Domesticali

Card Sharks

It is so nice over the holidays to have time to play. In the melee that is term-time, we can go from week to week never opening the toy cupboard. Between school, sport, homework, work and household essentials (like cooking, eating and bathing) the time just get chewed up. But we have been re-acquainting ourselves with their contents (leading to a massive clear out and sorting session).

Oh the guilt borne of seeing the amount of kiddy bits we have accumulated over the past decade. I never saw myself as a rampant consumer, but the box-load after box-load of stuff seems to tell otherwise. Luckily, the boys have been excellent about parting with the things they have outgrown and we are planning a selling trip to the car boot sale on Sunday. I have never done this before, so any advice from veterans would be most welcome.

Thankfully, as the boys grow, their toys and games seem to be reducing (in their bulk, at least). The new craze round these parts is playing cards. Endless games of seven-of-diamonds-begins. Endless. We have to play until everyone has won at least once. And then a couple more hands. Don't get me wrong - I am very pleased about this (not least because my win rate is good) because it means they are not itching to stare at a screen (the eternal holiday temptation).

But arranging and re-arranging their cards for them so they could hold them in a fan and see what they had was driving me nuts. A little Heath-Robinson-esque card holder for each of them was called for.

It's two CDs held together around roughly half their circumference with little strips of masking tape. Not particularly classy,  but it works a treat! 

Muxima

Over the years, it has become clear that our family is highly unlikely to take a normal holiday. Part of the problem for me is commitment. So many places to visit - how on earth am I meant to know which one is the best? And it was exactly this state of mind which lead to our dilemma. July - no holiday booked. Eight weeks of school break looming. Panic.

And then, springing from the screen of the laptop it emerged - Muxima - and I knew we had to go. Mostly, I must admit, on account of their donkey. See, hubby had been lobbying this year for a Dude Ranching holiday. Where you get to ride horses and pretend to be a cowboy somewhere in the Wild West. But this prospect seemed to me to have a few flaws. A long plane journey with a little one who doesn't always travel well. Eye watering levels of expense for little luxury. And the killer, the fact that 3 out of 4 of us have never spent more than 10 minutes on the back of  a horse in our lives - what if we hated riding?

But a donkey? That would symbolize compromise. Whilst not requiring any riding. And Portugal is a manageable flight for the barfing one. And hell, I was getting desperate. Which is how we stumbled upon what may have been one of our most memorable holiday weeks ever.

For Muxima embodies passion for an idea. And you know what a sucker I am for people who are passionate about doing something. The owners had spent time in Africa and fallen in love with the Game Reserve vibe. So they decided to re-create it in a Eucalyptus filled valley in their native Portugal.

In lieu of a swimming pool, there is a pond where you can swim, filtered by a reed bed. You do have to share it with the frogs (a decided benefit if you are a small boy, less so as a Mummy).

It was an incredibly peaceful location, devoid of mass tourism - a place to kick back and enjoy the little things. Peeling an orange in the sunshine on the steps, watching the ants about their business.

Reveling in the fact that Muxima is about as far away from bland hotel uniformity as it is likely to get. But not without it's own charms - our room could have come straight out of a Toast catalogue.

Breakfast was a peaceful affair, in an outdoor space with corrugated iron roof and a view out over the valley.

You could laze in a hammock and listen to the cicadas.

Or befriend the wildlife - see, I did manage to conjure up equine interest on holiday after all! His name is Stripes - he aspires to be a zebra.

Or undertake boyish pursuits like climbing the cork trees ( a popular choice while you wait for your parents who are lingering at the breakfast table making the most of homemade fig and lemon preserves and incredible orange juice).

They have to build up their strength for fortifying the beach against the incoming tide

We came back incredibly relaxed and the effect seems to be lasting - long may it continue!

So, my quite by chance holiday choice turned out to be a very good one. How do you go about picking where you are headed? And does anyone want to go Dude Ranching with hubby next year? Because I think I'd rather check out this canal boat in Amsterdam.

Back to the Fold

Well, the blogging interlude didn't last all that long, did it. I tried to stay away for a little bit longer, but I wasn't really enjoying it. There were so many things I wanted to say and  I missed talking to all of you.

And things I would normally tell you, I had no other way of processing. Like the incredibly sweet anonymous parcel that arrived for me from one of the Seven Days of Special swappers. Or finding a lovely new blogger who wrote a post recently that spoke straight to me and who I thought you might like to meet.

And it occurred to me that my purdah was self-imposed and I could just fling open the door and begin blathering away again - oh, the sweet relief! It's good to be home.

A short interlude

Reading a post from Molly the other day,  reminded me that last summer, I declared that I should have taken a little break away from the blog. It's not something I've really done before - yes, there have been episodes where the posting has been more sporadic, but in general, over the last four years I've been around and about, because the thought of stepping away totally for a while unnerved me.

But as I would say to my boys, faced with the same feelings, - it is the things that scare you a little that are the most rewarding to do.

The timing seems right - the boys finish school in an hour or two and we have a lot of summer stuff to be getting on with. So why does it bother me? After all, just because you draw the curtains, doesn't mean that life ceases to continue inside the house.

Here goes ...

Happiness

This time of year is always a slightly odd one for me. Many things are wonderful, but there is the hint of change on the breeze, of things coming to an end. We are writing goodbye notes for teachers and tying up loose ends. Looking forward to the summer, but mourning the loss of routine and the ability to switch on to autopilot. Am I explaining myself? I feel my words far too tangled and inadequate at the moment.

Perhaps some pictures of good things to soothe the soul instead.

 

Giffords Circus

A faultless summer sky over the big top errected on the green in an Oxfordshire village? It can only mean Giffords Circus. We first went two years ago, and the magic is still much in evidence in their production for this year, Yasmine.

1. Gifford Circus, 2. abandoned?, 3. 163/365 : Circus costumes

It is not your common or garden circus, though capturing exactly what makes it so special is hard - but last night, if one of the performers had taken me by the hand and led me off behind the blue velvet curtain, I know I would have been happy to run away and join the circus.

Picnic season commences

Before Sports Day, I was warned by a veteran Mummy of the school that the break for a picnic at lunchtime was an event to rival Glyndebourne. No pressure there then. But it did spur me into finishing the picnic quilt that has been in progress since this time last summer. I justified not finishing it then, because the weather was so dismal that there was precious little opportunity to picnic. But this year? Well, really there was no excuse.

I had already made the top and basted the quilt sandwich and discovered that the batting I had chosen was an absoulte swine when it came to hand quilting. And that my diddy little machine was not going to cope with a 3m long picnic blanket. So I decided to go with a very minimal amount of hand quilting and quite a lot of hand tying with embroidery floss.

And then disaster really struck when with 36 hours left before p-day, I discovered that I have misplaced the quilting ruler. Which put paid to any fantasies of making my own bias binding. So horror of horrors, I used nasty shop bought poly-cotton binding, chosen without any of the fabric to colour match with. But d'you know what? It was the easiest binding I have ever put on. And after all, it is destined to be dragged all over the place all summer long, so it's crazy to get too precious over it.

Veteran Mummy was accurate in her Sports Day assessments though - some poeple even brought their own gazebos. I kid you not. Did my picnic blanket pass muster? Bless his cotton socks, Mark announced in a loud voice to all and sundry at lunchtime - 'My Mummy made this. Isn't it great?' . Which sort of forces people to say something nice about it.  He is available to rent for craft fairs and other opportunities for blatant  promotion, is utterly shameless and requires payment mainly in yummy food. 

 
Because yummy food should always come first on the list of picnic priorities. Though the up to the wire sewing frenzy did mean that our customary  favourite picnic snack had to be foregone in favour of dull old sandwiches. I promise to do better next time.

What do you like to stick in your hamper so you can feel like a domestic goddess?