I had a knitting night last night at Kate’s house with Sharon, Chaucey, Claire, Helen and Becca. It was super fun and I did some knitting on the World’s-Most-Expensive-Scarf. Which reminds me, I need to go and re-mortgage my non-existent home to buy some more of wool to knit it with. On the upside, it is knitted in the loveliest wool in the world. I’ve not knitted with many wools but if I had the option, I’d knit with no other. I love living in New Zealand. Land of the sheep and by extension… Land of wool.
Anyway, I was a bit loathe to leave the Devil Child as last night on the way home from creche she crashed out in a big way. She barely ever falls asleep in the car anymore and I could tell that she was awfully tired. That coupled with the fact that her nose is producing entire oceans worth of snot, I deduced that she was sick. Poor little chicken. She stayed asleep on the walk from the car to the house and still while I muddled around falling over crap to get her pillow and a blanket and lie her down on the couch, complete with creche get-up (read: gumboots and face paint). She slept until about Shortland Street time (yes, I tell the time with TV.) and then woke up enough to refuse to eat the dinner I had slaved over (Seriously. Gnocchi is not a quick meal. ARGH.) so I made her a peanut butter sandwich with stale bread. Mmm-mmmm. And yes, she preferred that over the Gnocchi. Not impressed. Then I put her back to bed and abandoned her in the name of knitting. Luckily she didn’t wake up until the morning when I was greeting by a snot crusted face at the side of my bed at 6.40am.
Now she has just watched a Dora marathon and is considerably more perky. Wish I could sleep for 13 hours.
And just because I can, here is a pic of her in the bath the other night. She always wants me to jump in with her but the idea of a shallow, lukewarm, ridiculously-small-sized-pretend-normal-sized bath with a squirmy two-year-old just isn’t that appealing.