I have decided that I would like to have a title, as just plain Mir seems to boring and, well, SHORT for someone as verbose as myself. And Mir, Lady Who Looks All Over The Entire House For Your Damn Slippers Even After She Said She Wouldn’t Because It’s Your Own Careless Fault That They’re Lost And Then Delivers A Lecture On Taking Better Care Of Your Belongings And Maybe Throws In A Reference To Starving Children In Darfur Who Would Love To Have A Nice Pair Of Slippers seems just a mite overlong.
(It’s Pajama Day at school today. That’s a persuasive argument for procreation, right there: There is nothing quite like watching your kids walk out the door in pajamas, robes, and backpacks. It’s better than cable television.)
So I’m going to try out a few other things. Right now I’m trying to decide between Mir, First Place Loser and Mir, Backseat Knitter.
Okay, perhaps the first one would wear thin after not too long. (Remember the Bloggers Choice Awards? Those awards where the voting went on for, like, six years? Woulda Coulda Shoulda won second place for Best Parenting Blog. Thank you for your votes. And your patronage. And I am totally jumping up and down on a couch right this very second, telling Oprah that I LOVE THESE READERS! Honest.)
I’m kind of digging the whole backseat knitter thing, though. Because, as it turns out? I am EXCELLENT at that.
Last night I was trying to hustle the kids through dinner because people were coming over, but I made the tactical error of serving edamame with the meal. Now, the good news is that both kids adore edamame, and as foods go, you’d be hard pressed to find something healthier (I mean, if you’re willing to overlook the handful of kosher salt I threw in the bowl) that requires so little prep. It’s my kind of superfood—you throw it in some boiling water, drain, and serve; presto, instant protein. The bad news is that when small children eat edamame out of the pods, you end up with beans in hair, beans skidding across the table, beans falling unseen to the floor amidst anguished cries of “MY MAH-MAYS!”
It’s not the thing to serve when you’re sort of in a rush, is my point.
Nevertheless, eventually we finished dinner and I got the kids shuffled off to bed, and then it was time for my guests to arrive.
I checked my email. I dug around in my closet for something. I put dishes in the sink. I checked the clock.
I realized quite a lot of time had passed, and maybe no one was coming.
I tried not to entertain thoughts of everyone standing me up.
I had just about resolved myself to this unfortunate turn of events when Otto took some recycling out to the garage and found some knitters! Woohoo!
We all sat around the living room and consumed the four different kinds of chocolate assembled before us and had a little wine and some women learned to knit. I offered enthusiastic encouragement, which was VERY HELPFUL.
“Way to go! You’re doing great! You’re totally… doing… something… with that yarn!”
Actually, I really do turn out to be something of a backseat knitter, because the truth of the matter is that I did learn how to knit, once, a loooooong time ago. And I crocheted for years and years, too. So there’s some basic stuff I know about, and I found myself offering little tips to the new learners and wondering if the reason that no one smacked me upside the head was because they were in my house, or because everyone was in a state of chocolate-induced euphoria.
Inbetween knitting (or not knitting, as the case may be) and snacking we discussed many deep and philosophical topics, and I learned that my new friends are really going to enrich my knowledge base in important ways. For example, did you know that there’s a Penis Museum in Iceland? NEITHER DID I. And while I probably could’ve gone my entire life without reading this sentence:
Now, thanks to The Icelandic Phallological Museum, it is finally possible for individuals to undertake serious study into the field of phallology in an organized, scientific fashion.
… it would’ve been a shallow, empty existence indeed. Seriously, take a moment to bask in it. Don’t you feel changed forever? I mean, in a way that makes you want to go shower immediately? That’s right.
I also found out that they’re going to be opening an H&M in Atlanta in January. These women are CHOCK FULL of important information.
As for me, my contributions (aside from random encouragement and chocolate muffin bites) were not nearly so grand. I was able to report that while I tried my hardest to give the local Salvation Army thrift store a fair chance, the fact that someone had peed all over the floor in one of the fitting rooms really made it impossible for me to return. And also that the other night I sat in my car in the driveway (finishing up a phone call) when I saw one of the neighbor’s cats saunter into our open garage… except that it wasn’t a cat, it was THE WORLD’S MOST GIGANTIC POSSUM. And I’d sat there in my car, on the phone, telling my friend on the other end of the line that if the possum hadn’t exited by the time we were done talking that I would need to CALL OTTO INSIDE THE HOUSE and tell him to come rescue me, because THAT OVERGROWN RAT was currently hanging out under the Mustang and I was afraid to go in.
A good time was had by all. Or, you know, just by me, and I am too oblivious to have noticed that everyone else was miserable.
I plan to wear the badge of Backseat Knitter proudly, and attend the next knitting gathering ready to be just as useless, again. Play to your strengths, I always say.