And So It Begins...

Another distraction. Just when I've discovered the massive potential that Facebook has for pulling me away from my current knitting projects, along comes Blogger. Not that I'm unaware of blogging, per se - I participated in a blog that a friend of mine had in Uni, suppose I've just been avoiding it, knowing just how much other crap I've got to do!!! It seems that ever since I had WonderBoy last year, I just keep adding more and more things to my list of 'things I must do'. Weird, cause then I complain how little time I have to myself...

My next job in getting this blog up and running is to add lists of completed and current knitting projects. I may leave that till later, as I can't be arsed right now.

Some more about me. I'm having trouble getting used to the idea that I will type stuff about me and other people will read it. Wait a minute. That's stretching the friendship already - I'm assuming people are going to read this!!

I titled this blog 'shoeboxes' for two reasons. One, "Shoebox" being the title of a great song by one of my favourite bands, Barenaked Ladies; and two, 'shoeboxes' are just me. As a kid I loved holding on to boxes with lids; the smaller the better. Couldn't get enough of them and could never bring myself to throw them out. I think I always thought I'd store stuff in them. And I did, mostly. Art supplies, letters from friends, special treasures, and a ill-destined rock collection that weighed too much to be moved. I was an enthusiastic child, if nothing else.

And now, 'shoeboxes' is how I see my life (here she goes, deep and metaphorical. I promise, I'll talk about knitting very soon. I promise.) - there's me the wife, me the mother, me the teacher, me the knitter, etc. And, as being a mother has taught me over the last 18 months, often some contents don't mix with others.
Sometimes Wonderboy will walk past as I try to knock over a few rows, and he'll pick up the knitted piece (he prefers mohair or cashmere blends. He's a man of discriminatin' tastes) and rub it against his cheek, say "Awww" and walk on. Most times, however, he'll pull at the needles, row counter (cause it goes round and round, don'tcha know),or do something totally inconvenient, like tangle the yarn around his feet and yell at me like it's my fault...

So the shoeboxes are handy. Please enjoy the compartmentalised chaos that is my life.