I told Sage that if her mom and dad capitulated, I would take her. They did, and I did (Rick came too, since she is under 18 and needed parental consent and I am not legally a parent). We went to the same place where I got my navel and rook piercings, and where we took Amelia to get her helix piercing almost three years ago (damn, time flies!). I went into the back room with Sage for moral support. I asked her if she wanted to hold my hand while it was done. “There’s no shame in it. I held someone’s hand when I got my piercings done, Amelia held my hand when she got hers done,” I told her. “Amelia is a wuss,” Sage proclaimed. She graciously forbore to say the same thing about me. “Okay, then,” I said, and just stood back.

She got marked for the piercing, okayed its position, and then she got pierced. No problem, the kid didn’t turn white, she didn’t look faint, she was a real trooper as the piercing artist put the ring in. She looked in the mirror and gushed, “It’s so cool!” Since she was taking it so well, I asked if we could stick around a few more minutes so I could get another hoop for my own helix piercing. She agreed and gleefully went off to show her dad, who was waiting in the main shop area.

I was paying for my new hoop when I heard a tremendous thud. I looked over my shoulder and saw Sage on the floor, with Rick crouched beside her. Five minutes after she was pierced, the shock of it had caught up with her, and she hit the decorative steel plating on the floor like a ton of bricks. I ran over in time to have her look at me and say in wonder, “Did I just pass out?” Why yes, grasshopper, yes you did. The piercing artists were awesome about the whole thing, sat her down in front of the airconditioner and gave her a lollipop to raise her blood sugar while I ran downstairs to get Gatorade from the bodega. When I got back, Rick went out to get the car, and pretty soon we were on our way to her apartment, not much the worse for wear except for a bump on her head.

Turns out this was the first time she had ever passed out and she while she didn’t like the whole process, she did like being able to say she had passed out. It made the story, so to speak. I told her it probably would have been better if she hadn’t told me that Amelia was a wuss, since Amelia had not passed out after her piercing, but I was informed that was not the point. The official story is that for Sage’s 15th birthday she got a helix piercing, and she passed out. And it was LEGEN-wait-for-it-DARY.

I guess I’m at a loss. I hope it passes soon.

Hey, world? She’s pretty fucking awesome.

Fortunately, although we got into line at about 6:20 (gates opened at 6:30) and were well back in it, we found a guy that Rick plays softball with. Who happens to be the head of security for Celebrate Brooklyn. (Hi, Mike!) He got us in ahead of most of the line, and we were able to set up our blanket and picnic spread in plenty of time, which means that when Amelia arrived in Brooklyn, she had someplace to meet us. Fortunately, she got in ahead of them closing the gates as well, because we hadn’t come up with a contingency plan for that.

The show was fantastic. It was a lot of songs that David Byrne had collaborated on with Brian Eno, but there were a couple of big Talking Heads hits as well, and they kept the crowd jumping. But although I was very happy that it was someone I liked doing the opening concert of the year, I was happier still that the venue was finally open. I spend a lot of time at Celebrate Brooklyn concerts/movies/dance pieces in the summer because it’s a great chance to hang out with friends and have a picnic. Seeing it through Amelia’s eyes last night, I found an added benefit.

“Wow, I didn’t know there were this many hipsters in New York!” she exclaimed when she got to our blanket. And thus the “Count the Hipsters” game was born. Last night’s total, before the show started: 54. Good times.

The number wouldn’t matter, except that in August, the Youngest turned 13 and was able to join Facebook like her older sister and I. She was thrilled that she was finding so many friends and thought the was the queen of popularity. She proudly announced to us that she had 100 Facebook friends, and asked how many we had. The Oldest had over 500 (she runs in wide social circles because of her mother’s lifestyle). A little crestfallen, the Youngest turned to me and asked how many I had. Surely an old person like me wouldn’t have as many as a really cool 13 year old. I told her I had about 165 (this was pre-knitter/friend explosion). She was seriously bummed, not taking into account that I’m older than her, work in several different fields and have online friends. At that age, I guess it’s all about the numbers, not the circumstances that would explain those numbers.

Since then, we occasionally compare numbers, and I think she is always hopeful that she will surpass me. Today’s: Oldest, 590. Youngest, 147. Julie, 282. Facebook: helping me fuck with teenagers’ self-esteem and earn the “Evil” in Evil Julie since 2008.

1. Where her nose and ears are. I was pointing out facial features on a monkey doll she has, and said “Here’s the monkey’s ear.” J would then say “Here’s Mommy’s ear” and point to her own, and I would follow suit, and then we would say “Where are Samang’s ears?” And she pointed to them right away.

2. To clap after good plays during a football game. Actually, she just learned how to clap after any play in a football game, but she just turned 17 months old. We’ve got time.

3. To say “apple.” I had brought the laptop over to J’s house to do some work yesterday, and Samang was entranced with the glowing Apple logo on it. I told her it was an apple, and she said “Ahhh-pull” for the next ten minutes.

4. Possibly the most important thing I taught her: how to do a fist bump. After a few false starts where she poked my fist with her pointer finger, she is now fist bumping like a pro and gave fist bumps to Mommy, Daddy, Uncle Rick, and Mama Julie. Repeatedly. We are still trying to do “thumbs up,” but that seems a little more challenging. At least now if Barack Obama sees her at the Inauguration Parade, she will be able to greet her new President:

The Youngest, who is almost 13 got on the Wii Fit next. She is always seen as “the athletic one” in the family because she’s always involved in several sports and is likely to get up and do something active in her spare time because she can’t stand to sit still. By contrast, The Oldest and I would rather sit and read or knit or whatever, not run. So The Youngest gets on the balance board and doesn’t complete one of the tests and doesn’t do great on the second one. The cheeky Wii Fit asks her if she trips a lot when she walks, and then presents her with a Wii Fit Age of 22, a full ten years older than she actually is. The Oldest and I howl, and The Youngest pouts.

The Oldest takes the balance board, completes the tests, and is announced to have a Wii Fit Age of 15, which is her actual age. She and I high-five, as we, the non-athletic ones, have finally beaten the Youngest at something, even if it was an exercise video game. “At least my Wii Fit Age isn’t ten years older than me” is going to go down in family history as a comeback to anything.

Jordana and Thabiso should just be glad that I didn’t decide to buy Samang the Radio Flyer ride-on-rocketship. That thing didn’t have an off button, the guitar does.

As far as the fuck-up I wrote about yesterday goes…I don’t think she’ll notice it. She is not a knitter, and the chevron pattern combined with the variations in hue and the drapey nature of silk mean that it’s not as easy to see the fuck-up as it might have been had I used another yarn.

So, without further ado, I give you the project that went out in the mail this morning.  Behind the cut, of course, because there are pictures.Pattern: Clementine Shawlette by Michele Rose Orne (appeared in Sp ’07 Interweave Knits)

Yarn: Handmaiden Sea Silk (70% silk, 30% seacell). I think the colorway is Berries, but it might be Sangria. The labels never list the colorway for some reason

Needles: Addi Turbo Lace US Size 4, 32″ circs. I heart these needles. My love for them is great.

Would I knit it again? Maybe. It turns out very nicely, and it’s a simple pattern if you don’t knit it by Christmas lights and mistake the right side for the wrong side. (Yep, I realized this morning that’s how the fuck-up happened. Will I never learn about the perils of knitting by Christmas lights?

Pictures:

Pre-blocking. Boy, this picture is dark.

Also pre-blocking. I really need to build a lightbox.

Post blocking. You can see the happy little chevrons much better.

Pretty.

And on that note, I am off to Tampa tomorrow for my vacation with Rick. We aren’t flying down together because he’s in Massachusetts and I’m in NYC, but this will be our first vacation together. We’ve been road-tripping before, we’ve spent many weekends together, but never have we ventured to parts unknown together. We’ll be staying with Rick’s brother and sister-in-law, and I’m sure golfing will be involved, but I’ve also talked Rick into Disney, the beach, and maybe even Sea World. I don’t know what my internet access will be like, so the blog may not be updated before next Thursday. In the meantime, be good to each other. I’ll be looking like this (minus the drool):

Samang likes beer bottles because they’re cold. And because if adults have them, they must be something she should have, too.