caerula's Diaryland Diary

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imperfect quilters of the world unite

I nearly wet myself at work this morning reading about the quilting adventures of Weetabix. (I nearly said it had me in stitches, ha ha, but that would have been a little obvious). Anyone who doubts that quilt shop women really are Nazis, I'm here to assure you it's true. I've tried taking several quilting classes, and have never completed one. The most recent one, I went to one class and never went back (I believe I wrote about it here). And anyone who doesn't belive that a rotary cutter is a Wheel of Death, well, it is, so there. I finally found a pressure-sensitive one, where the blade only pops out when you press down. So I don't have to remember to close it every time, which is good, but I also must remember to ONLY press down on my cutting mat. Not, for example, on my leg.

And, see, you thought quilters were boring old Amish ladies. We actually have the potential to kill you!

Well, to give you a really painful cut, anyway.

We got our Christmas tree last night, after a trip to the library so YMB could get books about wolves for a class project. The thing cost 50 bucks! Last year we went to this little Mom-n-Pop nursery and got a gorgeous Fraser fir for like $30, but it's no longer there, so we went to the Giant Evil Nursery that is no doubt responsible for the demise of the little one. They had a decent selection, but Fraser firs are of course the most expensive, because they're the best tree. See, they don't have sharp pointy Needles of Doom, and they don't shed so much, and they stay fresh longer. All desirable things. So we caved, and did get a gorgeous tree, nice and fat, and tall enough to go almost to the peak of the ceiling in the living room.

Of course Blue's such an anal cleaner person (ooh, that came out wrong) that we had to wrap the tree in a blanket to carry it into the house, so it wouldn't lose needles all over the carpet. Like it's not going to lose plenty in the next month, and they won't get tracked all over the house. Oh well. This was one of those small things that wasn't worth fussing about, and since he does the vacuuming I could hardly complain.

After YMB went to bed we did the candy-in-the-shoes thing for Saint Nicholas Day, which we've never done before but apparently he always did it at his grandparents, and his mom (D#3) was actually considerate enough to call and explain the tradition, and ask us if we would mind doing it, since apparently YMB had mentioned to her last weekend that he didn't know if Saint Nicholas would find him at our house. Since it's kind of a nifty thing, we had no problem with it. I think YMB is right at that age where he's hedging his bets. He's not positive that Santa Claus, et. al., really exist, but just in case they do he's probably better off believing.

Speaking of believing, I think we're going to start going back to church. This is the weighty philosophical subject I mentioned yesterday. But that'a a complete other entry in and of itself, which may be coming up later.

And ooh, I almost forgot the fun google hit of the day: "won't wear underwear."

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