It was shaping up to be a sucky, suck-filled morning crammed with suckage, well-befitting a Monday. I got out of bed at 6:30, which was about thirty minutes too late. Pete was slow getting clothes together for the boy because there "were no long sleeved shirts," after I had watched him holding and looking at a long-sleeved shirt.
"You just had one in your hands."
"Yeah, but it was a full-body one."
"So? just take off his onesie (TM),(1) and put that on instead."
"But I want him to have layers."
"So put a tee shirt under the long-sleeved." And I dug out a tee shirt.
"These six month shirts won't fit."
"No, I have to go through that drawer."* And he started folding up the six month shirts. "Don't put them back into the drawer." He put them back into the drawer.**
Furthermore, it was 28 degrees outside, and the car was covered with frost. I could not get the car seat base onto the latches because they had been re-set for the new car, and I am a dumbass,# so I did not know that. Pete had to take care of it, and he scraped the car.## I got to day care, and Finn was the first one there. I felt bad that we have to drop him off early and pick him up late. He started breakfast, I put away his things and chatted a bit with Michael. I like to have a few extra minutes in the morning to do this, but this morning, I didn't. As I got one block from the bus stop, I saw the bus go by. Last week, Pete said that the next one was not for an hour, and the downtown buses take too long. I was not wearing boots made for walkin', so I decided that I would just have to stand there until a bus came. I did not want to drive in to work.
I wanted to react to all these things with either the angry vitriol of a seven-year-old with no patience for dumb adults who just don't understand*** or the sobbing of a teenager who knows that the world just does not get me, and it's all so unfair.
Clearly, I am pms-ing.
Just as Pete texted me to drive to work, a bus pulled up. As I had suspected, there are three in the 8 o'clock hour, relatively close together, so I managed to catch the middle one. Everything was better. I could knit on the bus and get to work at a reasonable time instead of silently weeping on a neighborhood street corner across from a chiropractic office that offers, among other things, "allergy elimination."### I felt light-hearted and filled with thanks.
Clearly, I am pms-ing.
Knitting project: Side-slip Cloche by Laura Irwin. I got 81 of 108 stitches picked-up and knitted onto the band. The Vestee for baby's second winter sweater is at home on the couch, probably under Max Cat. I just have three or four ends to weave in. I don't think I am going to block it because he's a baby, and it will have banana on it soon enough. I dropped a locking stitch marker and could not find it. The bus was crowded. That's ten cents I'll never see again.
Bus conversation: Woman sitting next to me said my knitting was "cool." She says she can't knit. She's a crocheter, and knitting is too slow for her. She also can't read on the bus or in a car because it makes her dizzy. She was nice.
(1) It was not really a Onesie (TM). Those are made by Gerber, and this was a Carters product.
* why I have to be the one to do this can only be because I am the woman, and see below.
** why the crap would someone do this? and see below
***or, the angry vitriol of a woman who knows she knows better, and everyone around her just does it wrong, and how do these people survive in the wild on their own?
#I have been thinking this a lot lately.
##in his jammies and my slip-on red shoes. He did not have to do this for me. It was really nice.
### i.e. "woo."