Parents, Get a Spine

Here's a nomination for understatement of the year:

"Parents have trouble saying no," said Allison Pugh, a University of Virginia sociology professor. She says parents often buy toys to avoid guilt and ensure their children feel in sync with school classmates.

This bit is from the AP article "Meltdown Fallout: Some Parents Rethink Toy-buying," which came out midday yesterday. The jist of it is that a bunch of parents who apparently are described by Professor Pugh in the above quotation are writing to toy makers demanding that they stop advertising their wares to children because, to paraphrase on the sample arguments presented in the article, it's just not fair that these toy makers advertise to kids during kids' programming and make them want toys that parents can't afford, putting the burden on parents to tell those kids that no, they won't be getting Polly Pees A Lot this Christmas because the parent(s) can't afford it.

Golly, what a burden indeed! How dare those profit-seeking meanies make a parent say no to a child! Because, hey, those meanies are to blame for this problem. Not the parents. Not the parents who allow their kids to watch kids' programming that's clogged with schlocky commercials for these crappy toys. Parents are absolutely blameless.

If the boy had a dime for every time one of his parents told him no, he could buy many of the toys he sees when we're at Wally World or Target (we don't allow him to watch kids' programming--or much TV anyway) and decides instantly that he wants because, hello, he's a child still in his self-centered stage.

Ugh....

On the Next Food Network Challenge...

I'm a bit of a Food Network Challenge junkie, especially if its a contest involving the decorating of cakes. I'm not one for the highfalutin sugar arts ones, and I occasionally go for a non-cakie competition. (Did anyone else see the Italian family feast episode a few weeks ago? Sheer madness. I'd have killed me some relatives after that one, methinks.)

Anywho, I have a brilliant idea for an episode of FNC: Bland food. Yeah, that's right--prepare an appealing meal that's bland that might be suitable for a recuperating person. The network could hire a nutritionist or two to establish the competitions rules for what ingredients can and can't be included and what kind of nutritional values the meal must meet. Now that would be a challenge.

Plus I could use some inspiration. The husband started eating some solid foods again, but he can't do spices yet. And I just don't know how to prepare food without spices. Take away my chile powders, my garlic, my cumin, my crushed red pepper and all the other wonderful flavors I've discovered over the past few years, and I'm absolutely, incomprehensible bereft. And if I'm bereft, so too is the husband.

This evening, I made him some very tender cubed chicken breast, which I browned and then let stew in some Central Market-brand low-sodium chicken broth. To help up the blandness factor, I made him and the boy some potato cakes. Sure, you're supposed to use leftover mashed potatoes from, say, a Thanksgiving feast. But I had none, so I whipped up some instant mashed potatoes from a box we've had since...well, only the FSM would know when. All I can say is ugh, how bland.

And I guess that's the point.

The boy ate one cake, but the husband ate three, and I still have enough potatoes left over for another four or five cakes. Will I make them? Dunno. I'm not going to feel guilty if I have to dump that stuff down the drain.

FYI, I did modify that potato cake recipe. I used only egg whites (I have no whole eggs once again) and fat-free cheese, which I mixed in with everything else before putting the goop in the frying pan. Since I didn't have quite two cups of mushed spuds, I only used a third of a cup of flour, and I substituted the garlic (which I'm guessing the recipe calls for freshly minced) for a bit of garlic powder. And there's no way in the FSM's bountiful fettuccine bowl that I'm ever going to melt butter to fry something in. I instead sprayed a little nonstick cooking spray into my old nonstick frying pan and went from there.

I have no pictures of the potato cakes to share because, well, they were bland and boring and visually unappealing--and that was the whole damn point. But what a challenge to come up with something I could attempt to make that would fit the bill!

Long Time No Blog

Yes, Gentle Reader, I am daring to show my face on my own blog after all this time. But trust me when I tell you that Chez Boeckman-Walker has been an incredibly busy place these past few weeks and that I haven't had much time to post.

You don't believe me? Well then, Gentle Reader, allow me to shut you up.

Chez Boeckman-Walker: Now With 33% Fewer Tonsils!
After damn near a year of appointments and sleep studies and MRIs and a month-long CPAP trial, the husband finally got the surgery he needed to help rid him of his severe sleep apnea. The surgery--surgeries, I should say, since he had a tonsillectomy, septoplasty, uvulopalatopharyngoplasty and bonus adenoidectomy--went very well, but his recovery has had a few bumps.

First, the husband wound up in post-op recovery for about six hours because he woke from the anesthesia puking blood, which had drained into his gut from his nose, and then experienced bleeding from his nose that just didn't want to stop. Not a lot of blood loss, mind you, but enough to be worrisome. And enough to require him to stay in recovery until his ENT could check things out, which took forever because he had several surgeries scheduled the same day.

Once I was able to bring him home, the husband did pretty well--until Monday evening, when his nose started bleeding again and wouldn't stop. After a call to his doc, we wound up in the E.R., where the doc removed the packing and stents from the husband's nose (which was scheduled to be done at the doc's office the next morning) and managed to get the bleeding--again, not a lot but worrisome enough--stopped. Since he couldn't determine the exact cause of the bleeding, he had the husband admitted for observation.

Once I was finally able to come home and stay home around midnight, I got about four hours of sleep then hauled back to the hospital, all hopeful that I'd have the husband back home in time for me to Spin with the world's greatest Spin instructor and have something close to a normal Tuesday.

Ahh, how foolish I was to think such thoughts! To paraphrase a useful saying, I plan; the universe laughs.

When the doc came by to check on his patient around 7:15 Tuesday morning, he highly recommended keeping the husband in the hospital for continued observation through the majority of Tuesday just in case his nose started bleeding. Come the evening, the doc proposed, he'd come by, remove the light packing he'd put up the husband's nose in the E.R. and discharge him. That what we did--and my plan for a somewhat normal Tuesday flew right out the window.

As evening approached, the husband and I tried to predict when we might get the hell outta Dodge. I think he was hopeful for his doc to return to wrap things up in the early evening (5 or 6). I said we'd probably see him after 7. We both aimed to get home in time to watch the Fox Comedy Hour at 9.

Long story short, we barely made that goal. But fortunately the husband hasn't had any further bumps, and he's thrilled to be able to breathe out of his nose to some degree once again. Because, hey, mouth-breathing really, really sucks. And he felt good enough to take part in what we hope will become a Thanksgiving tradition for the human residents of Chez Boeckman-Walker.

Run, You Turkey!
By the way, Gentle Reader, happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. Don't stuff yourself stupid.

As mentioned at the end of the last section, today the human residents of Chez Boeckman-Walker attempted to initiate a new Thanksgiving tradition: taking part in the annual Thundercloud Subs Turkey Trot. We'd registered to participate long before we knew the husband would be having surgery, and even when we scheduled the surgery, we were very hopeful that the husband would be able to do the 1-mile walk he'd registered for. Me, I registered for the 5-mile run because walking is just not my thing.

So despite the fact that the husband had been in the hospital less than 48 hours before that starting air horn honked, we were downtown this morning, ready to enjoy a little exercise. The weather was quite nice--a bit balmy and overcast, but you won't hear me complain since various weather-reading newscast personalities had mentioned chances of drizzle for Turkey Day morning. Because this event is a well-established one, quite a few folks turned out, including two of the boy's old posse from daycare. Those boys were as happy as pigs in mud as they dashed around their parents, who didn't feel terribly at ease trying to make small talk. (The husband and I aren't the world's most social people, after all.)

The race itself wasn't too bad. Too many hills and downhills for my liking, but I survived. Hell, I managed to put in a pretty good time: just over 40 minutes. The boys reported that the walkers got off to a late start since runners were still in the chute waiting to get out on the course when the organizers were trying to get the walkers lined up and out there. The husband said he felt pretty good, sticking to a long stride so that the boy could jog alongside him. They crossed the finish shortly before I did.

Will we do the Trot again? Probably so, especially since we have nothing better to do on this holiday. There's no turkey to thaw and baste, no stuffing or other traditional side dishes to prepare, no pies to bake. Nope, we don't do traditional at Chez Boeckman-Walker. I doubt you find that terribly surprising, Gentle Reader.

Other Things That Have Kept Me Busy and Away From Blogging
I've been spending a bit more time in front of my computer doing paying work this month, so another excuse I have for not posting more is that by the time I call it a day doing paying work, I really don't want to spend more time at the computer. In addition to the work I've been doing for ParentsDigest.com, earlier this month I hooked back up with some of the people who'd started my last real job to do some editing and writing for their new Web site, DailyMeds.com. I'll readily admit that returning to health and drug-related work has been really nice.

Speaking of jobs and real jobs, I turned down one. In fact, I officially turned it down while waiting for the husband to leave post-op recovery. It was a contract editing gig downtown for 40 hours a week, and the company was offering me some flexibility so that I could still pick up the boy from school in the afternoon and then work from home.

So why would I turn down a flexible, relatively secure (even if temporary) position when I've been bellyaching and worrying about the family's financial situation, especially in light of the husband's medical needs? Well, Gentle Reader, I didn't think that my family needed me trying to juggle a full-time gig and all the things I do here at home (such as helping the boy with all the school crappola) and all the things I do for myself, such as running and blogging and cooking. I really, really would have liked to have taken the job, but I know that the boy needs me right now. School is...well, so I don't go off on some rant, let me just say that school takes a lot of out of him, and he needs to be able to come home and have a parent who can try to meet his needs. I knew I wouldn't be able to do that if I were trying to work from home after school. So, yeah, I guess I passed so that I could try to be a better mom for my kid.

A real shocker, isn't it, Gentle Reader?

In addition to the additional freelance gig I've picked up and stressing over whether or not to work outside the home again, I celebrated my birthday--the big 33 and was presented with a wonderful Le Creuset tagine by the husband, which was a total surprise--and prepared the house for Mum's arrival to help out with the boy while I cared for the husband post-op. Yeah, I know, Mum already knows I'm a horrible, lazy housekeeper and really don't care how much dust accumulates on immobile objects, but I felt compelled to at least try to not make her completely grossed out by the living conditions of my home. And it was nice to be able to celebrate my birthday with the woman who brought me into this world. We even had a chance to do a little shopping, and I got to share some more of my kitchen stuff with her. That was a lot of fun.

No, really. It was a lot of fun. I'm not being sarcastic.

Culinary Misadventures That Went Unblogged
As I noted at the beginning of the previous section, working more has left me reluctant to spend additional time during the week at my computer, thus I've not shared with you, Gentle Reader, some of the new recipes I've tried. I was stunned when I realized the other day that the camera was no longer in the kitchen. It had become a regular part of it, just like Lumpy and the 'fridge and the pile of recyclables waiting to be taken out. To not photograph dishes and their preparation was...bizarre.

Anywho, since this post is getting abominably long, here are links to recipes I've tried (to varying degrees of success):

• Rosemary chicken with orange-maple glaze (Very tasty!)
  
• Pumpkin mousse (Also very tasty and perfect for when you want that traditional pumpkin pie taste but are too lazy to bake one or too cheap to buy one)
  
• Asian chicken noodle soup (Lemongrass is fun!)
  
• Not-so-dull dal from Suvir Saran's American Masala (Sorry, I'm too lazy to type up the recipe, but it's a basic toovar dal with some cumin and chiles that's quite tasty but didn't look a thing like the picture in the book.)

And because I'm lazy, I'm just throwing up here a Slide show of photos from these past few weeks. Enjoy!

Frightening Food Finds

Your food should never look like it's vomiting.

Pretty disgusting, non?

To see more disgusting images of chicken breast stuffed with spinach, blue cheese and bacon, click here. To see the recipe itself, click here.

Chickapalooza!

I'm sure you wouldn't be surprised, Gentle Reader, to learn that the husband and I are big fans of Justice League Unlimited. Saturday evenings used to consist of a Chipotle burrito and whatever episode Cartoon Network was airing. Ahh, those were good times....

The husband has a particular episode that he enjoys watching repeatedly that focuses on cage fights between superheroes--female superheroes--dubbed by one lunkheaded henchman as, you guessed it, Chickapalooza.

Well, here, Gentle Reader. Check it out for yourself:

What this episode has to do with the rest of this post? Absolutely nothing, Gentle Reader. Zilch. Zip. I just thought I'd have some fun mentioning JLU and embedding a full episode in my blog.

Now, on with the real post!

The Return of Culinary Misadventures
After a few weeks of making and eating some recipes that have come to be family favorites, I decided it was time to strap on the 'ol apron, whip out the 'ol chef's knife and get down to making a mess trying out a new recipe. I'd been eyeballing some toor dal recipes before my trip to Okiemolah, but I have one problem when it comes to dal recipes: The boys won't touch 'em. The boy doesn't like beans (well, except for black beans) just because he's a boy and it's his prerogative to not like beans (except for black beans). The husband has told me he doesn't eat beans because he "doesn't like the mouth feel." In other words, he doesn't like the way beans can squish in your mouth. Whatever. If you ask me, the husband sometimes is a five-year-old boy who believes it's his prerogative to not like beans.

Whilst browsing toor dal recipes in my various Indian cookbooks, I came across a recipe for a chicken and chickpea harira, a Moroccan soup, in Suvir Saran's American Masala. I thought perhaps that by adding some meat to the chickpeas, I could perhaps get all the human members of Chez Boeckman-Walker to partake.

Chicken-Chickpea Harira1/3 C extra-virgin olive oil
1 t ground peppercorns
5 whole cloves
A 1" cinnamon stick
2 red onions, finely diced
1 1/2 lb. boneless chicken thigh meat, cubed
1/2 t turmeric
1 t Aleppo pepper or 1/4 t cayenne pepper
1 T plus 1 t kosher NaCl
3 medium tomatoes, cored and diced
2 15-oz. cans chickpeas, drained and rinsed
2 C canned chopped tomatoes
3 C water
1/2 t saffron threads, finely ground
1 t toasted cumin
1/2 t garam masala, sambhar or curry powder
1/4 C chopped fresh cilantro

1. Heat the oil with the ground peppercorns, cloves and cinnamon stick in a large pot over medium-high heat for 1 min.
   
2. Add the onions and cook until they're soft and lightly browned around the edges (3-5 min.), stirring often.
   
3. Add the chicken and cook until the meat releases its liquid and the pan dries (about 5 min.), stirring occasionally.
   
4. Mix in the turmeric, Aleppo or cayenne pepper and NaCl, then cook for 4 min., stirring occasionally.
   
5. Add the fresh tomatoes and cook until they release their juices (about 3 1/2 min.), stirring occasionally and scraping any browned bits from the bottom of the pot.
   
6. Add the chickpeas, canned tomatoes and water, bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to medium-low, cover and simmer for 35 min.
   
7. Stir in the saffron, cumin, ciantro and your choice of garam masala, sambhar or curry powder. Taste for seasoning, adjust as needed, then serve.

Yield: 6 servings of undetermined size

I can't provide any nutritional information insce Saran doesn't include it in his book. A serving of chickpeas per the packaging contains about 5 grams of fat, FYI. (I didn't realize that, so I thought I'd share it.)

The Faudie's Futzings

• I used 2 tablespoons of olive oil, not the 1/3 cup. I just couldn't bring myself to use that much oil. No way no how.
  
• I ground peppercorns. Can you believe it? I got down my M&P, poured in some peppercorns and went to town. I think I've said this before, Gentle Reader, but ground pepper you buy in a tin or bottle has nothing on freshly ground peppercorns. I found myself once again wishing I had a pepper mill--even though I use pepper oh so much in my kitchen.
  
• I used chicken breasts. I doubt I'll ever use any other part of the chicken in my kitchen.
  
• While I intend to use two red onions, after dicing two halves (one left over from last week and one I cut fresh for the recipe) and seeing the copious amount of diced red onions I had, I put away the second fresh half and put away the untouched whole red onion.
  
• I cheated and used two cans of diced, no-salt-added tomatoes. I didn't have any fresh whole tomatoes, but I do have two cans of whole, peeled tomatoes. But why go to the bother of cutting up canned tomatoes when you have two cans of diced ones on hand? I doubt using all diced tomatoes instead of some diced and some chopped really made a big difference.
  
• I chose to use cayenne pepper since I haven't a bloody clue if I can even find Aleppo pepper around here. Not that I've looked, mind you. But it just sounds a little too exotic for even Austin. Hell, I'll probably walk in to Central Markup next weekend and find it along with the three dozen jars of bulk chile powders and rubs the store sells....
  
• Upon consultation with the husband after letting the harira simmer for 15 minutes (more on this in a moment), I opted not to add garam masala nor sambhar nor curry powder because we felt the flavor was just right without any of those additions. Moreover, I couldn't imagine that half a teaspoon of any of those would make an noticeable impact, so why bother?
  
• I did only let the harira simmer for about 15 minutes. I got it simmering later than I'd planned, and I didn't want supper to be late. After 15 minutes, the harira seemed ready to eat: The meat was incredibly tender and flavorful, the chickpeas were just the right consistency, and the flavors had all mingled together quite nicely, so why wait?

To accompany the harira, I served up a big batch of idlis to finish up the big tub of fresh idli/dosa batter I'd bought from Gandhi Bazaar back when the boys were in New Mexico in mid-October. The batter actually expired November 8, but I didn't notice any problems. Damn, idlis are yummy.


Chickapalooza Does Mean Something
As I was crafting my "Faudie's Futzings" section, I remembered a little...incident-- revelation, I suppose--that makes the title of this post relevant.

You might have noticed, Gentle Reader, that the recipe calls for two 15-ounce cans of chickpeas. I'm not a fan of using canned beans for these recipes. I can't explain why. Maybe I just enjoy soaking and simmering lentils and beans. Maybe I enjoy that because I have the opportunity to do so because I work from home. So why use canned when you can use freshly prepared?

But here's the thing I realized after I dumped my soaked, simmered and drained chickpeas into the pot: A 15-ounce can is not the same as 15 ounces of chickpeas. I mean, the 15 ounces in the can include some kind of liquid, right? That's just my guess, Gentle Reader, because I've never bought a can of chickpeas. I've bought cans of other beans--black beans, Great Northern beans, Van Camp's pork and beans--and they've had liquid in them along with the beans. So in my mind, a can of chickpeas would probably contain liquid.

Anywho, my point is that my chicken-chickpea harira was a chickapolooza because I dutifully measured, soaked, simmered and drained 30 ounces of chickpeas. See for yourself:

Notice the volume in the pot before I added the chickpeas.

Notice that the pot's now about to overflow after I added the chickpeas.

And here's another way in which this post's title is relevant: The husband discovered he can eat chickpeas and not be repulsed by their mouth feel! So the harira for him was a bit of a celebration of chickpeas, thus chickapalooza seems evocative of some celebration surrounding his discovery. Or at least that's what I think. Maybe I'm just pulling this outta my arse.

Happy Anniversary to Me

I did it! I did it! I did it!

Hell, I more than did it. I rocked it.

In case you missed what it is, Gentle Reader, I threw out the possibility back in mid-September about honoring my one-year anniversary of running from the hellhole in which I grew up to the hellhole where I attended school, worked for a summer or two and was the hub of the major activities of my life from roughly age 4 until age 18 1/2. Being the overachiever that I am, I made plans to do and then, surprise surprise, followed through on my plans.

And then I ran. And then I ran a little bit more until I hit lucky 13.

Yes, Gentle Reader. That's 13 miles. As in a half-marathon. Which means I actually ran further than my initial plans to just go from my 'rents' house to the city limits of the second hellhole. But I was feeling so damn good--a way I haven't felt while running in a while, thanks in part, I think, to the asthma--that I didn't want to stop. Didn't matter that running through town meant I had no shoulder so as to avoid the traffic. Didn't matter that I couldn't feel my quads not long after I told my 'rent, who were kindly leading me (not following) in Mum's car, that I'd see them at the high school and then, finally, at the church I attended as a kid (where my 'rents still attend Mass faithfully).

Didn't matter that I had to zigzag around the neighborhood around the church to get me to 13 miles. Didn't matter that I actually ran 13.25 miles because the dead pixels on the display of my Nike sportsband made it difficult to see that I was closer to 13 miles than I thought, thus I overshot by a quarter-mile.

Like I said, I did it. I rocked it. And I am a deplorable overachiever.

Oh, and I also got to cook supper for my 'rents. They enjoyed the Moroccan chicken and dates with cinnamon tagine dish and orange couscous. I got to show off some of my mad knife skills, and I got to put my newly arrived Microplane zester--the one I was to get as a free gift for previewing the Cook's Illustrated 2007 annual volume back in May that just now arrived because the sucker was on backorder for that long--to the test. The zester rocks and was well worth the wait. I can't wait to zest some more stuff.

Here are some action shots of me celebrating one year of running. Unless you happen to be familiar with Bumblefuck and the area, they may not mean much. But, hey, I thought I'd share. Mad props to Mum and Dad for taking these for me.

In a fabulously memorable moment of serendipity, the local fly-in was held Saturday morning, so as I was heading into town, five planes flying in a nice delta formation were releasing white plumes of smoke, streaking the clear blue sky ahead of me as I jogged on and on and on. Not a shabby way to mark an anniversary, eh, Gentle Reader?

If you're curious how long it took me to put in those 13.25 miles, my sportsband tells me I was at it one hour, 50 minutes and 48 seconds. I'd warned the 'rents that I was figuring about two hours to get from home to the city limits, so I wasn't too far off. Yeah, that's not the fastest pace ever, but I wasn't doing this to be fast. I was doing it because I could. And I did. I did.

A Thrill Last Night, a Thrill This Morning

No, not that kind of thrill, Gentle Reader.

This kind of thrill.

If you can't tell what you're looking at, Gentle Reader, let me sum it up. I hit 400 miles today. I've run 400+ miles since the end of July. Sweet....

I once said I run a lot. Despite my lungs being hobbled for most of October, I still was able to run a lot last month. Woohoo!

Since I seem to enjoy this running thing, I'll be taking off Friday to head up to Bumblefuck for my celebratory run to mark my one-year anniversary. I'll admit I have mixed feelings about it. While I'm looking forward to, for the first time ever, starting at one place and finishing at another place--not running in place on a treadmill or running some loop to finish back where I started--I'm a bit concerned about my lungs. They seem finally to be clearing up (at least I'm not hacking up the copious amounts of grey-green, solid ick after huffing on my rescue inhaler the way I was when I first started on it), but the weather in Okiemolah is...well, I'm not for sure how it's going to be and, since it is Okiemolah, I'm really just going to have to wait and see. Gary England can only tell me so much.

But, hey, I'm cooking a date night for the 'rents, and I'm really looking forward to that. I've got Chive the Dutchie, my trusty chef's knife and a gaggle of ingredients packed (because you can't find jack in Bumblefuck or points close to), and I've made up a list of foods the boys can eat while I'm gone (although the husband has contemplated revisiting the deep-dish pizza, and he has my full blessing to do so--so long as he cleans up afterwards). Yeah, I'm looking forward to the trip, Gentle Reader. Wanna make something of it?

Every Who Down in Whoville, the Tall and the Small

How the hell was your Tuesday, Gentle Reader? Feeling a bit Grinchy, hating the Whos with a sour, Grinchy frown? Or are you a Who, standing hand in hand with your fellow Whos singing and singing and singing and singing and--well, you get the point.

No, I don't know why I'm stuck on a The Grinch Who Stole Christmas cliche here. Maybe it's because I'm not used to staying up this late. Maybe it's because I'm not used to seeing amazing stuff like this. Maybe I'm just a bit happy and goofy. Deal with it.

But if it's any consolation, it's not all joy and singing at Chez Boeckman-Walker. For as astounding and wonderful and inspiring as the result of the presidential election is, we got a bit of bad news. Sad news. Glum, rotten, awful, no good news.

Yes, Gentle Reader, we're a bit torn up over the shocking announcement that Robin, Nightwing and the Bird of Prey are losing their comics come February. It's a sordid affair, and no good is sure to come of it. Poor, neurotic little Robin. Poor horndog Nightwing. Poor Oracle and her band of ass-kicking women.

Alas, it's not all warm-hearted rejoicing here in Whoville. But, hey, by the time those three titles bite the dust, Dumbyah will be outta there, Obama will be in and intellectual curiosity will be a good thing again. Ahh, it's still a good time to be alive!

My Latest Endeavor

Lookee! I made something out of string!


I've been posting so infrequently in the last month that I have no idea if I've reported about my attempts to learn how to knit or not. Well, if I haven't, Gentle Reader, guess that cat's out of the 'ol yarn bag now.

Yes, in October I partially taught myself how to knit by watching videos online, trying to decipher some bad photos and illustrations on various Web sites and by picking up a fairly helpful book at HPB. But when I didn't seem to produce anything that looked anywhere close to functional, I got myself to a Knitting 101 session at the local Jo-Ann Fabrics and learned a fourth way to cast on and found out I was doing the knit stitch fairly correctly. (Pin a rose on my nose!) During class, I failed miserably at purling: My brain just couldn't manage to do the exactly opposite of the knit stitch in the same two-hour slot during which I'd somewhat mastered said knit stitch.

Feeling somewhat emboldened by the class, I set out to make a scarf for the boy. Not that he needs a scarf, mind you. He claimed from me this very soft knitted scarf and hat a few years back because they're in rainbow colors (he claimed them back when he was all about rainbows and "The Rainbow Connection" and The Muppet Movie), and he still likes them very much. But since he helped me pick out the clearance yarn, I thought I'd make my first project for him.

That project would probably take a competent knitter two, maybe three hours. It took me, a completely incompetent knitter, roughly three weeks. The fringe on the end? Now that took me about two hours.

My next project? Perhaps another scarf, but one that features purling, because after finishing up the boy's scarf, I took a few evenings to practice the purl stitch, and I think I've got it under control. My ultimate goal is to make this bitchin' R2-D2 hat for the boy, but I somehow doubt I'll ever be a competent-enough knitter to pull of that one.