Busy, busy, busy. Not much to be done for pricing the newest yarn arrivals, as the invoice never comes with the yarn. Must maintain the air of secrecy about the string. Even as muh knittas are clamoring to haul some home. Still unsure where the last two colors of kidsilk are for the modern quilt wrap kits (gawd, this is eternally frustrating), and I seem to be swimming in scads and oodles of cashsoft dk... perhaps I was mebbe unconscious when the order was placed. Oh, well. There are worse things to be drowning in. I feel a sale coming on...
I haven't gotten a decent photo yet of scarf, but (barring any hooliganism on Melly's part tomorrow) I think I may finish it within the next 24 hours. Wa-hoo. Then I have to begin the 'pinto pony' socks.
Plans to sneak up on the yarn shop in my sister-in-law's neighborhood have gone awry. Seems her in-laws planned an Easter visit to the midwest and, as keepers of the Grandson, they are obligated to drive from St. Paul, MN, to northern Indiana for the family gathering. We'll never be closer than eight hours from each other, thus totally and friggen' completely ruining my chance to meet my not-so-new-anymore nephew. And I was gonna knit longies for the little dude. Tougher now, because I won't get to gauge his diaper-butt for myself. She lives right around the corner from Borealis. I am so completely pouting it's pathetic... and I'm sad. I had fat baby ankles and new sock yarns on the brain. Ugh.
Man says the movie is all set, so me and scarf are going to have "t.v. time", which spouse considers "quality time", which is really "knitting time"... and everyone is happy. And the devil-spawn are off to bed. Have a g'night, y'all. (And if you're you, how're things going? Did you see your haircut in the new Rowan mag??? You wear it better, btw.)
p.s. If anyone ever asks you to watch a movie titled "I am Reed Fish", drop them where they stand. I mean it. Take your whole fist and just wham them in the throat, knee them in the groin, and deliver a crushing stomp to their instep, while simultaneously shifting your entire weight forcefully into their solar plexus, being sure to lead with your elbow. I cannot stress this enough. If they should put up a fuss (as in"it got good reviews" or "I hear the soundtrack is excellent"), grab matches and the nearest flammable fluid and put them out of their damnable misery. I mean it. If it weren't for my knitting, Boris would already be dead.