Fiona Style and a Homicidal Fish

I present you my child, Fiona, second born of twins. First lady of the scissors. You know, it only takes 15 minutes for a parent to shower. It takes less time for a 3 year old to hack off her hair. (I was not the parent in the shower.)

This is what Fiona’s hair looked like May 24th.

And this is what it looks like after having been to the hairdressers for what I’m sure is a regular event of their utmost artistry. Doesn’t every kid do this? I remember going to bed without supper the night I decided I’d had enough of my bangs.

That is not a comb over. There is only scruff there at the top of her head. She still looks cute.

Also, these are the ponchos that I made for the girls. True to fine knitting form, I put the collars on them (so that Calla’s will not fall right off her shoulders and on to the floor anymore) and the temperature is set to go into the 30s later in the week. They will fit for several years though. Maybe someday I’ll even put flowers on them.

Loosely based on the Urban Poncho pattern from (I think) Lion Brand yarn. Calla's is made of Patons Canadiana colour 420, lot 02/03 from the Fairy Yarn Father. Fiona's is made from Patons Decor and I don't have the ball bands at the moment. The yarn was supposed to be bulky, so since I used worsted weight, I held the yarn double and hoped for the best. It's not like it was a cabled vest we shall not name for the now. And because they are a little on the large size, the children can grow into them for a few years. Easy to knit. A very pleasing, mindless knitt.

A killer swims among us

Some time ago, I bought a fish. It was a beta that was not a happy fish. And not long lived. This may have been my error, not ever having owned fish before. However, it was a dissatisfied fish and the children (who were the recipients of “Nemo”) did not care a whit about him. I secretly believe the fish knew his name and committed suicide from the shame of being a Disney creation.

So I went to Walmart and bought new fish. One of which flourished. The other two, not so much. I changed the water when I should. I fed them. I said, “Hi!” every day. One day, my mother watched the orange and white one bunt the others as it lapped the bowl. It either worried them to death or they fell into merciful concussions and were “flushed”. For all I know, they have now recovered and are living very happily in the Mississippi watershed. I’d like to think so.

Without further ado, I present “Killer”.

I know he doesn't look like much, but you are not a fish sharing the bowl with this menace.
Please spare a moment for a couple of the fallen (Blackie and the Rodeo King). And do try to remember, when you are in a bowl with a fish who has delusions of grandure and thinks it's a shark, the plastic weeds offer no cover.