DD7 complains incessantly. Not about ballet, which she loves again, now that the child who was bothering her in class is not attending. She just complains, about homework, which generally takes ten minutes of actual work and twenty minutes of complaining, about her sister, being bored, doing any task, and pretty much anything that she can articulate into a sentence.

Though annoying, the complaining is tolerable, or ignorable, except on Thursday. Then, the three of us are trapped in a van for the round trip, tired and hungry. Even the snack creates drama.

DD1 dislikes it when I (or anyone) is doing something that does not involve her. On Thursday, the exclusionary tasks make up a long list. She throws regular tantrums while I wash dishes, prep everything for dinner, do emergency laundry which inevitably happens, pack snacks and run everything to the car. Sometimes she naps. On Thursday, not so much.  It could be a form of protest.

Then we get into the van and head for the car rider line.

Today DD7 told us about her friend not being polite, then bursting into tears. DD7 clarified that yes, the person being mean was the one who cried. She didn’t understand why either. Immediately, DD1 grabbed the snack bag. Then she threw a cracker at her sister. Then all of the crackers, one after another. Instead of taking the bag back, DD7 complained loudly, in an indignant tone.

I couldn’t stand the drama a moment longer, so I said, “There, now she’s run out of crackers. ”

DD1 then threw everything else she could reach – sip cup, pacifier, a toy, and a brush.

I was unable to find sympathy in my heart for DD7, who declined to sit a row away from DD1, because she didn’t want to be bothered to move her booster seat.  Moving the booster seat involves simply picking it up, and carrying it back one row.  It takes seconds.  So, she was in no way ambushed by DD1, and had actually begun to complain prior to the cracker attack.

Gaah!

DD7 says she would like to also do gymnastics, karate, and pretty much any activity that a friend is doing or she hears about on the radio.  I have informed her that unless she plans to be say, an entirely different person, one not prone to injury or getting sensory overload when more than one afternoon per week is scheduled, she can forget about it.  For years I told her she could do something instead of ballet and she said no.  Now she just has far too good a time, has too many friends in class, and is too good to quit on a whim.  I have seen what it looks like when she genuinely isn’t interested in something – this isn’t it.

This, my friends, took hours.

I keep pulling it all out and starting again. The cast on seemed too tight to get a needle through. I kept trying to make it looser, but succeed in making it looser and uneven. I eventually settled for tight, though not as much, even loops. The knitted row was okay, just maddeningly slow.

Then I tried to actually knit and purl, which was a horrible disaster. I kept dropping stitches, adding stitches, and losing my place. I must have spent an hours on only a few stitches.

Then I met up with Aunt D and her knitting group. Everyone was really nice and helpful. I thought I was distracted by the entertaining conversation, because my knitting became even worse. When I got home, I realized everything the lady next to me did looked confusing and different because I had been following a Continental Knitting video at home. And she was doing the English style knitting.

And so, I begin again.

I will eventually figure it out or give up and donate the knitting needles to somebody who knows how to use them properly. Or maybe someone who is just more coordinated.

I bought a knitting book today. This seems mundane. But two weeks ago I tried to buy a knitting book, got sensory overload on the choices, and didn’t buy anything at all. So actually, this is an improvement.

Also, it’s a knitting an crocheting book, which makes me feel like slightly less a dumbass. I can do a bit of crocheting. Not enough to make a sweater. But I’ve made simple afghans before. And they came out fine. This encourages me to try the knitting, since crocheting does require the use of yarn.

Blah, blah, blah.

Christmas was lovely here. We had a nice family Christmas Eve and morning. And then we visited with family in the afternoon. I have more calls to family to make and more people to visit. But all is well.

Merry Late Christmas, and a Happy New Year.

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The ad is exceptionally cool for freaks like me who get sensory overload in the grocery store.  At the beginning of my grocery list (typically) I have items written generally, such as fruit.  I then look at the different fruit on sale, what’s fresh and decide which things I want.  But by the time I get to the other end of the store, that is all over.  I just want to flee.  Usually, I start to freak out right after the fruit if the store is crowded, in the breakfast aisle, or the yogurt. 

Back to the ad and the list.  I get all the sale prices onto my list with very specific brand names, etc.  I can get pretty much all the way through the store without freaking out because I’m examining hundreds of products with all sorts of strangers next to me.  I just get them and get out.  Ahhh.  The weekly ad list is lovely.

Except… last week I got brownie mix instead of cookie dough.  Brownie mix was on sale; cookie dough was not.  Okay, brownie for a sweet.  This was a bad plan.  The cookie dough I only make enough cookies for the people present.  So if all four of us are home, then make eight cookies so we each get two.  If only two of us are home, then make four.  The brownie mix doesn’t work like this:  I must make all of it.  Alas, we ate all of it.

This is not good economy for the waistline since I lack self control.

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• Sensory Overload in the Grocery Store

I call it sensory overload. Then when I looked up sensory overload today, the wiki article referred to autism, which I do not have. I admit, I can be antisocial at times. But that is not the same thing.

DH gets very annoyed with me. I often go to the grocery, but come back with exactly what is on the list and nothing more. Or I return with only some of the items on the list because I get part way through the store and feel like I’m suffocating. So I go to the front and check out with whatever is in my buggy at that point.

When I get home with half the groceries; I am just glad to be home and not in the grocery store. DH wants to know, where is the vanilla coke?

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• Learning to Knit