This Sunday was Easter Sunday for all of two hours. I got up at 7am--before the kids, a first I think--and Dave and I hid the eggs behind cushions, on bookshelves, under knitting, finishing just barely before the sleepy kids came upstairs.
And we did quite well, I must say--the two-room hunt took 17 whole minutes, and that includes some late in the game hot/cold guidance.
The cavity-ridden children received only chocolate from the Easter Bunny--and only the very finest chocolate. Jacques Torres has become an Easter and Christmas staple. (Although I suppose the chocolate-covered peeps weren't quite within the dentist's guidelines...) So they ate chocolate and eggs and Dave and I prayed they wouldn't make themselves ill, and then they ran down the street to their mother's house to do it all over again.
And Dave and I went back to bed.
And woke up to a regular Sunday. Over the second round of toast, I finished sewing up Grecian Plait for my mother's birthday. And then I dragged Dave out for a walk and a little knitting photography.
At Liberty State Park, I made him strip off his jacket, scarf and gloves, and pose manfully. Note his glare. Might I remind him that he is wearing a delightfully warm Santa Cruz sweater that I knit for him with love. Smile.
Of course, then it was my turn. Might I point out that though my sweater had significantly less coverage, I still mustered a smile?
Note the garbage on the right here. Oh, New Jersey.
As we were clambering back up onto the grass, cursing the wind and blowing on our fingers, Dave suddenly stopped in his tracks and ordered me to turn and look the other way.
"Just don't look. I think...I think there's a skull washed up on the beach. A small skull...possibly a, um, a child's skull. I'm sorry, honey. Don't look."
The skull. It's a rock. With holes in it. New Jersey isn't that bad. I nearly couldn't walk, I was laughing so hard.
"Well, when I asked you to marry me, I swore to your parents that I would protect you!"
Yeah, that's going to be part of our vows. To have, to hold, to not let each other see rocks that look like skulls if you really use your imagination.
We made it home, without coming across any more dead bodies, and huddled for warmth. I took the remainder of our two dozen freaking hardboiled eggs and made up some deviled eggs, because what else do you do with them? The recipe called for three hard boiled eggs. This required some math. Dave did not want to taste them. He does not like deviled eggs. Not in a plane, not on Easter, not when there are 24 of them and what I am supposed to do? He does not like them, Sam I Am.
I passed them out to the neighbors. This made me popular. And while the neighbors ate eggs and commented on their mustardy-goodness, I knit.
Easy, happily-colored Sunday Socks. There's a tiny cable twist on each side of the foot, just enough to keep you from death-by-stockinette. The yarn is Fannie's Fingering by Farmhouse Yarn. Although, oddly, that yarn doesn't seem to be up on their website. I loved the colorway on the skein--Indian Corn--and it's knitting up quite nicely. Again oddly, the sock I'm making from the inside of the skein is drastically different from the sock from the outside of the skein. One is red, one is peachy. I'm actually finding it somewhat appealing--the socks match without being matchy, but it is a little surprising. But apart from that, I am completely enamored with this yarn. Normally I find that even the slightest touch of nylon in yarn makes it feel not-like-wool, but I'm not getting that at all. It's soft, and very light.
And that was what I thought about for the rest of Sunday. And ever since. I'm likely to have these socks finished before next Sunday, even though I have a Pea Pod to finish and a Haruha that has been sitting on the needles for an embarrassingly long time and frankly those are both gifts and so really ought to take priority. But you know how it is.