Of course, that means I’m busy. Like, crazy busy, the kind of busy where you can feel yourself ctrl-alt-whatevering in your sleep. The kind of busy where you forget what day it is because it’s been that long since you took an actual day off. In my house we call this “normal,” but I suspect that’s just because there are two of us. (Well, three, but the kid’s too short to get a vote.)

But it’s good. Good! I like working, and I like money, and I like the things I buy with money. And it’s nice to see that we can, in fact, make this work. (Note to fates: I am not tempting you.)

But you know what? I totally think we should start saving for a vacation, once we’re back in a position to save for things. Someplace tropical. Except that I’ve been watching Lost lately so we may have to walk there.

Anyway I crocheted this great neck warmer using the Unisex Neck Sock pattern by Wendy C. Brown (add it to your Ravelry queue, for serious). I used Cascade- hey, y’all, if you’re not into this sort of thing, for the love of god, stop reading now. I’m not going to talk about anything else in this post. Anyway: Cascade 220 Superwash in this fabulous slate heather that’s almost black & is just crazy cute. As is my husband, amirite?

Anyway he loves it, and can often be seen wearing it on his head. Because he’s a maverick, see? (Also it keeps his ears warm.) I’m really happy with the way this came out and am totally going to make one for myself. Except with buttons. Because how cute would that be?

So yes, there’s that. And also, I will.

Anyway: the party was a success, if a little under-attended (one group of guests had apparently been sure it was the next weekend, at which point they e-mailed me going “Um, did you know that your party was a week ago? You probably did.” Which was funny, and I may have LOLed, but only very quietly and to myself). The kid had a fabulous time. He helped me decorate the littlest cupcakes (which he decided were meteors). No one else had any idea what the cake/cupcake spread was supposed to be, which was fine. I guess.

Also a (qualified) success: the rocket softie. I made some modifications to a pattern I found in One Yard Wonders (which is a pretty fabulous book, if you’re into that sort of thing) and it turned out kind of awesome. The kid likes it, which was the important part.

In other crafty news, I finally slipcovered the Fabulous!Rocking!Glider! (the exclamation points are to emphasize the fact that I love the lovely glider and am not going to get rid of it despite the increasing impracticality of having it in our house). A favorite snuggling spot for both kid and cats, the F!R!G! was sort of disgustingly stained and matted with cat hair, and since the cushions were both a) cream-colored and b) upholstered, cleaning it was a pain. ENTER CRAFTY MAMA, with her IKEA fabric and her barely-passable sewing machine skills! Given that I don’t have the first clue what I’m doing, I think it turned out pretty well.

All those other grand ideas I had? Not going to happen. I was totally going to make garland, and ornaments, and stuff. But what did I do instead? I caught a cold. (I did make gingerbread men. I’m not dead.)

This year is no different, except for the part where the kid is SUPER EXCITED!!! about all of it. Last year? Meh. This year? OMG birthday! OMG Christmas! Is it Christmas yet? CAN SANTA BRING ME AN INSECTOSAURUS TOY?*

But I? I am a shopping master this year, and am already done with gift acquisition, thanks to the glory that is the Internet.

And we got a tree! A real tree, made of wood and green stuff. Someone brought it to us on a bicycle. (Have I mentioned lately how much I love Portland?) We decorated the other day (the tree, not the bike messenger) and I took one look at the finished product and OF COURSE decided I need to craft various felt-based ornaments to pretty it up. (Still talking about the tree, here, people. Keep up.) I’m thinking garland, for one thing (found a super-simple tutorial on Anna Maria Horner’s site – the kid could even help, which would rock). Also various and sundry hanging decorations (like the ornaments featured on Fantastic Toys and the Felt Circles ornament featured on Craftzine, which purports to be much easier than it looks). Someone also mentioned Shrinky Dinks, which – I love Shrinky Dinks, and how much fun would that be? And I totally got the kid a Shrinky Dink set for his birthday, because nothing says Christmas like robots, amirite?

Speaking of, I’m making a crapload of felt toys for the kid’s 4th birthday party, which we are hosting at our miniscule apartment because we are crazy people. I figured I didn’t have enough to do, what with Christmas and the business and the book release and all. Why not also make the solar system out of baked goods (related: I still love you, Pluto) and hand-sew a huge rocket pillow to give to the kid (and miniature versions thereof as party favors)?

Aside: party favors? Did not exist when I was a kid. Or else I just went to the wrong parties. Because I never got swag, and now everyone does it and I totally can’t be the only mom who’s all ‘hey, I gave you cake, what more do you want?’. But then I get all psycho overachiever and decide it would be so much cooler if I made favors myself, and that’s where you get the pre-party mama meltdown. Which is not going to happen this year, FYI. It’s totally not.

*He’s decided that an Insectosaurus toy is the most exciting thing anywhere ever, and every time he mentions Santa Claus he asks if Santa can bring him one. Which was a little dicey for those of us who do Santa’s shopping for him, since the damn thing’s apparently a collector’s item or some crap. Thank god for eBay, is all I have to say.

The thing that makes it tricky is that I do have a lot to do, and I don’t have enough time to do it, so feeling overwhelmed is kind of an appropriate reaction, right? Although it could be argued that keeping a level head makes it a lot easier to get as much done as possible, whereas sitting on the couch frozen by indecision isn’t exactly productive.

You see my conundrum.

Also: I hate taking pills every day, and I hate having to take pills every day. Blargh.

Not So is watching Ghostbusters. This is what we do. We watch things.

In other news, I was really sick a couple of weeks ago with what may or may not have been swine flu (take that, specificity!) and realized one night I forgot to take my prozac. Since then I’ve continued to not take my prozac and I’ve felt kind of fabulous, so I’m counting that as a win. The prozac was great, actually, but it made me so freaking tired I could barely keep my eyes open, except at night, when I would just lay in bed with a million ideas running through my head. I enjoy my sleep, but I also enjoy not sleeping at appropriate times, kwim?

Speaking of sleep, I’m tired, and I have a TON to do tomorrow.

This all started because I lost my photo album. It’s probably been lost for a while, but I only realized it was lost today, when I tore apart the house looking for it. It’s like the best-of photo album, the one with all my favorite pictures of all time (I started it in high school and we all know how long ago that was). How is it that I still have things like my old keychain with the (admittedly very cool) X-Files keyring but not my photo album? Not So insists that it’s got to be here somewhere but I of course am convinced it’s gone forever and all is lost. That’s why they call it an anxiety disorder, folks.

In other news, I miss people.

So, whatev, apparently my big midlife crisis involves an appreciation for hops. This is encouraging, if only because it means I can go out to a bar and not end up either a) bored, b) trashed or c) spending the next 24 hours puking my guts out and swearing off all forms of alcohol including cough syrup and vanilla extract. IN FACT, the last time I had a drink that was not a beer I got such righteous alcohol poisoning that I had to cancel my flight home the next day. And you know how many drinks I had? ONE AND A HALF.

I do not make these things up.

*Seriously, she still looks exactly like she did in high school, and in high school she was what one would objectively call a knockout. Of course this does not make me feel like an elderly bag lady, why do you ask?

(I’d just like to note that, much as I would love it if they did, neither Sephora, DuWop or the campfire-story industry contributed any products, gifts or suggestions to the author of this piece, who is fully capable of waxing lyrical about lipstick all on her own.)