Boy, I'm glad it's the weekend.
I've been spending a lot of time hanging out on the floor with Jamie, keeping him company as he rolls from his back to his stomach and then gets irritated because he can't crawl. It's entertaining enough, but it does tend to give a person a rather small worldview. We intersperse it with the singing of silly songs and the reading of books, but it's still a lot of rolling and shrieking. Also, he drools a lot. I thought my friends with kids were crazy for giving me bales of bibs, but they were not. Here he is, rolling, drooling and wearing a bib.
It was a rough week for Angus. He kicked over my coffee Thursday morning and there wasn't enough left for me to have another cup. Then the Fool got to work to discover that Angus had, uh, soiled his shirt, necessitating an emergency trip to Old Navy, lest he get a reputation as "that guy who smells like cat pee."
Finally, I unfairly blamed Angus for the disappearance of the blue wool hat I knit for Jamie. The cat had a bad track record for the week already and has some proclivities regarding wool and what he likes to do with it (let's just say if he were a teenaged boy, he'd be blind by now), but it was us that put the hat under some clothes and therefore out of plain sight.
So, sorry, Angus.
Spoot has not been an angel, either. She spent this morning collecting interesting items from the bowl of compost and dragging them out for closer examination.
Yet, the knitting continues. I've been making a woolen block for Jamie, with plans to make more. I adapted the pattern somewhat for minimal seaming, and I've been replacing each panel with knit-purl combinations that entertain me, rather than the ones the original author used. I need a better stitch dictionary. And a sock, and, well, let's just call this last thing, "Baa, baa, baa, I am a sheep."
But a sheep that's one up on the Christmas knitting.