Myrtle & Eunice

The Fairy Godmother

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Fri, 18 May 2012 01:53:00 +0000

Meet my Fairy Godmother – he’s the one on the right. The one on the left, is a latex doppelganger, conceived back in the era of Spitting Image puppetry and the satirical UK television series. The larger than life version, was born with a glint of evil in his eye, a shocker of a temper (bellowing roar to match) and a talent for the foulest vocabulary. To this day, I have only Fairy Godmother Roger’s influence, to credit for our full-to-the-brim-and-overflowing swear jar.

Roger Law was also born with a heart of gold, though he’d deny it to the death. He disguises his acts of fairy godmotherliness in a veil of self-interest. As the creative director of Spitting Image for 13 years, capitalist (it used to say so on the business cards) and artist, he markets the employment of the latest young upstart for the advantages of enthusiasm and cheap labour. From the young upstart’s point of view, Roger presents only exciting possibility.

I met Roger at the AGIdeas design conference in Melbourne. I was his ‘minder’. Collecting a jetlagged, two-metres-taller-than-me, long-haul-from-the-UK, non-driving, backseat-driver in the wee small hours, inspires a certain level of fear. Deirdre Amsden, Roger’s wife, who was born talented, gorgeous and Thank God A Diplomat, (as well as considerably shorter and more conducive to good-humoured, sardine-like air travel), typically smoothed things over.

Later that year, with one week of a design degree remaining, I received a bolt-from-the-blue call from Rog. Did I fancy coming over to London to work on the final series of Spitting Image and could I start in ten days? Born with a gene prone to fabulous bolt-from-the-blue opportunity, I’d committed an unhesitant YES before I’d put down the phone.

I never did work as a line producer on the show, but I did play at Assistant Puppet Co-ordinator on set, hanging out on reception inbetween. As it turns out, I wasn’t born with the single-minded, eat-’em-alive drive of a TV producer – but geez, I had a heck of a lot of fun finding out. After four months, the show and an era ended, then Roger bumped into his mate, (my other Fairy Godmother) and pushed me onto the right career path.

As it happens, Roger is also my Mr’s fairy godmother. Straight out of the Royal College, the Mr landed a job as a sculptor for Spitting Image. It is therefore a lot Roger’s fault, that the Mr and I are the Mr and I. For our wedding gift we were presented with not one – but two – of Roger’s framed paintings, (the explanation in the inscriptions is: “in case of divorce”).

My Mr and I watched Artscape on Tuesday night. Both of us wore great, ridiculous grins for half an hour. This is because we were reminded that there is something else that Roger was born with. It’s a bit intangible this ‘something’. It’s a bit bloody-minded determination. It’s a lot to do with that eye glint, that palpable obsession with his craft(s) and a booming enthusiasm. Mostly it’s his infectious living life LARGE. There is no regret. There is a truckload of mistakes, tailgated by three lorry loads of swearing, and a crashing write-off of lessons learned. To top it all, the Fairy Godmother has a heartstopping talent. His ceramics are breathtaking. He draws in infinite beauty.

I don’t think I ever said a proper thank you.

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

The ABC’s ‘Artscape’ programme, ‘A Law Unto Himself’ is one heck of a worthwhile, half hour watch, currently easily accessible on iView.

Watch out Sydney, Roger is back in town! His latest exhibition, ‘Travelling Light’ is on at the Mary Place Gallery, May 15 to May 20.

Finally! The Child Succumbs to (Momentary) Warmth

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Mon, 07 May 2012 00:01:00 +0000

Over the Easter weekend, I started and completed a Rubble jumper for my smallest.

It was a get-your-teeth-into-it, satisfyingly speedy knit.

Even though there have been many days of freeze-your-socks off, since Easter, it has taken veritable weeks for the child to feel the cold.

Admittedly with all that usual running around

and leaf-throwing

mischief,

the kid never really looks cold.

She was heard to declare: Mum I am soooooo snuggly! no more than three seconds before she took her Rubble jumper off.

I’ve had the Rubble pattern earmarked for ages, because it looks as sweet as all get-out as a layering garment and also because the sleeves are on the cropped side – oh, how the kid DETESTS warm wrists! (cue: Mama eye-roll).

Knitty details ravelled HERE.

The Great Mudbrick Weekend

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Tue, 01 May 2012 22:05:00 +0000

The weekend was two sleeps ago but it’s taken me this long to defrost. Wallowing in Daylesford mud, in the middle of autumn, is guaranteed to turn every extremity blue. Nonetheless, stupendous fun was had – and all in the name of Education.

The Middle Kid’s class is studying ‘dwellings’ as their main lesson. Their current homework project is to construct a hut/teepee/yurt/cave/ger/whatever-the-imagination-dictates. With great foresight, the teacher has emphasised this a Kid Homework Project. Parents wishing to get involved in the fun, should Jolly Well Make Their Own. But we ALL got to join in with the mudbrick making...

Here we are, getting straight down to the nitty, gritty, business of things – the preparatory mud wallowing:

These are the mudbrick moulds:

And releasing the mudbrick from the mould:

Here is some good, old-fashioned teamwork:

And some sheer, unadulterated MUSCLE:

Once the mudbricks are dry they will be transported to school and we’ll all get together to build some sort of...um...structure.

(Can you tell we haven’t thought that far yet?)

After the mudbricking, it was straight down to the nittier, grittier, business of things...

The mudslide.

This is one of the impressive, flying mud splats:

And that is a Washing(?) Basin in the foreground:

Amazingly, throwing fifteen or so kids and one crazy adult into an outdoor, wood-heated bath, in frosty temperatures, was a streamlined process.

(can you imagine how glorious, to soak under the stars?)

After the mudsliding, it was straight down to the nittiest, grittiest, business of things:

The huddling around the campfire, the heady waft of simmering gluhwein in the air, the sharing of food – and the sort of conversation that is never spoken, in the bustle of the normal school pick-up routine. While we adults were distracted with all that, most of the kids rushed into the bush, morphing into country-kid, Wild Things. Look what they made...

There were four huts in all. Painstakingly decorated with moss-carpeted interiors and a path swept between them. To my shame, I don’t have better pics. I’m blaming the gluhwein and the warm of that campfire.

I’m really proud of that weekend, (now I’ve defrosted). This was not an ‘official’ weekend away, organised by the school. This was a ‘thing’ that happened, because one family owned a stunning block of land in Daylesford and were unfailingly generous hosts, who stoked fires and handed out blankets and dug mud pits. It also happened, because one teacher was mightily enthusiastic about a curriculum (and mud wallowing in general). It also happened, because the class families, (I think there were fifty or so bodies, in all), pulled on their gumboots and hauled their camping gear for an overnight stay, or daytripped their way into the country. All of us, together, made a whole lot of fun stuff happen.

BLOOMIN’ MARVELLOUS.

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

PS. Coming soon: actual, completed, CRAFT!
PPS: I know. Hold on to your hat.

A Cobbled-Together Autumn Cowl (and Postscripts)

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Fri, 13 Apr 2012 07:39:00 +0000

On Sunday it was chilly in those hills. Real Autumn chilly – with a sweet, earthy smell of decaying, damp, mulching leaves underfoot. I wore my newly knitted Cobbled-Together Autumn Cowl. I stood in the middle of the forest while my kids ran around like wild things and the Mr went off on chestnut reconnaissance. I assumed that weird, taking-one-handed-photos-of-self, contortionist pose, tried to look like a happy cowl-wearing person and felt like a dork.

Three

dorks.

Ever since Monday it has been getting steadily warmer, with a weekend forecast bordering on perfection and there is very little chance that I will be wearing this cowl and taking better photos, without feeling like a bigger dork.

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

Postscripts
1. I know the Mr could take the photographs. But he always has an OPINION and then there’s disagreement and someone occasionally accuses someone else of behaving like a ‘dork’.

2. The Cobbled Together Autumn Cowl was supposed to be a Honey Cowl, but I failed to read the pattern, assuming I remembered everything from last year’s Honey Cowl. Twenty five centimetres into the knitting, I realised I was using a two row pattern repeat, not the required four rows. Ah, well.

3. The Cobbled-Together Autumn Cowl was supposed to be a pair of socks. I have only ever knit two socks in my life. Both are odd socks, as they are in a different yarn and knit to a different pattern. As it happens, odd socks fit in well around here. Even so, given my current inability to make the same thing twice, choosing a cowl over a third odd sock seemed a sound executive decision.

4. Cobbled-Together Autumn Cowl details here. Again, my heartiest thanks to Alexis for her beautiful yarny gift.

Random Postscripts
1. On Wednesday the Mr and I went out on a DATE! and saw Daniel Kitson in Where Once Was Wonder. Fabulous. Sadly no tickets left for the remainder of this year’s Melbourne International Comedy Festival but the Mr and I have made a mutual decision to be groupies and join his mailing list and thank him exuberantly for any updates he emails. I know Daniel Kitson will love this.

2. I have decided to relaunch my career. Sort of. First I need to grow up and decide what to be. Not a sock knitter.

“If You’re Going to Eat Chocolate for Breakfast You May as Well Eat Pineapple Upside-Down Cake for Dinner”

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Mon, 09 Apr 2012 23:21:00 +0000

Early on Sunday morning, I squished my eyes closed tight, clamped my hands over my ears and tra-la-la-ed while my three kids relished in the delight of an entirely self-choreographed, chocolated, Easter breakfast. At one point I overheard the eldest advise the youngest to ‘listen to her body’. The youngest stopped munching and held silent and still, her head cocked to the side, for whole, long moments: LUCKY I CAN’T HEAR MY BODY TELLING ME ANYTHING!

Not long after, we piled in the car with packed lunches and headed for the hills. We found a walking track, noted the cool and the damp and the

exquisite

detail.

After a while, the voices calmed and those three kids fell back into themselves:

Dreamers...

Adventurers...

Inventors...

Bite-Off-More-Than-You-Can-Chew-ers...

The vague plan was to hang out in the hills for the day – at least ’til the Mr stumbled across a chestnut tree.

The day became foraging for chestnuts,

hoping like heck a spiked meteorite wouldn’t plummet to earth, via a human head.

We rushed home – quicksticks! – for fire-building, roasting and toasting. Spent the afternoon and early evening in the backyard, by the fire, babysitting those chestnuts,

drinking tea, listening to just one more Harry Potter chapter, waiting for spur-of-the-moment, Pineapple Upside-Down Cakes to emerge from the oven. More chocolate was consumed. More Mama eyes were averted.

The Chief Chestnut Roaster (aka Mr Myrtleandeunice) noted the knit-knit-(not-stopping)-knitting of the Rubble jumper,

and suggested rustic hunks of Pineapple Upside-Down Cake, a perfectly viable dinner. He reckoned that was the kind of wisdom he’d be happy to be quoted on.

A Sunday packed to the brim and overflowing and runneth over-ing with GOOD.

Monday night dinner: virtuous, brownest rice; holier-than-thou broccolini. Tonight: less smug, (buttery) brussel sprouts and chestnuts.

Just all ’round YUM.

E is for Easter(ish)

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Thu, 05 Apr 2012 01:42:00 +0000

Usually, at this time of year I hunt out the carefully wrapped handmade-every-year-by-us Easter decorations. Usually, there is as much ceremony involved with decorating the Easter Tree, as there is with the end of year festive version.

Somewhat guiltily, I note a new Easter ‘usually’ developing. A ‘usually’ that involves a second year of Mum not having the FOGGIEST which Very Safe Place the treasured Easter decorations are hidden. A ‘usually’ involving a last minute attempt to engage disgruntled offspring in a whole, new approach to festooning the Easter tree. A ‘usually’ prompting mess and fabric scraps and PVA glue (with the bonus fun of peeling dried PVA glue ‘skin’ off fingers and face and hair and clothes and Mum’s fingers and face and hair and clothes).

Once we finished our Easter Tree, we all stepped back and there was a little sigh and a small voice wondered where, oh where, are the Easter decorations?

This year buttons saved Easter.

A few strands

of speedy button threading

and there was consensus that now our house is definitively Easter-

ISH.

Someone has posed an Easter Chick at the base of the Easter tree.

He’s doing his level best to be convinced.

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

PS. MAY YOUR EASTER BE SLATHERED IN DRIPPING-WITH-BUTTER HOT CROSS BUNS AND GET-TOGETHERS AND HUNTINGS OF THE CHOCOLATIEST KIND!

With My Head in My Hands...

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Thu, 29 Mar 2012 20:55:00 +0000

HEAD IN HANDS REASON #1
Smallest Child Declares to Kinder Teacher:
“AT MY HOUSE WE’RE SICK OF SEX!”

Later translated at kinder pick-up by mother of Smallest Child (me):
“AT MY HOUSE WE HAVE STICK INSECTS!”

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

HEAD IN HANDS REASON #2
At morning tea, Kinder Teacher regales children with stories of her dog. Smallest Child declares that she too, has a worthy dog story:
“SOMETIMES MY DAD PUTS ON A RUBBER GLOVE AND SQUEEZES OUR DOG’S ANAL GLAND!”

Kinder Teacher pushes away her plate of hummus and rice cake and is forced to define ‘anal gland’ to 23 kinder children.

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

HEAD IN HANDS REASON #3
Smallest Child campaigns to teacher for an Adventure outside the kinder. Smallest Child is emphatic that Adventure involves scouring streets in search of roadside finds “LIKE WHAT MUM AND DAD DOES EVERY DAY!”

In the defence of the Smallest Child’s parents (who do not ‘scour’ but merely keep an ‘eye out’), the Smallest Child has been enjoying the use of a roadside violin find. Currently played as a three-stringed cello.

Recently valued at a surprising, (for a roadside find), $1200.

Dodgy Parenting and Craft Floozy-ing

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Sun, 18 Mar 2012 07:52:00 +0000

Last week, the Mr and I were lying in our ripple-blanketed bed, chatting, (except he was already asleep). We decided the best way to parent the third kid would be to largely ignore her. Of course we’d read her an occasional story and feed her but she’s dressed herself since forever and has taught herself how to leap tall buildings in a single bound, without any interference from Mum or Dad. The Mr and I also decided, (except he was already snoring), that one day we would apologise to the eight and ten year old, for not largely ignoring them.

To make up for all that past hovering, helicopter parenting, the next day we let all three kids drive the car:

1. Under Age Driver

2. Even More Under Age Driver

3. Ridiculously (Can-Only-Just-See-Over-The-Dashboard-When-Sitting-On-Dad’s-Knee) Under Age Driver

If you would like four more suggestions of dangerous activities you should let your children do, then click over to this fun TED talk. I am proud to say we have all five basically covered. I am also proud to confirm that no kid breached any driving speed limits.

In more sedate news, I’ve come over all craft floozy again. I can’t stick to any one thing and I haven’t even the foggiest what this pink knittery is even meant to become. The Small keeps asking when her ‘thingy’ will be finished. But the poor Small keeps being ignored.

I have managed to make a good start on this blue knittery which looks like a large, thick, ribbed sock. There are two holes for legs and it will remain open-ended, so sometime soon, before things get frosty, Jasper the Dog will have a possibly humiliating, thick, ribbed, sock-thing to keep him warm.

Between rows of dog ‘sock’, I’ve been surveying the ripple blanket scraps and opening a whole new can of blanket worms, which I am inevitably destined to regret.

I’ve been feeling very sorry for my eight year old boy-kid. When I last performed cooking duty with his class, apparently I danced. DANCED! Possibly at the same time as the muffin mixture was doing its Mixmaster mixing thing. I can only begin to imagine how embarrassing this was and have promised to limit all dancing to gardening and reading duty only.

To make up for such indignity, I have made a start on a quilt for him. He’s been asking for a while, since before he started growing up a bit more and needing to act a bit cooler. Before he started losing some of that breathtakingly-precious, carefree, kid-innocence.

I thought I’d better get cracking and stitch in a whole quilt load of love before he decides he doesn’t need it anymore.

The Blanket of Epic! FINISHED! (With a Small Disclaimer)

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Wed, 14 Mar 2012 03:45:00 +0000

73,528 treble-based crochet stitches later and the way I figure things, my snuggly queen-sized ripple blanket is FINISHED.

It looks convincingly finished on top of our bed,

even if I haven’t yet got around to spray painting the bedroom and the Mr’s birthday suit a nice, crisp, contrasting white.

The big kid has thrice attempted to claim it as her own

and once succeeded for an entire night, when I was wrongfooted by her sudden, complimentary enthusiasm for crocheted craft.

The Mr deemed me well within my rights to indulge in another WOOHOO! blanketing moment

and dutifully lobbed kilos of crocheted yarn into the air.

Perhaps the eagle-eyed, the Those Who Know Me Too Well, the Doubting Thomas types, just spotted the ‘disclaimer’ in my ‘finished’?

OK, nearly finished.

Dangly disclaimer bits aside, finished enough.

PS. It wouldn't be dubbed the Epic Blanket if I didn’t whinge about end-weaving-in for the next three years.

PPS. Crafted using Lucy’s pattern here. Ravelled here.

’Scuse Me While I Veer Off On A Random Tangent...

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Fri, 02 Mar 2012 00:44:00 +0000

As I was saying, I have a new-to-me sewing machine. This came about, not because I was proactive in any way, shape, or form but because Nikki needed some designy-type stuff done. May I suggest, that being presented with a sewing machine that entirely ROCKS, along with a bazillion sewing machine feet and associated gizmos and a swisho case on WHEELS, may be the most excellent swap for services rendered?

As emphatically requested, my new machine is low on superfluous bells and whistles and big on the everything-I-need. Big on ‘workhorse’. It’s weighty. Reliable.

Because the last machine was basically pathetic and couldn’t do any free-wheelin’, sketchy stuff, (you need to be able to lower those feed dogs for that), please do bear with me, while I veer off on my random craft tangent...

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

Sing
at the top of your lungs

at a red traffic light
with your window open
and your teenager
in the passenger seat

(Don’t mind me, I’ve been musing over future revenge upon my children).
.........................

At a wedding
the two 90 plus grannies
are congratulated
for attending...

Is that weird?

(The fact that the grannies made it to the wedding was remarked upon in three separate speeches. Both grannies looked lovely – and more importantly, lively).

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

Actually, this one is less of a tangent and more a reflection on everyday life.

(as well as an acknowledgement of the trouble I’m in, after the granny speech commentary).

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

Hope your weekend is fabulously high on nice tangents, definitively low on controversy.

In a Startling Turn of Events, the Marinating Quilt is Completed and Posed on The Front Gate

noreply@blogger.com (Tania) — Tue, 28 Feb 2012 06:58:00 +0000

Fellow craft campers, steel yourselves. In a burst of Dammit! I AM a finisher! the quilt top destined to marinate in its juices for veritable epochs (i.e. ages longer than five months), is basted, quilted and completed with a smug, handstitched binding.

Here it is, not posed on the front gate...

...

There are 560 little and littler squares of the very scrappiest scraps. I love scraps. Scraps have history.

There are bits of screenprinting history:

Inklings of ‘T is for Towel’ history:

There’s the big girl’s favourite dress history:

There’s long-time-fabric-fave history:

After I’d finished the quilt top at Camp, I gathered up most of the scrappy quilt top scraps and made a scrappy cushion cover. There are scrappy cushion cover scraps, waiting in the wings and, a bit weirdly, I sense a scrappy potholder in my destiny. (Just thinking about scrappy potholder scraps is scary).

I keep throwing the scrappy quilt in an artful, spontaneously considered fashion, over the arm of the sofa. Tragically, no one else seems to appreciate the spontaneously artfully considered. Every time I turn around, the scrappy quilt has been unceremoniously pegged to the Other Thing Which Did Take Six Epochs to Finish and morphed into another kid cubby house.

Go figure.

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...