Monkey Joes

In case you don't already know, Monkey Joe's is a child's dream and a mother's sanctuary. When one lives in the Frigid North in a rural (polite word for isolated) community (and by "one", I really mean "me"), one gets an extreme form of cabin fever that leaves one contemplating the merits of selling one's children on ebay, with one's husband thrown in for an extra bonus selling point.
Enter Monkey Joe's, the Freudian Friend to mothers. It's a huge open building the size of a Kohl's filled with several bouncy houses for children. There are computers and free wi-fi for parents, cushy armchairs, massage chairs (which do cost an extra fee, of course), and a smaller play area for younger kids.
When I was in the Sunny South I took the kids to a Monkey Joes there for the first time. While there I purchased a "frequent user card" which brought the cost down a little bit. (Adults are free, but it's about $4.50 per child with the frequent user card.)
This last Friday I and a few other moms from my rural town decided to try the Monkey Joe's in the nearby town of Shopping Bliss (and no, that's not it's real name. Quit trying to google it.) This Monkey Joe's was much nicer than the one in the Sunny South. It was clean and had more armchairs, which is the more important thing of the two.

Hey look, here comes Peter . . .
. . . who is quickly followed by Miss Boo.


Ah yes, Monkey Joe's; a truly magical place where fairies fly free and unicorns frolic gleefully - -

- -a place where siblings get along.

Can You See Me Now?

Sorry to everyone (assuming there is a "more than one") out there who couldn't read my blog for the past few days! When I had re-arranged my blog I accidentally mis-typed something in my blog's html code which kept Explorer browser viewers from reading the posts.

So, if you've been missing out on all the "happenin's" from 'round these here parts, pour yourself a nice cup of tea, grab a crumpet or two, and sit down for a nice long read.

(I'm not sure what just happened there. I was channeling Southern and British vibes at the same time. My ethnicity is very confused.)

A Morality Tale

New Years' Eve is a wonderful time to spend with family.

It's a time to enjoy the company of loved ones we don't get to see too often (which might be why we love them so much, hee hee!).
It's a time to play games until late into the night.
It's a time to indulge.
(Forget love --- fall in chocolate!)
It's not the best time to knit.
Never drink and knit. You will knit socks in two entirely different sizes. (They should look exactly the same.)
As far as I know, these socks were knit with the same needles, using the same yarn, and the same amount of stitches.
But then again, I'm a little fuzzy as to the details.

A New Design

I just love cables, and it's been awhile since I knit something for my little Peter, so I whipped up a sweater for him a few months ago that I'm calling "Sweet Afton". I might try submitting the pattern for sale, but if you're interested in test knitting this I can send you the pattern for free, so just contact me.

I'm a little disappointed with the way the yarn has held up. Caron Simply Soft is usually a wonderful choice for children's sweaters because of the cost and softness, but this sweater is starting to fuzz up a lot more than I was expecting. *Sigh*. Time to pull out the sweater stone and start de-fuzzing!

Oh well, at least Peter is thrilled with it! He pretty much wears it as often as I will let him!

A Love/Hate Relationship

When Flipflopping Mama and I went shopping a few months ago, I picked up a few skeins of knitter's crack (*cough cough* Colinette Jitterbug Sock Yarn).
This stuff is the most scrumptious, squishy yarn out there.
The colors are so vibrant and exhuberant and make me forget how dreary it looks outside. (My mantra, "Just watch my feet, just watch my feet, ignore the gray skies, don't look up until May".

If I could just remember that I hate short row heels. I hate the way they fit. I hate the way the look. I hate knitting them.

The good thing about short row heels is that I'd be ashamed to give away a pair of socks with short row heels. Shamed. Humiliated.

So I'll just have to wear them myself.

I'm very self-sacrificing that way.

FlipFlopping Around Southern Illinois

After leaving my Aunt and Uncle's house in Memphis, Tennessee, the three kids and I headed further north to visit my dearly departed friend Flipflopping Mama. This part of the journey should have taken six hours, but due to no phone service (which I am convinced is the fault of hidden malevolent spirits hiding in the corn fields around FFM's house), terrible Mapquest directions, and general directional amnesia on my part, the trip took closer to seven hours.
Once we got there and were comfortably settled in, my children made themselves at home and (just as they do at home) proceeded to destroy the house. When they had finished that adolescent prime directive they then ate all of Flipflopping Mama's delicious cookies.

(Side rant here: I went home and made the same cookies from the same recipe using the same ingredients, and my cookies were not as good. The recipe comes from a Southern Gal, and FFM is a Southern Gal. The only thing I can figure is that the cookies will only come out right if I read the recipe with a thick southern accent first.)

That evening I threatened my children with bodily harm and sent them off to bed, and FFM and I sat down to knit and enjoy a wonderful episode of the PBS series, Cranford.



The next morning we woke up and took the children to a nearby McDonald's so that they could play and we could also play in relative peace. (I will refrain from venting about the child that decided to use my baby as a chew toy.)

I thought this was humorous.Seriously? They should put a similar sign in the front of McDonald's that says, "No eating, no drinking, no consuming of unnecessary calories".

We were met there by one of Lynn's new friends whom she calls, "The Other Rachel". At first I was a little hurt to be so easily replaced, but once I met my replacement I was totally cool with it. Now I understand how people feel when their life story is played by, say, Julia Roberts. I can be down with that.
Of course, you realize that the above photo was completely fake. It's like taking a picture of a chimpanzee in the zoo.

Yes.
Wildlife should be viewed in their natural habitat.

Dragons in Memphis

After spending a lovely (and warm!) three weeks in the Sunny South, the three kids and I drove back home by ourselves. (Handyman had to fly back home a week earlier for work reasons). Perhaps I should clarify that I drove. The kids just sat and made a horrendous mess in the back seat.

Anyway, to break up a drive that usually takes 16 hours, we stopped in Memphis to spend a night with my aunt Erna and Uncle Gary. From Atlanta (from whence I started the trek North) it was only 6 hours to Memphis, and my Aunt was sweet enough (*cough cough* masochistic) to drive with me to help out with the kids and my sanity.

After spending a lovely and relaxing evening in their home, we all got a good night's rest. The next morning we stopped in at my Aunt's classroom to see her newest classroom addition, Sir Wigglywoggle (or something like that. I can't remember his name, but it sounded to me like a British butler.)
Peter has a natural affinity for lizards, as they most resemble his favorite creature, the dinosaur. Peter and Sir Wimbledon quickly became fast friends.
Sir Wibblington is a Bearded Dragon lizard and very friendly. He didn't seem the least alarmed by the six year old child holding him. (Please ignore the six-year-old's apparent mullet. He has a terrible mother who neglected getting his hair cut.)
Erna's classroom is just what every child should have. There are cool science projects, lots of plants, and of course, animals everywhere stashed in every available cranny.

The poor guinea pig was no doubt usually very friendly, but he showed a remarkable talent for reading people and hid in terror whenever my daughter came near his cage. Guinea pigs have short legs, after all, which must not be good shock absorbers when the owner of the short legs is dropped.
From there we left for the next leg of the journey, another six hour drive which led us to Flipflopping Mama's house!

(Stay tuned for the next exciting installment of our series, Treking with Children.)