writer's strike, schmiter's strike

Someone call Hollywood. You can't make this stuff up.

Ya ya ya, I've been gone and not posting. I'm still knitting, and I have pictures on my camera. I've had other things to be doing, and as long as I'm still working on the knitting the babies are getting their pants. so essentially all is well in the world. so long as babies have their pants.

because pantsless babies can pee on your stuff, you know.

What have I been doing? What have you been doing? If you don't keep a blog, hushup about it.

We're buying a house! We close on the 16th. That's one week from today folks. And who is packing up the house where we've lived for the past 5 years? Me. And who is helping? *cue the chirping crickets* uh huh. That's what I thought. We'll do the actual move over Thanksgiving. Bring it. I am going from a rack in the corner to an acutal closet. A walk in closet. That's right. Walk. In. Closet. Hoo!

Also, Kim has been sick. She's been riding the nausea train since the beginning of August. She got her gall bladder out at the end of Sept. It didn't help and she's been bouncing in and out of the hospital since then. They weren't helping her, and even had her pegged as a drug seeker. I think if my body was trying to digest itself from the inside out that it would be a little bit painful, but what do I know? Finally she got someone listening to her, and she's now getting the care she needs to get better.

So then what does she do?

She goes and gets bitten by a freaking squirrel.

Yes. You read that right.

My sister, who has been slowly donating her organs one at a time, and is finally getting better, went and got bitten by a squirrel. A baby squirrel. And let's not forget she's on bloodthinners.

We're waiting for her to go Cujo on us.

Someone get me an agent.