I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Christmas ain't for Mothers. Least not for the most part.

Now that I'm a few days out of the festive frenzy, I have a better attitude about the whole thing. But what really set me to proper perspective was something that happened on Christmas night, while we were en route to my sister's house, for the third and final family celebration of the day.

It was an accident. On the beltway. And it looked bad. Like, clutch your heart and say a prayer bad. As we were stopped at the light at the intersection where it happened, a mini-van and SUV pulled up on the shoulder of the road, directly to the right of me. Out of these vehicles sprang two middle-aged, paunchy guys, in baseball caps.

As I watched the two men sprint past the flares and toward the flashing lights and wreckage, I knew, in my mother's heart, these guys were fathers. Of teenagers. And for the remainder of the 10 minute ride to my sisters, I cried a bit. And prayed. For them. And then for my family. And finally, for me. For a cure for my whiney, soured, holiday heart.

Throughout the pandemonium that is typically my family's Christmas party (book worthy material, really) the image of those running dads was never far from my heart. Later, we learned that the accident happened when a 30 year old woman ran a red-light, and was broad-sided by a van, driven by a 16 year-old boy. The woman was hospitalized and is going to be okay. The teens sustained no injuries. At least not physically.

So, no post-holiday whiny, complainy post for me.

But there's no harm in making a couple observations. Right?

Holiday BM
Yeah, I'm talking about BM as in Movement. Big Movement of gifts. ::Ew! What did you think I was talking about?:: I've decided that Christmas is really all about moving stuff, as follows:

1. You go to mall and buy bags of stuff. And stuff.
2. From the mall, the stuff is moved to your car, then moved home.
3. From the car, the stuff is moved to several hiding spots in the house, where it remains until...
4. Yes, you guessed it, it's moved again. To the wrapping center.
5. Then, to under the tree.
6. Christmas morning, you move the stuff from under the tree, to the respective recipients, who then leave the stuff in wild piles all over the living room.
7. Until someone (who? I wonder?) moves it all back under the tree.

Meanwhile, across town, extended family members are having their own BM, as they move things from under their tree, to their car, and then across town. Toward you.

From their car, their stuff is moved into your house. And the ritual of the Christmas morning BM is repeated.

After the guests leave with their stuff, you prepare to move more stuff to a party at a different location, later in the day. This is like the ultimate BM. Lots of stuff, plus food, moved into the car, where it will be moved across town, and from the car, into a sister's house. Once inside, the stuff is moved toward the respective recipients.

While you move that stuff away from you, more stuff is moving towards you and your immediate family members. At the end of the party, all that new stuff will then be moved to the car, and across town, and from the car to the house, to be placed in wild piles, all about.

The following morning, upon finding more piles of moved stuff, needing to be moved, again, a person might be moved to tears, or drink, or Judaism. Or all of the above. (Judaism allows drinking, right?).

Call Me Natasha, Darlingk
So, Miss Darlingk, where did you get that hat?



...Oh, just a little something I threw together, while trying to keep my religion, after the Big Movement. I think, Norma, this might be the cure for the pea brained blues. At least, as far as the external issues are concerned.

The pattern is Feeling Fuzzy from the yarn girls guide to simple knits. The fuzzy yarn is Gedrifa's Micro Chic (discontinued, I believe.) and the top is Kool Wool, from Lion Brand, picked up for a song and a tooter from a local close-out bin. I added two inches to the foldup brim, to give a fuller look around the pea brain's face.

I came up with this idea after recalling the most flattering hat I ever owned, which was back in the 80's, when those Russion, fake fur/knit capped things were all the rage.

At this time, I have nothing on the needles and am contemplating my life ahead (another stint at the cottage, and mental preparation to return to work.)

Well, this post is much longer than I planned on making it. Already. So I'm cutting you off.

Coming attractions: A closer look at the BM pile. (i.e. Sometimes Christmas is for mothers.)

::A special shout-out to whomever (whoever?) nominated me for a Knit Blog award. I was, am, stunned and honored and stunned some more. Totally. Just that someone even considered this place worthy of being placed on that list of pretty big hitters is, well, really, really cool. Thank you.::

Labels: Deep Shit, Knit Done, Now You're Whining