what a doosh.

{and yes, I know, it’s really douche. All will be made clear, I promise.}

It started innocently enough. Well, as much as a Saturday night with the gleesome threesome including the Beesome can be considered innocent. Soon enough though, the bevvies started flowing, and the silliness began. Somehow, a dachshund gained a Scottish accent, became a doosh hound and we were in stitches. In my mind, it is said very similar to the baby in Meet the Fockers, when Greg fails to remember that little ears have big mouths.

Doosh HOOOOOUUUUUND *giggle*

So when my needlefelting stuff arrived, I knew EXACTLY what I wanted to make first! He’s kind of fatter than I planned, and I’m still trying to work out how I’ll do the eyes, but I think he’s kind of cute. MacBeth the Doosh Hound. Now I just need to find a scrap of tartan and make him a kilt and sporan.

Holidays are upon us, and we’ve been busy playing and crafting and reading and cricketing our way through the morning. A bit of down time now for the children gives mummy the perfect opportunity to get an illumination underway and play with my Copics.

Lots planned, lots to do. The children are busy churned through craft kits at a rate of knots. Time to crack out the Pinterest ideas I think. Especially if we get any more sneak storms like the one that surprised us this morning mid-cricket-tournament. But the sun is out once more, and now there is MUD. And we all know MUD and BOYS go together like peas and carrots. Oh dear goodness, and just when I thought I was getting caught up on my washing…

7 thoughts on “what a doosh.

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