Relocation + Renovation

It's official. With Wordpress as my high-level assistant, I've moved to my own domain:

FemiKnitMafia.com

I'm closing the comments here, so please swing by the new house and say hello. With 6 weeks of nearly no blogging, I have lots to update. Fun times.

Moving...

I'm moving the blog to Wordpress. Why, you ask? I'm annoyed with the limited design options in Blogger, and I've heard that the blog has ridiculously huge type when opened in Explorer. But I don't have enough design knowledge to manually fix these things, and that lack of design knowledge keeps me from moving to my own domain. Alas, Wordpress is the next best option.

I sincerely hope that you'll come along for ride. When I started the blog, I didn't really care about readers. It was purely brain-dump. But now that I have a couple peeps, I can't imagine doing this without y'all.

Stay tuned for the new link...

Forged in the Heat of Battle

I feel like such a baby for lamenting my tasks during the surro-c-section recovery period, because that's the least of my problems right now. It's like the universe gave me a big ol' smack in the head for being a whiner. And now I shall whine again. Skip directly to the photos if you're interested in the knitting.

- Teaching two classes is killer. The online class, in particular, is killing me.
- Wifey has been in and out of the hospital 3 times with post-partum preeclempsia.
- MafiaMom just got out of major surgery, and I'm trying to find a way to visit/care for her.
- The perfect next job popped up and I applied. Now I'm in the process of interviewing (a.k.a. shopping for professional drag, de-politicizing my resume, and filing my nails).

I don't have time to pay bills, clean the house, return phone calls, or snuggle with my Little Man. Literally, I work all day, grade papers on the train, read Little Man a couple stories before he goes to bed, and sit in front of the computer until I fall asleep (sometimes with it on my lap). Rinse and repeat. Weekends, you ask? That's when I clean the house a little, spend time with Little Man, and then slog through hours of writing PowerPoints and answering emails and grading papers. Wifey suggested that perhaps I shouldn't teach two classes again -- "pshaw, as if! after all this work I've put into it? the next one should be a walk in the park." This is clearly a sign of madness.

Jenny Hat is done, but might need a rip. If I don't move at all, it fits well.


If I move, I become a dick head.



The Monkey socks are nearly done





and I love the Socks that Rock (color: Watermelon Tourmaline, gifted by the ever-incredible Frickmeister), but the socks are a little tight and the color is frickin' awesome, but not entirely Mafia-esk, so I'm thinking about adding to Frick's Pay It Forward sensibility and giving them away. No official word on that yet, but I'm thinking about it.

I'm seriously neglecting my Arwen; I'd love to cast on some green socks with two beautiful gifted-with-love skeins waiting in the stash; and I signed up to participate in a quilt block for charity project, which thankfully starts in May.

Damnit, I just want an entire day alone in a shiny clean house with nothing to do but listen to music and knit. Is that too much to ask?
April can't arrive fast enough.
April.
April.
April.
April.

Gross

In total violation of my bloggie break and the spirit of Favorite Things Monday, I'm writing today to bitch/vent/fume. Expect cursing. Consider yourself warned.

What the fuck is this?

-originally spotted at the CRAFT blog

Why is an Asian woman dressed like a little girl?
Why is she pulling up her skirt for the camera?
Why is she dressed like a little girl and pulling up her skirt?
Why is she looking in the other direction? Is she being coy? Or is she uncomfortable?
What's with the sock monkey? Is it simply to further enhance the little girl imagery?
What is she planning to do with her sock monkey? Hump it?
What's with the corn field? Is she rushing off to the corn field to have an illicit affair with a sock monkey? Is this a solo excursion (i.e. she's in control of pre-pubescent sexuality?) Or was she brought to the corn field by someone who needed a private place to take pictures of this hyper-sexualized child-like stance?

Why are we, in the craft world, accepting this shit?

Would you stand in the middle of a corn field, dressed like a little girl and pull up your skirt while holding a sock monkey?

Yeah, I didn't think so.

It would feel really really fucked up, wouldn't it?

This photo could be worse, I suppose, if she had pony tails and a delicate floral print.

Still -- this photo is taking Cute-itis, which is nearly always associated with Japanese crafting culture, to a whole new level. It's cute + sexist + cultural misappropriation + exoticizing + sexualizing childhood, all wrapped up in a funky mod package with an objectification bow.

Ever since I entered the cyber crafty world, I've been uncomfortable with the obsession with "cute." Stuffies abound. I cringe when I see grown women across the craftosphere obsessing about all things "cute" but I tell myself "it's not my cup of tea" and try not to be judgmental of other makers. Stuffed cats and dogs and dolls = yuck; a stuffed praying mantis = irony = cool. In other words, No Tea Cozies Without Irony.

However, this cover of N.E.E.T. Magazine is really gross. And I'm pissed. For better or worse (worse, I'd argue), crafting is primarily a female pursuit. Craft blogs are primarily written by women. Women are the target audience for magazines like Craft and N.E.E.T. In fact, N.E.E.T. is part of Bust's Girl Wide Web.

With an attitude that is fierce, funny and proud to be female, BUST provides an uncensored view on the female experience. BUST tells the truth about women's lives and presents a female perspective on pop culture. BUSTing stereotypes about women since 1993.

source: About BUST

We're the target audience for N.E.E.T. -- smart, creative, unique, diverse, savvy women. This imagery doesn't speak to me, and if you agree, join me in correcting the misconceptions of the folks at N.E.E.T. by emailing them at:

thefashionmagazine AT gmail DOT com

No Baby Daddy & Bloggie Break

Thank you SO much for all the wonderful Surro-Wifey and Daddies love.

It was nothing short of magical to participate in this surrogacy. All the cranky-Wifey moments were completely erased as I watched the Dads bond with their new baby girl. Unbelievable. Truly incredible.

That said, the best story about the unique experience of a lesbian couple doing a surrogacy for two gay dads in Massachusetts (got all that?) is that I was required to sign an affadavit of non-paternity. Yes. Really. Because B-Dad is the bio-Dad, and despite the fact that they used an egg donor, Wifey is still considered the "mother" until non-bio S-Dad completes his co-parent adoption. Have I lost you yet? The birth certificate administrator at the hospital was twisted into a pretzel trying to force the computer to accept her data entry. Apparently a male husband is the presumed father of a baby born to his female wife while they're married. Sure. Fair enough. But ... if he's not the baby daddy, he fills out an affidavit stating that yes, they're married, and no, he's not the father. Because Wifey is legally married in Massachusetts, the computer lists her as such. So when the birth certificiate lady tried to enter B-Dad and Wifey as "father" and "mother," the computer spit it back, requiring that I, as Wifey's spouse, sign off my paternity rights. Enter the Mafia, an Affadavit of Non-Paternity, a Bic pen, and loud peals of laughter. This was certainly the most ridiculous thing I have ever signed. Let it be known: I am not now, nor will I ever be H-Baby's Daddy. Signed: The Mafia, with love.


With Wifey recovering from the c-section (read: no housework, driving, child care, or lifting anything over 10 pounds for two weeks, and no work for an additional 4 weeks) and with the Mafia teaching TWO classes at a local university (in addition to my full-time gig at MIT), it's time for a big bloggie break. At worst, it'll be a 6 week break, but realistically, I won't last that long. I'll miss everyone. Be back soon. Smooch!

Two Healthy Girls!

More details when I've had time to sleep. In the meantime, the baby's on the outside, weighing in a 9lbs. 4oz. Wifey is happy and healthy, despite 14 hours of vbac labor and then a c-section. See aforementioned size of baby, note that most of the 9lbs resides in the baby's noggin, and remind baby that a sideways & twisted exit is ill-advised. Baby's off-center cone noggin with deep circular dent near the soft spot tells the whole story. Most importantly:

Baby is healthy, beautiful and calm.
Daddies are absolutely thrilled.

Another successful surrogacy that will never make headlines.

If Little Man ruled the world

Little Man: Mama, you go to the doctor and push the baby out?
Wifey: Yeah, I'd love to.
Little Man: And after that, you get a sticker? Would you like Thomas? ..... Or Sesame Street? ..... Or ABCs? You like Sesame Street sticker, right Mama? But only after nap, Mama. Push the baby out after you nap and then you get a sticker, ok? You hear me?

- in the kitchen of Ms. 1890, 2/13/07, 6:30pm

Favorite Things Monday: "Well You Can Try ..."

This tiny rocking chair came from PapaTime (Wifey's Dad), a lover of antiques and family history. As the legend goes, PapaTime's parents bought a rambling old farmhouse on a stretch of land in the country near Watertown, NY. Another structure near the main house, previously used as an antique store, became the "Bunk House" where PapaTime and his brothers (the Bro's) slept. The former owners left several antiques in the attic of the Bunk House, most of which were incorporated into family life. This little chair was one of the Bunk House finds, and throughout the years has comforted most of the small children in the family. Shortly after Little Man was born, PapaTime brought the chair to our home, thrilled to pass along a family treasure.

The little quilt was a wedding gift from Wifey's best friend's Mom, who was also Wifey's Mom's best friend. Make sense? At first, I was unsure where to put a small quilt. For a couple years, it hung on the wall. But when the chair came home, the quilt found the perfect location. The two pieces together, despite getting little use, are a central part of our living room decor.

This weekend, in the midst of crazy crafting, Little Man and I did some excellent snuggling on the couch, while Wifey perched on the matching chair. When Little Man decided that he was finished snuggling and turned the couch into a trampoline, I vacated. With no place to go, I tried to convince Little Man to stop jumping. Instead, he offered the rocking chair. When I explained that my bum was too big for his rocking chair, he said, "well you can try ..."

"Well you can try" and all its various iterations has become something of a Mafia Family mantra lately. Little Man started it, and now Wifey and I catch ourselves saying it too. There's a very specific Little Man intonation which is challenging to mimic. But mimic we do.

For the most part, "well you can try" is charming, loving and supportive, all characteristics that I attempt to nurture in my boy. But occassionally, as in the case of the big ass vs. small rocking chair situation, he's actually trying to manipulate the situation. He's taking a cute little family mantra and trying to turn it around on me, the wee beastie. In full knowledge of this, I just walked into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. I was halfway there when he jumped from the couch and ran after me, completely forgetting about his trampo-couch and the attempts to lure me away from it with the carrot of a too-small chair.

Converts

Due to a massive re-organization of my craft room, I've actually been working again, with missionary zeal. So far I've scored two converts -- my fantastic teenaged SIL, who was helping cut green flannel with white stars for some PJ pants for me. Next lesson -- PJ pants for herself.



Convert #2: Little Man, who actually pinned pieces and he helped with the sewing!





Here's the finished project.



We used stashed cotton flannel from Hancock Fabrics with Sesame Street characters on tropical islands, and Simplicity 5874, a kids pajama pattern with several options. I intended to make only pants, but he insisted that we make a matching shirt, the little slave driver.



For the record, I used the size 4 pattern for the top, size 3 for the bottoms and both pieces came out really wide. When I use this pattern again, I'll adjust the pattern even more.

My that's a big glass of wine you've got there

clos du bois cab-sauv, powerpt, texts, 92.5fm the river

For some silly reason, I've avoided difficult topics on the blog lately. I don't know why. Perhaps I'm playing the ole 'if I ignore it, it doesn't bother me' game? Strange, 'cuz that's not my typical M.O. That said, as of this moment, I'm cuttin' it out. Feel free to click away now.

#1: One of my dearest dearest dearest people is in the hospital. I'm devestated. Could I have done something to prevent it? Did I do enough? Is it partly my fault? Is she OK? Will she be OK when she comes home? What can I do?

#2: I'm losing a dear friend, and I feel like I have very little control over it. I'm mad. She's mad. But that's easy enough to manage. The problem is our wives -- they're being effing ridiculous.

#3: I start teaching again very soon, in addition to my regular full-time gig. I'm teaching two classes this semester: one in the classroom, one online. Same class, very different venues. The problem is -- last year, when I was asked to teach this class (my first ever) exactly one week before the semester started, I threw everything together, showed up, did my best, and considered that an accomplishment. Surprisingly, I loved teaching, and according to the evaluations, my students loved me. Who knew? But this year, I've had plenty of time to prepare and I've done nada. So here I am, ten days before classes start, freaking out in front of PowerPoint, trying to write everything out. Have I ever mentioned that I hate writing? Ok, I hate professional writing. Talking in front of people? I can do that. But writing it all out for the online class? I'm terrified. So I've pledged to try "prof-casting" tomorrow to see if that's a reasonable option. Talk it out, and lay the audio over a scant outline in PowerPoint. Scant outline? I should be able to do that. I think. The whole situation has my nerves 100% on edge, and even on the best day, those neural-puppies are extra wired. Panic City 90210.

In the midst of all this, I've started biting my nails again. I hate that. It's an ugly habit. Not to mention, there are several other odd & detrimental coping mechanisms that have cropped up. Argh!

But I'll get through this time, just like all the others. Note to self: this is a cake-walk in comparison to times past. As MafiaMom and MafiaGram would say: this too shall pass. In the meantime, I'd better get back to PowerPoint and my big ass glass of wine. Slainte!

Cold Ear Frog

Alas, I was just rounding the corner



and realized that the Jenny Hat needs a good frogging. I enjoy a nice skull cap, but Jenny is simply too small. See my poor exposed ear?



In case you're wondering, I'm too lazy to schlep my camera around, and my blogtographer/work-wife took a 1/2 day, so I'm left to play the boss-avoiding/quick pic/blurry Photo Booth game. Fun times.

-wifey update: no baby and no allegations of spousal abuse. all is well.

Mafia Week '07: Winners Knit

CONTEST NEWS

The correct answer to the Mafia Week '07: Game #1 is -- the birthmark above my right knee is shaped like a HEART.



When I was a child, my Gramma said I was kissed by an angel. So sweet. In later years, I imagined being kissed by this angel.

Because nobody guessed the correct shape (and what's with all the land mass guesses?), I used the random number generator to decide the winner.

And the winner is:

Kathy!

Congratulations!! I'll send the Knitting Rules book out tomorrow. Enjoy!

KNITTING NEWS

I spent a week on the Monkey socks in the Frickmeister STR and got to the heel.



I love the yarn, and although I had several moments of doubt during repeat #2, I love the colors.

Then a cold spell hit Boston, and I realized that commuting in Massachusetts is bitter. So I put the Monkeys down in favor of a much-needed Jenny hat in leftover Jo Sharp Silkroad Aran in Jewel. As of today, it's about 2/3 done.



I'm hoping to have enough JS yarn for a pair of much-needed Massachusetts commuter mittens.

Last weekend, I did two lousy rows on the Arwen sweater. I'm the worst KAL co-host in the world. And at this rate, it'll be 90 degrees outside before I finish it.

front

Oh, and did I mention the mistake I made on the back of the Arwen cable? For some reason, it doesn't appear on the front. Strange. I'm still trying to decide if I should rip it out, which might explain the languishing. Any thoughts?

back

PERSONAL NEWS

Wifey is ready to pull a small baby girl from her belly, but has been advised by her doctor that this isn't a great idea. So she's waiting. And god love her, she hasn't killed me yet. So all is well. In fact, I believe she's walking the mall right now, trying to get that baby to 'engage'.

Mafia Week '07: Game #1

To celebrate my 2nd Blogiversary, I couldn't decide on one activity, so I opted for a few. How many? I don't know. I have lots of ideas, but we'll see what the week brings.

speaking of my week: there's no surro-baby yet + Little Man has conjuctivitis + our dear friend/doula is at the hospital with her youngest, who has either RSV or pneumonia, so please go send her lots of love.

Alright -- back to the celebrating. Beth's "Mafia Week" idea rocks, so I adopted it. Sharon says that only 7% of bloggers make it to the first year, so I'm feeling kinda special. That can only mean one thing -- a contest!

For the one knitter in the universe who doesn't own a copy of Knitting Rules, I'm giving one away. But you have to answer the following question:

What is the birthmark just above my right knee shaped like?

The first correct response in the comments gets a copy of Knitting Rules. If you'd like to guess, but already own the book, just say so. If you're right, you get the sense of moral superiority from winning, but the next correct answer gets the book. Make sense?


I'll take guesses until Thursday at 12noon and will announce the winner shortly thereafter. Good luck!

Favorite Things Monday: Pretty Boys

I had plans for Favorite Things Monday, but after my train ride this morning, those plans were tossed aside. You see, at stop #2 the most beautiful boy tossed his Louis Vuitton bag onto the middle seat, swung his oversized sunglasses up to the top of his head, and sat down in the aisle seat. Actually, he perched, because someone this beautiful does not simply sit.

Every time I had the opportunity, I stole a glance to grab another detail. Hair? Skin? Eyes? Clothes? Shoes? Bag? Louis Vuitton attache. Sunglasses? Christian Dior. What is he reading? Jackie Collins Lovers and Players (of course). After seeing the book, I was tempted to slip this note into his bag:

Only at the end of the train ride did I realize why I was obsessing about this boy: I have a thing for well-groomed androgynous boys. My name is FemiKnit Mafia and I like Pretty Boys. It all started with this guy -- my first boyfriend:


We started pseudo-dating in 6th grade, when he moved into my school district and I practically assaulted him with my subtle-as-a-sledgehammer preteen sexual advances. We broke up at the end of 8th grade because I realized he was gay. Of course, at the time, calling him gay was an insult, in addition to completely presumptuous. As it turns out, I was right. If only I'd had such insight into my own identity, I could've saved some other teenaged boys the embarassment of lackluster sex. Or perhaps they didn't even notice?



Anyway ... my little Pretty Boy this morning reminded me of my first love, and there is something terribly sweet about that. I wanted to protect him. To pet his lintless black double-breasted wool jacket. To squeeze his perfectly tanned little cheeks. To treat him like a paperdoll and dress him in Diesel and Kenneth Cole.

But what do I look like to him? With my hair growing longer, my wattle getting fleshier, and my knitting in my lap, I probably looked like any other 30-something suburbanite. I wanted to yell, "hey, I'm a dyke! can't you see me in here? did you see my manly shoes, my white button-down shirt, and my confident stride?" Yeah, he probably did. He's observant. Pretty boys always observe, even if judgmentally. And to be honest, I didn't care.

But when the click-click of the conductor's hole punch got closer and I realized that this morning would be all the better because my conductor-crush was working my train, I began to care. Does this cute-super-cute lesbian conductor notice me? Hey cutie conductor - I'm in here! Look closely.

Perhaps that's my personal task for today: to stop caring and to look closely.

And yet, even as that idealistic goal is stated ... I still wish the wicked-cute lesbo conductor would notice me. Just one raised eyebrow, up-&-down assessment will satisfy me. See me? I'm cute!

2nd Blogiversary!!

Happy Blogiversary to Me,
Happy Blogiversary to Me,
Happy Blogiversary to The Maaaaafiiiiiaaa,
Happy Blogiversary to Me!

About a week ago, with the blogiversary looming, I decided to do something celebratory to mark the occasion. I came up with a few ideas: a give-away, a contest, a serious contemplation post, a best-of, cake, presents, streamers, enhancements to the site, etc. The problem is -- I can't decide what one thing to do, so I'm going to declare the entire week a celebration, and do a couple things. So stay tuned.


*And because several people have asked about the Battle of the Bulge, the current score is Bulge: 1; Wifey: 0. Everyone is fine, but if the baby stays inside for one more day, Wifey may kill me. I'm her favorite target. Ah, the joys of married life.

Hangs Head in Shame

Alright. I admit it. I've been holding out on y'all.

Indication #1: I spent a good chunk of last Friday with Cate and despite having an amazing time, I haven't mentioned it here.

Indication #2: I met Kristen last Friday, fell for her, and said nothing on the blog.

Indication #3: I went to Webs last Friday and gushed not one teeny bit.

Indication #4: I haven't mentioned knitting for a week, despite being 5 glorious repeats into a pair of Monkey socks in the Frickmeister-STR.

The Confession: I can't talk about knitting or Webs or Kristen or Cate because I would be forced to admit that I've been sneaky. I found a loophole in my Knit From Stash rules [and it's all Kristen's fault]

If you have a gift certificate for $25 and spend $25 on yarn, that's fine. But if you find a mis-shelved cone of some mystery tweedy wool with the most stunning emerald base and flecks of pale blue, turquoise, hunter, and olive; and carry it around, pet it, and swoon over it for an hour; find out that it's $20 per pound (ouch!) and weighs 3 pounds; hear from a well-trained Webs brain that $60 is actually $48 (or even $45) with the discount; and then allow another well-trained scoundrel to buy said yarn for you and hide it until StashBust'07 is over?

Yeah ... that's cheating. I'm ashamed.

But god-daaaayyyyamn, that yarn is stunning! and it matches my eyes [blink, blink].

The Beloved Molly Ivins

has died of breast cancer. I'm so sad.

Tributes:
NYTimes
Boston Globe
Smith's site
two pieces at The Nation.
*The one at the Texas Observer brought tears to my eyes.

So so sad.

Broken Waters

Thurs. ETA: Still no news.

Wed. ETA: It's unofficial. Something is happening, but we're not sure what's going on. Keep those vibes coming. THANKS!!

*~*~*~*


It's official -- Wifey is going into labor. Hooray!!

Although I'm still contractually unable to blog about the specifics, I can say that Wifey is a surrogate and that Nina is her doula. So go give Nina some love too, k? She'll be taking care of my girl while I'm taking care of Little Man.

And can I get a big of shout out for the VBAC? Please send all of your strong chica vibes to Wifey's body. Dilate. Dilate. Dilate. Progress. Progress. Progress.

Favorite Things Monday: Simplicity

These pix are housed in a multi-photo frame that ordinarily hangs in a prominent location in our house. I say 'ordinarily' because all of our wall decor has been in boxes since October. This photo set is one that I particularly miss, so it's a relief that I have access to a digital version.

Taken at Carrie & Hag's house a couple years ago during a weekend trip to the Cape, these pictures show Wifey and Little Man in a moment of pure joy. On the floor. Being silly. Playing with dishes, as opposed to conventional toys. Laughing.

It shows Carrie & Hag's manner of living. Rustic. Cluttered. A little bit dirty. Organic. Homemade. Lived in. Loved. Simple.

It shows Wifey's completely natural relationship with her sister Carrie. Whose house can you visit and feel comfortable in randomly pulling dishes from the cabinets to entertain your toddler?

When your wife is surro-preggie

Wifey: When's the full moon?
Mafia: Um ... let me see [pause for google-ing] ... February 2nd
Wifey: I think that's the day I'm going to give birth.
Mafia: Oh? Cool.
Wifey: Do you have any idea?
Mafia: When you're going to give birth?
Wifey: Yeah.
Mafia: Nah, I can't even remember your due date
Wifey: You can't even remember that I'm pregnant [giggles]
Mafia: Shut up! I'm not doin' any more laundry for your ass!

Sat. 1/27/07 at 8:32pm