The granny, the bike and the poodle

My dear darling honeybuns, may I present this month’s orts jar:

I was taking a lovely long walk through the beautiful woods this afternoon, and to my astonishment and glee found the forest floor littered with these babies. Ahhhh, Fall is upon us! I thought I’d take them home, put them in my orts jar, and put my orts in a wee wine glass. Well, I say orts but in fact, it’s just one ort, and it’s not a real ort but a bit of thread that stuck out of a newly purchased pillowette.
Does this count as a Tusal update? Please? Pretty please? I really tried to do some stitching, but then everytime I sat down with needle and thread - and lap stand, and chart:

* I had to finish a translation
* I fell ill with a drrrreadful head cold and a chest infection
* Pelle turned 7:
* I had to cart Pelle (and his cousin) around in our new cargo bike. (Pelle can’t ride a bike himself due to him being... Pelle. But he loves to go for long bike rides. Therefore the ex (who is now loaded) thought it would be nice to get Pelle the cargo bike for his birthday):* I decided I needed to start a second Giant granny square blanket:
* I decided I needed handmade gifts for Pelle’s teachers in the shape of hand-knit socks:
This is the first of 8 socks I need to finish before 18 August. Something tells me I’m not going to make it. I would abandon the project had I not already asked the teachers for their favourite colours and shoe sizes. What on earth would I say if they asked me what I needed that information for? That I just go around asking people’s shoe sizes because I’m a shoe size fetishist? No. I’m afraid I’m just going to have to knit the damned socks.

Ooooooh, I’ve been to the hair dresser’s today, and I look all different. Well, I think so anyway. I don’t like to fuss with my hair, you see, and lately I found that I had to do an awful lot of unwanted fussing to straighten my hair in order for my short bob to look good. Only my hair isn’t naturally straight. In fact, my hair is so far from naturally straight that every time I thought I’d successfully ironed it into submission after hours of pottering about with potions, conditioners, anti-frizz, straightening irons and blow dryers, the mirror told me Mission Short Straight Bob had failed. So I decided to embrace the poodle in me and go for a matching poodle-‘do.
Excuse the freaky looking cat. He was intrigued by the flashing red light of the self-timer.

Well, again I’ve managed to write a post about absolutely nothing anyone could ever be vaguely interested in. My apologies. Next time... more of the same, I fear :o)

Yours poodley-doodley,
Annemarie.