Self-sabotage

Of the UFO list, I can cross two off- River appears to have outgrown the Baby Surprise Jacket (he has an 18" chest and waist, the jacket is measuring 9.5" across the back) and I have lost the Rock and Weave pattern for the second sock of the pair. This is looking far more achievable now, though not in the way I wanted.
I think I'm going to leave the BSJ to hibernate a while longer and then frog it and make something for me, and order a new copy of the pattern with the money I've saved.
Life here at chez chaos is likely to be more frugal for the coming months: I've been landed with yet more debts from the time with my charming beloved ex-husband, and I'm aiming to pay off an additional 2 grand by the end of the year. It's doable- and due to our living circumstances, will probably not be that brutal- but I'm not really embracing the challenge at the moment. I'm seriously considering starting an etsy store to see if that brings anything in.

The middle of the night...

It's something after 3am here, and I've been awake for a few hours. A certain small gentleman is stroking my cheek lovingly and giggling at me, which would be lovely under other circumstances. Unfortunately, the reason he is doing this is because he evacuates his bowels once a week, typically at 3am (as now) and requires a few hours of kicking and wriggling beforehand to get things moving. In the middle of the night. Gulp.
I have totted up the goodies to be finished for the Knitting Olympics (and has anyone else noticed how well the British women are doing compared to the British men?)  and the list IS:

1. Sweater for Isaac. I'm knitting the bottom ribbing for the second time, as I decided to pull it out and add a few more inches in. THEN, I have to make the decision whether 8 is too old for appliqued cartoon characters- opinions are welcomed.
   
2. Sweater for River, knitted from handspun. I'm down to the bottom of the raglan, so this may take a while.
3. BSJ for River. This has been on the needles for, like, forever: since before he was born, in fact, but I'm hopeful that it may yet fit. I need to buy another skein of Silk Garden for it, and I have no idea what shade the first two skeins were- but never mind.
4. The second Rock and Weave sock. Again, the first one was completed back when I was still pregnant, and now he's a talking, crawling, middle-of-the-night-pooping cheek patter. I must knit faster.
5. I'm embarrassed to admit that I actually cast on for a new project (some stranded colourwork) with this list of UFOs hovering around the house. So I can add those in too.
6. I frogged the black alpaca wrap. I think I'm just going to sling this yarn back to a charity shop, or put it up on ravelry or ebay. I've now tried knitting it in two projects, and I'm not loving either of them.

Olympics

In a moments insanity yesterday, we went into central London. Gads. What WERE we thinking? We didn't even go to the good bits (like the museum), but went to Covent Garden and Leicester Square and all that jazz. It was horrible. Busy and crowded and crowded and busy and just thoroughly unpleasant.
What we did discover, however, is that Chinatown, always a lovely place to be, is extremely excited about the Beijing Olympics. There was a dragon dance, bunting up everywhere, and lots of the restaurants had stands outside selling sweets and a big screen televising the coverage of the opening ceremony. It was a bright spot in a pretty dismal day.
I haven't signed up for a knitting olympics anywhere this time. Instead, I'm going to be focussing upon finishing off all of my UFOs and moving on to a new season with grace and goodwill, my boys warmly wrapped in handknit sweaters and my feet in handknit socks. I've finished the sleeves on Isaac's jam sweater, so I just need to do a collar and then add another inch to the bottom :(  It's far shorter than he likes wearing. I'm using the Knitting Pure and Simple raglan sweater, but taking out all of those tight rolled hems because I'm really not into the michelin man look on anyone, even my skinny 7yo son. I'm trying to decide between a pocket or some embroidery (a Nev, perhaps?) as decoration. I am trying to manage my time more effectively, as I'm starting an OU course in October (a 15 point arts course in Heritage, for the curious) and I'm going to need to do some study for that. If all goes well, I'll be doing the full 60-point course starting in February. I figure if I can commit 16 or more hours a week to crafting now, then I can just devote these hours to study later.

Hide and Seek

Right now, I am so angry that I am speechless. I have a great big hole where my heart should be.
Ten years ago, on February 21, 1998, I ovulated despite using the oral contraceptive pill (Marvelon.) I vomited after taking my pill, moved house the next day and decided to take a chance and not get the morning-after pill. I found out I was pregnant the day my father was diagnosed with an aggressive brain tumour. Abortion was not an option for me- in my superstitious, young and vulnerable mind, the only chance my dad had of fighting the tumour was for his whole family, everyone who loved him, to fight for life and to show that life was important. My boyfriend agreed. We had been living together for a while and he made the decision to support me and raise our baby together. We were guided by my father's wishes and chose to marry. Two weeks to the day of our wedding, I got the phone call from my mother, telling me to come now. Dad died the following day, July 24th, 1998.
On my wedding day, my father asked my new husband if he would look after me and the new baby, do everything he could for us. Given that we all knew dad was dying at that point, it was a deathbed promise- something I cannot imagine breaking under any circumstances. He has.
In the past decade, my ex-husband has been what's politely known as "marginally employed". There were long periods of time when we were together when he was not looking for work or in work, he was consistently resistant to claiming government benefits that would require him to sign on because of the stigma attached and we were constantly in debt and eating for a very few pounds a week. It was hell. Eventually I got my act together and took a job,  which put food on the family's table though seriously cut into the time I could spend with our year-old baby. I'm the daughter of a working mother, and I seriously, seriously believe that babies need their mums at home. He took that from me. Our second son was born, again unplanned, and he remained unemployed. Our circumstances forced me to return to the workplace at 3 months postpartum. My baby developed eczema, so severe it was lifethreatening. He was given formula sometimes. He nearly died as a result of his health conditions. It was one of the worst times in my life, for this and so many reasons.
Fast forward a few years, and I got him out of my life- he chose to move back up to his parents house, despite them having offered to set him up in a flat near us. At this point, I was several thousand pounds in debt. Promises, so many promises were made about finances, work, jobs, the lot. His sci-fi collection were to be sold to pay off our debts. None of this materialised. He got a job, paid a small amount of child support, found a new partner. Her daughter's after-school club closed down- so my ex-husband took over the responsibility for caring for her, and so stopped paying child support. At this point, my wonderful Steve and I got together and started working on paying off the debts I had incurred in my first marriage.
It has continued this way ever since. In 2005 I involved the Child Support Agency after he spent six months in work without either seeing his sons or paying a penny in child support. He has always insisted that I transport our sons half-way to him, even during the times when I did not own a car because I couldn't afford it. The amounts he offered me to get me to stop the CSA claim were, frankly, insulting.
The final straw came when he claimed to be more hard-up than usual, lied about asking the CSA to review our case and then started trying to bully me into accepting a lower amount of money. As things currently stand, I have received the most disgusting email I have ever read in my life, which accuses me of trying to stop him from seeing his children.  He makes it clear that further contact with the boys who love him (I love children. They really do love unconditionally) is entirely dependent upon me complying with his wishes and telling the child support agency that I will accept direct payments- at this point, he will make lower payments. If I do not do this, the infrequent visits, birthday presents, weekly phone calls will all stop.
I am livid. He was given the option to walk away from parental responsibility back in 98, and he refused. The same offer was repeated in 2000, when I was pregnant with Isaac, and one more time in 2002 when we broke up. Now he wants it? Jeez.
Women, read my story. Next time you meet a young woman pregnant by an unsuitable young man, don't offer them judgement, or opinions. Help to keep the unsuitable men out of the joint bank account and away from the babies. I am strong, and I have raised these beautiful wonderful talented empathic infuriating and unbelievably noisy boys by myself so far- I could have done it all along. If I had, I would have spared them the pain that I have brought upon them now.
Men- see notes to women. In addition, though, if you hear a friend complaining about how hard done by he is, please give him a reality check. Parenting is the hardest job in the world, and crap like this makes it a million times worse. I love my sons so much, and I wish I could find a way of sparing them this.

When a Knight Won His Spurs

 
Well, we did it. DH graduated from university (again) on Saturday- though as we pointed out, this is getting to be somewhat of a habit for him now. I am so proud to be married to him though- the way that he chose a path that he wanted to follow, even though it's high-stress and nowhere near as lucrative as the work he was doing in financial services back in London. I'm proud of the way that he's juggled his academic work with the demands of a young family, and I love the way he treats children and young people as- you know- actual PEOPLE. He rocks my world, and I'm putting that information out there on the internet where everyone will see it and he'll be horrendously embarrassed next time he raids my blog to show his colleagues pictures of the children. 
We spent Sunday night mellowing out in front of the TV, with him doing a little bit of prep for one of his classes (for my husband is not only going-to-be-a-teacher, but he started his contract at the start of the month.) and me spinning away. The first ever Folk Day at the Proms was on, and it was blindingly good. It's been a long time since I've heard music that really made me want to pick up my sax and blow, but that night did it for me. In particular, Martin Simpson's rendition of "When a Knight Won His Spurs" was magical, given the huge life events in our family recently. It's now 10 years since I left university, 10 years next week that my dad died and I'm feeling acutely conscious right now that in this decade, time has passed me by. I didn't really have my twenties in the traditional, running-around sense, and there's a lot I've forgotten, a lot of paths unfollowed. I don't regret a moment of the time that I spent raising my children, but I'm feeling a real sense now that it's time for me to raise and nurture myself, my mental abilities and to see what I could be, given the space and time and nurturing, how I could shine. I'm reading The Artists Way by Julia Cameron at the moment, and working through the exercises and really enjoying them. It's a scary, exciting, terrifying time for me right now.

Chore Wars

I have finally found something on the internet better than ravelry- and no, I'm not talking about foodbuzz, the foodie equivalent. We finally signed up for Chore Wars, and I am finally getting my housework done- slowly, and under protest, but I'm doing it. Why? Well, because a computer gives me stickers and gold and treasure when I do the ironing, the laundry or whatever other mindlessly tedious task presents itself, and that makes me happy.
What makes me unbelievably happy, however, is the fact that my two eldest sons are obsessed with housework as a result :) I can live with this, I tell you...



It doesn't have to be housework- you can use whatever challenges you need to. It's working for us though- long may it last :)

This hit a nerve with me

Reading the new Knitty, I was struck by Tara Jon Manning's Mindful Knitting column. Although I keep pushing myself to knit, I suppose really, the sad fact is that at the moment I don't want to. It doesn't seem important to me, somehow, building rows of loops upon themselves to construct a garment. Or a square. Or anything else- and I have, truth be told, been feeling kind of bad about this, because knitting is my thing. It's what I do, isn't it?
Ultimately, of course, it isn't what I do. I'm a person first and foremost, and I exist mostly in relation to my kids (even though they drive me insane) and then to other people. I'm a die-hard natural birth geek, a passionate advocate not only for young families and homebirth and breastfeeding, the stuff of their being and their first days together but also those at the other end of the spectrum, who are moving into old age and having a hard time.  I am still more, much more, than the sum of any one craft or hobby. (disclaimer. I do not have a problem with anyone who has a c-section, through choice, emergency or any other reason. I'm just blessed to have avoided them. Ditto artificial baby milk)
Some of this, I suppose, is that I'm having a hard time trusting that the wheel is going to turn again and my time with needles is going to come back. If it doesn't, would that be so bad? Probably not, if truth be told, but I'll find something else interesting and exotic to do. For now, my favourite pastime is probably going to remain sleeping.