Making Mountains out of Toadstools

It's been another jam-packed week, wall to wall with watching TV, playing games on the computer, making meals in cauldrons so they last a few days and trying to hold back the urge to do more washing. I resisted the urge to a point, which I'm very proud of. There are only 4 garments hanging on clothes hangers off the hallway door frame, instead of the 12 that were there last week when I succumbed to overwashing.

Also, I went to the Quack, hoping for a quick-fix (you can hear the naivety, right?) to a recurring annoying problem that has recurred recurrently since I've had the kids. Prior to kids, it didn't happen, so I can certainly blame them. I got a quick-fix alright, and it involves eating no carbohydrates for a week. As a Pole, I don't really understand food without potatos. This could be a problem, I thought. Following this stinging slap, the Doctor hit me with a cricket bat; No sugar. Of any kind. You understand what this means, right? No chocolate. I really was just hoping for a pill. I may have been willing to have minor surgery instead of this. And it follows that I've just brought home a box of Fundraising chocolates home from Kinder last week. RIPPED OFF.

And the worst part is, if this fixes my problem, then I obviously have to stay away from sugar. Like, forever. F O R E V E R.

Oh yeah, that and also a referral for an ultrasound to make sure that my benign ovary lump friends haven't returned, just in case. Oh, the fun.

I'm really only worried about the chocolate.

Here are some pics from a Mushrooming expedition to Macedon on Thursday; I forgot my camera and had to make do with Dad's point'n'shoot, which is a great little camera but I didn't know how to use it properly to get the best out of it, and I find that the images aren't the best.

Mushrooming is an annual event in my family, and Dad knows all the plantation forests where the pine trees make a perfect habitat for the kids of European mushrooms that he uses in all the traditional cooking.

It's the end of the mushroom season, and Dad's already been a number of times, and has a massive haul of mushrooms at home, all drying on their little ropes in front of the heater, making their place smell divine. We really went so that the kids could have an adventure, and that they certainly did. The Ratbag traipsed around that forest for over 3 hours with Dad, he was red-cheeked and bright eyed, and had a wonderful time stomping around in his gumboots. Coupled with the fact that he was allowed to rip his pants off and wee ANYWHERE, he was the happiest he'd been for ages. Peanut was the quietest I've ever known her to be, she was completely enthralled with the silence in the woods, and her eyes were huge, drinking in the experience. We only ran into one other set of persons, and of course, they were Polish, looking for the same mushrooms. Damn Poles, we run into them every year, though not the actual same ones. That would be creepy. We eventually got back to the car, had a picnic on the grass (where THESE were a major hit, as they always are),

and both of the kids were so buggered that they crashed the moment that the car started moving again on the way home.

I spent the whole evening peeling the skins off the Mushrooms that we'd picked, cleaning and chopping them into pieces for drying, so I too could come home to that smell I remember from my childhood. However, the wind was taken out of my sails a bit when Mr M came over to the kitchen and asked me why I brought home all the Toadstools. Seriously.

I know they're not toadstools, and I've been picking and eating them since I was a girl, but what the hell are they? In Polish, they are maslaki, but can anyone identify them in English?

I took great pleasure in pointing out that he'd actually been eating them for years, in every friggin' meal that Dad's ever prepared. And he's not even dead or anything.

Unexpected Return

Bloody hell, she's posting twice in one month!

Well, you're right to be shocked and dismayed; what could it mean!

Digging

Normally it would take me weeks to recover from the rants of the previous post, but being fired on Wednesday has invigorated me in strange ways. I definitely feel that it was for the best, much like falling out of a bird's nest and landing softly in a cat's lap; the adrenalin has kept me running. I've been busier than a one-legged man in an arse-kicking contest.

This is my digging hand.

Putt Putt Bang

I've done about 40 loads of washing, and will have to re-wash most of it, as it done gone sour before space became available on the drying rack.

Mr M, kicking 'er in the guts

I've washed both of my dogs. Trust me, that's a big deal.

Oldtimers, waiting for lunch

I finally watched Twilight. Seriously, I felt like I was 16 years old, sneaking fags and asking my friend to ask his friend if he'll go out with me. I knew it was cheesy, but I brought the crackers and dug that cheese baby. I immediately went over to my sister's house and borrowed all the books.

Artistic shot of old tin full of fusty old oil. Sorry.

There's an Emu on the other side of this fence.

I followed this by Let The Right One In. It wouldn't play on my DVD properly. There were no subtitles. I watched it in Swedish. It was one of the best movies I've ever seen. I couldn't understand a word. I never got to watch the end though as it crashed my player, so I reserve the right to change my mind upon watching the whole thing, but I have a good feeling. What I did see, rocked my vampire world. Not like Blade or The Hunger, but in it's own freaky Swedish way.

Eyeing off some spanners while the big boys aren't looking.

I've laid rows of bricks around the garden beds which had an annoying habit of spreading onto the path. This meant that the dogs thought it was garden, and dropped nuggets all over it, so we were constantly traipsing around in dog turds and washing it out of our shoes. ANNOYING.

YYYEEEEAAAAWWWWAAAAARRRRRRRR

Happiness is a Chocolate Muffin

And on Sunday we packed up the kids, the snags and the camera and loped up to Bundoora Park, where Mr M belongs to the Eltham Steam and Stationary Engine Preservation Society (their clubhouse is on the grounds - all the above photos were taken there on Sunday). It was a last minute decision to ease our cabin fever, and I took one for the team, knowing that Mr M and the kids would love it. It turned out that the price was fair; I did have to watch putt-putt-bangs being started up, but I also got to eat sausages in bread with old men, so... win / win, right?

Crafty Wonderland and Other Stories

Bless me Blogland, for I have lived. It's been a month and two days since my last post. In that time, I have not dyed my hair, and decided to acknowledge that I'm going grey. In fact, I went grey some time ago, and have been unsuccessfully hiding under a cloak of Supermarket Darkest Brown. I am 36. So what. Next.

I've rediscovered that my body has it's own cycle, outside of the pill-enforced one. It might be lopsided and go up and down like a whore's drawers, but it's a cycle never the less. Live with it. Next.

I've come to the conclusion that I like skirts. I've started wearing them more and more, and am rethinking my entire wardrobe philosophy. I would like to own more skirts. I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner, but now that I have, I plan to revisit all the local Op-Shops with this new skirt head on. I may have missed great skirts just because I wasn't looking for them. Skirts are my new shtick. Next.

I've discovered that even though the Ratbag is generally entirely unconcerned with any art or craft activities (that is; if I want a drawing out of him, I have to put the pen in his hand, and jerk his arm around so that the pen connects with the paper, and quickly too, before he realises what's happening and piffs the pen across the room), he is suddenly interested in learning how to spell and write his own name. He picks up a writing instrument of his own accord, and painstakingly writes his name on stray bits of paper. This is really great, because I now don't think that I will have to strap pens to his fingers ala Edward Scissorhands in order to teach him before he hits High School and it becomes embarrassing. He still grips it like a monkey holding a spanner, but at least now he's discovered what it's for. Next.

I've noticed that Peanut has an immense vocabulary for a little girl not quite 18 months old. She repeats words like some kind of gorgeous blond parrot, and is starting to put words together to ask for things. This morning when I picked her up out of the cot, she reached out for her Iggle Piggle and quite clearly said "Got Him!". When we got home after a day out, she said "Made It!". It's wonderful that she speaks so well, but it's probably not necessary, as she has an amazingly expressive face, and she's able to uplift you or wither you with but a single look. Her auntie picked her up for a cuddle over the weekend, but made the mistake of smoking beforehand. The evil eye she received was enough to make her take a step backwards and blink as if she'd been slapped with a dead fish. No words necessary. Next.

Lastly, I've been away for the long weekend. The whole experience was so good for my soul; I rediscovered that I am a person outside of Mum, Mrs and Employee. I made lovely things in the company of great women, I ate meals that I didn't have to think up and prepare, and I slept until I woke up of my own accord and not because a little boy wiggled in under the doona at 6.30am. I drank a glass of wine not as a desperate escape but just because I wanted to taste it, and ate chocolate with no guilt. I stayed up late, not because I was desperate for 'me time' but because I was inspired and wanted to create.


What was this mythical experience? Why, a craft weekend of course, with like-minded people, at a lovely country cottage, where the winter fog didn't lift for three days, and where the craft studio was warm and well-lit, and full of women creating and working, chatting and swapping, helping and learning.


I made this suede Ladybug which I hadn't planned but which just came together so well,
Peanut's little skirt - see above - she's wearing it although you can't really see what it's like, unfortunately it's the best pic of the day (my first ever functional garment - using pattern, corduroy fabric, overlocker and binding-making skills of OneGirl - (Thank you so much, notice how I stayed fairly close to you all weekend? Was hoping to learn more by osmosis- Sorry, signed; Your Stalker).

Thanks to all the ladies who made it such a great weekend, including Jenny of the fabulous dahl and wool tunic, wool-spinning Suse who makes her own kick-arse socks for God's sake, Sooz - you aren't very scary at all, although you are frank, funny and extremely helpful and Thank You for my Ladybug's eyes among other things), hat-making Ellen all clad in denim, and super-nice pyro Eleanor who praised everyone's efforts, even my first-time hack ones. How good was it to finally put a face to the Blog? I'm sorry for all the times that you may have walked past me and had your olfactories assaulted, it was all the meat.. and lentils. I think your delicious soup should have a name Janet, and that the name should be Fart Soup. I was also treated to a Tap Dance performance courtesy of Stomper Girl, who was working on choreography on the veranda, stomping away on her Tap Board all weekend, except when reworking her Mum's old skirt into a specially-shiny book cover. I happened to walk past from house to studio while she was in full flight, arms swingin', feet tappin' away in a complicated routine, and couldn't walk away - she was mesmerising! What a fantastic thing to witness, thanks for the treat!


And Julie, guess what! Remember how I didn't know what Charm Squares were for? Well, I used the ones I bought from you in the making of my Peanut's quilt !!! It took me all of Sunday to do it, but the front is almost done, and so different to what I expected! Instead of trying to replicate symmetrical patterns I went native and made a patchwork of completely incidental pieces to create a bit of a freeform quilt. Off to Spotlight on Friday to get the wadding and there might even be a quilt-shaped rainbow at the end of the tunnel, who knows... still, I have made it over 2 metres each way, because as I said to Stomper, when I fail, I like to fail spectacularly.


The next craft weekend is a whole year away, but I've written it in my diary, with preceding weekly reminders, starting today. NEXT!

On a completely unrelated note, how's the 'Followers' widget? Does anyone else wait and wait and wait and wait until someone has pity on them and 'Follows' them? It was getting a bit embarrassing, wasn't it?


Oh, and finally, I got sacked yesterday. That took the warm glow off my weekend somewhat. I was 'escorted' out without saying a word let alone telling them how I really feel, which pissed Mr M off no end. He likes the big fanfare at the end and once had a screaming match with a boss over who was going to kick who's nuts harder.

I guess I was caught off guard a little bit but the thought of not having to go back in there lifts my spirits a bit, because quite frankly, I wouldn't give them the steam off my... shit, is that the time? It's cuppa o'clock, and I've got the Tim Tams to prove it.