Don't talk to me, I'm reading.

No, not Book 7.

Book 1.

While my husband and oldest daughter are plowing through the latest, instead I've decided to forget everything I've ever gleaned about Harry Potter by simply not living under a rock for the last ten or so years and Actually Read the Books.

Journey back with me for a moment, won't you? The year is 1998. I've just started a job at a nifty little local publishing company that hasn't yet been purchased by several different larger corporations. I'm busily making copies alongside my new coworker friend who is yet to become Fluid Pudding, and I'm floating a little because I've just met the man I'll end up marrying.

And then, my goody-two-shoes cube mate (we'll call her Stephanie), pokes her chubby, annoying face around my cube wall and strikes up a conversation.

"Hey there! Have you read any of the Harry Potter books? They're really good!"

"No, haven't." I tell Stephanie, silently vowing that I would never read whatever books these were, lest I accidentally have something in common to discuss with this girl.

So Stephanie lost 50 pounds and moved to Florida where she's no doubt teaching poor children about Jesus, and frankly, I want my Harry Potter experience back.

If you tell me the Harry Potter books are really good and that I should read them, I'll probably say, "Oh really? Who writes them?" as I reach for a pencil to jot down the name.

Because I am blissfully immersed in chapter three of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

And yes. It IS really good.

Reality Bites like a honey mustard pretzel

I'm slowing coming face to face with a harsh realization on one of my projects: I am going to run out of yarn.

I don't know this for certain yet, so I keep holding out hope, row by row, that somehow two little tightly re-wound balls of cotton are going to make the right front of this shrug.



It could happen. It's not impossible. And I've probably got some more of this yarn knitted into a striped pullover I didn't really like. So I could probably pull a half a ball or so out of that.

I wonder at what point I'll have to rip it all out and kick myself for not thinking ahead.

An honest-to-goodness rainbow

Honest-to-goodness rainbow
Originally uploaded by squeakyweasels.

Gert spotted her first rainbow during a weird sunny/rainy day. We were in the car on the way to buy shorts, so we chased the rainbow down the highway and captured it as best we could in the parking lot with a camera phone. This doesn't really do it justice, but it was really cool!

Hey, little fellas! You're famous!

Pick up St. Louis Magazine this month if you're in the area! Weasel spotting on page 38!

They're so proud of themselves.





Since this article came out, nearly all of the weasels pictured here have found new homes and we've passed my original fundraising goal -- in fact, we're now several weasels past $300. Thank you, thank you, thank you to all you nice people!

Duct tape: is there anything it can't fix?

My 12-year-old daughter is too cool to wear handmade things. Unless she's the one handmaking them, apparently.

One afternoon, she called me at work and asked if she could use the duct tape. I told her sure.

When I got home, she was sporting these!



Aw! My little girl pimped her sandals, duct tape style! I am so proud.

Holding perfectly good yarn hostage since 1930

I finally came to terms and liberated the yarn from this gauge disaster:



Still love the pattern. Still love the yarn. After two years of trying to make it work, it was time to admit that they just aren't right for each other.

Meh. I have a migraine.

My choice between migraine pills seems to be:

A. Nausea-inducing headache
B. Nausea a la carte
C. Brain-numbing drowsiness

I usually opt for C, take a gigantic wad of cotton batting, and stuff it in and around the crevices of my brain.

(Nobody better say one single word about Grandma's Lye Soap on this post, I freaking mean it.)

Bunny Ain't No Kind of Rider

Yesterday was a good ride, and I needed a good ride because lately I've been feeling plagued by fatigue. And when you're plagued by fatigue, the garden gets overgrown, mildew collects in the caulked edges of your bathtub, and the closets fill with dirty clothes. That's just the way it is.

I rode anyway, with my legs feeling like mud, because my drill sergeant husband made me. Something about training, and commitments, and blah blah blah. I loaded up my helmet, gloves, water bottles, etc, into the car and drove halfway to the trail before abruptly turning around and coming back home.

Yeah. I forgot my bike.

The first five miles felt miserable, but then it was like something shook itself loose and I was flying.

I was chased by a bird and almost ran over a ginormous black snake. Two angry cyclists fixing a tire glared at me from the side of the trail, though I'm not sure why. Did I look like the kind of girl who randomly tosses glass bottles into the path of oncoming riders? I chased and caught a guy on a road bike, and matched his speed for a few miles until he turned off and went home. I don't know what that speed was, because I also forgot my bike computer. But it felt speedy.

Then I went home and immediately ran three loads of laundry. Exercise is weird.

Monday wisdom

Sometimes, when you buy a can opener from Everything's $1, you get a bargain.

Other times, you get a can of soup only halfway opened and gash in your thumb from trying to pry open the jagged edge of the lid.

And then, as you're standing in front of the microwave with your bleeding thumb in your mouth, watching your bowl and its contents lazily circle the perimeter, you realize.

All that for vegetable soup.

Long-overdue correction to the DNA top/vest

Remember Protopretty over there in the free patterns section?

Well, someone much smarter than me pointed out that the "diamond" lace pattern on the back begins with a yarn over.

Awkward!

So awkward, in fact, that when I was making it up as I went along, I instinctively kept an edge stitch on each side to anchor those rogue holes.

And then I forgot to mention that in the pattern. Um. Sorry about that.

What floors me is that there are several brave knitters with completed Protopretties out there who somehow either added instinctive stitches too, or struggled through it with fiddly stitches hanging off the ends of their needles. Either way, you all deserve to be taken out for ice cream.

I'm back!

My pumpkin vines are teeming with beetles, my youngest daughter screams herself sick every morning before daycare, and I'm stuck here sleeveless in an overly air-conditioned office rewriting things I routed last week. If that doesn't say summer, I don't know what does.

I'm mostly bummed because I'm no longer in Disneyworld eating dessert at every meal.

Gary is dedicating hours of his post-vacation life to uploading and captioning the 600 photos we took, so those of you who are really in love with my family will be able to fully immerse yourselves in our Disney experience. The rest of you can look forward to a few choice hightlights.

In the meantime, I can show you how I amused myself on the 2,000+ mile roundtrip drive.

One Waving Lace sock:



This is the nicest sock I've ever made. It actually fits like a proper sock and not like a smooshy leg sleeve. I did modify the pattern to leave out two lace repeats (I cast on 48 instead of 60) so it's nice and snug. I just love it. I'm almost to the heel of sock #2.

Also, I made this:



I resisted the Clapotis for years despite the fact that every single other knitter was raving about this pattern. I thought, what is the point of knitting a stitch if I'm just going to unravel it? Also, I didn't like the bulky, weird shape of it.

But I had five balls of bamboo yarn and time on my hands. So the bamboo Clapotis was born. And honestly, it's now one of my favorite things. If you haven't made a Clapotis, immediately make one out of bamboo. It's silky, drapy, warm, and fun to knit.

And just before we left, I put the finishing stitches on the Petunia Tote from Interweave Knits. Bessy is modeling it here:



It's huge. And it's lined thusly:



And it's covered with sweet little petunia-like purly flowers:



Now I have to go to a meeting and explain why one page of a brochure will not hold three pages of product description, even though I'd rather be knitting.

My favorite flavor of irony is Religion

Today, I was passed by a car sporting a "We Vote Pro-Life" bumper sticker as it lead-footed at what must have been over 40 miles per hour through a school zone, just as the elementary-aged kids were boarding their bus.

Breathe

Breathe
Originally uploaded by squeakyweasels.

A moment of Zen from little Gert, the old soul with an eye for composition.

Weasel update!

Once upon a time, there lived an orphanage of poor, pitiful baby weasels who cried themselves to sleep every night because all they really wanted was a loving home and a family.

Then, many kind and generous people reached out to the little weasels and offered to adopt them! The babies are now settling into new homes across California, Idaho, Missouri, West Virginia, Maryland, and the UK!

Not only are these kind folks enjoying the sort of unconditional love that only a baby weasel can provide, they've contributed over $100 toward finding a cure for Multiple Sclerosis! And that, my friend, is something to be proud of.

If you can possibly find room in your heart for one of these little guys, please stop by the Weasel Knits shop and adopt your own weasel today! 100% of sales will be donated via my ride in the MS-150 Bike Ride this fall.

Seriously, thanks to everyone who's already adopted a weasel. You guys are the best!

I was wrong

An amendment to my previous post. The snack below is not complete until it is A) wrapped with bacon and B) grilled until crispy.

Because today I received this recipe for bacon-wrapped hamburgers in my inbox, and I realized that wrapping something with bacon is a special kind of miracle.

Plus, you may or may not be aware of my food-inside-other-food fetish. For example, cheese ravioli. What's better than noodles and cheese? Noodle-WRAPPED cheese, of course!

You're all invited to the food-wrapped food party I plan to have one day. I'll be dressed as a Hot Pocket.

Power snacks

This is my new favorite thing:

1 crunchy little banana chip
1 craisin or dried cherry
1 yogurt-covered raisin

Gather these three things into your hand and then quickly pop them all into your mouth. Are you with me? Are you experiencing the sweet, crunchy, creamy, chewy, tangy taste/texture explosion?

I only know this because I bought a bunch of dried fruit for my kids to eat after school in place of candy and chips, and they proceeded to laugh in my face.

Mulch mountain

What did I do this weekend? First, I let my husband know how glad I am that he came into the world on that cool, spring day in April, 1973. Then I affectionately counted his gray hairs.

And then I moved over 700 pounds of hardwood mulch. No, I'm not kidding. I have mulch in the front of my house. Mulch in the back of my house. Mulch in my shoes. Mulch in my hair. I think I brushed my teeth with mulch. And I'm pretty sure that was mulch I ate for breakfast.

When you say the word "mulch" often enough, you start to feel like you're producing excessive saliva.

Which is unfortunate, because it's now illegal to spit in public where I live.

But it IS legal to replace the word "mulch" with other words in conversation for your own amusement. For example, while surveying your freshly mulched yard with your newly 34-year-old husband, you can remark, "This does look MULCH better!" and then giggle uncontrollably.

Pretty is

Gertrude and I are heavily into Barbara Park's Junie B. Jones books. Right now, we're reading Junie B. Jones Loves Handsome Warren, which is all about how Junie B. and her friends Lucille and That Grace try to impress the chunky new boy in Room Eight.

Lucille wears fancy dresses that her richie nana buys her, and fluffs her fluffy hair.

Grace shows off how fast she can run.

Junie B. makes a lame joke, and then finds herself rolling in the grass on the playground, unable to stop laughing.

Warren concludes that Junie B. is a nutball.

So at the end of a chapter, we parked Gert's caterpillar bookmark in between the pages and I set the book on her nightstand.

"Which one of those girls would you want to be friends with?" I asked casually, always chasing the reading comprehension monkey.

"Lucille," replied Gert, without hesitation.

That surprised me. Lucille, while harmless, is clearly a vain and shallow little rich girl. She's thoughtless and self-centered, and certainly not very good friend material. So maybe my compassionate little Buddhist daughter was simply sensing that by befriending Lucille, she would somehow be able to address the core of suffering and insecurity that caused Lucille to look down on those less fortunate than her, which would free Lucille to blossom into a kinder, friendlier person.

"Why Lucille?" I asked.

"Because she's pretty."

Oh.

I was suddenly seized with the horror that all these years of "pretty on the outside, ugly on the inside" analogous tales we had read to our daughters had instead indoctrinated them into the belief that being pretty EXCUSES inappropriate and unkind behavior. Oh crap. Crap, crap, crap.

"You know," I said, "just because you're pretty, that doesn't make you nice."

"It doesn't?"

"Oh, no! I'd rather be friends with a nice person than a pretty person. In fact," I went on, totally making this next part up, "there's a girl at my work who is very pretty, but no one wants to be her friend because she's so mean."

Gert was intrigued. "What kinds of things does she do?"

"Uh." Thinking. Need a believable example. Okay, how about this. "She makes people feel bad. She says things like 'Nice shoes!' but then she laughs at you and makes fun of your shoes when you're not around."

Weak. It was the best I could come up with.

Gert nodded. She seemed to get it. Then she said, "If that girl does it again, you oughta punch her in the beans."

I sighed. For the hundredth time, "Girls don't have beans, Gert."

"Okay."

I think my cat is having a midlife crisis.

An indoor dweller all her life, suddenly she has decided she Must Go Outside. She stands at the back door and yowls. She scratches insistently at the corner of the door. She comes running when I call the dog to let him out. And then she gets all huffy with me when I push her back with my foot so the dog can pass.

She won't believe me when I tell her there's nothing out there for her.

We've taken to opening our bedroom window so she can lounge against the screen and catch a breeze.

And she's been acting even needier than usual. Instead of sleeping at the edge of our bed, she's been cuddling up between us. Sometimes I'll wake up to find her perched on my hip. The other night, I believe she was actually spooning with Gary.

Okay, but yesterday was the weirdest. I keep my current knitting projects in those satchel-shaped business bags, you know the ones I mean? They look like flat rectangles, and could probably double as laptop cases. (I do this so that when I bring my knitting to work every day it appears as though I'm carting paperwork around with me. Ahem.)

I had one of these bags sitting beside me on the couch with a string of yarn trailing out of it and onto my needles. Kismet jumped up on my lap and sniffed my knitting. I patted her and then tried to talk her into leaving me alone. With her nose on my yarn, she followed the loose string all the way from my knitting down to the point where it disappeared into the bag. And then my cat disappeared into the bag.

This wouldn't be that weird, except that the cat is a whole lot bigger than the yarn satchel. So she had to curl herself up into a furry little donut, dig her way in to the very bottom of the bag, turn around a few times, and then plop down and promptly doze right off.

I poked Gary, who was on the couch next to me, and pointed. "What the?" I said.

We considered.

A cat in a state prior to its being let out of the bag?

Cat-chel?

Cat and carry?

Nap sack?

Bring it, fuzz-butts

I'm completely pissed off at the bastard rabbits in my yard. Or squirrels. Or whatever it is that always eats what I plant.

It's not bad enough that they've nibbled most of my snow peas (which by the way, DID survive the frost) down to little nubbins. This morning I went out and found the chewed and frayed strands of my brand-new maypole-style trellis swinging free in the breeze.

What the hell. Are they calling me out?

Adopt a weasel

Like many people, I ride a bike.

Because I'm extremely fortunate to be able to do so, I'll be riding said bike in the MS-150 this summer to help raise money to find a cure for Multiple Sclerosis.

Is this a plea for donations? Sort of. I'm actually hoping you'll consider adopting one of these:



This is a baby weasel, personally created, hand knit, and lovingly felted by me.



Every baby weasel is completely unique, made of natural fibers and stuffed for extra squishability. Yes, they're ugly, but they are extremely sweet and gentle creatures, friendly toward other pets and children, and completely self-sufficient.

Best of all, 100% of adoption costs will go toward funding the cure for MS and supporting Weasel Knits on our charity bike ride debut.

You can adopt one of these pitiful little creatures for only $12!

Plus, you'll have the privilege of counting yourself among the elite group of official Weasel Knits MS-150 supporters.

Please give a baby weasel a home! And help us find a cure for MS!

You can pick out your baby weasel right over here at my Etsy shop, which conveniently accepts major credit cards, PayPal, checks, and money orders. While you're there, you'll also have the opportunity to purchase weasel knitting patterns and felting kits if you're inclined to make one of your own. 100% of sales go toward the cause.

More orphaned weasels are being added to the shop each day. The conditions there are less than ideal. These weasels are counting on you!