Do also please carefully note the presence of my beloved laptop, which enables me to mouthbreathe on my visitors, and my visitors to be with me during my Friday night rock'n'roll sessions. Sorry about the unreplied comments, it got to be a very late night. But then that's rock'n'roll life for you.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
And here's some I made earlier
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12 comments:
Fantastic. This is public service blogging at its finest. Thank you ms mr, you are indeed the rock n rollest blogger ever!
word ver = sesse - looks like the stress has had the middle ripped out of it.
Ah, young housut. That is positively lovely of you to say so (you don't think you could design me a wee badge to publicise this fact? Just a thought).
And the stress having its middle ripped out is pretty brilliant news, too. Super well done - I'll go and bake biscuits now (I'm sick of me reminding myself), so I'll put one aside for you. Almond or chocolate chip? There's also a slim possibility of a gingerbread, although I doubt I'll get that far tonight.
He's right of course, ms mr so obviously you should ma -
ok, well, I'll say no more on't for now.
Gingerbread please.
Almond please.
I'm doing lots of making things this week, it's very therapeutic. Almost makes me feel like a proper mum.
Well, Signs, I was anticipating supportive "aren't they lovely" noises from you (the dear lovely supportive thing you are), and had planned on saying, in reply, "Watch it, Signs, you don't want to praise them overmuch, or you may just land up getting one yourself."
I'll be needing to eat a lot more cheese in the next few days, is all I'm willing to say on the matter at the moment.
However, have a biscuit. Gingerbread. Scuse the fingers.
Hei Gael, good to see you. Yes, making stuff (and, when the mood grabs you, cleaning the house like a raging monkey on fire and illegal performance-enhancing pharmaceuticals) has a lot of therapeutic value. I'm wondering what you mean by a "proper mum". Or what you mean by it (although I understand the sentiment, the redeeming oneself with textbook behaviour, right enough. Just wondering which textbook you use).
Almond biscuit coming up - sorry it's not labelled with your name, but it's not traditional to put icing on almond biscuits, and I can't go against tradition (also I only have white icing, oh woe, and white doesn't contrast enough on the surface of an almond biscuit). Also sorry about the blurry quality of the photo (this goes for yours, too, Rumplesignskins - sometimes my camera just won't play nice, and I was (and am) very low on battery, and there was one more shot I had to waste the precious battery life on, which you'll both see shortly). (Oh, and Gael - also sorry about serving it up on my hand. It's wrinkly, but clean.)
(Oh and PS I saw some of your makings over at your place. They rather put my efforts to shame. You are very clever.)
Oh I would love to design a badge, but - to be quite honest - I'm not sure I could, having never done such a thing on a computer. I just don't know if I've the right software for a start. Clearly, I'm better at counting.
Surely ms signs, who is obviously talented and imaginative (as certain recent comments have proved) might be able to sort summat out along those lines? Just a thought.
word ver = mingso
well thank you Trousers - I am glad you appreciate my insight, perspicacity (sp? is this a real word?) and general wonderfulness with regard to certain particulars and, no doubt, in general and altogether. Because some people (naming no names) have been telling me to behave myself. And me a rock an roll free spirit of a superpoet an all, I know.
Anna? Ding dong bells, and I want one of them artefacts, there I've said it plain, gawd I'm so rockanroll I'm even impressing myself, and that's saying something. I do not know, however, what makings you refer to. Have I done something wonderful that I wot not of? Really scratching my head to think what this might be.
Keep burning the midnight oil, seestah.
Hei you
I am guessing the makings you refer to are mine, and not Signs'. If so, thank you kindly.
Clever? No. Guilty, maybe. Hence the 'proper mum' comment. Just doing the juggling that all mums do, and trying to compensate in the hols by doing the fun stuff, whereas in term time it's more holding on by the finger nails.
When everything is going well, I can kid myself that we all get the best of both worlds. When the wheels start to fall off, then it's harder to justify my indulgences. So for now, I'm trying to ignore the 10,000 words that i need to write, and concentrate on being a 'proper' mum, by giving my girls (and my partner) my full attention.
When i first lived with someone i felt like i was going through the motions, playing 'house.' This may of course been due to the fact that we were still only teenagers, and our 'home' was more like a Wendy House. When i first came home with a baby, I felt like I was playing dollies. Too often I feel at the moment that i am playing the role of a student, which of course I am, whereas my 'real' job is to look after the girls, the other stuff is just icing on the cake, as opposed to icing the cookies...
Well, young housut, you are good at counting, so you say, although I've noted a certain haltingness in your counting habits as of late. It's a long way to quattrocentotrentacinque from centocinquanta, housut, don't think you can fool me into thinking otherwise, and I feel fairly certain we could have walked to various bus stops by now. I fear for the universe, housut, I really do.
And my badge surely doesn't have to be done on computer? I recommend using an old cheese tin. They can be turned into all sorts, housut, take it from me. Just, you know, saying.
Perspicacitious Signs, hei (and surely, surely, that must be a new word I just came up with? Let's look...No. Oh my good God, people are just more noisy out there than I thought, for at least two people have put their reputations on the line and used this word online before me. The bastards). But um, yes, where were we? Artefacts. Yes. Right. Since it's you, I'll see what can be made of old cheese tins, okay? And since (as I already pointed out) it is you, you can (if you like) go to my flickrdom and point your rock'n'roll free spirit's superpoet finger at a picture which particularly takes your fancy.
(And yes, this time I was actually referring to the makings of Gaelliver and her troupe lilliputian cheflets. They've been documenting their gingerbread things in a way that puts my poor biccies (and tins) to shame (not saying that you, simply by being the rockanroll superpoet you are, don't put me to shame on a daily basis).)
The midnight oil burneth, seeskins, but it doesn't always seem to produce very much, other than late nights and later mornings. Um, hum. The words of Flaubert, I believe - "Be regular and orderly in your daily affairs that you may be violent and original in your work" - may be turned round to create humdrum "work" and chaotic daily affairs, it seems.
Hei back, Gaelileo. Yes, guilt seems to be a thing that goes hand-in-glove with parenting. Odd, how easy it is to see that other people (such as your good self) are often feeling it for no good reason, yet simultaneously how impossible it is to feel forgiveness for one's own shortcomings in the parenting department.
I'm sure you're doing just beautifully with your various juggle-arts, is what I'm saying here, k? (I know of a family of writers - both parents were inflicted by the condition, and they landed up having five children plus three from the guy's previous marriage - where the mother would sit in the playpen with her typewriter. Never mind a room and money of one's own. This is meant as encouragement, okay? Keep on keeping on. And good luck with the ten thousand words.)
Hope your Christmas has been just wonderful.
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