So, I’ve gone and done that thing where I spend the same money twice.
When Jim had asked me what I wanted for my birthday, I told him I’d love tickets to see Lykke Li, who is my musical imaginary girlfriend (you know, if I were into girls, and I weren’t married, and I lived in Sweden. details, details). I liked her first album a lot, but I am plumb crazy about the second one. She’s got that Swedish knack for pop hooks (see Robyn, Abba, and just about every catchy song Britney Spears et al have ever done, all of which were most likely written by Max Martin), only she’s put it through a filter of 1960s girl groups and tribal drummers. She’s fantastic. (Also, her resemblance to the Olsen Twins continues to amuse me. It’s like she’s the secret extra twin: “Well, the good news is, you have triplets. The bad news is one of them is really weird and talented and speaks Swedish.”)
Anyway, Jim tried, but though he found tickets, they were all for standing room only seats, and my 6-months-pregnant self cannot be in the pit any more.
Yesterday, on a whim, I checked her site and found out that her Boston show had been moved to a bigger site, AND it had seats, actual seats you can put your butt in, available.
I called Jim, informed him that I would be out of town next Friday night, then called my glamorous Boston-dwelling authoress friend and told her the Country Mouse was coming for a visit. Luckily, she is always up for an adventure and said that yes, she would happily accompany me to a show by some random Swedish chick she’s never heard of, and by the way, did I need a couch to crash on after?
I will, of course, be wearing my fancy new glasses, which will be ready for me that day.
Jim is watching something with lurid music on the couch while I am typing over here in the dining room, aka our office until we finish the insane reshuffle-to-accommodate-the-baby room re-ordering we are doing. (It reminds me off that game where you have to slide the numbers around to arrange them in the right order.)
He has just informed me, and I quote, “This documentary is kind of like nuclear weapon porn.”
I like to crochet. I am not very good at it and am critically impatient — I can commit to scarves, but anything much bigger or more complicated just annoys me.
However, Eliza has decided that I am her personal artisan, and has taken to commissioning crochet items from me. Thus far, I have created several tiny blankets and vests for her various animals.
The other day, however, she handed me a headband and requested that I make some ears. Whatnow? I said. Ears, she explained. So she could be a hamster. Pink ones, preferably.
Uhhhh, OK, I said, and crocheted two little triangles which I then tied to the headband. Once they were on, she decided they were actually serval ears, and hey, who am I to say. It’s Eliza’s world, I just live in it.
So now, when she gets home from school, she puts on her ears, and then goes about her business.
Here she is wearing her tie-dye shirt that she made at her friend’s birthday party, and socks, and her ears, helping me make sombreros, as she calls these awesome peanut butter chocolate pillow thingies. You know, as one does: