I know where Gollum lives.

I've tried to avoid posting for the last few weeks - afraid, possibly, that my alter-ego (you know, the one that ACTUALLY growled at the barbie-ish woman who's cart was taking up the whole aisle in the store when I moved it over and she huffed and said, 'excuse me'. I had to run away because the urge to snap her neck and stuff her in one of the many trash cans I was examining was too strong) will come spilling out and ya'll will discover that I am hostile and hateful. But, if I keep waiting, who knows what year it will be. This stretch of domestic rivalry and societal rage doesn't seem to be letting up. It might do me well to mention that the next person who points out to me that THEY make all the money around here, or supposes it is a prudent time to ask me if maybe I don't realize my kids are old enough for me to go back out there and get myself a 'real' career, again - is definitely dancing with physical, spiritual, and emotional ruin. (Insert drooling and bug-eyed gollum growl, here).

In the midst of discovering I am mean, old, and not much fun (also, I seem to UNDERSTAND nothing), there has been some cute distraction. The rest of the ewes seem a bit away from lambing which makes sense because we have a few that hit their heat cycle REALLY early (see my dissertation on culling) and the rest are in late fall. Course, as sure as I said that, with another week of 'hello, winter was late so we decided to just turn on the freeze blasters and see how drastic a change you can take' - they may all go into labor and establish once and for all that I am full of, well, you know.

And, for the sake of not realizing how ill I would appear in a mug shot, there has been some spinning. These batts were stuck (oops) in my 'keeper' basket but I only kept the 'rejects' so I think someone made a tragic mistake. Hmm. What to do. They are 'purple quartz', a mixture of purple shetland, gray cotswold, and tussah silk, glitz and a tacky but tasteful mix of sari silk strands. They sparkle, they soothe, they shine - so my dear hubster lives and breathes.

Barely. I needed more to soothe me because it is hard to discuss things with someone who gets offended and promptly turns his back (uh, not too bright!) and walks out. This can make you meaner than you ever thought you'd be. So, in this case of crisis, you need all the remnants of balls of your homespun. You know, the beaded job you tried, the fancy ply, the vanilla ice cream that looks good enough on its own to be comforting, and a really good crochet needle. You could knit this but it wouldn't be as 'heavy' (somebody, please, tell me again that I am out of shape and old) and it requires skills that hateful women on the edge do not normally possess, counting. With crochet, log cabin stitching just becomes a simple case of turning a corner, making one chain, and getting on with the instant gratification. This will fit my king size bed sooner than you think. Two days of working on it and it is about 3 by 3 feet. Things 1,2, and 3 have been ooing and ahing over it and that only means one thing. I tried to entice them into trying to make themselves one but I got the same response as when I tried to lure them into making their own socks. Crafty little boogers say, "no, we like it best because YOU made it". So I am compiling random balls for a blanket for each. I am a sucker for compliments.

Hey, is anyone but me feeling a little stupid for kissing 2006 goodbye in hopes that January would be kind? I had a long (cursing) conversation with January a few days ago when I went out to feed the bunnies. My special bunny, Basil, was not in his hutch. The door latch broke a long time ago but he didn't seem interested in escape and, to be honest, I forgot about it. I looked for him for almost an hour but as it was on that lovely subzero day and my toes were frozen, I came in and cried and cried. Later that evening, Basil was discovered under a pine tree - alive, but very cold and his paws were icy and sore. We kept him in for the night, dried him off, and one thing led to another. I've always said that if we were to ever keep a bunny in the house as a pet - it would be him. Guess who spent $42.00 of her grocery money at wally world on a cage with a tray for said loved, adored, and rapidly gaining weight due to kids sneaking him 'treats' bunny? I have to say, bunnies are really interesting. For instance, when he discovered my wheel, he kept jumping up on it to turn it. But, when it turns, it scares him so bad that he flops over on his side trying to run from it. He stands on his hind legs to say hello to the hamster and the fish and he gets most annoyed and peed off when I take his velvet pad (that he lays on when out of his cage) to clean it - hissing and running in circles. I think I might like this.