Ouch. I guess I overdid the knitting.
My hand is hurting today. I've had tendonitis, so I know what that's about, but this isn't it. This is probably plain and simple arthritis. The Squatter said when I told him I was 44 years old, "I don't want you to die!!! Are you going to live until you are 100?" Yep, that's the plan, but some days it doesn't feel like it! However, my imminent and impending death (obviously I'm so old it's inevitable) fills my small boy with terror, so we must forge on to 100 and beyond.
The squatter is now practicing to be a television spokesperson. He'll come up with a couple of dominos in his hand and say, "Do you have pain? Do you have trouble with getting up in the morning? Here is One-a-Day Cholesterol and it will help you." The medications vary. Some days is Avadar (prostate drug heavily advertised right now), but it almost always has the word "One-a-Day" or "Cholesterol" in the name of the drug. And he says it in this deep, round announcer voice. Cracks me up, but I try not to laugh.
It's hard to believe he's going to be seven years old this weekend. Scary. He told me yesterday that I couldn't say he was cute anymore.
I said, "Boys can be cute."
"No, they can't!" Said in an emphatic deep voice full of outrage.
"So what can I call you now if I can't say you're cute?"
"Can I say you're a handsome boy?"
Apparently, only girls can be cute. I keep telling him that his grandpa (my dad) has cornered the market on cute and that his motto is "ABC" or "Always Be Cute." But Billy will have none of it. Cute is out. Cute is for girls. Boys aren't cute.
Well, here is what I have been working on. I know, I know, it's not the Squatter's sweater, but the hand does not want me to knit at all and I've been trying to fool it with this. It had gotten to the point where I had to divide for the heel. Not something that can be done while reading email and since this is my email reading project, I needed to get it to the next level. The heel flap is done and I have to start turning the heel. Once I get past the heel, it can once again be mindless knitting for list or email reading.
The Yarn Harlot (my model of blog writing) often photographs her knitting with her cat to make it look interesting. I don't have a cat anymore (and Dan's allergies now preclude any fur people in the house), so I have to resort to using my kids' stuffed animals instead. There are some advantages to this. Stuffed animals are always willing to pose, staying still for hours at a time. They never mess with my knitting. And I don't have to clean up their poop. I like this. But they don't purr. I miss the purring. But not the hairballs. Or the hair. Or the poop. Or the suddenly startled cat leaping off my lap, leaving claw marks in my tender flesh as he goes. But the purring...definitely miss that.
I always think a sock looks a bit funny at this point, like the heel flap and the surrounding edges are a big open mouth. I guess that's why I posed it with these two fluffy critters. Watch out, fluffy critters! This sock is HUNGRY and it has a BAD ATTITUDE.