The Rainy Day Scarf

Hello, everybody!

It's officially autumn! You know what that means?

It's SCARF TIME!

Here's the crochet pattern for my Rainy Day Scarf. It's great for using up leftover yarn from other projects. Plus, it's adorable. And colorful. And also, adorable.

Need I say more?

I used a size G hook and worsted weight yarn. Abbreviations are as follows:

ch = chain
dc = double crochet
sc = single crochet

For the scarf:

Begin with a foundation chain of 240. This scarf is quite long, so feel free to decrease the number of chains here if you'd like something shorter.

Ch 3, turn. DC in each ch to end. Join next color. *Ch 3, turn. Dc in each dc to end. Join next color.* Repeat from * to * with each color. Finish off. Weave in ends.

For the clouds:

Ch 27. Skip 4, SC in fifth ch from hook. *Ch 2, skip 1 ch, 1 sc.* Repeat from * to * to end. Turn.
*Sc, ch 1, 3 dc, ch 1, sc* in ch 2 space. Repeat from * to * in each ch 2 space and beginning ch 4 space.

Finish off.

Crochet four of these ruffle pieces.

Now make four shorter ones:

Ch 19. Skip 4, SC in fifth ch from hook. *Ch 2, skip 1 ch, 1 sc*. Repeat from * to * to end. Turn.
*SC, Ch 1, 3 DC, Ch 1, SC* in ch 2 space. Repeat from * to * and finish in beginning ch 4 space.

Finish off.

Sew ruffles to both sides of scarf in spiral patterns.

Weave in ends and say "Voila!" You now have your very own personal rainbow!

See any mistakes? Have any questions? 

Please leave a comment :-)

More {crochet} stuff here!

Don't have time to make this or don't know how? It is now available for purchase on the {walker whimsy} Etsy shop. Click here!

My Husband Wants a Lotus

Hello peeps,

This is Grover (and me back when I still had a recognizable waistline):

Notice the slight height difference? That's because Grover is six foot four, exactly one foot and one half inch taller than me (I'm on my tiptoes in this pic).

Now, this is a Lotus:

It's a nice car. Grover really wants it.

Problem is, it's sixty five gees (for the non-gangstas among us, that is $65,000).

It's also tiny.

Money aside, when I think of my six-four husband stuffing himself into this car, this is what pops into my head:

because how else will he fit?

Also, IT'S SIXTY FIVE THOUSAND FREAKING DOLLARS.

I'm thinking no ....

.... unless it can fend off zombies.

Then I am TOTALLY IN.

Fixed!

Hello again!

It's fixed! Now hopefully it will stay that way.

The Most Accomplished Proboscis Performer Award is still up for grabs. It's quite an honor to receive it, you know. Better get crackin' :)

HTML Trouble

I don't know if it's just my computer or my poor, tired  mommy eyes, but the bloggy is showing up all wonky. I've put in a call to our resident super-genius (my bro Luke ... you can call him Captain Awesomesauce) so hopefully we'll be able to figure out what evil monster has hijacked my HTML AGAIN and get things back to pretty perfection.

In the meantime, let's all learn how to play the recorder with our noses. First person to send in a YouTube video of Katy Perry's Firework recorded in this fashion gets one thousand pretend dollars and the distinguished title of Most Accomplished Proboscis Performer.

Ready, set, GO!

She's A Maniac

MAAANNNIAACCC ON THE FLOORRRUH.

And she's crying like she's never cried before-uuh-wo-wwowoworrr.

They could have used my tears for this. I kid you not.
(source)

I don't get to take a shower, I cry.

There's a problem with the TV installation, I cry.

Gracie cries, I cry.

Grover is going to be home from work late, I cry.

Gracie cries again, I cry. (It was a rough day for her, too.)

I realize I'm not going to fit into my pre-preggers jeans ever again before the next ice age rolls around, I cry ... and then cry again when I realize it won't even matter because we'll all have to be bundled up like the little dude in A Christmas Story OR WE'LL DIE.

I look at my wedding pictures, I cry.

I look at other people's wedding pictures, I cry.

I realize I'm crying AGAIN, I cry.

Someone doesn't respond to a friend request (even though they should totally know who I am because one time I helped their kid cross the street), I cry.

I forget who I'm supposed to write a thank you note to, I cry. (Sorry, whoever you are. When my brain returns to a semi-normal state maybe I'll remember ... like that'll ever happen. *sniffle*)

I can't find any clean socks for T, I cry.

I stub my toe, I cry.

Okay, that one really hurt, but still.

Gahhhhh. This is utterly ridiculous. Will I ever be normal again?

Was I ever normal to begin with?

...
...
...

Nope.

Oh.

By the way, hanging over the side of a crib to pat your child's back does very weird things to your armpit nerves.

That is all. 

A Little Reminder

I know one day when my children are all grown up I'm going to miss this. I will miss finding measuring cups in the bedroom closet. I will wish there was still someone to throw all the pillows off the couch/bed/armchairs RIGHT AFTER I PICK THEM UP (besides Grover ... ). I will want to wash bazillions of loads of tiny clothes and try to deduce exactly what it was that turned someone's mouth cerulean ... okay, maybe I won't miss that one.

I also won't miss doing yoga while a toddler practices his kung fu moves on my defenseless noggin.

The problem is that when you're in the middle of the craziness that is parenting, it's really dang hard to remember just how quickly time passes. When {Nice Girl Notes} posted the following poem on her Facebook page, I knew I needed to print it out and put it somewhere.

by Ruth Hulbert Hamilton

This is my little reminder to enjoy my tiny tornadoes in all their messy glory.

May I Take Your Order?

Lately it seems like my life revolves around food, and not in a, "I'm going to go around the world eating maggoty cheese while everyone at home throws up in their mouth," TV show kinda way. Not food for myself, either. I'm lucky if I can grab two marshmallows before 1) I have to share them with T or 2) someone starts screaming hysterically in the other room and I have to run in there and yell "what's going on?" only it sounds more like, "wfutshs going thon?" because my mouth is full of sugary goop.

I'm talking about feeding the munchkins. Gracie nurses every two hours. T eats every two hours. I stuff food in my face whenever I have a free hand. Essentially, I have become a human vending machine. Or a 24 hour snack bar. Or a drive-up window. I haven't even had to do much cooking thanks to mom (thanks, Mom!). It just feels like all we do is eat. No housework. No hobbies. Just eating. And then eating. And then eating some more.

Honestly, it's not so bad. I just need to get the type-A part of me back into its straight jacket. I need to remember it doesn't matter if there's dog hair stuck to a glob of three-day-old jelly on the wall. Who cares?

My inner crazy person, that's who.

While I caterwaul with these multiple personalities, enjoy this almost completely-unrelated-to-the-topic-at-hand-but-still-hilarious commercial:

I think I just killed a grammar fairy with all those hyphens.