Yesterday was one of those rare and wonderful days during which there were no scheduled activities. No music lessons or play dates, and most importantly, no work. With my new
zen-like attitude intact, I puzzled over what to do to fill the time. The boys wanted to go to Raging Waters, but unless the weather is really hot, the exposed plateau on which the water park sits can get unpleasantly chilly as you wait on those stairs, stiff breeze whipping at your wet swimsuit, to get on the rides. Besides, we're going on the 16th for Weston's birthday. In any case, while we pondered, Garrett and Weston got involved in whacking pop gun caps and other boyish pursuits, and I whiled away the day with various activities.
I spent about an hour scuttling around taking photos of my felted creations for yesterday's blog post, then composing (I keep reading that as "composting") the post. Then I spent another hour schedule-wrangling four different families in order to find a day where all the appropriate friends and relatives could attend Weston's Official Birthday Party at Boomer's. I like places like Boomer's for the activities, but there is something unspeakably grim about sitting around those "party rooms", eating bad pizza, drinking warm soda, and trying to drum up a festive attitude. Mini golf, laser tag, bumper boats, and go carts should more than make up for the uncomfortable "party room" moments.
Later, I popped in on a couple of my favorite bloggers and happened on
this fascinating link at
Dooce.com. Amazing what people get away with, particularly in light of those shows on Animal Planet in which the authorities swoop in to prosecute the owners when they find a dog with mange and it's ribs showing in their yard. Don't get me wrong, I am a dog lover and feel that animal abusers should get the book thrown at them. I guess I just wonder why it's so easy and obvious to remove an animal from a home where it's being abused, but put a human child in the same situation and Child Protective Services bends over backward to avoid stepping in to save her. So that was about an hour and a half of my afternoon spent in horrified fascination.
By 2:00 it was pretty apparent that the day was not going to amount to a hill of beans, so I went to Michael's to buy beads to make eyes, and spent the rest of the afternoon felting a penguin. Et voila!
I don't like it as much as the bunny. I put the feet too close together and made its bum too slim so it wants to topple over or balance drunkenly on one wing. Also, I think I should have chosen red beads for the eyes, but I'm a biologist and I KNOW penguins don't have red eyes. Overall, I think it's pretty good, and that I'm getting better at this felting thing. As a hobby, it is totally absorbing. Even with complete focus on what I was doing, I managed to give myself three or four good hard jabs in the finger. This is not one of those things you do casually while watching an episode of CSI. Thanks is owed to Steve for refusing to give up until he had snapped JUST the right photograph of my latest creation rather than relaxing when he got home, like he probably wanted to.
The next creation is supposed to be a robin, and was requested by Joanna. I told her I would make it as a housewarming gift. May I say again Joanna, how pleased I am to have to back in San Jose!!? The reason I say it is "supposed" to be a robin, is that the picture in the book shows this bird felted up in what could only be described as blue. I loved its colors and wanted to do it exactly as it appeared in the book. The instructions say to use gray roving, which is a more accurate portrayal of how the critter would look in real life. Screw reality, I say. Blue and orange look great together, so I prefer to think of him as the Bluebird of Happiness, and as such, he was posed for his photo on Weston's shoulder:
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