Monday, December 5, 2011


Last year at the Myer sale I got these baubles 75% off. They are those very old fashioned hollow glass ones. I bought it would be clever to buy them cheap and put them away for this year's teacher presents.

Sorry, teachers.
The star reminds me of the one in 'Carousel'. The Dad plucks it out of the sky to give his daughter when he returns from Heaven. I am terminally sentimental this month. Two of my babies are finishing primary school and it has me as fragile as a Myer sale bauble. (Possibly at the thought of the school fees we have to generate from nowhere next year.)

The offspring brought this scraggy ol' shrub up from Underthehouse to be bathed and dressed on Saturday. I always hose it off and dry it in the sun due to psychosomatic hay fever. The ten year old did it all as I kept saying, "Later", and he's onto that now. See how well it fits into the subtropical surrounds as does everything about a Northern Hemisphere Christmas in Queensland.I couldn't find the bag of special and historical artefact/ornaments to wax lyrically about one by one as we strung it all up. It may be misplaced in the abyss downstairs or they may have hidden it to spare themselves the sight of dreamy nostalgic mama. We had these crocheted garlands that I made from ingthings recipe for other celebrations. They can stand in for tinsel as I can't face the $2 shop again today.
The minimalist approach has turned out quite nicely this year. We might not look too hard for the other stuff. The teachers unpresents and garlands have a certain simplicity I think which lends itself to a calm room and means not looking under the house again.

Dang! They'll be after the star!
The boys had to do Year 7 stalls at school yesterday. I bought these peg people. Flossy is particularly taken with Madam Pompadou. I like cranky robber, Disco angel and tiny Soldier too. She only wanted them for the play dough bases.
In some kind of Christmas trance, Number 3 and 4 sat chatting and sharing without any fighting whilst they wrote in cards for the classmates. B1 and B2 used to do this but it is uncool to write on paper when you are in Year 7 .
One special teacher will get a little painting as she has taught the big boys Band for three years and is, I think, a miracle worker. How you get fifty untrained kids to play music to that level in three years is something a bit magical. I will always be grateful that they learned to read and play music and to play it in a big group of mates. What a woman!
The mojo was not good at 11pm last night and this may well be a peek at the jumbled innards of my head at the time.
It's getting there but needs finishing off stat! We have graduation tonight! Bring out the tissues!


  1. Annie, your musical artwork is just amazing. I've no doubt the boys' teacher will be incredibly touched. I, too, have one leaving primary school this year, and found myself sniffling as I drove up to school this afternoon. Dread the thought of our end of year activities over the next few days. I'm the mum who cries every year at the cross country, let alone farewelling one of my babies from the warm folds of our beloved school.

  2. She looks wonderful - so glad you got it done! And hope you survive tonight's 'festivities'! (sob)

  3. Gorgeous painting for one lucky teacher. The gratitude is positively oozing out of every brushstroke, especially for that euphonium! melx

  4. Well however many tissues you get (or should that be got) through you'll have made a music teacher very happy :D Happy Year 7 Graduation to the boys x

  5. I like the crochet garlands. No chance of glass anything going on a tree here, though. It would have a lifespan measured in seconds.

    And wow, lucky teacher, what a fabulous gift.

  6. You have set the bar high for Christmas gifts for the teachers.
    And not to worry. They would have broken the glass ornaments probably.
    But, they look amazing on your wash 'n dry tree.
    High School can be very daunting to mother and children. It's a big leap for one and all.
    TG those days have passed for me.


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