Octopuses or Octopii?

I’ve spent whole chunks of the day staring out the window at the sheets of rain pounding my already hail-flattened garden, popping Vitamin D capsules in an attempt to stave off a grey sky and petal-less flower induced depression, avoiding the front window where I have a clear view of my shirtless neighbour’s yard, where he had, inexplicably, piled a very large pile of topsoil on his lawn several weeks ago, this pile of topsoil having turned into an unsightly mud mountain.

Mark, very cheerily, announced this morning that the great thing about rainy days is that we don’t have to put on sunscreen!

That’s true, and that’s one way to look at things. Putting sunscreen on the kids is not what it once was: essentially chasing them through the house, with a handful of SPF 45, shrieking at them to hold still and wrestling them to the ground while applying it to a child who apparently has mistaken sunscreen for boiling oil and is screaming appropriately. Now, the boys do allow me to apply sunscreen in a painless, tear-free way, but not without a constant stream of complaints and sighing. I do like Mark’s look-on-the-bright-side approach.

Because I am evidently a masochist, I like to visit a website called Rhythm of the Home. It’s such a lovely website, with inspiring crafty ideas, which I have no hope of recreating. Really, the rhythm of my home is much less melodic. The rhythm of my house is more based on Dinosaurs: Meat Eaters Chomping the Plant Eaters, or Bakugan Battle Brawlers versus Ben 10 Aliens, or Mom I Accidentally Destroyed Something. However, I occasionally strive to be a crafty, artistic mother, and I know what you’re going to say. Enough already, Nicole. Enough. You will never be that crafty, artistic mother. And you would be right.

I saw this craft, making a yarn octopus, and I thought it looked fairly simple, fairly straightforward. So this morning, in anticipation of the need for rainy day activities, I bought some yarn and some felt. My parents popped by for a visit this afternoon and my mother spied the giant ball of yarn and looked at me quizzically. “Are you going to try to KNIT something?” she asked calmly and clearly, the way you might speak to someone in a hostage situation.

Here is the result of my best effort in octopus making.

Mark named his Moppy. Jake named his Bum.

I asked Jake if I should make a face on his octopus. He said, “I don’t really think you should. I like him with no face.” I feel judged.

Moppy and Bum, getting ready for their Heart and Soul duet.