Back, but far less wise than before

Well, howdy there, folks! I'm am back, and as you see, still in one piece (albiet with four lovely, blood-oozing holes). Before I go any further, I'd just like to say a big thank you all so much for all your comfort, hugs and words of advice. It was really very much appreciated, and really helped calm down the freak out I was having! I'd email you all my thanks personally, but Blogger doesn't give out the email addresses of commenters. I need to investigate how to fix that.

The op went quite well, and I was home by 11:30 that morning, which was good. Being in hospital was absolutely no fun, but then again, when is it? Thankfully I was the first to go into theatre, so I didn't have too much waiting around to do. I had a bit of a reaction to the drugs, and got a bad case of the shakes as they brought me back around, but a good 20 minutes on the oxygen soon cleared that up.

The best bit was after complaining to the nurse about how I thought I was going to throw up or faint, wasn't quite sure of which, she quickly gave me a tiny wafer, and told me to dissolve it on my tongue. Instant nausea removal - it was fantastic. I lay there, trying to rack my brains and turn my delight into some sort of witty remark about it being one hell of a communion wafer, but alas, my brain wasn't working. Obviously, as my mouth wasn't working either, so even if I did make a joke no body would have understood it anyway, but would have gazed at me in horror as I lay there, pasty white, mumbling away with blood dribbling down my mouth. Charming!

So, I'm back home, and rather tired and sore, with heaps of bruising coming out now. But the bruising has nothing on the swelling - I currently look like this:

Which is rather unfortunate, as normally I look just like this:

Heh, heh!

Right, I've just a bit of lunch, so now I must do a light brush, salt rinse, another rinse featuring some sort of industrial mouth wash, then stick a syringe filled with salt water into the wounds and flush them out, and then top it all off with - you guessed it, another salt rinse. Joy.

Warning: Freak out ahead.

So.

Tomorrow I am getting my wisdom teeth out. All four. In hospital.

How do I feel about this? I am scared out of my fricken tree. Seriously. The last time I was in hospital, giving birth to Grumbles, I almost so very nearly didn't come out again, so the thought of having to lie on that hospital trolley again, counting down to ten as the anaesthetist does his thing really doesn't appeal. I'm having a mild anxiety attack just typing this.

Even just the smell of a hospital sends a shudder through me.

I'm not worried about the pain. Pain I can handle. It's just the thought of something going horribly wrong that is giving me the willies. I know, I know, it's just a dental procedure - what can wrong? Well, last time I was just meant to pop out a baby, and look how that finished up. Me, lying there, star of my own blood-filled medical tragedy, featuring 5 hours of emergency surgery, 18 blood transfusions, loss of coagulation system and a sub-partial hysterectomy. Yay - happy days!

Whew. Deep breaths.

It's the waiting that's doing me in. The weekend was fine, I was rushing about like a mad woman, cooking pot after pot of soup, and making numerous batches of ice-cream, both of which will see me through the week. But now Grumbles is having her nap, Galumph is at work, and I'm sitting here trying to keep dark thoughts out of my mind. Having a vivid imagination isn't always such a good thing, ya know? Bring on tomorrow and let's get the whole thing over and done with.

Ok, more deep breaths. Sorry for being such a sook.

I just want to wake up, and be ok. I just want to be able to live a long and happy life, growing disgracefully old with my husband, and having the joy of watching my little girl grow up. Please, please God, don't let anything go wrong this time.

My kid is a Lego superstar

Dear People at Lego Central,

I read with interest on your website that you are always seeking new candidates who believe in the joy of building, the pride of creation. In that case, please let me introduce my daughter, Grumbles. I know it's hard to believe, but this clever four year old built this helicopter herself from scratch. Amazing!

No, really, it is amazing. I have distinct memories of being in grade 3, and still only managing to build sad, featureless towers from your most excellent product. The kid has surpassed my Lego skill many, many times over. In fact, I doubt I could put together a helicopter now, let alone at such a tender age.

Although, just between you and I, I'm not so sure the pilot is seated in an ideal place. It seems like a sure-fire recipe for decapitation to me.

Um, ignore the manic grin. I'm absolutely positive that's not what she has in mind. She's obviously concerned for his safety, hence the helmet. Really, she's a kind-hearted genius!

Anyway, if you have any need of four year olds who are a whizz with small coloured blocks, give us a call. I'll send her right over (and maybe her Dad, too).

Yours sincerely,
Jorth.

Maybe I wasn't worth it?

Flowers bought for self, by self. Oh dapper gentlemen, where are you?

A few months ago I bought myself some super amazing mascara. This magic in a tube claimed it would extend my lashes by 2,000,000 percent etc etc, and the marketing campaign gave the distinct impression that every fellow in a four mile radius would do nothing short of swoon at the very sight me and my mega-long eye fringes.

And whilst it has made my lashes look noticeably thicker (clumpier? cement-ier?), I must say that it has made no real difference to my life. I have not had any dapper cravat-wearing gentlemen of a certain age press bouquets of flowers into my hands, whispering words of awe as they do so over my lustrous lashes.

Nor is my sleep disturbed by any lovelorn youths reciting words of poetry under my window. I do not have to snuggle under the doona with a pillow clamped over my ears to block out words such as these: “She shot me with an arrow , of which the feathers were the eye-lashes; an arrow which did not strike the outer part of my skin, but cleft my heart"*, recited on moonlit nights in strangled, lustful tones. More's the pity.

I haven’t even had any Tiffany salesmen press free diamonds into my hands, whispering urgently into my ear as they did so that a woman possessing such fine lashes as mine must be liberally covered in only the best of jewels. "Go, sweet kitten", they will murmur as I gleefully bounce out the door with fingers dazzling, "Go with your diamonds and lashes of jet, and do not thank me - your beauty is reward enough!"

I know, I know – I can hardly believe it myself! Although the latter may have more to do with the fact that I rarely step into a Tiffany's store. Budgets, you know.

So it's back to good old Great Lash for me. It may not give me 2 ounce lashes, but at least I can open my eyes without risking eyelid strains (rather hard to bandage). And unlike Super Clump Effect 2000**, As Worn By Tammy Faye Baker***, GL actually washes off, so you don't wake up each morning with big scary non-removable panda eyes, even though you diligently cleansed the evening before.

*Apologies to Kuthayyir 'Azza.
**Not it's actual retail name.

***We think.

She's so slow that it's painful to watch

I got sooooooo much knitting done at my knitting club last night. Which is good, because, let's face it, my knitting output hasn't exactly been prodigious this year. One measly cardi for Grumbles, and a half finished cardi for me. Tsk, tsk.

Still, it's amazing what you can get through when you stick to sparkling apple juice rather than wine at knit night, eh? Bwahahahahah! Remember, Jorth: wine and beautifully knitted garments are, alas, mutually exclusive.

So last night I whipped out my needles, said a polite no to the sticky dessert wine all the way from Germany, and made good progress on my Harvey, from Rowan Studio 1. I've almost finished the left front, having already completed the right front and back, and will soon be ready to hit sleeve island. In typical Jorth fashion, I'm sure I'll finish it just in time for summer.

Because Harvey is such a summery top, oui? (Snort, snort).

The most splendid and FREE sewing patterns around!

Have you guys checked out Burdastyle? Oh my sainted aunt, there are some SPIFFY patterns up there! Now that the sun is shining, the birds are twittering, the flowers are blooming and spring is around the corner, I am thinking mad, mad sewing thoughts. Here are some on my to-make list:

Jocelyn

Sidonie

Sibylle

I'm sitting here now at the computer whilst Grumbles sleeps, wondering if it's evil to wake her up so we can catch a tram down to the fabric shop. That'd be wrong, huh? Damn. If only I didn't have to organise my knitting club for tonight, I would be hunting through my fabric stash right now, planning and cutting and tinkering away.

I think Jocelyn is to be the first cab off the rank, although I'd prefer mine in bright, crazy red. I want the model's hair, too. And her legs. I swear, the more I exercise, the more my thighs chunk up, yet my arms remain flaccid and tone-less. ACK! That's not supposed to happen.

Sorry, got a bit off the track there. Back to the sewing. What's everybody else planning for summer projects? Surely I'm not the only one with the sewing bug!

Role reversal

Jorth: Ack! This rain! This never ending, drizzling, annoying rain! Don't tell me we need it, don't tell me the trees will be grateful - I need to buy milk, and we're going to get soaked if we head out into this infernal rain! *stamping of feet and tossing of head*

Grumbles: It's okay, Mum, it's ok. Calm down!

Link-tastic Tuesday!

Not much going on here. The rain is heavily falling down outside, and I'm snug and warm inside, enjoying the sound of the drops falling on the roof. So it's links galore today, folks!

- Excited about rain as Jorth is? Check out how much is falling here!

- Ever wondered what it would be like to live in the past? I have a reoccurring daydream that I'm wealthy and fabulous in the 1930s, swanning around in silk satin dresses, cocktail in one hand, and ciggie with as-yet-unknown-negative-health-associations in the other. In my dream I run with quite a fast set, and have a damn good time. Oh, and I blow up all the car factories before people begin to think cars are indespensible, and found a factory utilising the energy from the sun to make the world's first solar panels, preventing hundreds of coal fired power stations from being built, and saving the world from climate change. That's right, I'm Super Thirties Girl!

Really, there's no need to thank me. I'm just doing what's right. Still, as marvellous as those day dreams are, I don't think I'd go to all the effort of living like I actually was stuck in the 30's, 40's or 50's. Didn't stop these broads, though.

- Now, onto more serious stuff. The latest news from environmentalists and climate scientists suggest that for the first time in human history the Arctic will be ice free in summer by 2013. This will have massive effects on rising sea levels, weather patterns (more storms, anyone?) and local wildlife, already facing extinction. For a fantastic program exploring the issue more, go here. Well worth a look.

Recipe for a perfect Sunday

Ingredients:

1 Lazy Sunday morning spent blobbing around in jimjams until 11am
1 Jigsaw puzzle
4 hours to spent on it
2 bunches of narcissus perfuming the air
2 or 3 (according to taste) cups of tea, with Green and Black chocolate to nibble on
1 wonderful husband who is willing to cook both lunch and dinner (ok, so it was Pasta a la Galumph both times, but we'll forgive him)
1 crazy kid who likes nothing better than doing the dishes
6 hours of rain lashing the windows, and a lovely warm house to hang out in

Winter wonderland

Darlings! Hello! Yes, we're just back from the ski slopes, and what a thrill it was. I was cruising down those black diamond runs like nobody's business, inbetween perfecting my aerial jumps and...

Oh heck, who am I kidding? Yes, we did go skiing, at the lovely Falls Creek, but I'm more of an invalid shuffler skiier than anything else. Seriously - I look like I should be holding a zimmer frame, rather than being perched precariously on skis. When I do actually move it's so timid and pathetic, especially when 5 year olds zoom past with condescening looks. And heaven help me if I come to a slight hill that requires me going down it. My legs don't make the pizza shape like they are supposed to, and I end up sprawling my way down in a flurry of arms, stocks, and ski rage. Very attractive!

As for the head skiier of the family, Galumph - well, he came down with a nasty cold as we were driving up to the ski fields, and spent most of his skiing break curled up in bed. The poor old thing felt so miserable that he didn't even have the energy to vocally lament that fact that he wasn't out in it, and trust me, the man loves to ski. Why else would he don those ridiculous glasses?

My highlight was trying to get some cross country skiing done in what is predominately a downhill resort. My friend and I shuffled our way to the ski bowl at the aptly named Windy Corner in what felt like a force 10 blizzard. The wind howled and the snow sandblasted the skin off our very faces, resulting in a bit of a lobster look for the next few days. At one stage we were being blown backwards by the wind, and only the action of digging our stocks in the snow kept up from being blown up in the air, Mary Poppins style. I tried to laugh, as the whole escapade was an absolute skiing farce, but the wind kept whipping the air out of my throat, I couldn't even see more than 2 feet in front of me and I was beginning to get drenched by my running nose.

If you wish to apply for the recently vacated position of Ski Bunny, please email me at jorth-can't-ski-for-shite.com. Sigh.

And the winners are...

Take a look at my birthday roses. Aren't they lovely? Just as lovely as all my birthday wishes, so thanks, peeps!

And now, to keep you in suspense no longer, the winners drawn by special Galumph random drawing thingy magic are:
Stephanie - Modern Quilt Workshop
QuiteContrary1977 - Knitted Babes
Muralimanohar - Japanese Totes book
Nikkishell - Japanese Embroidery book

Well done! Sorry to keep you all in suspense for so long, poor old Grumbles has been rather ill this week, so in the haze that comes with looking after a sickly child and not getting much sleep, I kept forgetting to get the Galumph to do his random wizardry. Oops!

31

Oh my sainted aunt! I have truly been the most tardy blogger around. But fear not, I am back, and am turning 31 tomorrow. 31! Yikes!

This means several things:
(1) The bloom of my youth has well and truly faded, and that it's only a short trip here on in to hagged and crotchety;
(2) I can no longer say things like "When I grow up I want to be a blah blah blah", because it will only make me look dafter than I already am;
(3) Time is a'running out if I want to be an accomplished piano and trumpet playing bilingual diplomatic officer and bona fide chess master before middle age strikes;
(4) It's the Jorth birthday giveaway!

I suspect it's the latter that you're all interested in. Never mind me and my aging crisis, just show you the goodies, hey?

Firstly, the rules. Long time visitors know the drill - give me a bit of birthday love by leaving a nice message, telling me I don't look old at all and that being a diplomatic officer is vastly overrated etc etc and mention which gift you'd like to be yours. After the weekend I'll draw the winners out of the appropriate hats, send you an email requesting your postal details, and you and the pressies shall soon be one.

Rightio, first cab off the rank - Knitted Babes by Clare Garland. Lovely, sweet book, featuring these easy to knit up dolls that can usually be made from scrap yarn. I hope you have better luck than I did with mine, which resembled nothing but a burnt alien. Grumbles took one look at it, and crawled for the hills. Don't blame the poor kid, it did look pretty scary. Oh well.

Next up is The Modern Quilt Workshop by Weeks Ringle and Bill Kerr. Fabulous introduction into world of quilting, with a heavy emphasis on colour and design. Very inspirational.

Third is this nifty Japanese embroidered handbag pattern book. The bags in here at to die for, and there are about 10 I'd love to make, but it's been sitting on my shelf for 3 years now, and in my heart of hearts I know I'll never get around to making one up. So I'll hand it over to somebody who hopefully will. Or somebody who will at least drool over the pics more often than I do. (See more of the projects inside here)

Lastly is another Japanese craft book, this one featuring patterns for tote bags. Some very, very cool designs in here.

Well, that's it. Hope you all have a splendid weekend, and good luck with the draw!

xo Jorth

Dream cardi complete!

Project Specs

Pattern: Dream Cardi from And So To Bed by Lucinda Guy
Wool: The pattern specified 9 balls of Rowan RYC, but I went for a more budget knit and used Bendigo Woollen Mill's Classic 8 ply in Musk (1 1/2 balls)
Size: 3 - 4 years
Notions: Three vintage shank buttons from my stash (thank goodness for yard sales!), 1 metre spotted pink ribbon.

I love this cardi, as does Grumbles judging by the number of times it's been worn since I finished it two weeks ago! I'm rather glad that my camera didn't pick up the spaghetti sauce stains on the sleeve *ahem*.

Despite adoring the cardigan, I did take a few liberties with the pattern. It originally called for the lower bodice to be knit separately using double yarn, but I felt it made the pattern (which was knit all in one) unnecessarily complicated, without any major visual payoff, so I rewrote the pattern to suit me, and worked it using only a single strand of yarn.

I also ignored the instruction for croched button loops, and instead made my own using this method from the lovely Anna, which I felt would be far more sturdy for the age group specified.

But other than those minor quibbles it's a great cardi, with a lovely stitch pattern, and I can tell it's going to be worn and worn and worn!

In fact, I rather fancy making one for myself! [Said whilst hunting around for a calculator and some note paper]

Four!

Dearest, darlingest Grumbles,

Today, four years ago, you were born. Four years! Where on heck has the time gone? I suppose it has followed that golden rule: Time flies when you're having fun, and since you have brought nothing but joy and and happiness and laughter into my life, then it's no surprise that time has zoomed by at an expotential rate.

You and Daddy and I have sure done a lot in those four years. You've gone from a chubby bundle who could projectile vomit 6 feet across a room without batting an eyelid to a hilarious girl with an infectious laugh who can hold her own on the dance floor with the best of them. We've done bike holidays together, and music classes, and gymnastics, and kindergarten, and so many other wonderful activities, with you growing taller and more confident with each one, and me standing quietly by your side, collecting each memory and holding it in a special place in my heart.

Fantastic as all those things have been, it's the quiet, unexpected moments that I treasure the most. Like yesterday, for instance, when you instructed that I draw on a large piece of paper a mummy crocodile, a daddy crocodile and a baby Grumbles crocodile, and then you painted them in blue and yellow and brown, making them talk in funny voices like I do when I read books to you. And I watched, feeling so stupid with pride over you. Or each night, after we've sung "Moon, moon", and I'm turning off the light, and I say "I love you, Pumpkin-head!", and I hear you say through the darkness in a deep, growly voice, "I love you, crazy Mummy Pumpkin-head!"

I also like it when we walk down the street, and you say hello to somebody, and then before they have even finished passing you tell me in an extra-loud voice that "I have very good manners, don't I, Mum!" That one never fails to elicit a slightly embarassed guffaw from me.

Or when you insist that I play the Amelie soundtrack, and we dance and dance and dance around the loungeroom until I'm too out of breath to hold you up anymore, so then you lie down so I can play the 'piano' on your back, and we both lie there, giggling like crazy.

And the way that you are really, really crap at bargaining. I'll say "Ok, tiger, time to pack up, dinner's ready! Pop your colouring away please."
"How about five more minutes?"
"Now!"
"How about two more minutes?"
"Now!"
"How about next week?"
"Sure!"
"Ok!"

Like I said, it's the quiet, unexpected moments that I love the most. They're like a shiny, beautiful gift, comfirming to me how brilliant and wonderful you are, and how I must be the luckiest thing ever to share these days with you.

I love you, Pumpkin-head!

xo Mum

Never smile at a crocodile...

...especially one as badly drawn as that! I mean, c'mon - when was the last time you saw a square mouthed croc? Talk about crikey! Lauren Child, you have nothing to worry about.

Even Grumbles has turned from it in digust and shame. And this is after she tried to cover the horror of it with paint. Don't blame the kid, really.

MixTape goodness

As I may have mentioned before, I write a regular column for MixTape magazine. So if you've ever wondered what's in the mag, then go take a sneak peek. Go on, you know you want to... it's full of crafty goodness, including my oh so fabulous 'Green' column, and proudly produced in Melbourne.

Take a look, take a look! You won't regret it!

A bear, a bike and a basket

(and some washing on the line in the background, but I didn't really think that fact worthy of a post title mention)

Dropping a massive hint

Urgh. I'm still residing in the Valley of Snotty Nose, but am keeping myself cheerful by gazing at these gorgeous works of art by the supremely talented Louise of Art & Ghosts.

I mean, seriously, what's not to love about red stockings? And rabbity hats! And soulful eyes? I think I'm in love.

Oh, Galumph? She has an Etsy shop. And my birthday is soon... I'm not saying, I'm just saying, you know?

(COUGH COUGH HINT HINT)

Small but productive (and I'm not talking about Grumbles!)

I had a list as long as my arm, detailing things I wished to accomplish this weekend. Instead I was struck down with a sore throaty, feeble cough lurgy, so my accomplishments amount to snapping a few pics and doing lots of moaning about how sick I felt.

However, the Galumph was on a roll, and under the watchful of eye of his temporarily invalided wife he cleared out our front garden, and planted out our brand new vegie patch. Previously the front garden was a wonderland of odd weeds, with a few tomato plants in summer time if we were organised enough, but with food prices going through the rooft, plus lots of thinking about the negative impact of excessive food miles, I decided it was time we dug for victory and did our bit. And by gosh if I was going to do it at all, I was going to do it properly. I wanted decent beds, with paving to help control weeds and darn it, I wanted it to look pretty!

We have spent the last few weeks keeping a weather eye out for stray bricks, and on Saturday hit brick gold when we discovered a family down our street doing some renovations. We asked very nicely and they gave up all their crappy bricks ("Trust me honey, you're doing us a favour by carting them away!" I was told in a big booming Italian baritone), which we promptly laid down in the garden, forming four mini beds.

The front two have been planted with silverbeet and beetroot, and the back beds have broad beans and snow peas. Keeping these company are a couple of pots containg rocket, Freckles Brunte lettuce and Mesclun lettuce mix. All seeds are heritage ones from Diggers - not only do they ensure that genetic variation isn't lost, but they also perform like crazy!

Not bad for a wee space measuring 2 x 1.5 metres!

Darwinian, that's me

Every time I plant something I do exactly the same thing: I scatter far too much seed around, then a week later kabam! Hundreds of tiny little seedlings emerge, hopefully poking out of the soil and into the sunshine, eager to grow, little aware of the awful fate awaiting them.

I'll be outside, anxiously hovering over my pot (in this case rocket), when the Galumph will stop by. He'll peer in, sigh, look at me, look at seedlings and then say, "You know you're going to have to thin them."

"Noooooooo!", I'll wail. "I can't! I'll be a murderer of innocent plants. Don't make me do it!"

And the worst of it is that I only scatter so much seed in the first place because I so desperately want the plants to germinate, and figure the more the better. I'll be standing there with the seed packet in my hand and think "Oh well, bottoms up!", and before you can say Eruca vesicaria three times quickly half the packet is in the pot. But then my misplaced enthusiasm turns into this horrid survival of the fittest scenario when every single seed comes up with the goods.

Eeeeeeek! I'm so sorry, little plants. I'll just be over here with my eyes closed, letting you sort it out for yourselves.