It feels like I have been holidaying forever but it was basically all an excuse to eat an indecent amount of ice cream. One time I ordered a lemon gelati because the words of a (male) friend echoed in my ears: a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips. Watching everyone else tuck into creamy swirls punctuated by chocolatey nutty goodness was too much to bear. I vow never again to waste calories destined for ice cream on gelati.
Despite slatherings of ‘sunscream’, beach umbrellas, hats and long-sleeved shirts, we were tricked by the delicious sea breeze and the cool salt water and spent way too long out in 43 degrees. And I thought I had sun protection sussed. Some of the sting went away when the heavens opened and the rain came and the kids danced (yet to explain rain dances generally happen before the main event).
We have beachcombed basically to the moon and back, only horizontally. The middle kid could muddle together an entire seal skeleton if he tried, but the award for Most Interesting Holiday Find goes to the eldest. Thinking she was assisting the middle kid with the construction of his seal, she gleefully handed him half a human upper denture. To my disgust, the Mr has brought it home, in order to impress Grandma. In the meanwhile, every now and then I wonder if washed-up-on-the-rocks-denture-finding is something a responsible citizen should consider reporting to, er, someone?
I presumed no one would be overly excited about denture or bits of seal pics, but to be true to the spirit of the holiday it is necessary to include alternative images of to-be-forever-treasured (sigh) collections:
The observant will note the inclusion of a sock. The laundry collection hardly looks different once pockets have been emptied and you scale things up to Everest-like proportion:
Collector Kid found his feathers at the local wild life park. While everyone fed cassowaries and kangaroos, he looked on wistfully, unable to let go of his two-hour grip for fear of losing wispy lorikeet bottom feathers:
Collector Kid had nothing to do with the missing heads. In fact he felt most sorry for the deadness of the headless:
Collector Kid turns midwife to hatchling ladybirds:
Thank goodness for an occasional bit of collection non-challenge. Couldn’t face the pongy dead crab bits.
On the crafty front, I made twenty kazillion felt sandwiches. Or twenty. Or nearly twenty. I’m still going. I could break any World’s Slowest Crafting record and end up in the Guinness Book of Records. This would at least be more dignified than winning World’s Longest and Thickest and Curliest and How Do You Do Anything(?) Fingernails.
That lovely STARLET lady at M* had recently, gorgeously gifted me Simple Jug Covers by Vicki Moodie. Melanie is already half-responsible (I’m also blaming this lady) for inspiring the neverending granny squaring and now the pulse-quickening obsession with jug covers. Who would have thunk it.
I can relate to Mel’s appreciation of the tinkling glass bead clink against the side of a jug. So I went and appreciated all over again:
Tragically, I ran out of tinkling clinking things to attach to crocheted circles. Inspired by the so very talented Susanna, I turned to guerilla crafting the rented holiday house garden. Pretty tricky stuff with three kid helpers and one of them climbing on your head. Some breezes were gustier than others and some leaves more fragile. Sometimes I cheated and worked on them indoors. Take one look at Susanna’s stunning work and you’ll see how embarrassingly clumsy and clunky these efforts are:
The ones I like best, are those that live on the trees in various states of completion (depending on whether kid was on head):
Oh and this happened:
Except I knew it was happening and stayed stum and didn’t care. The others were reading a bedtime story and I was having such a nice time with a glass of wine and a newspaper and things were oh so quiet and still. Plus she has the softest skin.