Myrtle & Eunice

The Magpie

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Wed, 22 Feb 2012 01:23:00 +0000

At some point in every day, there’s a wash load to tackle and dirty clothes to sort. There will be a pair of jaw-droppingly filthy trousers or shorts belonging to the collector kid, the boy kid, the Magpie. There’ll be no getting around the need to fully investigate this kid’s every pocket. I know there is no getting around blindly poking my fingers into the deepest pocket crevices, because once or twice I squeezed my eyes shut and la-la-la-la-ed with my hands over my ears and slammed the washing machine door shut and pressed ON.

Nothing like freshly laundered bug carcass, spread over an entire wash load.

Last week I thought I’d do a study. See what shiny and not so shiny objects caught my Magpie Kid’s eye...

Monday
Irrefutable proof lunchboxes are a shared affair at school. No bug carcass.

Tuesday
Irrefutable proof the child drinks beer at school. No bug carcass.

Wednesday
Irrefutable proof the child is solely responsible for introducing gall wasp to our lemon tree. No bug carcass (probably a thousand, living, unhatched, waspy ones inside that nice piece of holey wood).

Thursday
Irrefutable proof of school gardening day. Kid plotting own stealth kitchen garden. No bug carcass.

Friday
Irrefutable proof of Excursion With Mum into City to See Jess’ Grand Exhibition and all her red SOLD! dots. No bug carcass.

Saturday
Irrefutable proof my kid is the thief stealing all the copper wire and shutting down entire railways and phone lines. Makes up for this by finding a button for the jar. No bug carcass.

Sunday
Irrefutable proof that nonchalent rummaging through the Magpie’s pockets is a Very Bad Idea. One arachnid carcass.

(I checked. He intends to keep EVERYTHING).

Dipping a Toe in the Water

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Sun, 12 Feb 2012 07:33:00 +0000

One day when I sew something tricksy and pushing my comfort zone and involving more than a half available half hour (and no doubt, multiple zips, purse frames and Vliesofix tape), I’m going to tell you about my newly-acquired, fantabulous sewing machine. In the meanwhile, I found a half available half hour and dipped a toe in the sewing water and knocked up an easy peasy sundress. Now the Small is clad in something newly Mama-made, which was absolutely and entirely the main point of things.

Even though it could do with a good, soften the fabric-type wash, it has survived a day of gymnast-style manoeuvres

and backyard pottering

and general giggle-silly.

In other Sunday news, the Mr gave bagel-making a whirl.

Thoroughly tested (demolished) within fifteen minutes of oven removal. SERIOUS YUM.

In further news, the leafy stick insects are growing in size and in number. Thirty? Maybe forty with some recent hatchings?

Even though we’re all besotted with every single one of them, a house extension, purely to accommodate a possible 347 stick insects is, sadly, not an option. We’ve been busy interviewing (grilling) potential adoption candidates and performing police checks and stuff.

Hope your weekend has been all about good smells coming out of ovens with a bit of giggle-silly...

Ripple Smitten

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 01:08:00 +0000

Just when I thought the Epic Blanket honeymoon period was about to end, a whole extra pile of work landed on my desktop and it seemed I worked every waking hour (and quite a few unwaking ones). Every now and then, I’d smuggle time to crochet a ripple blanket row. The Epic Blanket is therapeutic, rocking-in-the-corner, crafty sanity at its best.

So far the Epic Blanket has taught me three things.

1. No use regretting colour choices. Just keep plugging on and all the rows will merge into one colour explosion. Everything will come out all right in the wash.

Although there’d be an epic tanty if the colour did come out in the wash.

2. I have short legs.

The above image was trying to give you an idea of scale. This doesn’t help a heck of a lot unless you’re standing next to me, in which case you’d be thinking: Wow. Five foot, one and a half inches really isn’t very tall. That blanket is smaller than I thought.

While you were reflecting on my shortness, I went off and counted stitches:

364 stitches per row
72 rows
= a cool 26,208 treble-based stitches to date.
Well that sounds big. Non?

3. In order to live with such a blast of all-round, queen-sized colour, I think it best we spray-paint our entire bedroom white.

I have informed the Mr that he should also wear white pyjamas for full co-ordinating effect. Or, more likely, a spray-painted birthday suit. Here is what our white, spray-painted bedroom will look like, with the Mr sleeping in his white, spray-painted birthday suit (just imagine the blanket):

PS. For more blasts of crafty colour, pop on over to the land of Our Creative Spaces.
PPS. Easiest, peasiest, ripple blanket pattern by Lucy.

The Potted Version (As Opposed to the Extended, Post-Holiday, Slide Night Kind)

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 04:24:00 +0000

Yesterday evening we arrived home, stinky and grimy after ten days of camping and I’m estimating the hosing down and cleaning and packing away a No-Less-Than-Three-Stage Operation.

Worth every single wash load.

An absolute privilege, the hanging about in a stunningly beautiful environment,

serenaded from dawn to dusk by an orchestral movement of bellbirds.

There were some kid dynamics to navigate but there was oh, so much more, to mark a fabulous holiday with some blooming excellent people.

Holiday Happenings In No Particular Order...

1. The Middle’s glee at getting close enough to one of the many camp Lace Monitors to have it whip him painfully in the neck with its tail.

2. The pickling of this kid (and, well, every other kid, because they rarely stood on dry land) in a seawater/freshwater brine.

3. The not entirely covert camp kitchen ransacking by Nigel and Doug and Nigel and Doug and Nigel and Doug the Brush-tailed Possums. The realisation that Nigel, (or possibly Doug), is partial to a jar of peanut butter.

4. The discovery of some local residents:

nb. The current, post-holiday BCC (Bug Carcass Count), after emptying two of the Middle Kid’s pockets, stands at six. Please know the Middle Kid only ever collects bits of dead bug and this magnificent (breathing) specimen is, no doubt, still pootling about on some branch-let.

5. The breakfast consumption of some freshly-fished residents:

6. The search for the resident Red-bellied Black Snake at the shower block proved fruitless. Who knows where he was – lurking behind a loo, no doubt. But we found his stunningly elegant brother:

7. Despite photographic evidence to the contrary, there was jumping into water from height as opposed to jumping into tree from height.

8. Expeditions were mounted:

9. HMAS Sinkable was launched:

(unless one weighs no more than a sprite, things tend to get wet. Entertainingly so, for those onshore).

10. Fires were crafted:

11. Things were cooked on sticks:

12. The very beginnings of a late-night, 500 card game addiction initiated.

13. Australia Day was acknowledged:

14. There is actual evidence that I was there too, waving at you from inside a bubble:

15. A start was made on the Epic Blanket,

(mostly over the nine hour, each-way car journey),

and that the ends, yet to be woven in and bemoaned, are currently coming along quite photogenically.

Weird to think that it’s back to the school routine in not too many ticks of the clock.

Firstly...

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 05:20:00 +0000

Geez, you guys, you commenty types, know how to lend a virtual, internetty shoulder. Geez, you’re EXCELLENT. The throat-scream-thing is much, much better. Kate’s undies comment was of particular therapeutic help.

Secondly...

The DSLR camera is at the doctors and I am Lost Without It. Pics on this post and for the foreseeable eon are courtesy of the phone. You’ll note there’s also a concealing Photoshop blur, because I’m back in the confessional.

Thirdly...

You know that other blanket? The one that took a bazillion years from go to very woe? The one that prompted the WOOHOO! after I finally finished the sucker?

Well, I started to think about some imminent camping holidaying, you see. There’s an unprecedented need for serious, long-haul car craft (between the throwing of parenting bribery-and-corruption snakes out windows). Perhaps I’ll say it fast:
BeforeIknewitI’dpurchasedenoughyarnforareallygoodstartonanotherblanketsonowI’llhavesomethingnewtowhingeabout!

Totally Attic 24 inspired. Totally not my usual colour tendency. Totally expected to be the stand-in, slow-burn, crafty project – all the way through to 2016, (probably 2018 since the Mr reckons it should be double bed sized). Totally requiring extra freelance work, purely to maintain yarn supply. Totally a big, double bed-sized, bad idea.

Less ends to weave in and whinge about but totally feeling the need to apologise to everyone in advance.

(so, so sorry).

Tongue Tied

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 22:58:00 +0000

Let’s start at the very beginning.
A very good place to start.
When you read you begin with A-B-C
When you sing you begin with do-re-mi

BUT HOW DO YOU START WHEN YOU HAVEN’T BLOGGED FOR SIX WEEKS AND THERE’S A WHOLE LOT OF WATER UNDER THE BRIDGE AND EVERY TIME YOU MAKE A START IT ALL COMES OUT IN A JUMBLE AND IT’S NOT ALL BRIGHT AND SHINY SKIPPING THROUGH THE FLOWERY FIELDS AND IN FACT LIFE HAS BEEN EVERYTHING FROM DOWNRIGHT SHITTY TO JUST BLOOMING BRILLIANT AND I’M ALREADY SOUNDING LIKE A BIT OF A NUTTER AND AFTER ALL THAT GEEZ I’M A BIT EXHAUSTED AND NOT QUITE MYSELF AND HAS ANYONE SEEN MY GROOVE OR EVEN THAT SPARE BIT OF ZEN I’D PACKED AWAY FOR A RAINY DAY?

Breathe (punctuate).

Lower your voice (use lowercase).

Start at the very beginning(s).

.........................

Beginning #01
Two days after I last posted and my kid and I took her shoes on their outing, there were revelations of the startling kind. Confessions of bullying by classmates, the kind that sent the Mr and I reeling, as we finally, belatedly, truly, guiltily, comprehended the path our eldest kid has trod for the last year. The School requested our silence as they handled things and while I held my tongue and observed two adults behave like children, a grief-stricken scream built up inside me that sits, still firmly lodged in my throat.

Beginning #02
The Mr would say I achieved great bang for my knitty buck. I finished my 2ply cardi and well, there’s a lot of knitting in a 2ply cardigan but I crafted the whole affair in a smidgeon under one skein and in so doing, won a $2 bet against my eldest. Playing yarn chicken finally paid off.

Except that I chickened out halfway through and purchased the back-up skein.

Modelled, gazing-off-into-middle-distance-while-pondering-use-for-second-skein, cardigan shots pending...

Beginning #03
Christmas flew by in a flurry of typical last-minute-ness and early-morning, crack-of-dawn-ness, an unconventional surfing day, followed by a festive dinner and sleepover at friends. Lovely but without photographic evidence.

Still counting my blessings but not entirely enamoured with 2011, the New Year was welcomed with open arms. A barbecue, at home, with the usual, fabulous, visiting-from-London pals, a nice bottle of bubbles and sparklers. Ditto, (lovely) but without photographic evidence.

Beginning #04
Assuming anyone is still reading this blog-let(?) one or two of you may recall a certain angst associated with this little crocheted number. On New Years Day I made a startling and unexpected commitment to weave in all those ends. I shan’t bore you further. Here, simply, is the finished, celebratory

WOO...

...HOO!!

Do you reckon the tying up of a few million loose ends, makes for a beginning of sorts?

Me and Her (and Her New Shoes)

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 06:13:00 +0000

On Saturday, the big kid scored a new pair of shoes. Even though she is not the kind of kid to care many hoots what she wears, she is utterly chuffed to the back teeth over these shoes.

On Sunday, I cleared time and headspace and me and my girl and my girl’s new shoes, spent the day in town.

We Markit-ed and we traversed the entire city grid in search of an elusive ukelele,

showed her shoes some sights,

hung out and drank hot chocolate.

When we’d finished doing all that we thought up some other things that her new shoes might like

to try.

As I type this, I’m wearing a broad grin on my face. Truthfully, I’m also blinking back a tear or two (bazillion).

Next week, my girl turns ten. I don’t think I’ve really mentioned how tough nine has been, for every one. A veritable baptism of parenting fire.

Yesterday, away from all the usual, I stepped back and I saw something different. I suspect she stepped back and saw me differently too. Yesterday was a magic balm, soothing our battle scars.

In the train, on the way home, her and her new shoes insisted on standing. She wanted to see if she could stay on her feet for the whole journey without holding on once.

Of course she did.

Look at her there, standing on her own two feet. Doing just fine, Mum.

Even Though...

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 00:06:00 +0000

Even though I always knew, even from swap sign up, that this would be a last-minute, fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants project, I kicked myself when that is exactly how things turned out.

Even though I turned my house upside down and spent waaay too much time pursuing a different idea, this one was pulled together over a calming, PULL-YOURSELF-TOGETHER-GIRL! cup of tea.

Even though I do like the tall, spindly, plant-like business, it seemed a bit ‘nice’ for my style. It seemed fitting to throw a fly onto the screen.

Even though I adore the colour (cos, sorry, I’m still stuck in the Blue Period), I shouldn’t have mixed it under warm lights at 10pm on Saturday night.

Even though I adore the colour,

it’s one of those almost luminescent kinds – the sort that glows a bit, plays tricks in some lights.

Even though the oatmealy Japanese linen is all kinds of delicious, I probably should have printed the swap versions on white.

Even though there are all those endless ‘even thoughs’ and there is a great, whopping, printing table taking up half of my living room and there was a whole lot of effort involved to print just a few metres, I caught the bug again (thanks, Leslie). P’raps we’ll just live around the great, whopping, printing table, for a few more days.

Why, Hello There, Blog. O, How I’ve Missed Thee...

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 22:07:00 +0000

The last few weeks have whizzed by in a blur of just plain, real life but lately just plain, real life seems to have upped the ante. The combination of commitments and obligations have verged on the ridiculous but I am grateful to report, that a part of me – the bemused part – merely raised an imaginary eyebrow. (I’m still missing the eyebrow-raising gene so any actual eyebrow-raising is left to the experts).

Snippets from recent weeks include a to-scale cicada construction by the Mr, (above). The hope is that he will be the chosen artist-type and thus commissioned to produce a scaled-up cicada, with a three metre wing span. I am assured, were he the chosen artist-type, that the scaled-up version would not occur in our living room.

Still along a bug theme, here are the latest leafy stick insect babies, hanging about like leafy stick insects. At latest count we have fourteen and I am besotted with each and every one of ’em. It takes three of us to feed them fresh leaves, because despite the hanging about and complete stillness evidenced here,

they are Speedy Gonzales, blink-and-you-miss-’em, escaping Houdini-critters.

The Small asked for the 27,347,226th time if she could be a gymnast. She is pictured below wearing her sister’s leotard because, handily, the class is scheduled when the sister is at school and isn’t around to scream blue sibling murder.

While the gymnast is also clad in a bicycle helmet, this is not yet due to required backflipping manoeuvres of amazingness. It is because the Small and I have been peddling about (and so loving it!) with the help of one of these. Less helpfully, the kid pedals in but one direction (backwards).

There’s been some wonderful, generous, sweetest of treats in the letterbox...

A piece of Tinniegirl ART as part of a swap thing, is now happily ensconced in my kitchen. Titled To The Sea, Cathy sent it after reading my post about a particularly scratchy weekend, where temporary relief was found at the beach. I now have a piece of fabulous ART in my kitchen, prompting clever parenting strategies.

Yarnbombed, French glamour arrived in the form of a 2012 diary thanks to that excellent, crochet-cushion-crafting Kylie. (Belinda, thank you! I believe you played some role in this too?!). Geez, I’m a lucky duck. And geez, my high school French is rusty.

After a certain amount of recent angst around the dignity of yarnbombing disguises, I have finally settled on my get-up. Complete (obviously) with the red-lipsticked pout. Providing I can translate the pattern from French.

Alexis, whom I met over on Ravelry through our mutual love of a Mara shawl pattern and Socks That Rock yarn, went off to a sheep and wool show and sent me some scrumptious stuff flavoured like a New York autumn. It blows my (soon to be New York autumn) socks off, such generosity.

My inlaws have also sent evidence of the Mr’s educational credentials. Amongst the serious university business, there were a few gems, enthusiastically framed within an hour of arrival...

The 1976 certificate for THIRD in the Lower Boys Three-Legged race over 75 metres:

The 1977 effort – a FIRST in the Upper Boys Sack Race, over 50 metres:

GOLD! I say!

Punctuating everything and all of the above, are tiny but frequent opportunities to knit knit knit my way through a 2ply cardigan.

For me, it replaces any need for rocking back and forth in the nearest corner. Knitted sanity, it is. ME time. Opportunity to quietly and simultaneously practise single eyebrow lifts. Even if I do attend every school pick-up, walking around like a knitting nutter.

Just Like Picasso (With a Significant Difference, or Two)

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Sat, 22 Oct 2011 08:17:00 +0000

I have always been a fan of a duck-egg hue but things have stepped up and now, just like Picasso, I’m going through my very own official Blue Period. I only want to ‘make’ in shades of blue and blue-green – just like Pablo. Sorry about that, my old friend Red.

Six weeks of Complete Fail Cardigan knitting has been frogged and morphed into a light, drapey, cottony, spring-ish, (blue) shawl thing.

I’m still not sure if I’ve been knitting for my nearly-ninety Granny, or for me. My Granny is a bit hip (and her hips are sprightly) and I’m concerned shawls are a bit ‘old hat’, in her book. If the shawl thing is staying in my own wardrobe, then I have four days to craft some 90th birthday brilliance. GAH!!! HELP!!! cue: desperate plea for ideas(???)

The shawl, by the way, was a joy to knit. There’s some fancy-pants lace business, punctuated by lots of garter stitch and it’s a pattern that is entirely memorable and do-able – even with kids jumping all over you.

Less kid-jumping-all-over-you friendly, is the Simplicity Cardigan that I am now knitting in a positively irresistable, fragile-feeling, (blue) Tosh Lace 2ply.

Hey, look, I’m crafting a wispy, (blue) cloud...

After all the knittery involved in the crafting of an entire 2ply cardigan, I will be an emphatically Weeping Woman if it’s another of the Complete Fail kind.

.........................

PS. There has been household heated debate. The shawl is DEFINITELY blue. NOT greenish. Picasso didn’t have a Greenish Period.

Pettine Shawl details here.

Plus (Another) One

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Tue, 18 Oct 2011 23:43:00 +0000

I kept it under my hat, when I posted on my first cross quilt, mostly because I couldn’t quite believe how uncharacteristically EFFICIENT and ON TIME and FORWARD THINKING, I was being.

This, the Plus (Another) One cot quilt, is a little different from the first +1 quilt and a gift for a new addition who hasn’t even arrived yet. In a while, I’m going to call my ridiculously-glamourous-while-ridiculously-pregnant friend, who is never at home and make wild assumptions if she doesn’t answer the phone. I shall keep these wild assumptions to myself and NOT try her mobile number, because I remember how wildly irritating it can be, when everyone is waiting for a baby and barracking from the sidelines.

My Small did her very, very best to glamourously model the Plus (Another) One quilt.

She was truly, very tenacious.

Before growing frustrated and demanding to know of her vertically-challenged mother, when she would grow TALL?

Her mother with the not-at-all-tall genes, lovingly, snugly, wrapped her not-that-tall-either child, (because ‘lovingly’, ‘snugly’, is what handcrafted quilts are best for) and gave her a giganormous hug.

Then we let the fence do the modelling.

The Patter of Tiny Feet

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Thu, 13 Oct 2011 01:50:00 +0000

Five newborns! Three hundred and forty-two, (give or take), to go!

It’s all trés excitement, pacing-of-the-floorboards in these parts! The leafy stick insect eggs have begun to hatch! The Middle is wearing pride in his goofy grin – just as any new dad would! The unpopular Carnivorous Fish is looking uncomfy, housed as he is, in a tank suited to an extensive family of sticks!

Phew.

(That was a lot of exclamation).

........................

PS. As much as I adore leafy stick insects, even I could not co-exist with three hundred and forty-seven (give or take) of the critters. Assuming further expansion and survival and so on, we shall be drawing up adoption papers and interviewing parental candidates. Dear Mama Sticks, I hope you, (or at least your souls), are perched on a juicy gum leaf, swaying in a light breeze, nodding approval from above.

PPS. Just to be conclusively definitive about things, I am not pregnant.

Floozy

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Wed, 12 Oct 2011 09:43:00 +0000

Today, I’m off being a blogger floozy and wittering on about stitchery and fly screens and stuff, over at WhipUp.

PS. I can’t tell you how much I dig working floozy into a blog post title, even though I am forced to admit that this image of a fly screen looks nothing like a floozy’s fishnet stockings. (Best squint a bit).

Been Camping...

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Sun, 09 Oct 2011 01:20:00 +0000

Straight up, I’ll admit I took my hot water bottle, (which was consolation for one of us) after I forgot the coffee-gizmo-maker-thing.

Contrary to the image above, we were mighty lucky with the weather. When it did arrive, it arrived with emphasis. But only long enough to create an authentic (damp) camping experience. Three hours later, the kidlets were asleep and the Mr and I, out by the campfire, reading by moonlight and head torch.

It’s years since I’ve experienced the Grampians and we all loved it. The campsite nigh on deserted, our kids rambled and explored and turned into Wild Things and for five days no one insisted on any kid showering policy.

Between us, we spotted three deer, one echidna, two bearded dragons, a bazillion skinks and a zillion beetles, some suspected Wedge Tail Eagles and a few (fleetingly) collectable worms.

We hung out with the local emus, cockatoos and kookaburras and the kids constructed their very own camouflaged ‘hides’, in order to spy on kangaroos unobserved.

Those roos must see it all.

The Spring wildflowers were glorious.

The dancing ‘flowy’ and ‘fairy’.

Warming fires a constant.

The food simple and delicious

and SELF COOK!!!

The frisbee forgotten with the coffee-gizmo-maker-thing, I found a lid.

I tell you, that lid works a treat.

(now packed permanently with the tent).

We checked out a couple of waterfalls.

We took a wrong turn.

We stumbled across a giant, morose, (scary), koala.

Elly, my dear Dutch friend, my co-explorer of Australia’s east coast and fellow-discoverer of over-sized Aussie icons, these pics are for YOU.

(We think wildlife park entry is via the koala’s bottom).

Now we’re back and bathed and sweet-smelling and mostly unpacked and ready-ish for the new school term, tomorrow.

...........................

PS. HELLO to fellow camper, Katy from Sydney, who introduced herself after recognising me via knitwear blog posts(!).

PPS. Spot the stag...

+1

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Fri, 30 Sep 2011 01:41:00 +0000

A ‘+’ quilt for a NEW ADDITION to an excellent family.

Nudge, nudge! Wink, wink! Do you get it? Do you get it?!

Um. Yes. I do always over-think things.

Crafted with love (considered wonk) and seriously inspired by this and this,

as well as this organic approach to the quilting bizzo.

Hey! Two bloggy posts in as many days. I AM ON FIRE! Actually, the kids are at Grandma and Grandad’s house. I am now rushing off to urgently NOT clean, bake, or tackle washing. I’ll be sorry later but I can already feel the wind in my hair.

I hope you have the same kind of wind-in-your-hair weekend. x

It’s All in the Timing

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 07:07:00 +0000

Which is something I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN with that breezy half-pledge to come over all blogging blogger. Only a parent living in her very own dream scape could contemplate such a happening at the BEGINNING of school holidays. (I have a slow-on-the-uptake gene).

Also born with a leave-things-to-the-very-last-minute gene, I began work on my Bunting Swap at 10pm the night before the postal deadline. I have never made bunting before. Pretty easy, I thought and already with a plan in mind, I started hacking into my treasured collection of misprinted and practice run linen tea towels. I sewed all these hacked up bits back together and, like Nic, fell in love all over again with the wrong side of the fabric.

’Course all that seam business on a heavyweight linen does not for nice bunting make. At midnight I started a new set.

In the morning, the weather was not conducive to pieces of ‘bunt’ gaily swaying in a light breeze for photographic posing purposes. The trampoline was hovering on take-off; the gale blowing spring blossom like snow flurries.

The hardy third kid, who also drives a hard bargain, (yes – but if we can make cake!), agreed to huddle against the shelter of the fence and tightly hold a bit of string.

I timed the sending of the five packages to perfection. The heavens opened and Someone Up Above tipped a bucket of water on my head just as I reached the postbox a few puddles in front of the postal guy.

EDIT:
It has come to my attention that the Bunting Swap deadline was extended. Ahem. Funny, I do vaguely recall that particular email whizzing right by my left ear. So now I am busy smugly basking in the afterglow of a deadline NAILED, waaaay ahead of time, for the first time in my whole entire life.

Apparently...

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Sun, 25 Sep 2011 06:16:00 +0000

...I have been off on some sporadic, unintended, bloggy sabbatical thing.

Tired of my own voice, I’ve been finding quiet in quilty making,

and french-knotting another weirdy, left-of-centre gift, [this time for a fabulous, departing-Melbourne type].

I have been knee-deep in four year old wardrobe attitude,

Until the four year old gave up the feist and fell true-dinks asleep, (as opposed to fake asleep), in the wardrobe cupboard.

I have been busy dipping a big toe into the world that is Parenting a Dyslexic Kid.

I have been taking big, deep, challenging breaths and playing a (hopefully) objective and (I-so-hope) supportive role, standing beside a different kid suffering from School Yard Angst. A tricky proposition when the mama instinct is pure, protective lioness.

I’ve produced twenty-seven million (four) cushions, all of which are modelled by my all-time favourite Lawn Chair.

Two of which were mostly ON-TIME birthday gifts,

for friends.

Another which used lots of those teeny, tiny scraps from a certain marinating quilt top,

and took eons to make.

And another, which was so quick, it was a bit of a blink-and-miss, (Ikea fabric) affair.

Figures that my favourite is the blink-and-miss affair.

I have begun excavating the dear, departed stick insects from their salty tombs,

(not as icky as you might think and not even that whiffy).

I have been remembering the ‘YES’.

This particular YES involved three kids morphing into Wild Things,

a square metre of backyard mud, extended (with scrubbing!) showers and a Mountain of Laundry.

Worth it.

Already, the Spring school holidays are here and the year is near three quarters baked.

(It’s nice to be back).

The Post Where Even The Worst Procrastinator Gets to Feel a Tiny Bit Better

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Sun, 18 Sep 2011 06:46:00 +0000

The ingredients were first purchased back in April 2009. A month later, a sweet bundle was born. Over the course of TWO YEARS AND FOUR MONTHS, that small bundle has sprouted into a walking, talking, youngest sister to two brothers: she brims with chutzpah, is a force to be reckoned with. Throughout this while, a quilt has marinated* at glacial speed, through various phases. Last weekend I vowed to complete the binding. The sewing machine broke. I hand-sewed the binding. Last night, I gifted a quilt, crafted with (slowest ever) love. “Congratulations on the birth of your third child, Lissy!”, I exclaimed. (Lissy looked a bit startled).

My third kid is startled. As far back as she can remember, she has shared a home with this half-finished, marinating quilt. She cannot fathom why, now that it is finished and all the pins are removed and it is finally, officially snuggly, that it has been gifted away to a baby who isn’t a baby anymore.

Now that the quilt has left the house, I feel compelled to post a truckload of photographic evidence. This is so I can raise my hands in the air and fully mark the sweet victory that is crossing off a ‘To Do’ from the ‘Very Long-Term List’.

I heart french knots...

Thanking my lucky, procrastinatory stars for the SINGLE BED sizing...

This child is not asleep. ’Tis but a last-ditched, keep-the-quilt, ‘cute’ appeal...

Told you...

Random, quilt/mostly-clean-feet shot...

Mum has leant me her sewing machine. The first ten stitches into the use of her sewing machine, I was hit by a bolt of clarity and my own sewing machine was finally christened: Battleaxe. It is with forward-thinking clarity that I am sewing up a storm. Amongst the bluster are two quilts – one for a newborn, another for a not-yet born. I know that when Mum’s machine is returned and Battleaxe and I are left alone in a room, she will win the war without twitching a bobbin, let alone budging from the shelf. Quilty projects will marinate for years. Sewing into the wee hours, I am a woman possessed.

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* Term coined/adopted/stolen from the last craft camp. Specifically refers to projects of the slow burning type – the type common to the Myrtleandeunice household. Examples of marinating projects, include a french-knotted rug, a chair for the naughty corner, the knitting of a pair for TWO different socks (except I suspect I have frogged both of them and they have morphed into something that I have forgotten about), the unearthing of dead stick insects from their salty embalming and needless to suggest, that blooming blanket which I can’t even bring myself to link to...

Please. Your turn to ’fess up. Tell me I’m not the only one(?). What’s marinating at the bottom of your craft basket?

High Five

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Mon, 12 Sep 2011 01:05:00 +0000

Ever since I posted on the Blanket That Became the Legwarmer, (thus making things official-like), the Mr has come over Whole New Bloke. The concrete set to the jaw has melted away, there is renewed skip to the step, a lightness to shoulders no longer bunched around ears. It would be remiss of me not to report an overwhelming sense of household relief.

And, lo! A legwarmer-bedecked tree...

I’m not sure tree-legwarmer-bedecking, in your own backyard, counts as ‘yarnbombing’. There was no involvement of ladders and no ladder-induced concussion: none of that usual foray into the Art of Public Humiliation.

In the defence of my suffering, I did stitch a legwarmer through blindingly bright bursts of sunshine, interspersed with two, fleeting but horizontal rain showers and I did DOINK! my head on a branch, (so that’s the concussion covered). Reeling back, I placed my eyeball in the path of an oncoming twig-bit. There was a generous dose of tribulation.

After a while, the non-horizontally-rain-sodden household members ventured out to survey the Knitwear Art and the Mr led everyone in a jubilant THANK CRIPES IT’S OVER! round of high (twenty) five.

Not a natural, know-when-to-stop-type, I used my good eye to squint upward and quietly mused over a tree wearing half a legwarmer...

nb. Unlike the legwarmer bedecker (me), no tree was hurt in the (above) process. That bit of cut-off branch sticking out in the second pic from the top, is the result of dodgy tree-pruning practices of yore. I have a vague recollection of a twig-bit sticking in my eye and a half-blinded wrestle with the secateurs.

Our Creative Space: A Change of Plan

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Wed, 07 Sep 2011 23:43:00 +0000

Two months ago, I threw an armful of coloured yarn onto the living room rug and declared CHOOSE! The day before, there had been a general consensus to have a bash at the making of a family blanket. Everyone could knit as much or as little as they wanted, in any colour combination that they liked. After the next Ice Age had passed, Mum would sew up all the bits to form a snuggle-on-the-couch blanket and then she would bribe and corrupt the nearest unsuspecting child to weave in the ends.

The girls threw me with their uncharacteristic colour schemes, (sadly, evidence suggests this does not mark the end of a four year old’s relationship with Infinite Pink). The boy-kid was always entirely chilled, knowing that bottle green and blue would totally rock. None of them were particularly enthusiastic over posing with knitting in the squinty bright:

Everyone is certainly chuffed with their yarny lengths but lately, I have had the words of The Gambler playing on rewind in my head (AGAIN). I reckon I live my life by that song. You gotta know when to hold ’em/Know when to fold ’em/Know when to walk away/Know when to run...

It wasn’t only because every spare, waking moment, requires the Middle Kid to be drawing dragons, or that the Eldest suddenly has way too much on her plate, or even that the Small and I would do five stitches per session on her knitting...

...before she’d have a hissy fit, because she’d rather knit with chopsticks (the joined together, ‘training’ ones).

Nope. It was the Mr who was the clincher. Meet Mr Tense:

Knitting prompts the tense in every way. Tetchy headache, extreme shoulder pain, the tension of his stitchery, the tone of his questioning: "When did you say this would get fun?”

Change. Of. Plan. The vote has been cast. It’s now an all-in, one-wigged, family yanbombing affair.

(We’re making a small legwarmer for a tree).

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For more of Our Creative Spaces, pop by here...

Five Hundred and Sixty Squares

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Sun, 04 Sep 2011 23:39:00 +0000

On Friday afternoon, I sent the last of the jobs off to the printer, threw a few Craft Camp essentials into a bag, grabbed a large pile of the scrappiest scrappy fabric, blew the dust off the sewing machine and HIT. THE. ROAD.

WOOHOOOOOOOO!

Please note: The honest-to-goodness truth, is that when this soiree was originally organised, none of us innocent campers had considered Father’s Day on the Sunday.

Craft camp was a breath of fresh country air. Fabulous company, conversational hilarity, too much wonderful food and a suspected Repetitive Strain Injury incurred from cutting 560 squares from the scrappiest scrappy fabric.

Please note: The honest-to-goodness truth is that way back when last year’s camp was originally organised, none of us innocent campers had considered Father’s Day on that Sunday either.

Originally inspired by the perfection that is Rita’s quilted gloriousness I had an uncharacteristic desire to try to do things proper-like – at least in a beginner, not-quite-sure-what-the-rules-are fashion. It worked! Albeit randomly and somewhat wonkily but excellently, there are lots of matchy up ‘perfect’ bits too.

Sewn up, the ‘big’ squares are three inches and the tiny squares are 1.5 inches and 560 of them pieced together is plenty big enough for a destiny involving snuggling on the sofa.

As usual, I like the ‘wrong’ side, possibly as much as the ‘right’ side.

So chuffed was I for sticking with it, I eyed the teensy, inch and a bit offcuts and contemplated a quilt-let of fairy-sized piecings. Another case in point of never knowing when to stop, I packed ’em all up and brought them home.

(Though I’m not holding my breath either).

Please note: Next weekend it is Father’s Day in our household. I am planning a scrumptious breakfast in bed for the starlet Mr. There will be three cups of kid-made lukewarm tea (using the hot water tap), with which to wash it all down.

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S, J, G, K, K, S, J, E, C...thank you for a weekend of Exactly What I Needed.

Five Belly Laughs (and a Perhaps-Not-While-You’re-Eating-Breakfast? Warning)

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Mon, 29 Aug 2011 00:01:00 +0000

Nope. Not yoghurt, not ice cream, not soap, not moss, not dog shampoo, not a medical cure, not mousse, not slime, not an, er, bicycle. And definitely NOT mascarpone. OR ricotta. None of those guesses from the Betcha Couldn’t Guess! competition were correct guesses.

Try belly buttons.

I imagine you’ve all just paid a spontaneous visit to Wrong Town.

My heartiest of hearty apologies, (I did try to warn you).

If you have never cast a mould of your belly button, it’s all extremely easy, except for the bit where you have to keep still. This is because you are GUARANTEED to dissolve into a fit of giggles. Well, the kids and I did – the Mr is only ever efficient at this sort of thing. Each of the ‘artworks’ is as individual and identifiable as the person it belongs to. Not only can you tell how cold our house is, (goosebumps!), you can even (sadly) see the difference in skin texture associated with a belly that has stretched to grow three babies.

The whole exercise was without any real reason and entirely for the fun of it. Although a couple of years ago, when the Mr was making moulds for work, he used the leftover ingredients for the Middle and Eldest to cast their belly buttons. It seemed only fair that the Small have her own plaster cast. Of course a collection of five is even better than three...

And we do seem to have a penchant for a random collection.

And they do fit right in with the eyeballs.

There was one unfortunate and heartbreakingly difficult situation, which involved the much-loved, honorary member of the family...

Psssst! Jess! WHERE is Colin’s belly button???

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PS. If you would like to know more about this casting and moulding process the how-to is HERE. (It is precisely the same process as that used for casting the hands of babies, and the same stuff you’d use for pregnant belly bumps – and yes, of course we’ve done all those too)...

PPS. Susie, you were the first guesser to be mostly on guessing track. A Something Nice shall be postally heading in your direction. A consolation prize goes to Gemma for the most laterally thunk out, imaginative and generally unlikely scenario.

PPPS. I hereby promise to abstain from the ‘weird’ and knit nice things for the rest of the week.

Betcha Couldn’t Guess!

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Thu, 25 Aug 2011 00:29:00 +0000

Some overdue mischief chez Myrtleandeunice, smuggled in to a bizzy week... Can you guess? I’ll send SOMETHING NICE AND INFINITELY WORTH YOUR WHILE, to the first correct guess (or, alternatively, most creative, laterally-thunk-out guess)...

(Heh heh heh).

Creative Spaces of the more, er, likely kind, right here.

(Best Keep This Under Yer Hat)

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Sun, 21 Aug 2011 23:32:00 +0000

I’ve begun work on disguises for our next family yarnbombing outing.* Everyone knows, the best guerilla-knitter types require covert under-coverness. Sadly, discreet camouflagery is not my natural forté. Last time I crafty bombed, 140 spectators watched a ladder fall on my head.

First off the needles, is the New Blue ‘Do’ for the eldest. The eyebrow-raised, eye-rolling you see above, is purely a defensive reaction. This is because she and her siblings have been led to believe that I am crafting them costumes for Crazy Hair Day. This has prompted a great sense of unease and general bewilderment.

Crazy Hair Day is (something like) ten months away. The accepted expectation in the Myrtleandeunice household, is that Crazy Hair Day preparation is limited to thirty minutes prior to the school bell. This allocated thirty minutes involves exploding hair dryers, plonking of bird’s nests on heads and frenzied stabbing-in of hair pins at traffic lights.

While I had envisaged the five of us clad in co-ordinated, bobbed hair-do, yarnbombing disguise, there has been something of an uprising. The Middle has flatly refused to wear girl’s hair even if this is a wild and Crazy Hair Day thing to do. He wants crazy BOY hair. Since he requests the same punk, mohican get-up every Crazy Hair Day, (which is why hair dryers explode), it is unsurprising that he has insisted on this.

The Small is also unimpressed by the New Blue Do because it is not mermaidy enough. However, she agreed to try it on ‘to see’ – or presumably, so that I could more accurately envisage how impressive long locks, down to her knees, in vibrant purple, would be.

The Mr has been sneaking sideways Glances of Suspicion, wondering what I’m up to, because I had asked him what he would like to wear for Crazy Hair Day. This would make him the only participating Crazy Hair Day parent. I explained my need for a yarny project to prevent a spontaneous loss of sanity and the consequent need for extended recuperative ALONE time, AWAY from home. He promptly picked out a crazy facial hair style.

As for me, well, I’m not so sure anymore. I’m not sure I want to look that weird. I’m thinking I should consider the practicalities. A motorcycle hemet could be a perfectly dignified disguise(?) - with bonus, built-in protection against falling ladders...

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* Family Yarnbombing Outings usually consist of a three minute holding of the ladder for Mum, before sneaking off and playing on the swings, eating all the snacks, losing the dog and then the finale chorus, (conducted by the Mr), of ‘AREN’T YOU FINISHED YET?’.

New Blue Do, on Ravelry, here.

The Week and Thinking ‘Yes’

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Fri, 19 Aug 2011 23:11:00 +0000

Despite appearances, I have not spent the last week with my nose in a book, whipping up a pair of incredibly-hard-to-photograph armwarmers. The actuality, is that I have completed the last bit of a pair of armwarmers in fits and starts – sometimes while walking and without consulting a pattern enough. From the start, I have planned to hand-gesture emphatically while wearing them. No one shall notice mistakes for the blur.

A recommendation from a lady well qualified to know such stuff, the latest read is a veritable joy and is indulged nightly, while waiting for sleep. Covered in beautiful Orla Kiely, (I can’t help but judge such things), last night was not the first, when I wafted off wearing a small smile.

Things continue to be busy and not for the first time, I realise how important these snippets of my time and my space are. A row there, a page here and for a little while it’s ok that the work/life balance is a bit nutty.

Something else that has been glaringly obvious this week, are the pros and cons of the self-employed, work-from-home scenario. The two eldest are off at school but the Small is mostly always at home. I’m yet to perfect the art of negotiating deadlines with a client one minute, then seamlessly morphing into earthmother, snack-preparing, reading-to-the-four-year-old, the very next (and then back again). It’s hard to plan work efficiently and then ‘get’ that being the sort of Mum my kids need, is often not about anything efficient.

Yesterday, I read this post. Mrs Smith has the most excellent timing. Lately, with my head caught up in To Do lists and Who Does What When schedules, I have been forgetting to say yes. Even though instinctively I know I need to do just that, I’ve been thinking a lot of no.

Grown up and forty, I still write reminders on my hand (sigh)...

I glanced at said hand, when the Small asked me to stop cleaning and come outside and watch the diggers doing roadwork. While we were out there, we found some wild bluebells in our garden and I said Of course we can pick them for the kitchen table And since the presence of bluebells...

...indicates the presence of magical creatures, of course I would love to help hunt for a bog baby (or snail) or two...

Even in those few minutes, such a lot of good stuff came from thinking yes.

This morning, as another weekend dawns, there is a new YES! scrawled on my hand.