Monday, 20 May 2013
Sunday, 19 May 2013
Five average photos from a far from average week
These images come with no captions: only caveats. I didn't conga, I didn't grow that carrot. I didn't blog adventures, or screaming rows, or sad goodbyes and scary new starts. I didn't read your blog. Or yours. And you put a lot of effort in.
But it's late now. So for now, like Janet Webb, I'll do nothing more deserving than just pop up at the end and say 'goodnight. And I love you all.'
Monday, 29 April 2013
Never knowingly blogready
Emma made a whistle-stop visit. She wandered around the house, pointing at things.
"Have you blogged this? Have you blogged this? Have you blogged this?" She exposed me as a blogging fraudster. A layabout. A woman surrounded by perfectly bloggable items, who spends her time chasing her tail ironing school uniforms and watching episodes of Castle on Lovefilm.
I have blogged nothing. Not this quilt, made from a pattern in the Liberty Book of Home Sewing. (Just to note, I did not buy this book. I got it out of the library. It's pretty and all, but the projects are flimsy. There's a free Amy Butler brick quilt pattern which would probably have done much the same thing.)
Still. Here it is. One of the reasons (excuse alert!!) that I didn't get round to blogging it before was because it was constantly wrapped around somebody's shoulders or knees. It is cold, here, people.
As you can see, it is made entirely out of scraps of Liberty tana lawn. I can only apologise for being able to buy this stuff so reasonably. In my defence, if it wasn't dirt cheap I would have found another hobby. We all know how much I like watching TV and drinking fake Aldi Baileys.
I've used some of the same fabrics that the pattern suggested, but only coincidentally. I went with what I had. I find myself secretly liking the back best. I made a stripe of the bits of brick I cut off the edges to square it up, and then used some larger pieces I'd bought by the metre. The pinky blue fabric that makes up most of the back was bought for a song, because of the watermark throughout the roll. You want to know my magic way of removing a watermark? Scissors.
Now we come to the mandolin strap I made from yet another Liberty scrap, and an outgrown denim skirt donated by Littlest. Mr Coffee had gone to a music shop to buy a strap for me as a gift. On being offered this, he returned home empty-handed. "Ten quid!" he fumed. "Ten quid for a bootlace! You could make one tons better than that!"
They give me their clothes. They refuse to buy things in shops. They believe in me.
The next one isn't mine. It was made for me by a talented friend. About a year ago, I was stripping scrap paper out of notebooks (is it just my children who write on 15 pages of a full notebook and then abandon it?) when I suddenly found a message. Littlest had had a burst of joy whilst learning to write, which had hidden away for goodness knows how long in a half-empty pad.
I kept the note on the kitchen wall, but it began to fade. So I took it to Ursula, and asked her to help me keep it safe.
I am all Show and Tell today. Normal service will be - no, I'd better not say that. Normal service will possibly never be resumed. Because in less than three weeks' time I will be starting a new job, and god only knows what will pass for normal by then.
See? I told you I was all Show and Tell.
"Have you blogged this? Have you blogged this? Have you blogged this?" She exposed me as a blogging fraudster. A layabout. A woman surrounded by perfectly bloggable items, who spends her time chasing her tail ironing school uniforms and watching episodes of Castle on Lovefilm.
I have blogged nothing. Not this quilt, made from a pattern in the Liberty Book of Home Sewing. (Just to note, I did not buy this book. I got it out of the library. It's pretty and all, but the projects are flimsy. There's a free Amy Butler brick quilt pattern which would probably have done much the same thing.)
Still. Here it is. One of the reasons (excuse alert!!) that I didn't get round to blogging it before was because it was constantly wrapped around somebody's shoulders or knees. It is cold, here, people.
As you can see, it is made entirely out of scraps of Liberty tana lawn. I can only apologise for being able to buy this stuff so reasonably. In my defence, if it wasn't dirt cheap I would have found another hobby. We all know how much I like watching TV and drinking fake Aldi Baileys.
I've used some of the same fabrics that the pattern suggested, but only coincidentally. I went with what I had. I find myself secretly liking the back best. I made a stripe of the bits of brick I cut off the edges to square it up, and then used some larger pieces I'd bought by the metre. The pinky blue fabric that makes up most of the back was bought for a song, because of the watermark throughout the roll. You want to know my magic way of removing a watermark? Scissors.
Now we come to the mandolin strap I made from yet another Liberty scrap, and an outgrown denim skirt donated by Littlest. Mr Coffee had gone to a music shop to buy a strap for me as a gift. On being offered this, he returned home empty-handed. "Ten quid!" he fumed. "Ten quid for a bootlace! You could make one tons better than that!"
They give me their clothes. They refuse to buy things in shops. They believe in me.
The next one isn't mine. It was made for me by a talented friend. About a year ago, I was stripping scrap paper out of notebooks (is it just my children who write on 15 pages of a full notebook and then abandon it?) when I suddenly found a message. Littlest had had a burst of joy whilst learning to write, which had hidden away for goodness knows how long in a half-empty pad.
I kept the note on the kitchen wall, but it began to fade. So I took it to Ursula, and asked her to help me keep it safe.
I am all Show and Tell today. Normal service will be - no, I'd better not say that. Normal service will possibly never be resumed. Because in less than three weeks' time I will be starting a new job, and god only knows what will pass for normal by then.
See? I told you I was all Show and Tell.
Monday, 1 April 2013
Bad photos from a really half-decent Easter
The Egg Boat.
Exciting and New.
This will only make sense to those of you who, like us, have been singing the theme to the Love Boat completely incorrectly for about 20 years.
Few people will have been singing this song at all, let alone doing it with the wrong words set to the wrong tune. Ours is better. Trust me.
The egg boat - pictured here without an egg - was a great disappointment. It was made for a race at Littlest's school. It came last. It didn't even make it down the ramp.
Here is our very own Easter bunny, pictured in her ears at the end of the Big Bunny Bike ride. When we put the bikes into the car it was snowing. Luckily, it did not do so for long - five miles cycling through the snow would have been NO FUN.
A hastily assembled Easter centrepiece. I do love a big bag of chicks. The Pound Shop is my paradise at this time of the year.
I went out into the garden and cleaned off the table, feeling an immense sense of hope and enthusiasm. I looked at the plants, and was overcome with despair and helplessness. I came back in. I ate another Cadbury's Caramel egg.
This last photograph needs a good deal of explanation. But not yet. It's still in construction. At present we have a PVA glue shortage, which is halting the building work. But it's an ambitious structure, which should not be rushed.
Happy Easter.
Exciting and New.
This will only make sense to those of you who, like us, have been singing the theme to the Love Boat completely incorrectly for about 20 years.
Few people will have been singing this song at all, let alone doing it with the wrong words set to the wrong tune. Ours is better. Trust me.
The egg boat - pictured here without an egg - was a great disappointment. It was made for a race at Littlest's school. It came last. It didn't even make it down the ramp.
Here is our very own Easter bunny, pictured in her ears at the end of the Big Bunny Bike ride. When we put the bikes into the car it was snowing. Luckily, it did not do so for long - five miles cycling through the snow would have been NO FUN.
A hastily assembled Easter centrepiece. I do love a big bag of chicks. The Pound Shop is my paradise at this time of the year.
I went out into the garden and cleaned off the table, feeling an immense sense of hope and enthusiasm. I looked at the plants, and was overcome with despair and helplessness. I came back in. I ate another Cadbury's Caramel egg.
This last photograph needs a good deal of explanation. But not yet. It's still in construction. At present we have a PVA glue shortage, which is halting the building work. But it's an ambitious structure, which should not be rushed.
Monday, 25 March 2013
Nothing to see here but air
 |
Air hockey |
It's been that kind of a fortnight.
Notable events from the last two weeks have included: playing air hockey for all of ten minutes, buying a new lunchbox, and washing the cushion covers. Eldest went ice-skating, but we didn't.
It snowed but didn't settle. We finally got the central heating mended. We have a brand new ceramic hob propped up in a box in a corner of the living room. Because ringing the tradesman is just another job that continually didn't get done.
Until 3.15pm today, I had nothing to offer but 'peh'. I picked Littlest up from school and, as usual, asked what had been the most special part of the day. (Usually the question is ignored, and I have to deflect a string of demands to buy things from shops and then endure a diva strop.)
But not today. Today, her friend had taught her to 'listen to the wind'.
Here's what you do. You run into the wind with your eyes closed, and you listen. To her friend, it sounds like 'wishywishywishy', but to Littlest, it's more 'phew, phew'. We don't know what it means. We don't speak wind language.
But the clouds, apparently, do.
(If you haven't already done so, do visit The Compound Word Project, if only to look at the pretty pictures and then wail and weep about how your brain doesn't even WORK.)
Monday, 11 March 2013
Now this is something you'll have trouble googling
So I spent Mothering Sunday in a sports hall. A cold sports hall. My Sunday lunch was a houmous and carrot sandwich that I'd packed myself before I set off.
I was there for five hours, watching children do gymnastics. It was a bit spectacular, but long. Very long. I'm pretty sure that the local sports centre could put on a pretty good closing ceremony at the Olympics. Swirly lights. Opera. Two hundred children all doing the same moves at the same time.
But still. Five hours. I did English paper piecing, though I could barely see my needle because of the lighting.
I've been making this quilt since August. I've pieced on holiday, in front of the TV, on trains, on weekends at the in-laws, at Christmas: everywhere. I pieced the other weekend, constantly, whilst chatting and laughing and eating with an amazing bunch of bloggers, hosted by Tracy. We talked about socks, about food, about - lord, I actually can't remember what - and about blogging.
I wore my lovely handknitted socks - a gift from Kristina - during the five hour gym display. My feet were the only part of me that were warm.
Have you read this post, on Maxabella Loves? It's about when blogs become websites; about when SEO takes over, and the number of page hits matters more than the relationships behind them. And it's how we all exist in cliques, and how we get less able to step outside them. And about how we should read more blogs. It's really good.
Am in a clique? It might look like it. I have blogging friends whom I've met; they know blogging friends whom they've met. But even though my blog is over five years old, I still came late to the party, and their community welcomed me with open arms. Now, when I search for new blogs, I find it harder to find my way. Blogrolls are losing popularity: being edited down, sometimes even being ditched altogether. And it's a huge world out there now, in Blogland - it's getting harder and harder to navigate.
It's also hard to spot your child in a darkened hall, with swirly lights, surrounded by 199 other children in almost identical leotards.
Is that why we read less blogs? Because they're getting harder to spot? And what makes us form the communities we do?
A while ago, a very influential UK blogger told me that no-one, NO-ONE, replied to comments by email. NO-ONE. AT. ALL. But we do. Most of the blogs I read - we all do. Blogland is massive. We do different things.
There are children doing gymnastics on the assymetric bars. Then, later, a class full of girls waving ribbons. There are some very, very tiny children wiggling their toes in a circle.
I've been to blog events where we've talked about Effective Use of Social Media, about Branding. But around Tracy's table, we talked about writing.
The thing is, even though I know about how to best title my blog posts in order to maximise their search potential, I shall continue to write things with headings such as How the Stuffed Became the Stuffing and Just Get On With It. It doesn't help my traffic, so why do I do it? Because it makes me happy. Look at this! Monica's blog, with its numbered headings. Tell me that's not the right way to do it. Go on. Try.
So who is in my 'clique', my community? Bloggers who've never acknowledged me, bloggers who've politely responded. Bloggers whom I've met, whom I've never met but learned things from, bloggers whom I could text right now at ten past ten because they're actually friends. Chances are - since you didn't find me today via an anonymous google search for 'miserable cow' or 'stapling together an ottoman' - you're in there too.
You, over there, on the balance beam. I'm over here waving a ribbon. I know what I'm doing. You're doing fine too.
I was there for five hours, watching children do gymnastics. It was a bit spectacular, but long. Very long. I'm pretty sure that the local sports centre could put on a pretty good closing ceremony at the Olympics. Swirly lights. Opera. Two hundred children all doing the same moves at the same time.
But still. Five hours. I did English paper piecing, though I could barely see my needle because of the lighting.
I've been making this quilt since August. I've pieced on holiday, in front of the TV, on trains, on weekends at the in-laws, at Christmas: everywhere. I pieced the other weekend, constantly, whilst chatting and laughing and eating with an amazing bunch of bloggers, hosted by Tracy. We talked about socks, about food, about - lord, I actually can't remember what - and about blogging.
I wore my lovely handknitted socks - a gift from Kristina - during the five hour gym display. My feet were the only part of me that were warm.
Have you read this post, on Maxabella Loves? It's about when blogs become websites; about when SEO takes over, and the number of page hits matters more than the relationships behind them. And it's how we all exist in cliques, and how we get less able to step outside them. And about how we should read more blogs. It's really good.
Am in a clique? It might look like it. I have blogging friends whom I've met; they know blogging friends whom they've met. But even though my blog is over five years old, I still came late to the party, and their community welcomed me with open arms. Now, when I search for new blogs, I find it harder to find my way. Blogrolls are losing popularity: being edited down, sometimes even being ditched altogether. And it's a huge world out there now, in Blogland - it's getting harder and harder to navigate.
It's also hard to spot your child in a darkened hall, with swirly lights, surrounded by 199 other children in almost identical leotards.
Is that why we read less blogs? Because they're getting harder to spot? And what makes us form the communities we do?
A while ago, a very influential UK blogger told me that no-one, NO-ONE, replied to comments by email. NO-ONE. AT. ALL. But we do. Most of the blogs I read - we all do. Blogland is massive. We do different things.
There are children doing gymnastics on the assymetric bars. Then, later, a class full of girls waving ribbons. There are some very, very tiny children wiggling their toes in a circle.
I've been to blog events where we've talked about Effective Use of Social Media, about Branding. But around Tracy's table, we talked about writing.
The thing is, even though I know about how to best title my blog posts in order to maximise their search potential, I shall continue to write things with headings such as How the Stuffed Became the Stuffing and Just Get On With It. It doesn't help my traffic, so why do I do it? Because it makes me happy. Look at this! Monica's blog, with its numbered headings. Tell me that's not the right way to do it. Go on. Try.
So who is in my 'clique', my community? Bloggers who've never acknowledged me, bloggers who've politely responded. Bloggers whom I've met, whom I've never met but learned things from, bloggers whom I could text right now at ten past ten because they're actually friends. Chances are - since you didn't find me today via an anonymous google search for 'miserable cow' or 'stapling together an ottoman' - you're in there too.
You, over there, on the balance beam. I'm over here waving a ribbon. I know what I'm doing. You're doing fine too.
Monday, 25 February 2013
Booting up
Psst! Anybody there? I'm not even sure that this still works. I don't know why I'm whispering - the Lattes have been back at school for, oooh, 3 minutes - but I'm still paranoid that they can hear me: the tap of the keys, the little Windows start-up tune - and in a split second they'll be behind me. Even now.
"Is that the computer? Is it on? Can I go on Bin Weevils? It's my turn! She's had AAAGGGEESS! It's my 20 minutes! It's my 20 minutes! Can I have my 20 minutes? Can I just reeeaaaally quickly go on Moshi Monsters to see if there's a Moshling in my garden? It won't take long. Please. Please. Please! Please!
"Are you on your phone? Mum, she's on her phone! Mum, you're on YOUR phone! That's a screen! You said no more screeeeeeens!"
Guilty as charged. Staring into my phone, in the kitchen, just trying to interact with another human being. Because it's been half term, and with Mr Coffee conspicuous by his work-related absence, there's been eight days straight of mother-and-daughters time. Don't ask me how many times they brushed their teeth. Don't ask me if they had a healthy breakfast. Don't ask me if they hit one another with sticks in a craft gallery. Just congratulate me for keeping them alive, and pour me another glass of wine.
I'm not saying it hasn't been fun. There's been claymation.
Curly haired blob from Coffee Lady on Vimeo.
There have been little bike rides, racing up and down a nearby street in one-minute races. There have been board games, of varying emotional pitch, dependant on whether or not Littlest wins. Littlest does not take losing well. If a game of Junior Monopoly ends badly, with Littlest owning no ticket booths on the circus attractions, Littlest responds by angrily setting up an actual ticket booth on the staircase, and charging people to get past to use the loo. Sometimes during the actual game.
There have been fights.
There has been cinema.
There has been frantic Wii-playing, with lots of shouting. "Go there! GO THERE! NOOOOOOO!" There's been reading - we got to the end of the utterly wonderful Wilma Tenderfoot and the Case of the Frozen Hearts, and even made the recipe for Corn Crumbles at the end of it. (I love a book with a recipe at the end of it.)
If there's one thing I'm proud of as a parent, it's reading aloud. I love reading with my children, tearing through books at bedtime. Wilma Tenderfoot is a ten-year-old would-be detective - we pretended to be her on a walk, poking through the undergrowth. The Lattes took the camera, to photograph their clues.
There was a sleepover. There was nail varnish. We finally found out the purpose of the strange set of tools Eldest had received last birthday - for creating coloured spots on fingernails. We were all treated to coloured varnish spots.
There has been the utter life-saving wonder of Direct Payments, allowing Littlest the chance to run around a play area whilst Eldest did physiotherapy and a film with her lovely Personal Assistant. There has been maths tuition. The beginnings of silk painting.
And after bed, there has been me, practicing the A minor scale on my mandolin, or paper piecing in front of bad television with numerous glasses wine. Very probably staying up far too late.
Today, the house is quiet and it should be a relief, to not be on call all the time. I've drunk two cups of coffee already and didn't once have to warm them up in the microwave. But I miss them. I want to finish the silk painting. I wouldn't even mind so much breaking up a fight.
"Is that the computer? Is it on? Can I go on Bin Weevils? It's my turn! She's had AAAGGGEESS! It's my 20 minutes! It's my 20 minutes! Can I have my 20 minutes? Can I just reeeaaaally quickly go on Moshi Monsters to see if there's a Moshling in my garden? It won't take long. Please. Please. Please! Please!
"Are you on your phone? Mum, she's on her phone! Mum, you're on YOUR phone! That's a screen! You said no more screeeeeeens!"
Guilty as charged. Staring into my phone, in the kitchen, just trying to interact with another human being. Because it's been half term, and with Mr Coffee conspicuous by his work-related absence, there's been eight days straight of mother-and-daughters time. Don't ask me how many times they brushed their teeth. Don't ask me if they had a healthy breakfast. Don't ask me if they hit one another with sticks in a craft gallery. Just congratulate me for keeping them alive, and pour me another glass of wine.
I'm not saying it hasn't been fun. There's been claymation.
Curly haired blob from Coffee Lady on Vimeo.
There have been little bike rides, racing up and down a nearby street in one-minute races. There have been board games, of varying emotional pitch, dependant on whether or not Littlest wins. Littlest does not take losing well. If a game of Junior Monopoly ends badly, with Littlest owning no ticket booths on the circus attractions, Littlest responds by angrily setting up an actual ticket booth on the staircase, and charging people to get past to use the loo. Sometimes during the actual game.
There have been fights.
There has been cinema.
There has been frantic Wii-playing, with lots of shouting. "Go there! GO THERE! NOOOOOOO!" There's been reading - we got to the end of the utterly wonderful Wilma Tenderfoot and the Case of the Frozen Hearts, and even made the recipe for Corn Crumbles at the end of it. (I love a book with a recipe at the end of it.)
If there's one thing I'm proud of as a parent, it's reading aloud. I love reading with my children, tearing through books at bedtime. Wilma Tenderfoot is a ten-year-old would-be detective - we pretended to be her on a walk, poking through the undergrowth. The Lattes took the camera, to photograph their clues.
 |
| Eldest's view of our walk |
 |
| Some undergrowth |
There has been the utter life-saving wonder of Direct Payments, allowing Littlest the chance to run around a play area whilst Eldest did physiotherapy and a film with her lovely Personal Assistant. There has been maths tuition. The beginnings of silk painting.
And after bed, there has been me, practicing the A minor scale on my mandolin, or paper piecing in front of bad television with numerous glasses wine. Very probably staying up far too late.
Today, the house is quiet and it should be a relief, to not be on call all the time. I've drunk two cups of coffee already and didn't once have to warm them up in the microwave. But I miss them. I want to finish the silk painting. I wouldn't even mind so much breaking up a fight.
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