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most days . . .

. . . our living room floor looks like this . . .

Even when everything is shoved into its dedicated corner, it still looks as though the Plastic Fairy has been to visit . . . and spewed up . . . violently . . .

So as part of the 2012/13 'accept we we live' resolution I decided to rethink the space. Or, more accurately, I decided to find a really big box where I could hide everything.

Behold, the new toy box . . .

The woman I bought it off said it was originally her grandparents' glory box. At some point in its history it was recovered in white vinyl which, very fortuitously, matches our sofas. What more could you ask for in a toy box, I ask?

I am under no illusion that our living room floor will still look a complete mess for most of the day. But at least in the evenings, when the small humans are in bed, we can hurl everything into the toy box and kid ourselves that we are reclaiming the space.

conversations I never thought I'd be having . . .

 . . . Little Man turns to me and says, "That's not a superhero poo."

Ummmmm okaaaaaay. Not sure what to do with that information but I run with it all the same.

"Why's that, love?"

"Because it doesn't have a cape."

Again, not sure what to do with that information. On the one hand I am kinda interested that he is making the distinction between superhero and non-superhero poos . . . but on the other hand, SERIOUSLY?!? I mean what the holy heck is going on in that little mind of his?

let me tell you about . . .

. . . the time I fell out of the car. The car wasn't actually moving - I don't want to oversell the story. This isn't about me being some kind of daredevil. It's about me being a complete muppet.

Yesterday Little Brother and I were in the Pak'n'Save car park. Let's not mince words - Pak'n'Save can be a bit of a freak show. A freak show in pyjamas. Cheap groceries, but it is a rare thing to exit the place without having at least one mind-warping conversation with a random. Who is wearing pyjamas. This is especially true if you are shopping with a ginga -  what is it about ginga kids that just invites the randoms over for a chat?

I had to make a phone call before we went inside. In order to avoid having to talk over a screaming child I decided to climb into the back seat and make the call while facing Little Brother (who was in his car seat). I discovered early on in Little Brother's life that if I just sit in front of him, talking on the phone, he is happy. Typical second child - he is just grateful that someone is actually looking at him. 

Anyway, I made the call then went to open the rear door, only to discover I couldn't. I'd forgotten about the kiddie lock. So I tried to manoeuvre myself back into the front seat. And then, for some unknown reason, before I was properly balanced, I opened the passenger door. As I was doing it I knew, KNEW it was a dumb idea. The door opened, my feet got tangled in what I can only surmise was THIN AIR and I fell. Hard. Onto my left side. 

I just lay on the ground for a few moments as pain radiated from my elbow and ankle bone (the pointy bits, always the pointy bits), trying to decide whether to puke or pass out. In the end I did neither . . . but it was a close call on both. I picked myself up, wrangled Little Brother and his car seat into a trolley and limped my way through my shopping, feeling very sorry for myself. 

Lesson learnt - be thee not so quick to judge others in pyjamas when you cannot exit your own car without falling onto the ground.

today I picked up . . .

 . . . my new necklace from the very clever Mel of Copper Kowhai.

I'd been admiring her marble necklaces for a while, so when I randomly found two old clay marbles knocking round home I knew what I wanted to do with them.

I'm really stoked with the result - cheers Mel!

Everybody else in my household has balls. Figured it was time I got myself a pair.

I am going . . .

. . . to bitch-slap the next person who tells me how great it was to get that extra hour of sleep this morning, what with the end of Daylight Saving and all. I don't mean to be a cow but seriously, don't push me on this because I will bitch-slap you into next week. 

It was a rough night. Little Brother woke for a feed at 11.30pm and then again at 3.30am . . . which was now the new 2.30am. However, the real kicker was when Little Man came in at 5.30am, asking whether it was time to get up. Only it wasn't 5.30am, was it - it was bloody 4.30am!

NO. IT IS NOT TIME TO GET UP SON!

I managed to convince him to return to his bed, but only because I went with him. Not ideal because sleeping next to a small human in a single bed requires an almost super-human ability to contort your body, while simultaneously defending yourself from flailing limbs and elbows to the head.

I had only just closed my eyes when Little Brother started to stir again. At that point I just gave up, admitted defeat and started drinking coffee.

And in other news, today is Muz and my 13 year anniversary. Fair to say exhaustion has not brought out the romantic in me. In fact it's all I can do to be civil.

Good thing he still loves me, even when I am a sleep-deprived harpy with a fuse so short it's practically non-existent.

another flock of bird brooches . . .

. . . currently winging their way to Made.it.

do not look into their eyes . . .

Every parent knows the golden rule about NOT MAKING EYE CONTACT WITH A BABY WHEN HE WAKES IN THE NIGHT. Or at least I thought every parent knew the rule. It would appear that Muz doesn't. Which I find very hard to understand, considering this is our second child. Muz has been here before. There is no excuse.

Little Brother is struggling a bit with reflux at the moment and is waking around 10pm, screaming his tits off. Sometimes I have to feed him to get him to resettle and sometimes I don't. Anyway tonight I thought I had settled him, went to have a shower and came back to the bedroom to discover him in our bed, holding onto his father's finger and lovingly staring into his eyes.

What. The. Hell.

Yes yes, it was a beautiful father-son bonding moment . . . but mostly it was a whole lot of DUMB-ARSE.

I mean seriously - what was Muz thinking? He might as well have turned on all the lights, popped Little Brother into his jolly jumper and invited the neighbours over to watch.

Little Brother was BESIDE himself with excitement at all the attention, He was positively wiggling in delight as he basked in his father's gaze. By contrast, I was not quite so amused.

I know it can be very hard to resist the charms of a baby who is hell-bent on getting you to look at him. But you know what? You DO resist because otherwise you don't see any sleep this side of 1am.

Consequently I am up, writing this and plotting my revenge while I try to get Little Brother to settle in his basket next to me. Fun times, people. Fun times.

why yes . . .

these are, indeed, tomatoes we have grown in our very own garden. Thank you for asking.

Something of a horticultural achievement, if I do say so myself, given that we live in a townhouse - our outdoor space is a concreted courtyard that is only slightly bigger than an average-sized rug. More of a horticultural achievement when you take into consideration that Muz has little interest in gardening and I have no interest whatsoever. I have to be honest, these tomatoes have had a difficult and deprived upbringing. It is something of a miracle they've made it to adulthood. 

here's another project . . .

. . . that I've also just finished. It's a fishing set for the boys . . .

It occurs to me that there is a limited and rapidly closing window of time when I can make this sort of thing for my boys - they just aren't going to get the same kick out of it when they're 18. So instead of storing up all these ideas of 'things to make one day' I really just need to pull my finger out and get cracking.

The rods are dowel with duct tape handles and some closed-ring screws to hold the cord in place - cheers, Dad, for helping me to put all that together. I toyed with the idea of doing some kind of reel, like this one, but in the end I decided to keep it simple. At Little Man's age the fun of reeling something in has to be offset against the potential for frustration and, more specifically, rage, when he can't make it work properly.

The fish are from this fantastic book . . . 

This has been my 'go to' book for felt animals and dolls for more than twenty years. TWENTY YEARS. Hell, having to put that in writing is just so damn sobering. I can't believe it has been that long . . . but it has. Time to face facts.

In the end I decided to make 14 fish which might seem a trifle excessive but really it is more about being obsessive. I was trying to explain this to a couple of friends recently - I have a weird thing about numbers. I like asymmetry and odd numbers, but I'm also really superstitious and therefore not a fan of 13. Little Man likes 'pairs'. He likes things to have 'friends', as he puts it. One type of fish on its own would not be acceptable to him. So I had to do two of each type of fish which meant, horror of horrors, an even number. And this is where the obsessive bit comes in. In my mind, the first acceptable even number is 10 - two lots of five. The second is 14 - two lots of seven. I went with 14.

Slightly excessive. Most definitely obsessive.

my reaction to . . .

. . . last year's 52 projects in 52 weeks has been to do the complete opposite this year. This year is all about 'slow sewing'. And while I know that slow sewing is a movement in its own right, in my case it's more about a lack of productivity brought about by sleep deprivation, conflicting priorities and time-sucking small humans.

As per my 2013 resolutions, I've been trying to focus on some bigger, more challenging sewing projects - ones that take a bit longer and really rip my fingers to shreds. The first of these I can now show as the intended recipient is finally in possession of it. Her birthday was in January . . . she got this last Sunday.

So what on earth is all of this, you ask? Why, it is a 'make your wardrobe smell nice' kit. Which should not, in any way, imply that the recipient's clothes don't already smell great (because, for the record, they always do). It is just something I thought she might appreciate. Felt is quite good at holding the smell of essential oils without leaving oily marks on anything (once the oil has dried, of course). As an experiment I made those native leaves for the boys' clothes and so far they have worked well.

The flower 'pendants' (using my new felt from Lupin Handmade) are for hanging around coat hangers and the squirrels are for slipping into drawers and pockets.