You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘writing’ tag.
He’s happy enough to keep pretending and playing this community role-playing “Santa” thing, but he’s adament he doesn’t believe it really. But he’s still not sure where the presents come from.
It doesn’t seem to have occurred to him for a second that it might be his tightarse parents who actually shell out for lego.
Why no, I don’t know why he’s talking about it in May.
He writes his letters with serifs. Pointy serifs that could take someone’s eye out.
He writes and writes and writes, copying everything he can lay his hands on, he picks out letters he recognises. He delivers the mail to us and knows who the letters are for. All these words make my heart sing. What is motherhood if not a licence to use and abuse a corny cliche?
Here are some photos of stuff I’ve been doing when I could have been blogging:
Practicing what I preach, that is, hanging art around the place
Having a romantic weekend getaway type thing with the Bloke
Looks good doesn’t it? Tropical almost. You may find it difficult to believe that almost every single plant was plastic. The Bloke is not much of a one for luxury holidays, but he really lands on his feet with the comedy weekend. Here I am returning one of the plastic plants to it’s window box after a windy night.
But wait, you say, are those wheels? Yes my friends, in strict contravention of Clifford Rule of Dating #18 (never eat on something that moves*), the Bloke took me to stay in a gypsy caravan. Feel free to throw in another chorus of Everyone’s a Little Bit Racist right about now. They’re authentic gypsy caravans, apparently authentic gypsy caravans have their fit-out done by a guy called Sven based in 1983. Sadly we were so relaxed by the pine walls and ceiling that we neglected to photograph them. The Bloke would like me to add that he whipped my arse in both Scrabble and Mini Golf over the weekend, and that we ate very well, with window seats at Oscar W’s on the Saturday night coinciding with the paddle steamer sail past and fireworks.
Totally rejuvenated by the holiday, I bought some stuff in Lancefield’s oppy. Jigsaw puzzles with missing pieces, Pictionary with nothing missing except the counters, and a bunch of Fowlers Vacola jars. The best bit is that I had neglected to bring any cash, so the frog had to shout. I’ve spent a lot of time hanging out with a new friend, partly because she’s excellent company, partly because our partners also like each other, and most importantly, because our sons love each other to bits and hardly ever do the toddlerish snatching and whining thing. Having kids who bugger off down the back of the yard to the sandpit for hours while you chat and bake and drink tea is the best.
Over the weekend I went to a workshop, which left me emotionally wrung out and full of creative energy. It was excellent, I’ve cleaned out the studio, I’ve solved some problems with a creative project, I’ve put things away, I’ve thrown some crap out, I met some lovely generous creative people who live near me, I’ve done some drawing and some writing, and most importantly, I’m feeling a bit more confident about my ability to combine my creative life with all the other stuff.
Then today the kid and I worked on these.
We’ll be working on some sort of garland type arrangement with these for our Christmas tree. I’ve had all the stuff for these flowers cut out and ready to assemble for a couple of years, and now they’re done. That final stitching all the pieces together bit really was shamefully fast. Wish I hadn’t put it off so long…
* My brother’s sister-in-law went on a romantic dinner and flight over Melbourne in a small plane several years ago, the plane crashed and so did the relationship.