TropicalSoup

This Valentines Day...

...I hope you got to spend the day snuggling with someone you love. Then again, I kinda wish that for you every day!

Uncreative space

I was going to join in Kootoyou's My Creative Space yesterday, but given that said space consisted almost entirely of an ironing pile that started out roughly sufficient to clothe a small island nation, and a fairly spectacular round of surprise diarrhoea* for the 2 munchkins, I'm thinking the fewer pics the better, really! (I'm only relieved the munchkins stayed away from the small island nation, imagine the cross contamination issues. Eww, sorry, just had to go there....)

*surprise diarrhoea: a phenomenon known to parents of small children the world over, and the inspiration of many a catchy tune. Surprise! It's already halfway to your shoe and you're still in the hallway! nice.

Just hypothetically...

...if these were the last photos on your little point and click (hooray for laptops with sneaky memory card slots I say!) and said camera was now refusing absolutely to turn on or power up, with its little lens stuck in the extended position. And you found said camera had been carefully placed somewhere *out of sight*. Then, just hypothetically, mind, what would be your guess of its final moments?

Yeah, that's what I thought too. Subsequently backed up by two particularly guilt-ridden and shifty little individuals when the entire story came tumbling out. (And just an aside, but I do rather adore the trying-to-put-one-over-on-you-except-we-somehow-completely-lack-the-where-with-all-to-lie-even-though-we-wish-we-didn't-and-we're-doing-our-best-to-remedy-that-right-this-instant stream of consciousness thing with 3 year olds. And probably not least of all because I know the rascally bit isn't going to be over any time soon, but they're probably going to get much better at the covering up, what with upskilling and all. eek)

Of course, this post could just as easily be titled Why you don't go to the loo whilst your little fish are in the spa pool (even if you are way within hearing distance and it's only to pee.) Why do I have the sinking feeling that this will not be the last post of this nature here?

Sheesh, the insurance company is going to love us!

Buttercups a deux

I know we're rapidly approaching the meat of the year, and here I am, still pulling out Christmas gifts! I think I may be one of the last remaining blog-literate sewists to attempt the buttercup bag, and man, I wish I'd made one sooner - if I had, pretty much every young lady in the vicinity would have received one for a gift. Such a sweet, easy project. The hardest part was picking which fabric to cut into. (Closely followed by the second hardest part - overcoming the urge to keep the bags and just buy my sisters a beauty treatment instead!) I changed the pattern slightly (because I'm me and I just can't help myself) and I definitely see more of these in my future!

I always feel awkward about giving Ali and Mikki the same gifts - or variations on a theme. (For those that don't know, my lovely sisters are also twins, now in their mid-20s) And yet I continually do it. I think my over-extended sense of fairness coupled with an extra-earnest determination to ensure twins are treated as individuals rather than components of a whole sometimes collaborate to make my head asplode. Really. To the point where I spend hours worrying about it. It's ridiculous. And you know what I eventually figured out? Ali and Mikki's gifts are usually so similar because these two gorgeous young things really like so many of the same things, are at very similar places in their lives (funny that!)...and are incredibly close with very similar tastes (and very distinct personalities!) So maybe the over-thinking is nothing more than a gigantic waste of time...or an excuse to procrastinate. (who? me? never! okay, well maybe tomorrow...)

And the purpose of me blathering on about all this here? Not sure really. I guess I wanted to share the cute buttercup bags. And maybe I wanted (albeit in a very vague and circuitous, roundabout, procrastinating way) put it out there that I need to stop over-thinking things...I spend so much time analysing and thinking things to bits that I end up with no time to actually do anything. Case in point - these bags weren't finished until New Year's, even though I'd made all the fabric choices at least a week in advance of Christmas. 10 big sister demerit points for you, Jo.

(wondering how long I can drag out this what-I-made-people-for-Christmas malarky? Yeah, me too! I might call it a day now though, eh? And save the rest of the pics for the proverbial rainy day down the road. But if only I'd remembered to take a photo of the ipod cover I made for C's birthday last month...that was fun. Maybe it's time to bribe a wee niece to send me a photo or two!)

Clearly the wrong playlist

People's Evidence A:

One of the very lovely teachers at Montessori asked me sotto voce the other day as I was collecting Cole and Imogen whether anyone in the family had recently acquired a tattoo. Say what?!? Turns out Immy had been practising harnessing her stage presence atop the climbing frame and belting out a song about tattooed torsos. Is it weird that that made me breathe a sigh of relief because I could explain that no, that was just one of our favourite bedtime songs, Groucho Marx's fabulous Lydia the Tattooed Lady (though I confess Kermit's version is my favourite!)? I'm not sure if the fact I lull my children to sleep with ditties of ink-rendered body modifications made her less or more concerned?

People's Evidence B:

The subect of Atticus came up the other day, and somehow we got to talking about him dying. *Why did baby Atticus die?* they wanted to know. Now, this is always a bit tricky for me - I want to be honest but at the same time, don't want to scare these little people with too much information (a common risk with me!) or make pregnancy or tiny babies inherently dangerous in their mind. So, I said simply that baby Atticus had a germ bug that was too powerful for a little baby to overcome, and so he died before he could get out of my tummy. Cole and Imogen were quiet for a few moments while they digested this.

Mama, I think you must be confused, Cole finally tells me.

Erm, what exactly do you mean love?

Mama, baby Atticus died because he swallowed a fly and was too little. The old lady didn't die until she swallowed a horse because she had a much bigger mouth.