How To Juggle

In like a lion, out like a lamb.

I'm pretty sure this saying is supposed to apply to the month of February.  This year, in this part of the world. February pounced on us with its giant lion paws, and then laughed gleefully.  This year, it was more like In like a lion, out like an enormous grizzly bear.  Oy vey.

I'm well aware how pathetic it is to complain about temperatures in the 30s and 40s (-1° to 10° Celsius), but this is Texas and frankly no one else is aware of that fact.  So while I'm trying to grit my teeth and remind myself that 30°F (-1° Celsius) is really good for this time of year, it's all too easy to start whining.  But at least we're getting that lovely grey winter weather.  Precipitation and all that good stuff.

In the midst of all this winter, I'm on spring break.  Oh, the pink fluffy irony.  While washing dishes on Friday I started mumbling to myself about juggling, and this happened:

How To Juggle (In Just Two Steps)

Step 1:  Get balls in air.
Step 2:  Keep balls in air.

See wasn't that easy?

In all seriousness though, I feel like I've been trying to do step two before step one is finished.  Like I only have about half the balls in the air, and most of them are only barely out of my hands, and some of them keep slamming into each other ("English Essays" and "Astronomy Homework" being the noteworthy ones) and some of them keep getting dropped and rolling behind the refrigerator ("Clean Bedroom" and "Shower", which would be why my hair is almost permanently in a ponytail).  So I plan to take full advantage of my ten days without school to get all of the other balls whizzing around in the air so that once I add back in the six "Attend _____ Class" balls, I won't drop all the rest.  It's going to be somewhat of a challenge.

These "balls" range from things like Accessible Desk and Counter Space and Everyone Has Socks to things like Homework Is Done and Books For Fun and Cousin's Blanket.  Things like Having Friends and Moving Plans (more on that one later) and Movies With Aunt.  There's a lot of things to do.

Last week I knit a dishcloth.  Just because I needed something to knit and I had cotton on hand and it seemed like the thing to do.  (In this house dishes have always been washed with a sponge, and I've never understood dishcloths.)  On Friday I washed the dishes with it.  Instant convert.  I've knit two more since then.  They're flexible, just the right size for my tiny hands (I'm making them pretty small!), colorful, and I can throw them in the washing machine and have a clean set every week.  I always hated picking up the squicky wet sponge to scrub pots or wipe off counters.  Now I don't have to do that anymore.  Whee!

I started out with the traditional corner-to-corner dishcloth that I imagine every knitter in the world but me has made at least a few times, and then I had the brilliant plan to do variations on it because hey, why not?  So far I've done a moss stitch and a seed stitch as well as the garter stitch, and at the moment I'm in the middle of a linen stitch variation because again, why not?  They aren't all perfectly square because the stitches are taller than they are wide, so I'm kind of getting a rhombus?  But I don't even care.  They're for dishes, that's all.  They don't have to be perfect and beautiful, just functional and fun.

My best friend would like to know how it isn't extremely painful to destroy handwork like that.  My best answer is something to the effect of, "It's made to be useful."  Would anyone like to chime in with more reasons?