Portobello Beach

Seeing that there wasn't gale force winds, torrential rain or sub-freezing temps today, we decided to go on an outing down to the beach. Maia tried out her new Michelin Man coat and looked rather fetching, although I think her range of arm movement was somewhat limited. Jamie really liked getting his wellies wet. Maia really liked getting her wellies wet in principle, but not in reality.

Great fun was had when I made mounds in the sand and Jamie and Maia destroyed them. Then I pretended to be mad and they would laugh at me. I am teaching them valuable lessons on how to destroy others' things and laugh in the face of their disappointment and hurt. They will go far in life.
Then we went to the playground and Jamie uttered those immortal words, 'I need to go poo.' The only place down at the beach with a toilet is the Amusement Arcade, about a 200 yd dash away. For those of you unfamiliar with the concept, an Amusement Arcade is like a casino for children, lots of flashing machines offering prizes and sweets. The poo attempt was abortive, but I had to shell out for him to ride the Postman Pat car. Meanwhile, on the playground, Maia had whipped herself into a frenzy about not being able to go on the 15 foot slide by herself. There was an aura of suspicion around Steven as he attempted to extricate her from the playground, perhaps he was kidnapping her?! Heading for the car... 'I need to go poo'. Back to the amusement arcade, wait ten minutes for a fully grown man to use the toilet while Jamie and I eye each other with unease, and then panic. But he made it, so he got to drive Maia in a bus.

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Out of the mouth of babes

Maia's talking is coming on well now, and I have to say my favourite development is 'Mummy'. Here is a clip of her getting harrassed by yours truly, note how a jealous Jamie gets in on the action by saying 'I say parent too!'.

Don't mind the strange pose Maia makes with arms poised behind her back, she is an eccentric wee thing. And, as always, at at least one of my kids is sans clothing... she had just had messy dinner.

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Feature Friday

I made my first Treasury on Etsy today... For those of you unfamiliar with the term, a Treasury is a list of things you like and want to share. There are 333 available Treasury places at a time, so you have to wait around for one to become available and then you snatch it up. Then you chose your theme and 12 items from across the site that fit in with your theme. Your treasury is posted publically for other people to view, and hopeful people get more clicks than they normally would. I think I should have prepared it beforehand rather than once I got it, so I lost out of some views early on... Anyway, here is the screenshot and link. My theme was 'Big style, little people'.

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Tunics a-go-go

Craft fair season is starting this week and is pretty much non-stop until Christmas so I'm working 'assembly line' again to try to get my stock levels up. Working assembly line is b-o-r-i-n-g... One day cutting all the fabric, next day on the serger, next day on sewing machine, blah blah blah. See, it's boring just reading about it. Last week I made an insane amount of tunics, then got all tunic-ed out and started on swing tops. I've had five orders this week (hooray!!), but three were for tunics (boo!!). Anyway, I had two for the blue cord apple, and one for the mossy cherry cord.

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Blogging for good and not evil

Since I started blogging, I have become officially obsessed with other people's blogs. I like reading what Sharon had for breakfast, or what Jane has made with pine cones, toilet paper and a bit of spittle. I need to know.

The title of this post is a bit misleading, because blogging about the minutiae of your life is not evil, just self-interested. And I'm heaps guilty of that too. So far my blog has featured a cast of four:

• Me: Starring role
• Jamie: The understudy (like all understudies, bitter and twisted not to have the starring role)
• Maia: Supporting role
• Steven: I don't know... Fagin or something

But there are blogs out there that are altruistic, like 'I made this and I'll tell you how', or 'I know stuff but I'll tell you and then you'll know stuff too' or 'Being a parent isn't all sh*ts and giggles, it's mostly the former and lots of it'. I am a grateful beneficiary of all of those types.

And then there are the super-heroic blogs, where you tell your readers that other people (i.e. not you) are awesome. You don't need to tell people you're awesome, because you so clearly are. One of these wonderful beings recently posted in the forum in Folksy, did anyone want to feature in her blog?

This is their mission statement:

• Autonomous Artisans:
  The journal that ignores mass made goods in favour of the lovingly hand crafted products made by autonomous artisans of the world.

See? Awesome. I had great fun looking over all her older posts and seeing the great un-sung crafters making amazing stuff under the radar. So, in this spirit *jumps on bandwagon*, every Friday from now on I will pick a showcase of items from Etsy and Folksy to share with you, so I too can be awesome (without telling you). But before that... shameless self-promotion, a screenshot from Autonomous Artisans:

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Orders from the UK, gasp and hurray!

Most of my sales are from the States but I've been listing away on Folksy hoping that this UK handmade site will take off. The caliber of work is really quite high, check it out. Anyway, finally got my first orders, a pair of lovely mushroom shoes and a Mirabelle peasant top.

Steven found Jamie asleep on the couch at 4:30 AM, right next to the shoes, looks like a re-enactment of The Elves and the Shoemaker!

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Toddler despotism

It's come to my attention that Jamie has been planning a coup. It began with subtle requests, like 'Mum, I would like to eat a rice cake' and 'Mum, I would like to brush my teeth'. Both reasonable (if not virtuous) requests, easily accommodated. Reasonable demands gave way to reasonable but excessive demands like 'I would like one, two, three, four rice cakes' and 'I would like to brush my teeth again' (to be repeated everytime anyone goes into the bathroom).

Then came the behaviour modification regime. When bestowing a kiss or a cuddle, I would get 'No, not a big one, a little one' or its opposite 'No, not a little one, a big one', to keep me on my toes. I was wracked with self doubt... did he want a big one or a little one? I was never sure, and frequently wrong. He would come over and sprawl across my lap. 'Scratch my back', he'd say, 'No, not like that, like this. No, not there, here. That's it'. I began to question my very existence, how did I survive before Jamie? Had I been doing everything wrong for 29 years?

The tenuous balance of power in our house was wavering, Jamie got bold. 'No singing' became 'no talking'. 'Come here' became 'sit here'. Drunk with power, he made a final push to assert his authority. After ordering me to lie on the floor (so he could sit on my stomach of course), hardly glancing away from the TV, he said, 'Mum, lick my eyes'. Aghast with the suggestion, I said, 'Lick your eyes??!!' With no doubt showing on his face, he confirmed, 'Yes. Lick my eyes'. This had gone far enough, I thought, I better show him who's the adult here. Mustering all my maturity and eloquence I said 'Jamie, you're not my boss, stop bossing me about!' and so became a five year old. Still, that's two years older than him.

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