Showing posts with label cubby. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cubby. Show all posts

Friday, October 26, 2012

Burn, Baby, Burn

Soon we will be starting on a clean slate, at least on the laundry door.  
I just can't quite rub it out yet. It gives me such pleasure!


This is what big kids do when they stay home from school sick- in the name of entertaining the three year old of course. 


I see no three year old in this construction. Nice that he's still not too old to do this and lie in it all day even though it was ridiculously hot again.


There are bush fires about again and they have made the sky all hazy and the sun glow in a very Zombie Apocolyptica kind of way. But it's pretty, right?


Now in tribute to all things burning, this song entered my head in the radiotherapy change room. They should have it on their musak  CDs instead of Andrew Lloyd Webber. It is the perfect  radiotherapy theme music. 

Since it was subliminally implanted thanks to my burnt shoulder bits, it has become what I think is known as a brain worm. Just can't get rid of it!

Behold those remarkable catsuits! Go on! You know you want to dance. 
I know I do!!!




Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Cubby

Spring is very much sprung. 
Six flowers a-blooming...


Two boys a-building


 One Big Fella a-channelling his inner Scot to attempt a dry stone wall...


and one Shorty playing tea parties in the cubby. The cubby was built for the twins' third birthday so it must be enjoying its tenth anniversary. Fortunately, Shorty and her posse have given it a lease of new life, rescuing it from the chickens plans for redevelopment. The feathered co-op still occupy the cubby basement flat whilst Shorty is renovating upstairs.


This apple is falling quite close to her paternal tree.


Would you care to partake of my sandy pie?


Perhaps some sand ice cream? Is that a possum poo in my brûlée?


This sand tea is making me thirsty...


The dingly danglies were made a looong time ago when the big boys were little. They may need some maintenance. As does the hair, Thistle Top. This could be a job for the ubiquitous bunting, a brush and some threading games...

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

If You Build It She will Come

This morning I had high hopes of getting out there and looking for more work. Shorty had a more relaxed schedule planned. If you had x-ray vision you would see cogs turning.

We decided to build a cubby. There was a wall,
a charming gabled roof and decorative dangly bits.

The crocheted bunting turns up all over our place. The pattern for the little ones is from ingthings and the big star pattern was from the Royal Sisters. The stars used to hang in the back room but have faded over the last year so now they will be play bunting.

Non-verbal stuffed friends like Dora and Ted sufficed for a while....

but the faraway gaze indicated something was missing.
So we phoned a friend. There has been cubby- reading, cubby- eating, cubby- hiding- under- a- blanket- and- laughing- yourself- silly and cubby- two year old banter that I can't quite follow. It is a special dialect. I still haven't got a new job but this one feels pretty good today.

Monday, November 7, 2011

Three!

It was also the Lairy Godmother's birthday on Lala's party day. At the post party analysis I gave her a gift of a red glass vase for her vinaigrettes and a red spotty 'three' as she had expressed an interest in one back at the 'seven'. After it went to her house and the big fella left for the week strange things started to happen.Having delivering three bigguns to school yesterday, I ran into to the house to get B1 as he had lost his shoes and was still looking for them. That boy could lose his own bum in his undies lately! Then I did a few things differently to the usual. I left the keys in the car. I undid Shortie's seat belt so she could get the small toys out from under herself. I shut the car door so she couldn't escape when she had found the toys. Okay, they weren't toys but coinage she was holding onto to buy lol-lols. How many counts am I up for so far, Your Honour?

After ranting at the son for a few minutes about his Matrix-like slo-mo speed and lack of shoes, I went back to check on Flossy who was still singing and playing with her money in her seat. I decided to take her inside before realising the DOOR HAD SELF-LOCKED!!!! Oh the panic! I was calm for a few minutes, panic level at about 4, coaxing her to pull the door handle open or push the unlock button on the dash. She smiled kindly at me and suggested I should get the keys. When I ran inside to get the spares and ransacked the big fella's bits cupboard, I realised he had taken them to some unreachable outward bound nook of Northern New South Wales! Panic level at about 6. It was 9 a.m. in partial shade. The picture below is what was actually there.
The picture below is what I saw! I rang the RACQ. Do you know they have a button to push for "Is your child locked in a car"? They were kind, prompt and on the way. Derek, from RACQ, even rang back to check I was okay and told me to hose the car if it got hotter! What! By now, the lairy godmother was here too. "I have my umbrella," she reassured me. My addled brain was thinking, "For what? To pick the lock?!" Of course it was to shade the edge of the car!!? Joe, the RACQ man, arrived and behaved calmly but was shaking as he jimmied the door which spiralled my panic level up to 9.999. (I like to think I retained some control.) It was open in a jiffy and I grabbed the nonplussed toddler and hugged the bewildered Joe. Sweet relief!
After a calming tea with LG, I popped off a quick birthday blog and had just hit publish when the phone rang from that most dreaded phone call source- the school. B2 had a suspected broken arm. B1 was still with me so we packed up Shorty who was eating the forgotten frogspawn jelly to get the fluids up in my mind's eye. After swapping one twin for the other we spent a pleasant enough afternoon at the Royal Children's Hospital. "Yes, he has been in before for a broken arm. Yes, he was in three weeks ago for a split lip. Yes, the other one was in eight weeks ago with a similar broken arm." I feel people are judging me. Here they are on the blue mile...
...and later, clutching his lifeline. Order seemed restored till Lairy mentioned that these things happen in threes. I tried to make the lost shoes be the third thing, just to throw the fates off my scent but you can't dodge the legacy of the 'three'.
This morning, as we gardened and watered Downtheback, Flossy lost her footing and fell off the cubby ladder winding herself. For a few seconds she couldn't get her breath and neither could I. We all breathed easier when she did.
So there it is- three! Now I can get on with some painting. I have cancelled all after school activities this afternoon as we are hunkering down and hiding out till the demon of threes is far, far away.

She is fully recovered, back in the cubby again
and happily planking in front of Play School.
I , on the other hand, may not be back in the saddle again so soon and I need my Magic Three Talisman back, thanks, Lairy Godmother.
For a fairly accurate re-enactment of yesterday's locked child incident listen to this.

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