Pony up, darlin'...

I was going to call this post "She's Gotta Have It," but then thought better of it. You know, something about comparing my kid's love of all things "ooooh, a rainbow" to the, uh, extreeeeemely deep need of a Spike Lee character for pleasures I frankly don't want to think about in relation to Twinkletoes until she reaches the age of, say, 48...

She's 6. We've got years. PLEASE tell me we've got years.

Anyway, whatever this poncho/capelet/shoulderwarmer/lacythingy is now called, it can be subtitled Finished Object:

Not half bad, actually. I'll give it to her
when she comes home mid-summer for a brief visit.
If it doesn't fit over her head, I will cry.
And then I will MAKE it fit.

I'm in a horrible mood lately. I discovered that ex-husbands do insanely dimwitted things like leave their electric razors plugged in constantly in a bathroom they have recently begun to share with a visiting six year old. Don't ask how I know this. I will only say that it involves a full sink of water, an unsupervised child, an "on" button, and fried circuitry. The child is alright. The mother is APOPLECTIC. The razor is dead. The ex is going to wish he suffered the fate of the razor if anything like this ever happens again.

I am in serious need of stress relief. I have therefore promised myself that I am going to do something I've been dying to do, but have not had the time, thanks to trying to finish Pony. So. Next post, I will have singles. And I don't mean the kind who e-mail you thirty-eight times a day to ask if you are ALL blonde, or if you wear a thong, or if you'd like to take a long walk down a moonlit beach to the Kamasutra Korner Shoppe. No, no, deeply disappointed Googlemeisters, I mean WOOL singles. Spindle and Me. We're gonna get it on. Twist the night away. Attempt to make something that stays more tightly wrapped than I currently feel.

Meanwhile, tonight, Twinkletoes rattled on the phone to Spiff in half-comprehensible French for about fifteen minutes and then sang me her two New Favourite Songs (one about a strawberry that may or may not get eaten but could use some sugar in any case, and one about cherries that wish that somebody's mother would buy them because lots of little girls like them even though they're very expensive) and then gave me a gazillion bisoux and wished me bonne nuit. For the record, I did not cry. On the phone, that is.

I still have two skeins left of Pony Puke...uh...Arc En Ciel. I should probably save them for a rainy day or a maternally induced promise, eh?

And that Frankentank? In Stage 3, the directions for which were lost under the couch until today.

So...give me a few days' warmup time. I need to get in the right frame of mind for this singles thing. Zen is not my forté, and I may have to call in for reinforcements.

July 6, 2005 11:50 PM  | Permalink  | Comments (17)  | Print