We all have our Holy Grail of yarn. For some, it's the elusive Wollmeise; for others, it's the expensive cashmere sweater's worth of stash that they find at a great discount. My particular dream yarn is the Yarntini Self Striping Pure Breeze. It was only distributed through a sock club, and therefor was almost impossible to find.

UNTIL NOW.

I found it. I was stalking Ravelry one morning, saw a post for scads and scads of sock yarns, and I managed to finagle this one for myself (along with some Wollmeise and another skein of Yarntini). The problem: now that I have it, I don't want to knit it. I just want to stash it and know that I've got it there for that elusive day when I DO decide that I want to knit it up. I've got a couple of skeins in my stash that I do the same thing to – I buy them, stash them, and then just savor the fact that I've got them.

I've started a shawl with some yarn that I won through a Swap Partner Contest. Somehow, I managed to win the Most Offensive Swap Gift prize; I'm considering making myself a badge and putting it on the sidebar of my blog, just to assert my bragging rights. I won a skein of Fearless Fibers Superwash Merino Wool Sock Yarn in Sublime, which is a very pretty brown with short, subtle shots of gold and forest green through it. It fits perfectly with the Woodland Shawl that I started with it. Which reminds me, I need to add that to my Works In Progress list. Gah.  

The verdict is in: I have a compound sprain, and I managed to fracture off a tiny peice of bone in the process. I have to wear a brace for the next four weeks and attend twice-weekly physical therapy sessions, and at the end of all of this, we'll reevaulate where I'm at and what to do next. The doctor was really fantastic, explaining everything in layman's terms as much as possible and only giving me a little crap for waiting for two months to come in; I'm glad that I finally got off my ass and did it, though. Maybe in another four weeks this will be all behind me, and I can go back to…well, doing nothing, just like I was before. How the hell did I chip off a peice of bone? And sprain it that badly? WHILE WALKING IN MY OWN HOME?

Yes, I know. I'm the picture of grace.  

This does mean, however, that I will be able to sport some hand knit socks for the next few weeks. When I went into the doctor's office this morning, I was knitting on a pair of Wollmeise socks, with only the toe to go on the second sock, meaning the first was kitchnered and complete in my purse.  I slipped that baby on before they put the ankle stabilizer on me, and I walked around in the sock all day at the office. The brace does not allow for my normal shoes, so I've purchased some Crocks, which I will be sporting like a weirdo in my office for the next month. I even went as far as to go to a Crocs store, hoping that they would have black. Not only did they NOT have black, the only colors they did have to fit me were light blue, psycho green, and silver. I walked out of there with silver Crocs on my feet and a pair of turquoise sandals in a bag. You know, for when I have to dress up.

It is a big relief, however, that no one said that dreaded surgery word in regards to my foot. The thought of having my ankle operated on when I've got two small children and a full time job just made me want to dissolve in a puddle of stress, but as of right now, we're not even looking in that direction. That's a load of worry off of my mind, for sure.  Now on to worrying about important things, like why my son has a strange fascination with cramming his finger up his nose to the point that it bleeds. That has to mean something, right?

…also known as How I Do Dumb Crap and Injure Myself.

Two months ago,  when my husband was off at an all day meeting on a Saturday, I managed to screw my ankle up but good. Both kids were down for a nap, and I though, SWEET, FINALLY I can get a quick nap in, too! Except I forgot about The Girl's ability to sense any time I have to myself and to interrupt it in the rudest of ways. Right as I was dropping off, she began screaming like her eyelids were on fire, and in the sleep state I was in, I immediately jumped up and ran to her room to find out what the problem was. 

There's a reason why sleep running isn't an Olympic sport, y'all. Right as I got to her room, I stepped down on my foot wrong, and YEOWSA, pain shot up through my ankle. I sat there for five minutes, clasping the ankle and sucking air in through clenched teeth while i waited for the pain to abate. When I finally was able to get myself up again, the damn thing had already started to swell; I had to take care of both of the kids on my own until my husband decided to come back home (I wouldn't blame him if he just decided to run for the border, honestly), and by that time it was ENORMOUS. His first comment was along the lines of "But how did you get an entire orange shoved under your skin?"

It has been hurting on and off since then, and this week has been worse than usual. I've got an appointment tomorrow with an orthopedic surgeon to figure out just what in the name of Charlie I did to it, and how to best fix it. I'm hoping he'll just massage it and then send me on my merry way; I don't want to think of any alternatives that might require my flesh to be opened up and disturbed by sharp, pointy things.  I don't do well with needles and surgery in any way, shape or form. I'm honestly amazed that I'm going to the doctor at all.

Details will follow tomorrow, unless he DOES massage my feet. If that happens, I might possibly be arrested for molesting him. 

Today, my daughter turned ten months old.

They are totally, absolutely, unquestionably worth it.