Just call her Stinky Pants

Haley is here!!!! Haley is here!!!!Baby Stinky Pants was born Wednesday evening at 11:03pm. Weight: 7lbs 12oz. 20 inches long.
Both mom and baby are doing great! Congrats to Kris and Christy on their new (stubborn, late, slow-to-arrive) daughter!!! Love you all!

"Baby Stinky Pants" was a nickname given to her by her own mother because of an unfortunate incident involving some pants that were stinky. And brown. Let's just say it was a nice introduction into parenthood for the parents. And quite funny to watch for The Cowboy and I. I won't post the pictures here. But I will post a wonderful shot of mommy feeding BSP. This is prior to the Pants becoming Stinky episode.

And one more just because I can and I like this shot because I think she looks Elfin.

Welcome Baby Stinky Pants!

In honor of her arrival, and because my friend H-Sheezy pointed out that I didn't put a picture of her son on my blog about cute kids, here are some more of my friend's cute kids.

This is Ellie Mae Clampit. Modeling the hat I made for her.


This is Baby Big Cheeks, AKA Sydney.

Having fun (a little too much fun, looks like) at the beach.

These are my lady babies. Momo, Didi and Ruff Ruff.

They have real names. I choose not to use them.

H-Sheezy's boy Gavin. Making sweet sweet love to his ice cream cone.

(Anyone else hear Forest Gump going "ICE CREAM! LIEUTENANT DAN, ICE CREAM!")

Cute Kid Number One. Cate.

The Cuteness Herself. (blurry pic, it's from my camera phone)

See? Don't my friends have the cutest kids?

(A disclaimer to my friends: if I haven't included your children on this blog, or er, your pet rats, it's because I don't have any recent pictures of them. Get off your lazy butts and send them to me and they will be featured in an upcoming blog. Good day to you.)

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

I have issues. Hair issues. Not right now. Right now, I feel like my hair looks fabulous, thanks to my wonderful and slightly nutty hairdresser Rina (Melissa, I love you girl, I do, but I don’t live in Michigan any more and I had to find someone else. I’m sorry. Oh, also, I don’t even think Melissa reads my blog, but I just had to throw that out there. OK. ).

So anyway as I was saying. I used to sometimes maybe have some tee-tiny minor hair issues. I believe I have traced it back to my childhood, and a very specific event that occured.

Oh yes, friends. That is exactly what you are looking at it and thinking it is. That is me, at the tender age of 1, in a wig. Uh huh. See, in my family, it was a really HEEEELARIOUS tradition to put my grandmother’s wig on all the babies and take pictures. Apparently they thought it would be funny. Later in life. You know. To show future boyfriends and stuff. "Hey look, here’s a picture of her in a wig. Ahahahahaha." What they didn’t realize was that this single incident planted in me, somewhere deep deep down inside, a disease that would not die for nearly 30 years. We call this disease: Bad Hair.

Here I am last night. Er, uh, I mean, at my second birthday party. Sorry, I thought it was last night because I’m shoveling cake in my mouth like it’s going out of style. Which is NOT something I did last night. Sorry for the confusion. That is my grandmother’s hand there about the snatch the plate away from me. Hold it, Granny! I ain't done yet. So here I am on my 2nd birthday. As you can see I’m wearing a bonnet. Seriously Mom? A freaking bonnet? I mean I know it was the 70’s and all, but a BONNET???? And in case you can’t tell from the picture, my bangs pretty much started in the back of my head. In fact, I think I was all bangs. There was no hair behind that bonnet. Just bangs.

Ok, maybe I lied. Maybe there was hair behind that bonnet. And maybe that hair was a baby mullet. And maybe I am ashamed of that. But at least I wasn’t sporting some Princess Leia bun-tails AUNT MARLIE. Yeah, I just called you out on my blog. How ya like me now?

Oh this is a gem. I actually think I look a little crazy in this picture. And I mean that in a good way. Like I hope my kid looks like that. Because I love the way I look in this picture. Mischevious. Sneaky. Sly. Watch out! But that hat isn’t much better than the bonnet. But at least it goes with the nightgown in a very Laura Ingalls Wilder kind of way.

A personal favorite of mine. Whoever got me up that morning couldn't be bothered to comb my hair. Look at the smirk on my face. I was a little wise cracker even at the age of 4. And I will tell you what. 26 years later and I still Enjoy Coke.

Why, I do believe we’ve come to the “Self Haircut” portion of my childhood photographs. Everyone has one of these. Every kid, at one point or another, gets a hold of the scissors and gives themselves a little trim. Have you ever noticed that like 90% of the time it happens RIGHT BEFORE picture taking time? It’s like we have a sixth sense about that as children. Also, I think my mom did the whole pony tail thing to detract attention from my ridiculously adult sized ears that I was sporting here at 5 years old.

June 1986. Toronto, Canada. Jelly shoes. Socks. Shorts that clearly ride up so high, that even as we pose for this picture I am trying to pull them out of my crotch. A Dorothy Hamill do. Let me just pause here and say that for the official record, I LOVED THIS OUTFIT. I thought it was the bomb diggity the way it all matched. Those shorts? I didn’t care that they were sateen and rode up every crack and crevice. Those shoes? No way was I going to get sweaty jelly foot. You know what I’m talking about. Sweaty Jelly Foot. It’s an official foot disorder. I wore mine with socks to prevent it from setting in.

(Do people still say bomb diggity? Am I way behind on this? Is there a more current phrase that I should be misusing? Someone please let me know.)

Are you thinking what I’m thinking? About me wearing a lot of shorts that rode up back in the day? Yes, those were shorts. I loved them. I wore them every chance I got. Seriously. Ask my friend Sarah. She will tell you. But let’s focus on the hair. I used to pray to God that I would wake up and be like DJ Tanner. I would live with Uncle Jesse and Joey, I would have a cute little baby sister who said such witty things as "You got it dude" and I would have the most magical mall hair ever. I was not given good mall hair. My hair is fine. There’s a lot of it, but it doesn’t hold a curl to save my life and it’s as straight as a pin. Do you see my sad, pathetic attempt at mall hair here? If you look closely, you can see it. That is all my hair would do, and I assure you I used plenty of White Rain to try and make it higher. The only blessing I can count is that I was born late enough that I only caught the very tail end of mall hair. By the time I was in high school, mall hair was out.

And this is what was in. I don't even know what to say about this except that I think even I realized at the time that my hair didn't look good. I can remember going to my hairdresser and asking for bangs and telling her in no uncertain terms that I only wanted "a few bangs". I ended up with this mess. Thems bangs started WAY back in my head. There was nothing "few" about them. They were huge. And thick. And this was durring my dye-my-hair-really-really-really-really-dark-brown phase. This backfired once and I ended up with black, nearly purple, hair. I don't have a picture of that. Not this time. Maybe some other time.

Ah Prom Hair. Everyone's had it. It's not such a big deal. Check out that dress, though. I loved it. I got it from Winkelman's. I think it was a size two. Pardon me while I go shoot myself.
Our last entry in this edition of Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow, comes to us from the year 2000. It was around this time I thought it would be a good idea to chop all my hair off and dye it bright red. I didn't realize then, as I do now, that I have a very large and rather unusually shaped head. Cutting all your hair off and dying it an unnatural color will emphasize that. You know what else happens when you cut all your hair off and dye it an unnatural color? It takes a really really REALLY long time to grow it back out. Painfully long. (PS, Hi Wonder. Why do we look like lesbians in this picture? Not that there's anything wrong with that. It's just that we're not. Lesbians. You know.)

I know that there are many, many more pictures out there of my Bad Hair Disease. Some highlights that I did not cover today: the blonde wig, the Sun-In summers and perm that followed, the Roller-Brush Incident of 95. You can be sure those pictures are staying under wraps.

This is not right.

I was at Michaels today on my lunch hour, when I heard some funky sort of music playing nearby. I decided to investigate. This is what I came upon.
NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It is JULY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (and just barely)
Seriously, what's next? Christmas decorations in September? Is this what this world has come to?

I am not happy.

Male Bonding

Ah, male bonding. A time honored tradition. Some do it over a football game and a few beers. Others enjoy getting together to play their favorite video or card games. Whatever the case may be, you can be sure that where there are males and bonding, there shall also be beer, ball scratching, and much swearing.

In Texas, y'all, we do thangs a bit differently. Down here, our boys like to partake of some good ol' fashioned male bonding over..........

Pickle Making.

That's right. The Cowboy and his BFF Johnny got together last night to make pickles.
I tried not to think too much about the completely obvious and slightly disturbing significance of the phalic shaped vegetable that they had chosen to work with, and just enjoy the fact that there were 2 males in the kitchen-a-cookin' (and a-drinking, but what did you expect?).

There will be no tutorial today about pickle making. I didn't help. I sat on my happy ass and played Rock Band (solo tour, thank you very much) and then read and went to bed. Oh, and I tried to take some pictures of the process, but these boys were not having it. They were not interested in being photographed and blogged about. Well tough noogies. Here is The Cowboy, being very uncooperative. As usual. Also, he needs a hair cut.

A more immature person might take this opportunity to make some sophmoric jokes regarding men and pickles, and whathaveyou. I am not such a person. But I will show you some pictures of our mutant cucumbers, and you can perhaps form some of these jokes in your own mind. Feel free to leave them in my comments, if you'd like. Because while I may not make the jokes, that doesn't mean I can't enjoy them.

Our stash of cukes. Last year we had a ton of great cucumbers, but for some reason this year we got crap.

On the left: Gigan-cumber. On the right, a normal cuke.
(suppressing jokes, suppressing jokes, suppressing jokes)

Look! The Jam Helpers were back and eager to pose for a picture and help with the pickle making.

Limes? No. Our mutant cukes.

The boys had a very productive evening, and the entire house now smells like vinegar. Mmmm. Scentful.

Getting to know you, Part 1

People of America, I am alive. I have been sick. Under the weather. Ill. Ailing. I am on the mend. Send kleenex. This is a blog I had prepared last week, and it sort of took a different turn in my mind, but I couldn't bring it to fruition because our scanner quit working, and we can't figure out why. I am disheartened by this, because that blog had fabulosity written all over it, but I have not given up finding a way to bring it to you, so in the meanwhile, I give you this. Sorry.

This is me.

I'm an idiot.

Real Name: Catherine

Nicknames: Caps, The Chip, Cappydoodles

Age: 30 (biologically anyway)

Hobbies: knitting, blogging, blogging about knitting, listening to Neil Diamond, cooking things in my crock pot, laundry (this isn’t really an interest of mine, but I do it so darn much it sure seems like a hobby), taking naps, making lists, drinking red wine, wearing socks. I guess wearing socks isn't really a hobby, is it? Knitting socks is a hobby. But wearing them? Not so much. So technically I should move the wearing socks bit to the 'likes' catergory below. But I'm not going to. Nobody's the boss of me.

Likes: avocado, swiss cake rolls, cold beer, pineapple, old French music, rocks, yarn, the smell of old books, Vera Bradley bags, show tunes, Bill Murray, flip flops, John Denver songs, goat cheese, rain, views that take your breath away, the smell of lake water and gasoline, the song "Roll me Away" from Bob Seger (it's on my mp3 player right now, ok? but I still love it), playing board games, ice cold Coca-Cola from a can, popsicles, dancing like the white girl I am.

Dislikes: mustard, washing dishes, being sweaty, painting my toe nails, Brendan Fraser, hairy backs, having my feet touched, people who say 'supposably', people who misuse your/you're or there/they're/their, having to blow dry my hair, changing batteries.

What my friends are saying:
I sent an email to friends and family asking for "One Word" to describe me. Here are some of the responses:

gifted, funny, smartass, supercalifragilisticexpealidocious, eclectic, witty, nutty, catawampus, clever

My overachiever friend H-Dizzle gave me the entire following list all by herself. No one will ever accuse me of being an overachiever, and apparently H-Diz can't follow directions. I asked for ONE word.

Wiity (haha that was supposed to be witty, but I kinda like wiity, like the wii, or like Whitey) Poet

Sassitude (that is an HS original right there)

Imaginative

Crackerjack

Kneat (get it, like knit and neat combined)

Gnice (gnomism)
Snappy (in a good way)

Jokey

quick

Thank you H-Dizzle. And thank you to everyone else who participated: Wonder, Mixie, Reenie, Bev, Aunt Marlie, The J, Dawn, Marlene, Marce, Charlene and Tiff.

And if you happen to be a certain person who replied back with the word "Moist", just to get me, because you know how I hate that word, then I am not thanking you. You know who you are. But I won't name names, I will just say that this person is maybe the most pregnant person I know currently. But see how I didn't give a name.

Also, a late addition comes from my own mother, the Nuggler, who couldn't choose just one word, and so she chose three and combined them into a New! Super! word:

Bicratty.
Bitchy, crafty and witty.

Er. Thanks, mom.

I think.

Sooooooooooooo hot. Want to touch the hiney.

Oh Mommydaddy. Have mercy, as Uncle Jesse would say. I guess I'm in an 80's TV mode. Thinking about this fine specimen will do that to ya.

Jason, call me.

It's just another boring Monday

I wish it were Sunday so that I'd have a whole nother day to catch up on stuff. Ever notice how people say nother like it's a word? A whole nother. Instead of a whole other. Nother ain't a word kids. Neither is ain't. Neither nother. Either other. Let's call the whole thing off.

We had a great weekend! It was The Cowboy's birthday on Friday, and we celebrated by both taking the day off. I made him a big breakfast of fresh blueberry panclocks (what we call pancakes at our house...it's from a movie, who can name it?), and bacon. Then we went and had an even bigger lunch with his parents at Fish Daddy's. The Cowboy is a big fan of this place, but the rest of us hadn't been before and I was sure glad to see that they had other things on their menu besides fish. And daddies. I had the ribs. They were superb.

After all the eating, we took a supposed 45 minute tour, that lasted twice as long, of a local guitar making factory, Collings Guitars, in South Austin. But I wasn't counting or anything. It was actually way more interesting than I expected, and The Cowboy was way in his element and very excited. So that was cool. I'm glad he got to do something fun like that for his birthday.

Then I got to have a little fun of my own, and went to Mystery Knit Nite at the LYS. It was a lot of fun!! I was a little nervous, since it was my first event at the store, and I didn't know anyone, but there were several other newbies there, and knitters are so doggone friendly, that I felt comfortable right away. And that wine I had helped too. Anyway, we got a brown paper bag (a la 4th grade lunch) and inside it was a pattern and some yarn, but the pattern didn't say what it was, so we just started knitting! Ooooh, the suspense. Oooooh, the mystery. What would it be??

It's a soap satchel! Made with DK weight yarn, 100% cotton. They knit up so quick and cute, and the owner of the store gave us several patterns for them, so I can make a bunch more. I know what SOMEONE is getting for Christmas. Wink wink. Yeah, I mean you. Which reminds me, I've already started my Christmas knitting. I figure I better get a good head start. So I might not have very many knitting pictures to post soon, since I don't want people to see their gifts.

Saturday we went to San Antonio with our friends Johnny & Tiff, and Jason & Belinda. We took the scenic route, on purpose, and I slept a good portion of the drive because of the car sickness. I can't help it, y'all. But San Antonio was a lot of fun as you can see from yesterday's blog. Here is The Cowboy and I celebrating his birthday with those punch bowl sized margaritas that tasted like lemonade and probably had about the same amount of liquor.

In baby news.....I give you my very pregnant and extremely uncomfortable friend Christy.

On behalf of her and her unborn child....please pray for this woman. She needs to have this baby ASAP. She is now past her due date and getting more ornery by the minute. No, I'm joking. She's actually being very good natured about this whole thing, but I'm not sure her husband would say the same thing. I don't live with her. But seriously, she's uncomfortable, as would you be if you were 9 months and counting pregnant and it was 102 degrees every day. And her ankles, oh those poor chubbies. And she's got a rash. She's just a mess. I hope that baby comes this week. Because my friends have the cutest babies (and I know hers will be no exception). Case and point.

Cate and Ellsworth (Ellie)

Sydney sporting a baby mohawk. I mean, my God.

And finally, it was a big day for Moose at our house yesterday. Blain received a parcel (I'm going to start throwing British phrases in at random, it's fun. Parcel is a good one, and so is petrol and trousers). Anyway, he got a parcel and Moose got the box. That cat loves to sit on stuff.

Hope your week is as good as Moose's promises to be!!