The One with The Comment

 I know that I should not be shocked by the things people do. I really do. I can look to the events of last week and that is proof that people will do the unthinkable, the unspeakable. Yet, I am still shocked. This time by family.

 

I know I have written about my cousin’s 16 year old daughter who just had twins nearly four weeks ago and that she/they didn’t know she was pregnant until just a few weeks before delivery. I may or may not have mentioned that they held a  baby shower after the babies were born, just a couple of weeks ago and failed to invite us. Yesterday my aunt informed us that they didn’t invite anyone from our side (her dad’s side) of the family. Their reasoning or the reasoning of her fat lazy ass mother is that nobody would show. That is not true. People may not have wanted to go, but they would have. Us included. The last thing I want to do is spend an afternoon at their home watching people shower them with gifts, knowing that they don’t appreciate anything and expect to get everything. But we would have gone. For my aunt.

 

I posted some photos of some recent projects on facebook. A few friends have been wondering if I was still knitting because I hadn’t posted anything in a while. So it was time. I had knit two bunnies for my nephews, a little dress, sweater and some cloths. I was not surprised to get a note/comment from Dixie. I was a little put off when she commented “are those baby clothes u made jody likes them she says wheres mine”.

Well Dixie, you can tell Jody she is not getting anything that is hand knit from me. She has failed to say thank you for the large box that my friend gave her, has failed to ever thank us for Christmas gifts and failed to invite us to the baby shower. Originally said items were intended for her, but in light of the events I mentioned, it will be a cold day in hell when I knit something for her.

 

I love to knit baby items, I have another on the needles and one waiting to be cast on. They are intended for friends who appreciate the time and thought that goes into them. I pick the yarns for each project special, taking into account the ease of washing for dear mom. I pick patterns that are special, I don’t mind paying $6.00 for a pattern if I know the finished item will be appreciated. I don’t mind that I will spend hours and hours knitting boring old stockinette for several inches, when I know that Mom will love it. I don’t mind that the baby will drool all over my hand picked wool, knowing that it will keep him warm. I do mind knitting an item for someone who will not say thank you, who will throw the item in a heap on a floor. I mind knitting an item for a parent who cries about how hard it is to take care of a baby when it wasn’t too hard for her to open her legs in the first place. Harsh, yes, but true.

 

Again, I know nothing should surprise me, but it does. And when it does, it can insight pure rage inside of me. I read that little comment around three a.m. when I, once again, sat bolt upright for no reason. I could not get back to sleep. I was too enraged.

And I lied when I said they were for a friend. They are not. They are in my baby box waiting for someone worthy.

 

In other news, the weeks have been long and the work has been short. I can’t figure it out. A month that I thought I would be scrambling to get stuff done and I have had more “free time” than ever before. It’s sort of maddening. I am trying to parse it out over the week. I have school work that I am supplementing with. That is what I spent yesterday doing. Today I am going to do some cleanup and work on some more design stuff.

 

I must say I am a bit worried about my assignments for this course. The program is so powerful and daunting. I have no problem following instructions from the book, but to do it on my own? I don’t know how I am going to do. I just feel thrown into a fire without any water.

 

Touching a bit on the events of last week: I spent Friday glued to twitter and the television. I felt like it was my duty as an American to watch the coverage. I had to know how it would end. Would they find him dead, would there be another explosion, would there be another shootout? How would it end. And after it was all said and done, I continued to watch. Right up until CNN with their crack team of reporters praised the FBI in one sentence and in the next, blamed them. I am sorry, but nobody has all the facts. Nobody knows what really happened or why. So to blame people based on what you think you know is ridiculous and disgusting. I blame 97% of the things that are wrong with the world on the media.

 

My friend turned 40 on Sunday. My best friend. The girl who knows me so well and who totally understands me. She is the one person I could tell anything to and she would get it. Well maybe besides my mom. She is more of the sisterly like when it comes to understanding and sharing secrets that my own sister. I got her a Miche bundle. The big bag with two covers, a scarf, and some makeup goodness. I knew she would love the bag! I love my Miche and knew she would love the ease of changing out the covers. One of the knits I am getting ready to cast on is the Grow Old With Me sweater for her little guy. It’s for his first birthday in September. I can’t believe he is growing up so fast and I have yet to have a face to face with him. I miss her terribly. She is always there when I need to vent and I for her. We just click so well. I love her so much. Figures I would find my best friend and only have her with me for a couple of years before she would move across the country. Thank god for technology!

 

Well I best be going. I haven’t written in a while and thought I should pop in, plus I needed to get down the thoughts before they left and/or I didn’t feel like writing.

Oh, just remembered, I have felt like writing a lot more lately. Like real writing. Again. It happens once a year, year and a half. I have been jotting down some notes and plan on writing up a couple of scenes to see if it goes anywhere. I am super excited to be reconnecting with my favorite characters again.