June Cleaver is overrated

Summer vacation is quickly coming to a close at Clover Fields and I've spent the last few weeks coming to terms with the fact that I am no June Cleaver. I think since returning from vacation, I've cooked a total of five meals, not counting taking a prepackaged meal out of the freezer and reheating it. Let's just say that the people at Mosa know us very, very well. The house is in a perpetual state of disarray with no end in site. There is no vacuuming while wearing a skirt and a sting of pearls. I have been a domestic failure.

I have been a successful chauffeur, shuttling my little teeny tiny baby boy to football practice. (Can you tell I'm having a difficult time with him growing up?) Honestly, I would rather see him race across a soccer field, but it is thrilling to watch him dart between defensive boys, avoiding tackles, while caring the ball down the field.

From Family

The two hours of nightly football practice does provide me with ample time to knit. I've finished my Aquaphile socks:

From 2009 Finished Objects

And am now chugging through the Leyburn sock

From WIPs

And Robin Melanson's Stella's Blouse.

From WIPs

Those will be the only string of purls for a while.