psycho-babble mumbo-jumbo

I am sewing today. Or, rather, I am trying to sew. My wrists are making it difficult. I read on the wikipedia article about CTS that frequent breaks are helpful, as opposed to going as long and as hard as you can, and then stopping. So I'm stopping every five minutes or so, resting five minutes and starting again. It's kind of contrary to the way I'm used to doing things, but it seems to be helping. Cutting is the worst, since where my thumb connects to my wrist is where it hurts the most.

The thing I'm sewing is one of those 'vintage Vogue' patterns, and it's a basic 1950s house dress. I bought this ridiculous retro fourth of july style fabric, which I fell in love with in the store and now looks nightmarish in fifteen different pieces, but I'm staying the course. If I don't finish it, it doesn't say a lot about my sewing skills or my stick-to-it-iveness. I'm also unclear on sizing, I'm about a 12 or 14 in regular dress sizes, but it seems like sewing sizes run a little bigger, so I'm doing it in an 18. I figure it's easier to take something in where it needs it, rather than letting it out. Also, I don't have a seam ripper. Quite the oversight. Screwing up is not an option.

I'd say I'm about half way there, and I'm following the instructions, even the stupid ones I don't agree with.

Sewing a 1950s style house dress leads to all sorts of ongoing jokes between Mike and myself about 1950s ideals and beliefs. We banter back and forth with the required jokes about Valium prescriptions, father knows best, and so on. Mike pretends to read Dianetics and I primly say that I don't go in for that 'psycho-babble mumbo jumbo'. Ender tries to eat pins. We stop him. He tries to grab the iron. We stop him.  He cries. We laugh. He laughs. So on.

I've also put together an herb garden on my dining table. It's just a small one, but I've always wanted to have one. Something about those herbs in their oblong terracotta pot instantly gives my living area a touch of provence, a little je ne sais quoi. I can't wait until they are successfully rooted enough to pinch off a leaf here or there, and improve my summer cooking with some freshness of flavour.

Speaking of which, I made veal parmisean tonight. It was fabulous. Ender is still surviving off of breastmilk and the three green beans I managed to stuff in his mouth. This too, shall pass. In the meanwhile, he's missing out on some good eats.