Tag Archives: humour

Mmmmm….Bunting!

Today was a yuck day.  I’ve been feeling all sick in the stomach and the children have been all feral: watering the washing, emptying tissue boxes, scattering all manner of foodstuffs across the floor and then industriously walking them throughout the house, Harry has resisted all forms of clothing and Christopher Robin has resisted all forms of obedient behaviour.  We were late for school, we forgot half a dozen different forms we were supposed to return and Matilda’s hair was one enormous knot.  Annie was cranky all morning, and then when I finally got her to sleep, Harry decided to break into her room, climb into her cot and ride her like a pony.  And after that, he decided that a productive use of his time would be to pull up and destroy all the pea plants we’d been growing.  There is nothing for dinner and if there was I couldn’t be bothered cooking it.  Everything is a disaster and all I want to do is sleep.

At times like this, there is only one thing to do:  take photographs of bunting.

Oooh - Bunting!

I’m still fairly new to Blog World, but I’ve just cottoned on to something called “Work-in-Progress Wednesday” and I thought I’d give it a go.

bunting with shadow

I’m still getting the hang of taking decent photos.  I took my first lot in the shade and the colours were all wrong.  But when I put everything in the sun, I had shadows to contend with!

lovely bunting

So these little flags are on their way to becoming a string of bunting for Matilda’s room.  They’re made of cotton yarn which I bought years ago to make a blanket but never did.  I used the excellent granny bunting pattern from Hook Knit Spin and was first inspired by Lucy of Attic 24’s creation.  Lucy never did a “ta-da” post for her gorgeous bunting, but it creeps into the background of her pictures for me to gasp at.  You can get a glimpse of it in this post.

So, I’ve still got a while to go before it’s done, but it’s nice, portable work.  Good for swimming lessons and netball games.

OK, must stop hiding from my children (poor Mr Knightley – I practically pelted him with preschoolers the minute he walked in the door!).  I’ll keep you posted on all the bunting love!

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Vegetarian Fail.

It all came to a head on Friday at 4:15pm.  Annie was crying in the highchair, Christopher Robin and Harry were practising extreme wrestling on the trampoline (“I wasn’t biting him, Mummy, I was hugging him with my teeth!”), I was desperately trying to get dinner together and Matilda was looking grave and pensive.

“Mummy,” she announced solemnly, “I’ve decided I want to be a vegetarian.”

Now, I can’t pretend I didn’t see this coming.  Earlier in the week, a sign at the butcher’s advertising “wild rabbits” sent a tired and tearful Matilda into hysterics (“you mean people KILL cute little bunny rabbits and then they EAT them?  That is just so MEAN!”) and no talk of ‘introduced species’ or ‘feral pests’ or ‘circle of’ bloody ‘life’ would calm her down.  The night before saw Matilda wide awake well past her bed time, wracked with guilt after eating a plateful of roast lamb (It was moist and nice and not at all burnt like last time)

So I knew Matilda had been considering vegetarianism.  I had already laid down the law that she couldn’t only choose to be vegetarian for some meals just to get out of eating them (like beef stew, which she calls “beef spew”),  I just hadn’t anticipated her making this commitment the day before shopping day – an hour before dinnertime – while I was elbow-deep in meatloaf.

So I scratched my head and had a think.  I had half a tin of lentils.  Surely that had to count for something.  Vegetarians are always banging on about lentils.  And I had a muffin tin.  Maybe I could make a mini- lentil loaf?

As I mixed the lentils with all the stuff I usually put in the meatloaf and added plenty of egg to hold it all together, I was struck with a wonderful vision of myself.  I could get really good at this!  I could be That Amazing Mother who whips up delicious vegetarian meals effortlessly for her mature, sensitive and intelligent vegetarian daughter.  I saw myself floating through organic wholefood markets buying bulk packs of tofu whilst hippies and hipsters alike nodded their approval.  What if I’m actually a creative genius in the kitchen, creating small miracles out of chick peas and eggplant?  I imagined myself on the cover of a glossy recipe-and-anecdote book, wearing a mildly ironic 1950s-style apron and smiling benevolently at the camera.  Of all things, I think putting out a recipe-and-anecdote book is a true sign that you’ve made it as a domestic goddess.

I wish I’d taken a photo of the perfect muffin-shaped little lentil loaf after I took it out of the oven.  It was truly a thing of beauty.  Matilda exclaimed at how pretty it was and ate it wordlessly whilst I radiated smug all over the kitchen.

The next day, Matilda was making herself a ham roll with extra ham.  “I’ve decided not be be a vegetarian,” she said, “that lentil loaf you made yesterday was pretty yuck”

Incidentally, I’d be happy to publish the recipe if anyone is looking to turn their child off vegetarianism.

Maybe I could make a book…

Health Nurse Fail.

Earlier this week I was struck with a sudden panic: the last time I made an appointment with the Maternal and Child Health Nurse, I didn’t write the appointment in my diary.  And it was a double appointment for Annie and Harry!  And these appointments are really hard to make!!  What if the appointment is today? What if I’ve already missed it??

As soon as I got home I dug out the green book and checked the appointment time: not till Wednesday!  Phew!  I checked the book again yesterday – 1:30pm – easy!

Mr Knightley gave Annie a thorough bath last night and I made sure she was dressed in her most respectable clothes this morning.  I gave the boys an early lunch and then coaxed Harry out of the mud and into the bath for a righteous scrubbing.  Once I put Harry into his least raggedy clothes and locked the back door so he couldn’t get muddy again, I bundled the three of them into the car (after first sending Christopher Robin back to change his favourite (broken) sandals into respectable shoes with matching socks).  I figured I’d get there early so they could have a play at the park next door beforehand.

You can imagine my immense sense of smugness as I sauntered into the health centre at precisely 1:25pm.  I had forgotten nothing: both health books, bunny rug, change of jumpsuit, nappies, crochet workbag, phone, tissues, keys, three children, wipes – all there.

One of the health nurses approached me with a concerned look on her face.  Who was I there to see?  Everyone was out.  I faltered for a moment – I’d only seen this new health nurse once before and couldn’t remember her name.  She prompted me – was it Jenny?  Yes! Jenny!  Jenny was out.

The first few seeds of doubt started to edge their way into my consciousness.  Oh! But! I said with renewed confidence, I AM a little early (oh yeah!)…but perhaps I’ll just double check the appointment in my book.

So I pull out my book and take forever to find the stupid page.  And I take a proper look at the date for the first time. Oh no! I say, I’m a week early!

The nurse points again at the date with a kind smile:  I was also a month early.

WHAT is WRONG with my BRAIN??!!

The receptionist, who by now had joined the conversation, along with another health nurse, said I could come in and have a sit while the boys had a play anyway.  It would give me a chance to ‘collect my thoughts’.  They were all very kind (and, I suspect, quietly concerned).

MY BRAIN!  What is wrong with my BRAIN??

I sat down with my diary and worked at being organised for about ten minutes. Then we went home.

I can’t even explain how I can manage to bring daft-ness to a whole new level.   I made a cake once we got home just to give my confidence a boost (with a side-product of comfort food)

Hmmm.

Roast Fail – The Sequel

An update:

The house still smells like roast beef

Harry did it again to the meatloaf tonight but I discovered it before things got too bad (still burnt, though).

While out with my Mum today, Christopher Robin commented that he and Harry had put a wash on, but hadn’t yet set it off and that he would remember to “press start” when we got back home.  It being 9:30 in the morning, I responded to this with “was that a dream you had, darling?”  Christopher Robin assured me that this was no dream, he and his brother had quietly achieved it whilst I was breastfeeding Annie that morning and that “Harry put too much powder in”.  I made a mental note to try to fix the situation when I got home, gently admonished Christopher Robin for putting a wash on without Mummy (“Harry started it.”) and got on with my day.

Later this afternoon, whilst preparing dinner (the ill-fated meatloaf) it struck me that I could hear the washing machine running.  True to his word, Christopher had turned on the washing machine.  Just as he said, Harry had indeed put too much powder in, on and around the machine – almost the entire box, scoop by wobbly scoop (it has always been their favourite part of the process).  There were a few items of clothing in there, too, but I think the powder proved to be more fun.

Just so you know yesterday wasn’t a one-off…