Cute Only Gets You So Far....

At least that is what my grandma used to always say. This was supposed to be another dye post mixed with some romantic tale about procuring yarn on a budget and turning it into something magical....none of those things are going to happen. Partly because when I went out to my dye station (read here a propane grill with a burner on it - OUTSIDE - OUT OF EVERYBODY'S WAY) and went to turn the stove on - no fire happened. It seems that, over the weekend, SOMEONE (read, here, hubster!) stole my propane tank to replace the one on the stove in the kitchen that had run out because he wanted to make some coffee. HISSSSSSSS....

So, I got up this a.m. and decided to make a copy of the grid in the 'Arctic Lace' book, instead, so I could try my hand at that awesome wolverine pattern.....Hmmm, someone FINALLY TOOK THE TRASH OUT. People, I am no princess. I have managed things that many wives I know wouldn't even attempt. I have milked cows, hauled wheelbarrows of crap, even stuck my hand inside a pig to turn her piglet and relieve her suffering WITH NO GLOVES!. But, I am married for a select few reasons, some which I will not detail here as my kids sometimes read this blog and I don't intend to be paying a psychiatrist simply because they are troubled that their boring, useless parents actually still DO IT. Another valid reason for my matrimonial bondage (ha!) is so that I don't have to take out the trash. I hate it. I loathe it. I have been known to growl and drool on myself when I have to do it (which is more often than it should be). Last week, I developed 'seeing over-flowing trash can dementia' and tried ignoring the darn thing. I am amazed at my people's capacity to appreciate trash billowing out and at least 1.5 feet OVER the top of the lid. Incidentally, the trash can sits right next to the computer table. Are you sure you know where this is going?

Short story - the printer isn't working. Some hair-brained fool decided to clean out their brush and casually tossed the resulting hair ball TOWARD THE TRASH CAN. It landed in the printer. Now the bar thingie that feeds the paper, took the hugely gross hair ball and wound it all around the feed. I tried to pry it out but found it both hurt my fingers AND made me hunger for blood. In protest, I am handing out the days work, chores, don't you DARE piss me off today lists and then I am going in my room to knit, cry, or just say a longggg string of really bad words.

Yesterday, in the midst of Mother Nature's latest in a series of really NOT funny jokes (like, a foot of snow in April!), our dear Ruby decided to have her lambs. We are thrilled. I was nervous because I've not had the Shetlands but one season and Ruby has been acting wierd for days. But, two cute as hell little ewes are streaking across the barn. Merlin, our llama, is all aflutter with the expansion of his babysitting duties. I took him a carrot and apple to keep his energy up.

So, cute is how I plan to dazzle you...because I figure you must just be getting bored with my normally hostile self. Get a load of the little white one. Red ears, brown spots, and white all over. She is either REALLY cute, or slightly demonic in appearance....I've yet to decide. If you want to look at the little black ewe (who I think may turn dark brown because she already has red highlights), you better look quick. She darts and dashes around the barn like a madwoman. This is fitting for Ruby, who is so tame with humans that my kids can lead her around like a dog. Last summer, they made a survival course with jump posts and everything and she performed willingly for the better part of the afternoon. But, with sheep, she is a real force to be reckoned with. If she is eating, and you are near, she will butt you with her head many, many times. If she thinks you are mis-behaving, she will knock you over and run away as you lay on your back like a beetle, all four legs waddling in the air. She's a little bit of sweet and a whole lot of CRAZY, WILD, FENCE-BREAKING ACTION.