The last few weeks have whizzed by in a blur of just plain, real life but lately just plain, real life seems to have upped the ante. The combination of commitments and obligations have verged on the ridiculous but I am grateful to report, that a part of me – the bemused part – merely raised an imaginary eyebrow. (I’m still missing the eyebrow-raising gene so any actual eyebrow-raising is left to the experts).
Snippets from recent weeks include a to-scale cicada construction by the Mr, (above). The hope is that he will be the chosen artist-type and thus commissioned to produce a scaled-up cicada, with a three metre wing span. I am assured, were he the chosen artist-type, that the scaled-up version would not occur in our living room.
Still along a bug theme, here are the latest leafy stick insect
babies, hanging about like leafy stick insects. At latest count we have fourteen and I am besotted with each and every one of ’em. It takes three of us to feed them fresh leaves, because despite the hanging about and complete stillness evidenced here,
they are Speedy Gonzales, blink-and-you-miss-’em, escaping Houdini-critters.
The Small asked for the 27,347,226th time if she could be a gymnast. She is pictured below wearing her sister’s leotard because, handily, the class is scheduled when the sister is at school and isn’t around to scream blue sibling murder.
While the gymnast is also clad in a bicycle helmet, this is not yet due to required backflipping manoeuvres of amazingness. It is because the Small and I have been peddling about (and so loving it!) with the help of one of
these. Less helpfully, the kid pedals in but one direction (backwards).
There’s been some wonderful, generous, sweetest of treats in the letterbox...
A piece of
Tinniegirl ART as part of a
swap thing, is now happily ensconced in my kitchen. Titled
To The Sea, Cathy sent it after reading my post about a
particularly scratchy weekend, where temporary relief was found at the beach. I now have a piece of fabulous ART in my kitchen, prompting clever parenting strategies.
Yarnbombed, French glamour arrived in the form of a 2012 diary thanks to that excellent, crochet-cushion-crafting
Kylie. (
Belinda, thank you! I believe you played some role in this too?!). Geez, I’m a lucky duck. And geez, my high school French is rusty.
After a certain amount of recent angst around the dignity of
yarnbombing disguises, I have finally settled on my get-up. Complete (obviously) with the red-lipsticked pout. Providing I can translate the pattern from French.
Alexis, whom I met over on Ravelry through our mutual love of a
Mara shawl pattern and
Socks That Rock yarn, went off to a sheep and wool show and sent me some scrumptious stuff flavoured like a New York autumn. It blows my (soon to be New York autumn) socks off, such generosity.
My inlaws have also sent evidence of the Mr’s educational credentials. Amongst the serious university business, there were a few gems, enthusiastically framed within an hour of arrival...
The 1976 certificate for THIRD in the Lower Boys Three-Legged race over 75 metres:
The 1977 effort – a FIRST in the Upper Boys Sack Race, over 50 metres:
GOLD! I say!
Punctuating everything and all of the above, are tiny but frequent opportunities to knit knit knit my way through a 2ply
cardigan.
For me, it replaces any need for rocking back and forth in the nearest corner. Knitted sanity, it is. ME time. Opportunity to quietly and simultaneously practise single eyebrow lifts. Even if I do attend every school pick-up, walking around like a knitting nutter.
