Don't want you to think we spend all our time gadding about making merry. But we've been off to the seaside visiting my folks. When we got here it was frrreeezing, with a howling wind and sleet falling. Hiding inside weather, for sure. But today, we awoke to the sun shining and positively balmy weather compared to that of late. Time to grab the camera and head out to capture some of it, in case it is a short lived interlude.
Hope you caught a few rays and made the most of them.
Apart from an hour in the Milton Keynes snow dome, the last time I stood on a pair of skis was 1994.
When we lived in Japan, some pals of ours decided to take us skiing in Nagano for the weekend. We drove up there overnight and were kitted up and out on the slopes as the dawn rose over the mountains - spectacular, if a little exhausting. My ski gear was borrowed from my 6'3" boss and was somewhat on the large side, to say the least. Oh, and there was the small problem that my only idea of how to ski had come from watching Ski Sunday and the odd Winter Olympics. No matter - our friend Masahiro grabbed me by the back of the jacket and bundled me onto and off a ski lift. In rudimentary Japanese, he explained how one snowploughed and then pointed me down the mountain. Off I slid - all very good. Skiing! Faster and faster, until I hit what felt like about 30mph and thought I'd better try the snowplough thing, at which point I discovered that at that speed, it really doesn't work too well, and flung myself onto the ground instead. When everyone else finished howling with laughter, they explained to me that skiing generally involves traversing the slope from side to side, not just heading straight down it. Well, how was I meant to know? That's not what they do on Ski Sunday!
It has taken me nineteen years to get round to going again. But go, we did, last week. And it was brilliant.
The snow was thick and fluffy, the hotel, perfectly placed for easy access to the lifts and ski school and the instructors got us all whizzing along and really enjoying what La Plagne has to offer. Predictably, the boys loved skiing and took to it really well - they are certainly much braver than me, as we discovered when we took a wrong turn and ended up on an extremely steep slope. They flew down, without a second thought when I made the mistake of looking and engaging my brain. Cue 10 minuites of knee trembling and agonisingly slow descent (but I made it!).
One boy child (and I'm sure you might be able to guess which) might have been a little gung ho at one point and managed to ski over the back ends of my skis resulting in a big fall and a colourful bruise.
I may have had the teensiest sense of humour failure at that point - he learned his lesson and gave me more room from then onwards!
And the best thing about skiing is that you feel totally justified in eating like a pig at every opportunity. Cooked breakfast - yes please, lunchtime tartiflette - don't mind if I do, 4:30pm - must be cake time, and it would be rude to turn down any of the three courses at supper. My kind of holiday!
Honestly, I'm slightly sad that it has taken me till my 40s to discover what fun a ski holiday is. I'm sure I would have bounced better at twenty something. And I might have stood a better chance of keeping up with the offspring too. Though I don't feel the need to do everything they do...
Somebody has a birthday today.
How old, Johnny?
And my prayer to the baking gods worked out, because after looking for a while like my first go at an Angel Food cake was never going to exit the tin, it finally eased out intact. And proved the perfect vehicle for whipped cream and berries (two things high on Johnny's list of favourites). Sweet boy.
This is a good week, if you are fans of seasonal celebrations. Shrove Tuesday and Valentines Day and during half term too - enough to get anybody's creative juices flowing. However, some of our efforts to mark the occasions have been more successful than others.
I'd seen a cute idea over at Pinterest and armed myself with my foolproof Delia's classic pancake batter recipe and a squeezy bottle, we set to.
The idea is, you put your batter in a squeezy bottle and then you can make doodle heart pancakes. Look how cute those things are (images from the Bite delite blog).
Okay, want to see mine?
Hmm - not really as attractive, is it? Thise suckers are more difficult to do than you'd think. Plus lacy looks nice, but isn't as filling, so I'm afraid we abandoned all efforts to be chic and just had round pancakes instead. Greed 1 - Style 0
Thankfully, there are other ways to celebrate the festival of love. Our antlers got a little seasonal makeover.
And we thought we might try our hands at making a celebration of love film - me and the boys. We've begun, even though it is highly unlikely to be ready in time. The photoshoots have been fun, but they keep getting hijacked by play dates and games of football and cat sitting duties. I'm sure Sam Mendes doesn't have these problems.
Less than a week to December! There wasn't really any need to remind you of that though, was there? Because right about now everyone starts to be a little more aware of the date than usual, mostly expressed in deadlines - last posting day, days left of term, final order date for turkeys, grocery delivery slots. There's such a frenzied sense of countdown.
Which really renders the whole idea of Advent calendars pretty redundant for adults. When so much headspace is already dedicated to what needs to be shoehorned in before the big day. I think that is probably why hubby's beer advent calendar always goes down well, signifying as it does, a moment of reprieve from the responsibilities of real life. Yup, he's getting one again this year.
But what I really want to achieve in time for Christmas, is for my Toast style lifestyle to materialize. You know the one I mean - when the house is beautifully uncluttered with the personal treasues significant to us allowed to shine. When everything is orderly and I can enjoy the company of family and friends instead of rushing around doing my finest impression of a headless chicken. Where there are whole stretches of the day devoted to staring into the middle distance and pondering, whilst wearing cashmere.
So I've made myself an Advent calender, out of the flier that Toast kindly posted through my door on Saturday.
And over those little pictures of lifestyle desireability, I am going to stick bits of paper with the stuff I need to accomplish between now and the big day. The boring stuff like clean the microwave and finally get round to putting the halloween decorations back up in the loft and as I get them ticked off my to-do-list, I am going to remove the bits of paper and watch my perfect lifestyle emerge.
Think I'll make it by Christmas?
Mark, the elder one, was running in a Cross Country fixture last weekend. We were sat at dinner the evening before, joking about carb loading and planning the arrangements for getting to the race, when he came out with "I don't think I'm going to do very well".
Perhaps he had a point - he had run well in the heats, but this was the regionals. Plus the age category was U13, so many of the competitors would be from the school year above him. It was going to be a tough gig. But there's no defeatist talk tolerated around our table! We had a chat about your best effort being enough and how a positive mental attitude can really make the difference.
Face it, I had few words of wisdom to offer on the actual running side of things, so cod sports-psychology was all I could offer. In fact, the older the children get, the more I realize that as a parent, I honestly have no answers to the vast majority of their quandries. I listen, I try to make sure they know I'm on their team and I trot out a load of old bunkum and hope that it makes them feel better.
But words do have the power to do that sometimes. No matter how well worn or rehashed they are. And sometimes, just saying it out loud makes it seem a little more real or a touch more possible.
I'm hoping this theory holds true at Christmas. Because I've been making a banner.
All is calm, all is bright
Positive Mental Attitude, people. And a little glitter card and a template from here.
The National Trust came up with a big list to get children off the sofa and out into the big outdoors. Given that Mark turned 12 today, I thought it might be a fun time to see what evidence we could find of the activities we've done. It has taken a very pleasureable age of trawling through the photo archives. Makes me want to be sure to photograph their childhoods at every single turn.
1. Climb a tree
2. Roll down a really big hill
3. Camp out in the wild
4. Build a den
5. Skim a stone
6. Run around in the rain
7. Fly a kite
8. Catch a fish with a net
9. Eat an apple straight from a tree
10. Play conkers
11. Throw some snow
12. Hunt for treasure on the beach
13. Make a mud pie
14. Dam a stream
15. Go sledging
16. Bury someone in the sand
17. Set up a snail race
18. Balance on a fallen tree
19. Swing on a rope swing
20. Make a mud slide
21. Eat blackberries growing in the wild
22. Take a look inside a tree
23. Visit an island
24. Feel like you're flying in the wind
25. Make a grass trumpet
26. Hunt for fossils and bones
27. Watch the sun wake up
28. Climb a huge hill
29. Get behind a waterfall
30. Feed a bird from your hand
31. Hunt for bugs
32. Find some frogspawn
33. Catch a butterfly in a net
34. Track wild animals
35. Discover what's in a pond
36. Call an owl
37. Check out the crazy creatures in a rock pool
38. Bring up a butterfly
39. Catch a crab
40. Go on a nature walk at night
41. Plant it, grow it, eat it
42. Go wild swimming
43. Go rafting
44. Light a fire without matches
45. Find your way with a map and compass
46. Try bouldering
47. Cook on a campfire
48. Try abseiling
49. Find a geocache
50. Canoe down a river
And can I add an extra? Eat Nigella's Nutella Cheesecake in lieu of a birthday cake.
It was Anna's pin which led me to the Korknisse pattern on Ravelry.
But it was the lure of diversionary activity, which had me knit up my version of a little cork person there and then. Because my own little person has flown the nest and headed off to France for a few days.
I used to think I was a relaxed kind of Mother, the type who is chilled about letting her offspring sally forth on the odd adventure. Turns out that is true only when it is the elder one, and I still have a chick at home to cluck over.
The French trip has stolen my baby, and I don't like it one little bit.
Though I am sure he will be having a whale of a time. And I do promise to refrain from telling him that he must never leave my side ever again.
This time last week, it was still the Summer Holidays.
The tail end always seems a little strange - the days still our own, but tinged with anticipation of what is to come. It's a notoriously scratchy period at our house - tempers a tad frayed, ready to get back to some sort of routine. To feel we are taking up the reins and getting on with life again.
And nature too has a way of reminding us that time is passing. That summer, however sweet, does not last forever.
But that every season brings its own bounty.
As a reminder to us to enjoy each new phase as it is ushered in.
Even if it can't possibly be time for that already.
Nancy taught me a good word for this moment: 'la rentrée' - hope yours was a smooth one.
Feeling somewhat apologetic about my absence here this summer. But life seems to have been happening elsewhere.
Though, if I am honest, a large proportion of that 'elsewhere' has been a derriere shaped indentation on the sofa in front of the Olympics.
We did also manage a quick live spectator trip.
The experience was every bit as fab as everone else has said.
And educational - we are now fluent in Polish Volleyball.
Can't believe there is only a day left before the Olympics comes to an end. But very much hoping that the feel good feeling lingers on.
I am going for a haircut tomorrow. This is, for me, a relatively rare occurrence (last time I went was January). But at least I am no longer scared of the hairdresser. I have finally found somebody who cuts my hair as curly hair, rather than as straight hair, bent to their will with a blow drier, thus looking fantastic, swishy and gorgeous as I leave the salon and a hideous, cowlicked state the rest of the time.
Adrian, my scissor wielding saviour, likes my curls. In fact, he goes so far in 'encouraging' them, that I tend to leave the salon looking like a poodle, but at least when I wash it the following morning, my hair works as its curly self. This is worth the large amount of money I pay for his 'creative director' status (especially since haircuts generally only happen a couple of times a year).
But tomorrow, I am not going alone. Mark has finally consented to cut his hair, but only if he gets to go to the same place as me. So I called for appointments for three of us (only two of us are NOT getting the creative director).
They used to go to Sara - the biker chick owner of the local barber's shop. She would discuss Top Gear with Mark, tickle Johnny with her neck brush and give the swiftest, most sensible boys haircuts on the planet. And lollipops. She had cut their hair right from little baby wisps, through first days at school and I was hoping she would navigate teenage trends on my behalf, but she left to go back to the Isle of Man. And since she did (and it was almost 2 years ago), the kids hair has been getting more and more unkempt.
We've cut it, in many different walk in barber shop type places, but the styles (or lack thereof) have been getting worse and worse. Mark is commonly sporting what can only be called a bob. Not good. So I was determined that we should get decent haircuts out of the doubtless extortionate bill tomorrow. And the key to a decent cut? Knowing what you want.
Cue pinterest. I'm a big fan of Johnny's choice.
Source: Uploaded by user via Ali on Pinterest
Okay, I realize he's a bit young for facial hair, but the rest is good, no?
Mark is still keen to be more hairy and scruffy than I, and his school I suspect, would ideally like. But I bow to the whims of pre-teen fashion. At least he isn't asking for piercings or a tattoo (yet).
Though it is clear that some people are in doubt over the motives behind my pinboard....
Do you have input into your kids hair? How do you manage it? I have high hopes tomorrow for finding a Sara relacement, who can tread the fine line between pleasing the customer and producing something on their heads which looks reasonable. Keep your fingers crossed - given that it took me over 30 years to find a hairdresser I liked, it might be a big ask.
We're back from our hols. I wrote a great long post about them and Typepad ate it. So here's the abbreviated version.
Lanzarote - Finca de Arrieta - great place.
Sun, sea, sand, pool, donkey, trampoline, snorkling, eating, drinking, bliss.
Happy face.
Back home.
Pros: own pillow
Cons: no more baby calamari
Sports Day today. Blue is my boys' house colour.
The 2012 Victor Ludorum.
That's one proud boy. I think he earned his moment.
You know, normally I feel vaguely uncomfortable if my children are singled out in some way. Always wary of tall poppy syndrome and the potential for backlash. Usually, if you point out the acomplishments of one of my own, I'll find a way of letting you know that they have feet of clay. But just for today, when people said how well he'd done, I stopped at 'thank you'.
Giffords Circus has become synonymous with summer in Oxfordshire for us.
A slightly muddy village green, the big top, painted wagons and the mechanical organ. Happy times.
Do you ever get the feeling that subconsciously, you are waiting for something to happen? In some sort of limbo that leaves you feeling restless and unproductive and not able to settle to doing anything of any consequence? The kicker is, I have no idea what it is I am waiting for. So this weekend, I have consciously decided to sieze the moment. If a thought comes into my head, I'm acting on it.
In some respects, this is a dangerous state of mind. It led to the sudden purchase yesterday, of an upgraded drum kit for Mark. To be fair, he has been saving up for his share of the cost for over a year. And this child does not find saving easy. But when we went into the shop, and saw the kit with the spec above the one he had coveted, reduced to the same price and I said we should just go ahead and buy it, I swear his jaw almost hit the floor.
Thankfully, not all my impulses have been costly ones. It didn't rain today, which I took as a sign to get outside, prune bushes and bring in the last of the tulips from my cutting patch. The lilac is in full bloom, so some of that got cut and the greenery is courtesy of the lemon balm which grows like a weed all over our garden.
Clearly, the 'just do it now' mood is a catching one. I showed Johnny this post about a Nerf gun target and blow me, he agreed to making his own version right there and then.
This makes me grateful on so many levels - perhaps I will stop finding nerf bullets all over every room of every house, building it occupied him for almost an hour and I am hopeful that it will give him something to do other than bait his older brother. Today, the torture of choice seems to be to follow him about, chanting 'puberty boy'. I had honestly forgotten what eight year old boys are like.
Perhaps what I'm waiting for is for him to grow out of it.
We country mice escaped for an interlude in the big bad city last week. It might seem an odd holiday venue, given that we don't live too far away. But somehow, staying in London, trumps any number of day trips and boy did we luck out with a place to stay this time.
This is the Town Hall Hotel and Aprtments where we stayed - it's in Bethnal Green (a hop step from the Museum of Childhood) and is, hands down, the best hotel I have stayed in. An architecturally interesting building, renovated impeccably, filled with quirky modern art and equipped in a way which shows incredible thought and attention to detail (we're talking proper milk in the fridge, ipod docks and a rubber ducky for the bath). With four of us (one of whom is increasingly adult sized) we often struggle with the classic 'double bed plus sofa bed' hotel room offering, but not here, where we had a two room apartment with living room and kitchen too - bliss. Really, if you're needing a place to rest your head in London anytime soon, I recommed you check it out.
It was something of a miracle we managed to drag ourselves away from the pool and gym (the treadmill proving to be a surprising hit with Johnny), but we squeezed in some tourism too. Dodging the showers, we wnt for a nose around the Olympic Park. There's a path called the Greenway which gives really great views of the main Stadium, Aquatic Centre and the ArcelorMittal Orbit sculpture thingummy.
In fact, sport was a bit of a theme of our break, as it co-incided with the London Marathon. Though I'm not sure watching with our feet up from the window of Pret a Manger is exactly total immersion.
Don't tut - we spent a fair chunk of time roadside too. Those runners are hard core. Really - I am in awe, and not at all tempted to join in. My legs were tired enough with all the walking we did. The Bank of England, where you can lift a 2 stone gold bar and crack a safe, the Cutty Sark, Greenwich Park and the Royal Observatory (and a great sausage shop pit stop lunch).
And the obligatory (in the children's eyes) visit to the Harrods toy department.
I love these unstructured breaks. A perfect change of pace, free from the distractions of being at home. Time to explore, see different things. And when there is so much to enjoy practically on your doorstep, there doesn't really seem to be a good reason for having to go further. Here's to holidays on your own doorstep.
In order to keep my running on track during the holidays, I realized I was going to need to coerce the boys into coming with me. Johnny is still small enough that it makes sense for him to cycle while I jog, but Mark? Well, he's a way better runner than I could ever aspire to be.
And how I love to watch that boy run. It is as if pure, unbridled joy flows out from his feet. Running is not, as it is for me, a task to be completed or a challenge to be conquered. It just happens when he lets himself free. A beautiful and humbling thing to watch.
He has to go slow so I can keep up, but I think we are both fine with that. Also, his feet are the same size as mine. How did we get to this place?
Johnny bean turned eight yesterday. Our celebrations were rather low key - his party is next weekend and he's also got the mother of all colds and isn't feeling tip top. But he did brighten up somewhat when he saw the cake his granny had got him.
The surprise was, there's no cake in it! Its made entirely from sweets. And I've discovered just how hopeless willpower can be. Even when I don't officially like sweets. Pass another cola bottle please.
Did Valentines Day bring you sweet things? We were pretty low key about it this year. But I did manage two little Bunny Nuggets for the boy children in my life.
It's a Rebecca Danger pattern (details here) and they knit up really fast from oddments.
Oddments is a good word for this week - let me share some with you:
Elizabeth, from my Needles and Natter group has set up a blog. She's lovely, her blog is lovely. Will you pop over and say hi? She's at Mrs Thomasina Tittlemouse.
We ate the most incredibly yummy sweet potato wedges this week. Honestly, incredible.
Okay, so mine are not lookers, but honestly, what they lacked in beauty, they more than made up for in taste. The recipe is from Mad Hungry, but I found it for you on line right here. Put sweet potatoes in your basket this shopping trip - you won't regret it.
While Johnny was playing at a friend's house, I promised Mark we could go on a more grown up cycle ride. It turned into a bit of an epic expedition through some of the stickiest mud I have encountered in a long while. And oceans of goose poo.
Afterwards, he washed my bike as well as his - for some reason, this small thing really touched me. Sweet boy. It was almost enough to make me overlook the soreness of my backside post epic-cycle.
Johnny did finish his stripey jellies, but they proved disappointingly unphotogenic.
If I'm honest, I didn't much care for the muddled flavours either, but he was pleased with them, which is the main point.
Next week is going to feel very quiet and dull round here - I do like having these munchkins at home.
Seldom has a half-term been so very welcome. The opportunity to relax, to play, to enjoy each other's company.
The older the boys get, the more I appreciate the interlude that the holidays provide. Time seems to pass more gently somehow. We seem to do more living, but with less frenzy. Or perhaps we get to do more of the parts of living that we actually want to do. Playing in the snow, a game of Monopoly, drumming, knitting, vegging out, eating, seeing friends.
There is space to make grand plans - in the case of Johnny, these are taking the form of rainbow striped jellies. He's a boy on a culinary mission.
Hopefully I'll show you how these turn out, but there's a fair chance they may not - our plans are fluid like that. Such is the beauty of the holidays.
Off my needles yesterday evening. A Wurm hat.
I am hoping it gave me a small degree of anonymity in the school car park this morning as I accomplished a particulary spectacular wipe out in the compacted snow.
My boys were their normal sympathetic selves: Hahhahahah, Mummy, I can't believe you FELL OVER! I'm going to go in and tell EVERYBODY!
Just the ones who hadn't already seen. The shame.
During periods of anxiety, it helps me to keep busy. Preferably small things, with instant gratification involved. Because when you are waiting on big things which are out of your control, it's good to go for a little contrast.
Mark is in the midst of entrance exams. I have made a dozen felt rings. Including the one that disintegrated when trimmed too much before it was properly felted and the one that has mysteriously disappeared (looks suspiciously at the cat).
I used to think I was quite good at handling pressure. Seems that's only true when I have some element of control over the outcome. I'm off to hunt down some more scraps of wool.
Never before has it taken me until December 19th to decorate the tree. It's rather wonky, but I am truly past caring. It is done. I must have looked ill, because Johnny took pity on me and helped me to decorate it. Which led to this exchange:
Johnny: No, we can't have that bauble there.
Me: Why not?
Johnny: Look - it's in line with that one.
Me: Silence. Eyes boggling.
Johnny: My mother is very particular about these things, you know.
Sigh - I can take to my bed happy, knowing that my parenting work is done. I have produced a child who is as neurotic about the Christmas Tree as I am.
Germ alert - am I the only one whose offspring always seem to celebrate the beginning of their Christmas holidays with a stinking cold? They are back on fighting form, but have passed their lurgy on to us, and I for one am feeling rather sorry for myself and not remotely festive. In fact, I am ashamed to say that we reached the 15th of December without putting up a single decoration. That's unheared of round these parts. So in spite of feeling grotty, I forced myself to put up our plastic fantastic version yesterday.
Perhaps the twinkly lights will work their magic and I'll wake up tomorrow full of verve. Then we can go and buy the real tree. Though the plans for that could be scuppered by hubby not returning - he's stuck on an iced up plane somewhere in Northern Europe. One de-icing truck has broken down, the second has run out of de-icer and the third is valiantly attempting to keep the whole airport open. It may be a long night....
I saved him a jelly though - good for sore throats. The squirty cream is just good for morale.
December always seems to bring out the urge to blog. Perhaps because in this space everything can be pretty and orderly and under control. Real life is so disappointing in those areas sometimes, don't you find?
Today is the day of Johnny's Nativity Play. He is an angel. A very disgusted angel - not sure if it is because of the white tights or the dancing. I hasten to add, he has not been singled out for humiliation - his entire class are angels. I plan to take a LOT of pictures, so I can blackmail him when he is a stroppy teenager.
The child who already shows signs of being a stroppy teenager gave me an honest, heartfelt hug today. On his classroom steps. Now that was unexpected. But very lovely too. I think it's because I decided to help him find his lost rugby boots instead of yelling at him for being irresponsible. I did the yelling yesterday - about another episode of flakiness on his part. Perhaps he took it on board. Christmas is the season of miracles, after all. And I found the boots. Happiness all round.
The kitchen has been a hubub of activity this morning. I've made Tupperware chorizo (Gill said it's really good - I like a personal recommendation) a batch of cinnamon biscuits and one of chocolate and ginger thins. I gave only eaten three, which shows steel-like self control on my part, don't you think? Mind you - half of them are still in the oven, so the body-count may well rise.
My neighbour has hired men to cut holes in the tarmac driveway so he can plant a hedge. This seems a plan doomed to failure to me. There is much thudding going on and plumes of filth. My cats are traumatized.
Yesterday, I wrote a Christmas card to my Aunt in New Zealand. Her card to us always arives in November. She is very organized. I went to post it, saw the queue in the Post Office and put it back in my bag. I am sorry Aunty Betty - it's going to be late again.
My phone number transfer has worked! So now my shiny new iPhone is fully functional. It has been many years since I felt so much excitement over a birthday present - took the sting out of turning 40 completely. I have Siri. Thimbleanna is using hers for sensible things. I am dictating lots of texts to the people who used to text me ALL THE TIME even though I was so hopeless at texting that it would take me 15 mins to prod out Yes, see you at 9.30 in reply.
The children also keep hi-jacking Siri to ask it things like "What are you wearing?" and "Would you like a cup of tea?". They are quite frustrated, having never before come across an adult they couldn't wind up. I think Siri might have the last laugh.
I have knit my phone a little sock to keep it warm. And a baby vest. And a silk necklace and a washcloth (not for the phone). I will get round to showing them at some point I'm sure.
Right - mind-dump concluded - hope your day is going well.
Yes, you read than right. Doublet Flange.
Number one son is going on a History field trip. In full on 17th Century attire.
I tried to convince him to access his religious side. A Monk's habit, I could have whipped out in no time. But no, he wants to be a Roundhead. Hence the latest pinterest board.
Please send 17th Century inspiration this way. And shoot me if any of my offspring ever decide to get into historical re-enactment.
Johnny and I had decorated the front porch - twigs, synthetic spider webs, rubber bugs - it was looking mighty fine to us. The first Trick-or-Treaters rang the bell - my friend and her girls.
We stood to chat a while and I asked what they thought of our decorations. At which point Mark enquired whether we had got the cobwebs from down the back of his radiator.
Just the picture of domesicity I was aiming for.
******************
So, November and NaBloPoMo. I'd like to think I could post every day, but not entirely sure I can keep up with the pace. Though the Habit girls have opened their doors to everyone for the month. A picture and 30 words, I might be able to manage.
So, we're pretty much ready for this evening - all decorated, cupboard stocked with treats for the little ghouls who turn up on the doorstep and pumpkins carved. Though Johnny is very insistant that his is, in fact, a plumpkin.
Coffee Lady ratted me out in my crafty preparations by asking about the involvement of the children after my last post. Rumbled. They may eat the food, but the joy of the preparation has been all mine. A self confessed craft-control-freak, I freely admit, my favourite kids crafts are the ones that I do without the kids. But please note the hands in the picture above. Mark's. In fact for the first time this year, he did his whole pumpkin all by himself. Are you impressed at my levels of self control?
Admittedly, I did still do the scooping of Johnny's for him (only because he tells me he doesn't like sticking his hand inside) and the sharp utensils bit. But I swear he drew on the design all by himself.
They are most pleased with themselves.
And me? Well maybe, just maybe, it's okay to not be the one in creative control once in a while.
Happy Halloween!
So, eldest son has made it to eleven.
And we've had a perfect birthday weekend - packed full of action of his favourite kinds. A sleepover, a trip to a Lego exhibition with Scouts, a Rugby tournament and his party - laser gaming in the woods.
Full on activity - just the way he likes it. With a teeny side of family moments - a specially requested dinner and a cupcake candle vehicle.
He doesn't like it quiet, this boy. And he couldn't just blow out a candle in the conventional way, could he?
Happy Birthday Mark. You are mad, but you make us smile.
