Shhhh . . . I'm supposed to be overseeing schoolwork!

Okay, I'm taking a quick break from listening to boys write about robots and killing machines in their journals (I'm pretty sure these are personal records that will be deleted from the heavenly hard drive in the eventual eternities. I know we've been counseled to keep a personal record--but how many descriptions of impossible multi-missiled machines of doom do we need to write about to gain celestialization? Because I'm pretty sure there's a limit on that sort of stuff, and I'm just as sure that my sons hit that limit about a month ago.)

But I digress.

Now, before I get to the core concept of this post, there are some background facts you need to know--or it just won't make any sense. Trust me--I live this reality, and it's barely comprehensible to me. You NEED the exposition. Heck, I need the exposition most days.

• First: I have been knitting away ever since camp, making Christmas stockings for my sister and her family. I have never knitted stockings with heels before. I have, however, knitted spiral-ribbed tube socks. (Muy fabuloso!) Because this is a semi-new skill, I'm taking my time on it. It's taken me a month to knit 4.8 stockings--and that's knitting at all possible hours of the day and night. I am determined to do this right so my sister doesn't have to make an explanation to every person who visits her during the Christmas season. ("Oh, those? Well, my sister--you know, the crazy one--tried her hand at knitting a few years ago. Thank Goodness they only have to stay up there for a few days!" Only, I'm sure she'd phrase it in a kindlier way than that. The reference to me as crazy would remain, however.) Take this as a warning: never EVER mention that you may want something that I could possibly learn how to do, or my ineptitude will be forced upon you and you will have to make explanations about the thing inhabiting your living room for the rest of your life.

• I have been going slowly blinder than I had ever planned to be for about five years now. I'm used to it, but it has required a certain set of needs that must be filled before I can do anything other than staring fuzzily ahead. Namely a pair of reading glasses at all times and extra light--as much as possible.

• The best light in this house, sadly enough, is in a room designed for nothing more task-related than a quick peruse of the headlines. I should have installed brighter lamps in the family room, but I haven't gotten around to it yet. So, if, after a certain hour of the evening, I want to do anything requiring sight--like perhaps setting a heel on a Christmas stocking--I have to go into the guest bathroom, which has four lovely high-wattage lights and an equal number of nicely reflective walls.

So--and this is the core concept I mentioned earlier--when my husband came up the stairs from the basement and saw me sitting on the toilet knitting away for dear life, is it any wonder that he almost split a gut laughing after the initial shock and resulting double take?