... and then there were... SEVEN?!?!

Well, things have clearly gone out of control in the House of Brouhaha.

I only realised this when I got home from work yesterday, only to find JJ (who was off work) out on the balcony in a "right stushie" as he would call it (English translation: having a royal fit.)

At least, a "right stushie" as befits a calm, cool and collected Scotsman. That is to say, he was pacing up and down the grounds of his estate, muttering under his breath:

"That wee lassie has gone way oot of contrrrrol now. Ah'm starrtin to wonder aboot her, really ah am. This is just way over the top."

(Why is it that, as household Mediterranean, I always get blamed for irrational behaviour?! Sheesh).

I had no idea what he was talking about until I approached closer and saw this:

How strange. Apparently Daisy had gone and gotten herself pregnant again. I mean, she was complaining about some stomach problems... but triplets?!?

Er... make that quadruplets. I wonder what happened to this one? Must have been all the second hand smoke in the house. Sigh.

JJ then glared balefully at me and said "Would ye get that one to shurrup, already?!?"

You see, despite being less than eight hours old, this one was already talking loudly (QUACKQUACKQUACKQUACK - I guess that's why Daddy was looking after her - she knew daddy's name already! How cute), not to mention glowing:

Hmm. Not so sure that Daisy's the mother of this one, actually. Separated at birth, d'ya think?

Hmm... nah. I don't think even Susie, fabulous as she is, could manage this feat all the way from Australia.

I guess that the little one is just a second-hand smoked out mutant. Guid to know that Health Canada hasn't been lying to me all these years, I guess.
Sigh.

Anyway, in time honoured Brouhaha Lapsed Greek Orthodox tradition, I decided that a baptism must immediately take place. The last kid, after all, had been dunked immediately.

Father ... er, Sir John Eh?

was reluctant at first. His excuse was that that it is still Lent and the Greek priests are not supposed to conduct baptisms or weddings during that time.

However, judging by the rough state of him, I think that the actual truth was that he just wanted to get in all his drinking in before Holy Week starts next week. And as regular readers will know, I'm not too big on all that stuff.

So, I simply reminded him that, as he was not actually a Greek priest but was just playing one on the blog, the usual restrictions did not apply for him. He's a lawyer himself, but found it hard to argue with that indisputable logic.

And hence...

(The little one advised me just before the dunking that she is an atheist and that I would be offending her religious freedoms under the Charter if I forced her to go through with it. At least, I assume that's what all that irate quacking and light show was about. An excellent point. But she earned herself the name Quack Junior after her proud father for her troubles.

So, I have a little pagan mutant on my hands. This should be interesting. Hmm.)

And the names of the other three? That, in fact, is why they needed a quick baptism - it's bad luck in the Greek culture to use their names beforehand.

Introducing, from left to right (with photos of their namesakes beneath):

James...Sparrow...

and Liz.

Where was the nouna (godmother) by the way?

Aphrodite was there OK, just standing by. She couldn't fit on the counter next to the sink. But check her out dressed in all her finery: not one but two Brouhaha lace creations. Obviously a woman with impeccable taste.

(There was an honourary godmother as well, unbeknownst to her: Clarabelle. This is because by happy coincidence the postman brought me a lovely week package from the UK this morning!

This is my first skein of cobweb weight [or "eye-strain weight", as Clarabelle put it] yarn - by Posh Yarns [I've posted a link although it's apparently hard to come by and Clarabelle will now most likely come over the pond to kill me in my sleep when she can't get hold of any because of the flood of orders from the millions of people who read this blog]. It's a 50-50 silk/cashmere blend.

The colourway is simply amazing: Mulberry. This photo does not do it justice, I can assure you.

Thanks, Clarabelle! And you even included your address, so I know where to send the bill for the trifocals that I will need to upgrade [downgrade?!] to when I get addicted to cobwebbing. Sigh.)

When the baptism was over, the festivities commenced...
... but I soon noticed Bubbles, back home from Queen's University for the occasion (man, they grow quickly, don't they? I don't know where the time flew. Sniff. Sob) pouting in the corner.

Now, as you know, I'm new at this parenthood thing (or is it grandparenthood? Hmm) but I've heard that kids can be jealous when a new arrival shows up.

(I do hope my mother doesn't take this opportunity to post a photo of the first photo of me with my squalling, screaming, ugly little brother. But maybe if she's reading this she could scan it in and Email it to me, just for a laugh. My mother, by the way, having just learned how to use a computer a few years ago, now has more tech gadgets than me, including a scanner. How embarrassing!)

I guess I should have picked up that something was wrong when I saw Bubbles glowering earlier at the babbies (as JJ would call them) earlier.

So, I asked what was wrong. Man, that Bubbles is a real drama queen, I must say. Hir issues:

(a) they got a bigger baptismal font than he did:

(KB's INSIDE VOICE: there were three of them, dammit!!! What the $#*@$&^@#*& do you expect?!)

(b) they got a bigger candle than he did. And it was silver coloured.

(KB's INSIDE VOICE: but you got my all time favourite purple candle. Bloody ingrate.)

I managed to explain this to Bubbles in a more or less rational way. But s/he still insisted on whining:

(c) they got hats and s/he didn't!!

Actually, good point - but easily solved.

I even threw in hir favourite fruit for good measure.

But this still wasn't good enough. Guess I caved too easily on the hat issue. S/he wheedled, begged and whined about the fact that hir little sibling got a gun too:

FINE. JJ, just to shut hir up, donated his pigeon-chasing implement:


Man, this grandparenting thing is difficult. But all is quiet this morning - I guess everyone's content, thank goddess. And I can just toss them in a drawer if they act up, I guess. Hmm.

Happy Wednesday!

How do you know when you've crossed the line into fibrefooldom?

My name is Kristina and I am a Fibrefool. (Hi Kristina!)

(And no, you are not on the Yarn Harlot's website. It is still me. But I'm not feeling too imaginative today so I will just have to rehash a very tired old concept. Sorry 'bout that!)

Now, I know I'm not alone out here - as will be demonstrated later in this post. I'm not quite sure when the transition from knitter to fibrefool took place exactly. But I can assure you that the fibrefooldom is currently in full swing (great for me, not so great for my pocketbook!)

So - how can you tell if you, too, are a Fibrefool? The guide below is a good starting point, I think.
You keep buying fancy yarns...

(my latest acquisition - Handmaiden Mini Maiden. My three favourite colours in one perfect skein!)
...despite the fact that you have approximately 15 kilometres of the stuff in the house already.


You delude yourself into thinking that you can duplicate artistic masterpieces of ages past using yarn.You create effigies to sock needles which you have broken in your overzealous knitting efforts.


You then post pictures of said effigies to your blog in the mistaken belief that other people actually care.

You knit all of your clothing for work - even business suits.


You hallucinate that your toy ducks are making love underneath your sweater-in-progress...


... and then you pose one of them on top of "Niagara Falls".

You see any knitting pattern (for example, this...

...or this...)

... and start mentally cataloguing the stash to see if you've got anything that will do.

You get a lovely leather coat as a gift...

... and the first thing that you do is head to the yarn store to get yarn to match. You don't, however, actually wear the coat itself to the yarn store... because none of your 2,159 other knitted hats and scarves quite match!


You then decide that you want a contrast yarn instead of one of the skeins of yarn you bought, and go back to the yarn store.


However, you don't return the skein you don't want... after all, it will come in handy in future, won't it?

When you're in the yarn store, you often have internal dialogues with yourself about the wisdom of the (inevitable) expenditures...

(but, even more frightening, you find that you are having those internal conversations less and less - and just spending.)

About the only solace I can take from any of this is that I am not alone. There's Holly, who is so fibre foolish that she makes hats out of baby sweaters when there are no babies left to knit for:

• 

... and who also knits sweaters to cover up her other sweaters:

Then there's Susie who has done so much damage to her eyes from fine lacework that she had to mug a coal miner to get an essential piece of equipment:

(Susie, I suggest you invest in bifocals like I did - a bit more expensive, but no potential for jail time. )

And now for some silly reason this headlamp has reminded me of the oldPeter Cook sketch:

Yes, I could have been a judge but I never had the Latin, never had the Latin for the judgin', I never had it, so I'd had it, as far as bein' a judge was concerned. I just never had sufficient of it to get through the rigourous judging exams. They're noted for their rigour. People come out staggering and saying "My God, what a rigourous exam!" - and so I became a miner instead. A coal miner. I managed to get through the mining exams--they're not rigourous, they only ask one question, they say, "Who are you", and I got 75 per cent on that. I'd rather have been a judge than a miner. Being a miner, as soon as you are too old and tired and sick and stupid to do the job properly, you have to go. Well, the very opposite applies with judges.

But, as ever, I digress. Fibrefoolishness is a very sad disorder, isn't it? However, you can help. For less than the price of your daily newspaper each day...

(Pardon? You read the newspaper on line? Well, for a third of the price of a Starbucks Mucho Grande Caffe Latte with soy mild, then...)

...you can Sponsor a FibreFool. Yes, that's right. For only $27.99 a month you can give help and solace to those who need it most. In exchange, you will get abundant photos of finished objects made with your donations - and not to mention that warm glow that comes when you have done something very altruistic. For more information, call 1 (888) YAR-NCON and ask for Brouhaha.

Thank you in advance for your anticipated cooperation with my scam get rich quick scheme charitable endeavours!

Niagara Falls? - just ducky!

(Sometimes it strikes me that I would have an excellent career coming up with cryptic crossword clues - despite the fact that I couldn't get more than four or five answers in one to save my life!)

When I went to find my latest work-in-progress, the River Rock scarf, this morning at the unheavenly hour of 5:30 a.m. (the clock, after all, is ticking on my KAL deadline of 30 September!), it was not in its usual place on the living room table. I searched underneath the piles of newspapers ON the table... no joy. I then hunted throughout the apartment in my usual careless storage spaces - the vegetable crisper, the top of the toilet tank, etc. etc. No sign of my River Rock. I couldn't help but think that perhaps my mother had driven down from Kingston in the dead of night and absconded with it...! Until I thought to look on the balcony.

Well, here's what I found:


Apparently Quack enjoys the slippery sleek properties of Handmaiden Silken as much as I do!

Luckily I was just in time to rescue him from the inevitable devastation of rubber hitting concrete - I wouldn't want his battery mechanism destroyed, after all! (Don't ask...). After a stern scolding, I took him and my precious UFO inside.

But not right away - I did have time to snap a couple of photos first. Sorry to bore you in the event that you are not as fascinated with Handmaiden as I am!

I have introduced a second colour into the scarf, although I'm not sure that these photos quite pick up the full glory of both colours. Here are both of them together:


This is the (new to the scarf) Peridot colourway:
...and this is the lovely Pewter.


I must say that this will be the finest piece I've ever knitted. I'm in love with it already. Am tempted to wear it to work as is... but I don't know how well the Addi lace needles work as a fashion accessory. Besides, knowing me I'd probably manage to put an eye out while struggling to stay standing on the subway.

Wishing you all a wonderful day.

Cheers,

Kristina

PS. Another stressor to start the day off right: I just learned that Nutella might not be health food after all... see the new food blog hosted by Jennifer and me!

PPS. the answer to the cryptic clue in the subject line is "crazyKB". ;-)