Cinnamon and 12 followers.

I AM KNITTING A GLOVE.

That's right, Susie Homemaker right here.  Knitting gloves and making Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.  I finished the thumb of that glove.

It was hard to take a photo because of this:

Doesn't it look like he's coughing out a piece of paper in this one?

I told you, you've already tried paper, Cinnamon.  You hate it.

Isn't he beautiful?  He'll be 15 in August.  It's been a long haul, Cin.  Doo doo doo, oh, doo doo doo doo doo doo, oh.  You will always be my baby.  And you linger on.

But on to more important news.  I'm sure when you came to my blog to read my newest post you gasped and lightly brought you hand up to your face and said, "Oh my!  Katie has two new followers!"  That's right!  And one of them ISN'T RELATED TO ME.

Eat your Ikea bed frame?

I was once in the hospital for being severely dehydrated after getting the flu.  I was in 7th grade so I know you're all thinking, "She must have missed school!" but don't worry, I was hospitalized during spring break.  My mom taught me common sense.

At one point the doctor or the nurse or someone else wearing something equally depressing was asking me if I had had diahrrea.  This confused my father.  He had been looming over me, as they had just given me a plate of food after being on an IV for a while (days? Weeks? Time just flies when you're having fun at a hospital) and I wasn't touching the food, and my father was trying to say, "Eat your lunch," (at least that's what I think) but what he actually said was, "Eat your diahrrea."  Think he ever lived that one down?  But he did write it in the get well card my mom got for me, which was hilarious.  I mean, my mom and dad were there with me the whole time, it's not like my mom was sitting at home and read in the paper her that her 12 year old daughter was in the hospital and thought, "Maybe I should send a card..."

Speaking of this fun, they had put these little dividers in the toilet at the hospital so they could measure how much I was going #1 and #2 and comparing that with my intake.  Think I deposited anything in that #2 container that week?  Not with that cute male nurse running around, checking my toilet dividers, that's for sure.

This post was actually meant to talk about the bed that we got from Ikea.  My dad posted a blog and the only thing I commented was "Eat your diahrrea" and I felt like telling the story to someone other than my family.  Oh, only my family reads this blog?  Hi, family!

For some reason unbeknown to me, Jesse has had absolutely no problem with banging his shins whenever he walks around the new bedframe.  I, on the other hand, have been looking like this:

Attractive.  Also, white much?  Now, all of a sudden, Jesse is waking me up a million times a night (okay, maybe once or twice) from hitting the bed frame AS HARD AS POSSIBLE with his leg, thereby shaking the bed, jolting me awake, but just in case I'm still asleep he has to shout, "AAAAAHHHHHH, STUPID BED FRAME."  Because the bed frame has quite the sense of humor.  And is apparently kind of a d-bag.

Has anyone seen Suki?

My prostate is doing great, thanks for asking.

We had an ant problem last week.  I don't want to talk about it.  But the issue has subsided quite a bit.  I knew you would all be concerned.  Which, you should have been.  Ants aren't good for a marriage.  But Nutella is.  Things tense between you and the spouse?  Go ahead.  Buy a can.  You can spare the $3.72.

Soooooo, the Pioneer Woman came to Portland last night!  She's promoting her cook book. It was pretty great.  She said I have really pretty eyes!!

No, she didn't, but I'm sure she would have had there not been one million people (read: women) about ready to stampede over every other woman and infant there to kiss her on the face.  I tried to walk around some women to get a picture of her signing books (from behind the crowd of people waiting) before we left and I wasn't even getting close to the line, but those women were ready to take me OUT if I got near them.  They were not having it.  She's, of course, much prettier in person and has a very sweet personality.  Which I already knew.  See above eye comment.

The weather is finally nice, says Katie while it is cloudy outside.  But it was better this last weekend.  Which means we open the back door curtains all the time.  Which means Cinnamon no longer meows at the front door when he's ready to come in, but he does this:

For literally HOURS at a time.  Hours!  He's saying, "Why won't you let me in!  This is the only door!" because he is a cat and turns stupid when the sun is out.  He just stares at you and stares at you, and I just yell at him, "Go to the front door where I am not as lazy, cat."

Okay, so this one, aside from being extra adorable, is funny.  I don't know if you can really tell, but Suki is shooting a look over at Cinnamon that exactly states, "I hate that guy."  And of course Cinnamon needed a good stretch after looking up a word in the dictionary and then reading it for half an hour.  Riveting.

A niece and nephews and cat gagging.

The other night I was trying to go to sleep when I heard a horrid gagging sound outside the bedroom door.  Suki was having quite the hangover.  So what did she do?  She spit up all over my work shoe.  Not that I only have one work shoe.  I tried to walk over to her and she moved away.  Now, did she then puke somewhere on the sea of carpet?  No no no.  She puked all over Jesse's jeans.  At least Cinnamon has the decency to take care of that outside.  Except for the time SOMEone fed him a french fry and he pooped on my sandal. 

Anyway, Suki did that thing that people do when they have finished throwing up and just stare at one part of the wall trying to gain some composure and think happy thoughts.  "Treats, think of treats.  Wait, don't think of food.  Think of how much you love scratching the couch and kicking cat litter everywhere."

My nephew turned 13 on St. Patrick's Day (how long has it been since I blogged?):

And he showed us his mad juggling skills.  However, it was my mom's house, so we had to be creative with juggling the bowling pins.

Jesse and I took the other nephew and niece out on Saturday for what we hoped would be the zoo, but it was too gloomy and gross.  So we went to the Children's Museum and did stuff kids do.  Which apparently means carrying everyone's coats and taking pictures.  Oh, I didn't have to carry the coats?  Lucky me.

Here are pictures of the cats:

Doesn't Cinnamon look like he's ready for a treat?  This is not his treat face.  His treat face is pacing between your legs and non-stop meowing.  And I was in the bathroom when I took this picture anyway, so let's hope he wasn't begging for a treat.  Tmi?

Here is an interesting read.  Jesse, I'll be buying you your own knitting needles soon.