Another year done! Where on earth has this school year gone? A quick post today, sharing a wrap-up of the gifts I made for the children’s teachers. I ended up finishing just in the nick of time – so much so that I didn’t get “real photos”!! For Bear’s teachers & class aides, he chose tea wallets, paired with some simple black & white mugs:
Our Friday activity in our Advent calendar was to write letters to Santa. I’d seen a few templates floating about, but of course, nothing is that simple for me, so Friday I sat down and spent some time in Photoshop to create one of my own. My biggest gripe with a lot of them was the focus on naughty vs nice, which isn’t something
I read an article, the other week, about how the “baby brain” phenomena is real (duh, says every mother in the world), and it can last up to TEN YEARS. That explains an awful lot, really. My memory is terrible. Random trivia I can remember no worries, but book myself a haircut and if it’s not in the diary within 5 minutes, it isn’t happening.
It varies, from week to week, from pilot, to engineer, to inventor. Though I guess they all have an engineering kind of common thread running through them. He’s a child who loves to know how things work, who’ll question and think and question some more. As a toddler, he spoke early and spoke constantly – especially “why?”. “Why why why why but why mummy? ”
In the early days, I’d stand over her cot, watching. A bed full of pink blankets and pink onesies and pink swaddling and tiny little pink face, peaceful as she slept. Her brothers rowdy and bouncing just outside the door, and with just a finger to my lips, they would tip toe in, and creep up beside me. Propping one on each hip, I would
Yesterday, Butterfly and 6 little friends spent the afternoon playing and chatting and enjoying themselves as only four years old girls can, for her birthday party, and the final stop on the 2014 Birthday Train. We played Pin The Wings On The Fairy. No I wasn’t still painting this an hour before the party, why would you suggest such a thing? The wings are
A few days more than one whole year ago, I stood alone in my kitchen, a stunning quilt before me, and cried, overwhelmed with thankfulness and love for a wonderful group of ladies I am blessed to call my friends. 368 days later, I laid it out in the same spot, I grabbed the now very active toddler, and wrestled with him for some photos.
With just a small camping lantern lighting the area, I hammered, as quietly as one can, trying to get the small piece of timber to attach to the tree. The first went on ok. The second piece, the nails kept bending. Then I walloped my finger with the hammer. Mr Dove came to see what all the commotion was about, and nursing a sore thumb
The cradle still stands in the corner of our bedroom. Unused for months, I have managed to strip it back to the bare mattress, sheets and blankets washed and then remade up on a cot that recently dropped from the newborn setting to the lower big baby no-you-can’t-stand-up-here level. The contents of the nappy bag are shifting, no longer stuffed to the brim with chuck
Ones who don’t make me cry in the kitchen at 10pm at night when everyone else is in bed. It’s kind of a long story. When Beetle was born, the lovely Miss AJ was clearing out some baby clothes, and offered me a big parcel of baby boys stuff. And by full, I mean the post bag was bursting at the seams, literally. There was