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But it does make me relieved at being unemployed. Always look on the bright side etc.

I’ve packed 9 boxes of books. I’m not finished, but I don’t think I will make it to frog’s 40 boxes. This is something I hope to fix in time for our next house move.

I’ve found quite a few books that don’t belong to me. They’re in a bag ready to return to their rightful owners. At least five of them should have been returned last time I moved house. I don’t think my supervisor has missed them though.

The empty spot on the bookshelves now has a (tiny, fake) Christmas tree. That’s three whole shelves lower than it is during the year. It’s very dusty, and I’ll thank you not for mentioning it should you visit.

We’re having an as yet undetermined number of people over on Saturday for the kid’s (premature) birthday. The stacks of boxes may act as occasional tables.

The sock knitting continues fine, and we’ve tidied up the garden. The Bloke even mowed the weeds.

But not prayin’. Because we’re not the prayin’ kind. We’re not above beggin’, though it wasn’t in the song. We applied for a house last week, and we’d really quite like to get it. The agent will be ringin’ back today.

In the meantime, there’s knittin’ and sewin’ and wrappin’, and showing that we care, etc.


I finished a sock on the bus & train back from Carrum yesterday. The kid enjoyed the first of our family Christmases, especially the splashing and jumping in the water, although the train and bus trip there was also pretty exciting. He loved his pres-pres and I had to disappear them before childcare this morning to ensure he wouldn’t try to take them with him. He got a Beetle!


and a Dumb Fuck!


So, should we unpack the Christmas decorations, or for the third time in my life, will I be moving house the week before Christmas?

It took lots of goes, several online sock-knitting tutorials, a fair bit of retiring early for peace and quiet to concentrate in the evenings, master classes during family get-togethers, and one false finish. I couldn’t bring myself to blog it when the first finished sock started unravelling while I finished the second.

Knitted between and during paid work, parenting, studying, housework, watching the male football grand final, and a few sick days on the couch, hence the name. They’re also mine all mine, for me and by me. Which is a bit unusual.

We considered the possibility of just driving a bit further, of stopping in Adelaide and heading on to Perth or something, but we thought the babysitters might get past “isn’t our grandchild cute and playful” and move into “when the hell are our kids taking their early-riser home?” or worse “we must remember never to babysit again!”. We also decided that we missed the kid, because he is quite fun.

It was a good trip. We got relaxed. We slept uninterrupted. We wine-tasted and olive-tasted and beer-tasted. We went out for dinner without taking turns to eat or rushing home to a babysitter. We had coffee with a rural-living friend. We had time to make things up and be silly and pretend we lived on an olive farm.

I also knitted. Before we left I finished the vest.

It’s far from perfect, but he seems to like it, and it’s warm.

I also turned the heel on my socks (yipee!) and bought patterns in op shops. It may be tricky ensuring Iona doesn’t take them home. The Corowa op shop has lots of buttons sorted thoughtfully into sets, but be warned, they have happy clappy music playing and books about finding your Way.

I think it’s important to bring back a bit of the holiday spirit to help you keep relaxed when you get home.

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