Everybody should have a jacket with a giraffe on the pocket

It took me a little while to realise exactly what this object in front of me was. I'd dragged out every reference tome I could lay my hands on - from the Encyclopedic World Atlas to The Biology of Microrganisms by Brock et al, to (in desperation by this stage) Name That Flower by Clark and Lee. I held it up to the light, I sniffed at it cautiously, I even spoke to it in two languages, hoping against hope that I could figure it out.

Then, ever so slowly, a distant memory sluggishly made it's way to the surface of my murky old grey matter. This, my friends, was a FINISHED OBJECT! A finished Tweeeeeedy jacket, to be precise! And it only took me 8 months to make it (ahem).

Project specs:
Pattern - Tweedy Giraffe Jacket by Phildar, from the Tricotez Calin Automne/Hiver 2002
Yarn - Legende in Rubis and Jeans
Needles - 3mm and 5mm

I love this jacket - it's so supercute that I'm almost tempted to make one for myself! I think Grumbles likes it too - she kept trying to feed the giraffe with the biscuit I'd bribed her with so she'd stay still - awwwww!

A bag for the bag

I think I am in dire need of a new bag. My current one has a hole so big in it that it looks like a big gaping mouth. “Hello”, it seems to be saying. “Remember me? I’m your bag! Let’s go to the pub – it’s been a while since I came home stinking of ciggies and spilt beer.”

As you can see, my bag also is a smart arse with an attitude problem. Actually, no, it's been a good and faithful companion. Really, it has barely complained at all about all the stuff it has been made to lug around, including dirty bibs, notebooks, address books, far too many receipts, stale old jellybeans that so far I have been too lazy to take out even though they are rolling around the bottom, bottles of formula and the odd nappy (unused). And that hole is just the beginning. The cotton is so thin and distressed that another week and there will be six more holes like it. I'm not sure if I'll be able to stand the slander from all those mouths (Why didn't you take better care of us? Hey fellas, I guess an old bag like us is only fit for an old bag like her! Bwahahahahahahahah!)

So, peoples of the internet: Any bag suggestions?

I'm too old to crash on the floor

Oi there, Tiger. Off the boat now. I don't even know whose boat this is, let alone why we're clamouring all over it (actually, one of our party knows the owners, but still!), so off we get.

Besides, we've got Hanukah to celebrate at Grandad and Buba's place. Lots of food, and even more ducking of the pschyco minor bird that shall be hell bent on swooping anybody who ventures into the backyard, let alone anywhere near it's nest. And then, just for fun, you're going to miss your afternoon sleep, become exceedingly over-tired, and then insist on sleeping with us tonight. Normally I don't mind that so much - it is, after all, a very pure and wonderful pleasure to wake in the middle of the night, and hear your soft breathing, and know that all is well in our little world - but tonight we've got Poppa staying with us, and he's sleeping in our bed, which means that if you want to sleep with us then Galumph and I will have to be in sleeping bags on the floor of your room, because there's simply no room on the couch for anybody else, no matter how small they are.

Oh no: the waterworks have started in earnest. You really want us near. Okay, my love. I'll trade you one cold, hard floor for a cessation of tears. Deal? Deal. Sleep well, tiger.

Christmas has come early!

Sometimes, as I’m busy inside, doing whatever it is I’m doing whilst Grumbles has her sleep, I’ll hear the vrooooooom-vroom-vroom of the mailman’s motorbike. The mail’s come! Hooray! What surprises does it have in store for me today? However – this poses a dilemma. A decision has to be made – do I creep out and gather it up, at the risk of waking up Grumbles (and cursing myself, every single time, for not oiling our very squeaky front door), or do I wait patiently inside, then hold her hand as we go out together? Oh, the tussle between patience and temptation!

I can bitterly inform you that it is a terrible disappointment to do the not-so-quiet creep, waking up Grumbles in the process, to be rewarded with the likes of… a CityWater bill. Yay. And another from the electricity company. Hmmm. And oh look, just to really cheer me up, our credit card statement. And Grumbles, well, grumbling in her bedroom.

“You woke me up for CityWater? Jeeeeez, Mum” her cranky red face will say. “I had at least another 40 minutes of sleep in me, or would have if you didn’t insist of galumphing around, gathering bills. No more craft time for you! Plus I’m going to be a grump for the rest of the afternoon. Not really worth it now, huh?”

So it is with much pleasure that I show you my mail box spoils today! And the best bit is that, being a parcel, it was delivered early by the contractor guy, rather than the regular mailman, so no waking up of anybody. Huzzah!





Snazzy notebook holder, with a lovely new notebook, so I can write down all my ideas, and then one day turn them into a publishing sensation, and some sweet photos of Grumbles taken by her office mate. Shannon, you RAWK! The best internet blogging friend a girl could ever wish for!

Why I'm not quite myself today.

The last day or two I've been a complete mess. A big nose-honking, blubbering mess. Why? I've just read The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. I started reading it on Tuesday evening, finished the night off with a huge bawl, and then, once the Galumph had gone to work on Wednesday morning, placed Grumbles in front of a Playschool DVD (which I let her watch TWICE in a row! Oh, the shame) whilst I sat in the hallway, still wrapped in my husband's dressing gown, and heavingly sobbed my way through the rest of it. Even just thinking about it now is making me go all teary. Poor Henry. Poor Clare. And she was just so... true. And good. Much better than I think I could ever be if my husband was a time traveller who kept popping off to goodness knows where, and sometimes I had to wait for years before I would see him again. I would be so angry, and tired, tired, tired from it all.

So the main feeling has been that of fragileness. It's been a while since I was dragged through the works like that by a book. In fact, not since I finished The Pursuit of Love by Nancy Mitford have I been so broken up. I spent so much of last night just rolling over to give the Galumph big tight cuddles, until he finally put his hands on my shoulders and said "Honey, I'm not a time traveller. I'm not going anywhere!" "I know", I sniffled back. But then the phone rang at 11:30, with some guy from the UK calling Galumph about a critical work problem. He was gone for quite a while, so when he finally crawled back into bed I mumbled triumphantly "You DO time travel - you've just been in Bristol for a hour, and left me all alone!" Poor old Galumph. He had no answer for that one.

Anyhoo, brilliant book. Although I hope there's no sequel or anything. Ms Niffenegger, I just don't know how much more my poor, squeezed-out heart could take. Now I must go and rub moisturiser on my sad red nose. Next time I read a book that unleashes Niagra Falls, I'm going to honk away on a good quality hankerchief, not recycled toilet paper like I did this time. Good for the environment, not so good for the schnoz.

Also, I think I might print out Alicia's marvellous summer reading list, then hit the second-hand bookstore this afternoon. Sucker for punishment, I know.

It's beginning to look a.... ahh, you know the rest

I am totally rocking the Christmas spirit. Check it out:

Stars in the hallway...


...table decorations...


...and, of course, our very own snazzy match box Advent calendar.


Excuse the blurry photos. Two coffees in the morning, and I'm all shake, shake, shake! Either that, or I'm just waaaaaaay too full of the Christmas spirit. Or I have Parkinson's. Eeew.

(I know it's a bit late in the day to be making Advent calendars, but you can find some awesome ideas over here!)

Can you believe this was my husband's first concert!

I never again want to find myself in such a large space with some many sugared up children again. It was madness. It was chaos. It was a Wiggles concert.


Actually, it wasn't too bad. The new Yellow Wiggle was pretty good, although he sadly lacks those Peter Gallagher-esque eyebrows of Greg that I loved so much. And Grumbles was supremely well behaved (read: completely overwhelmed), and quietly sat eating her dates and raisons whilst every single other child in the entire arena ate chips and lollies.

But never mind the songs, or the dancing, or the choreography - the best fun was watching the two mums with four boys between them, who we had the good fortune to be sitting behind, continually slapping the kids everytime they slapped their brothers. "I've TOLD you not to smack your BROTHER!" Thwack. Thwack.

Classic.