Ten ways to hurt a zombie*

  1. You have to tie a sewing machine to the roof and then if it can’t see you throw it up to a rope, and it can’t hear you. And it bonks its head down and you can hammer a nail into it.
  2. Another way is to get some paper or food, and make it look like a brain, and zombies will eat it, and they will get hurt from eating human food.
  3. Or you can cut a tree down beside a zombie, and it will hammer the zombie down.
  4. Or you can make your house into a zombie trap by putting pointy toys all over the house, and mess it up with christmas decorations. Put a square hole into the roof, tie a rope onto it. Tie a washing machine onto the rope, and it will hammer the zombie on the head.
  5. Put power lines up and the zombies will get an electric shock.
  6. Make a giant Venus Fly Trap, put a brain onto it, the zombie will try to eat the brain and the Fly Trap will trap it.
  7. Put prickles all over the floor and the Zombies will stand on them.
  8. Get a bow and arrow and sneak up on the zombie.
  9. Put a rake on the floor and the zombie will stand on it.
  10. Put nails all over the floor.

ImageSeriously, I would not want to be a Zombie stumbling into this house.

And also, there is a storm a brewing in little ole NZ, Cyclone Luci. We are battening down the hatches in anticipation. 

This morning was the last of the sun we will see for a few days…Terrible photo, but you get the ideaImage

*Disclaimer – My boy has a penchant for the macabre, he is under no influence of mine here.

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This is my life now.

 

 

 

First of all, it is key to note that it’s Friday night. Also key, is that it is not an unusual Friday, sadly, the opposite. This is my view.ImageExcuse the image. Grainier than a desert. Don’t despair for me, somewhere under 2 billion items of clothing/bedding misc, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Oh, no wait. There is no light, just a constant, never-ending stream of folding /washing /hanging out/ getting in /folding /washing /rewashing due to leaving the wet clothes in the machine too long…And the ultimate, PUTTING CLOTHES AWAY. Worst job ever!

And so it goes on.

Somedays, I would like to incinerate the entire lot and just wear one hemp sack, between the lot of us. But then I suck it up, and go and get the washing in so it can be folded… … …

Heavy stuff, I know!

ImageMy father and his partners linen cupboard. I can barely look at it without withering with envy. Everything these two touch turns to fold. (See what I did there? No? Meh, I’m delirious with over-folding).

Anyway, I’m off to put the washing away, along with the kids I can hear sneaking around the house behind me.

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Like plants, children also need water.

I never drink water. Oh, I try. All modern literature will extoll the virtues of downing something like 12 thousand of litres of water a day. I seem to gain enough water by merely existing. Perhaps I absorb it through particles of air? Or perhaps through all the coffee I consume? It is a mystery to me how I even still exist, and am not just a shrivelled dehydrated shell.

My children, on the other hand, surprise me daily with their quest to drink as much water as is possible in someone under 1m tall.

Seriously, I can NEVER leave the house without 2 water bottles (the boy is afraid of germs/sharing.)Image

Of course, with my inevitable lack of organisation, this means I spend the entire time scrounging around for enough coins to buy water bottles when out (gah, I hate paying for water.) Alternatively, I will be hissing at them to stop harping on at me about hydration, and just WAIT until we get home. Cruel? Nope, it’s just that I don’t understand it. How is it that two children from my lineage need so much liquid in a day? Me, the queen of Nil Hydration.

One of the great mysteries of the universe I guess.

Random thoughts on why I love Op Shopping so much

We don’t call it Thrift Shopping here in the far faaaaaaar south of the world. Thrift Shopping sounds exotic to me.

Nope. Once, or twice (honestly, maybe five times) a week I pick the kids up and drag them to at least one Op (Opportunity) Shop. I am trying to force them to love it.  One day they will, unfortunately for them, they have the Compulsive Op Shop gene from every which direction in my family.

I’m sure I can trace it back to the far reaches of history and the Hunter/Gatherer instinct, or is it an obsession for an object with history? I don’t really know.

I do love pondering an objects previous life, especially seriously old items, like this vintage lace brooch from Nottingham in England (gift from my great grandfather to my great grandmother).

Image It seems an enchanting notion to me, that something is most likely to survive me on this planet. Unless it is one of these crystal glasses, my kids seem to have a real penchant for smashing these bad boys.

Image(Crystal-ware via my sister, who has a better op shopping eye than me)

 

Whatever the reason, I am addicted. Hawkes Bay is fairly average when it comes down to it, the days of the glory that was Wellington Op Shops is long gone, but I will continue to drag my poor kiddies around with me to hunt out the next big thing, whatever it may be.

Image(Pumpkin also via my rad little blister)

How awesome is this little mite! I don’t think I could bring myself to eat such a tiny, tiny specimen. No doubt it will sit on the window sill until one day, I notice it as a sad concave husk of its former self. Long may it last!

And, I’m out. Randomest post ever!!

.m.

 

The oxymoron that is parenthood

Cruel and kind, stern but sympathetic, exhausted but involved. You have to dig DEEP on a daily basis to be a parent. To the bottom of the reserves, and then a little deeper. 

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Hark at her. Funny little watermelon.

My wee bairn turned 5 on the weekend, and try as I might to keep a lid on things, he still spiralled into an abyss of presents and want. Its a strange thing, want. One can have all the possessions under the sun, and still be thinking of how to acquire more. As a parent, you want to give your child everything they need, but at the same time, know that what they need most is to play outside, and find fun and a story in every day activities.

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Try and avoid looking at those fingernails and hands, that way lies madness.

I wanted to stay and be with my children every second of every day, but I am MUCH calmer and less shouty when I have some time in the day that is dedicated to work (design.) Some quiet and coffee and calm. That’s what I need.

I feel this yearning need to protect my children from everything horrible in the world, act as a shield. This is obviously not going to work, and so I need to suck it up and let them go, watching proudly, or tiredly on as they make their own little way in the world. Protecting them from as much as possible, whilst also letting them make mistakes and get into trouble. Each mistake is another milestone into learning about how to grow into the kind and thoughtful individual I hope them to one day be.

Anyway, this is just one over emotional and tired mothers view on her babies vs the world and my daily struggle with being EVERYTHING they need me to be.

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FIVE. Gah, how did that happen.x

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It’s late, little baby boomerang

So late, it is in fact early. So early that the clock reads 3:48 am. GAH, no-one should ever have to read 3:48 am on a clock. Let alone me, the reigning queen of needing a full 9 hours sleep every night. Here I am though at this unspeakable hour of the morning, stirring, wondering why I feel like I haven’t slept for the last hour.

Oh, wait. There is a small but significantly sprawled being beside me in bed. I have already put her to bed twice earlier in the night, but the sneaky mite has returned again!

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Excuse the grainy image

So, slowly but surely, the kicking and sporadic wriggling eases me into consciousness. Finally, I give in and carry the small back to her own bed. In this state, I don’t mean to do it, but I walk past the clock in the kitchen, and gauge my state of tired with the amount of sleep I’m still able to get. 3:48 am… Sounds okay, but the inevitable truth is that its near impossible to fall back asleep after a mini disruption like this. Thoughts start as a trickle which then get pushed back into the depths of the mind, and then suddenly one thought pops into the foreground, and the tidal wave begins. School, snacks, uniforms, work, schedules, ideas, birthday preparations…The list of tiny but keeping me awake problems compounds until my ONLY thought is

‘GO TO SLEEP’

And once this thought enters the fray, sleep is a loooong way off.

So I lie. Bleary, but ever hopeful that the mind can settle, and I can claim one more hour before the inevitable adventure that is daytime begins again.

DSC_0122Fearless Juni – counting the sheep I am too awake to dream about

Everywhere Wind

You know the type. You sit in the office looking out the window at the mild breeze stirring in the trees thinking,

‘Oh what a joy my ride home will be this afternoon’.

You happily head out the door popping the helmet on. The weather still looks mild and innocuous even as you jump on your bike.

Then LO! Whats this. Wind buffeting from all directions. It shouldn’t really be possible, but it is. By all reasoning, as you turn the corner of the long straight that normally takes 5 minutes, and today took 15, the wind should settle into something a bit more reasonable, but no. 

Look at these trees, not a movement between them.

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By all outward appearances the day is calm and still, but don’t be fooled! I was, and it’s too late for me, I am already infuriated by the invisible, but very VERY present wind.

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Ahh, my old nemesis. I thought I had left you behind in Wellington.

And while I am on a mini rant, why is it that I am too shy to pillage this glut of Pears on a line up of trees that no-one else is touching. It seems so wasteful!

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Look at those lovelies, tempting me. But no. I’m doomed to bike past them twice daily and leave them to the birds.

.m.

 

 

Fifty Shades of Bay

When I was young and brave I tried living in Australia for a while. Aside from the ridiculously good weather, even better health system and pay bracket, I still struggled with how pleasant everything was. The animals, insects and wildlife in general were of a scale that nearly blew the mind. When you found a spider inside on the table, it wasn’t just an ‘Oh Dear’ moment, it was jaw dropping expletive moment. Of course I have no proof of any of this, it just happened okay?

Anyhoo, the point I am meandering to is I really missed the changing of the seasons.

In Australia the summer is nearly, literally endless. Gelato stands can happily trade throughout the winter with no drop in sales. The beaches are still full, albeit with Aussies wearing wetsuits for some strange reason. The morning starts out before sunrise hot, and ends up in a big melty frazzled puddle.

Here in NZ at the beginning of Summer, you breathe a sigh of relief that the nastiness that is Winter is now behind you. If you are based in Wellington, then you look forward to the one day that is Summer. It’s gone in the blink of an eye, but by the gods it is good! Everyone is out and about, the streets are filled with cheery folk, and the beaches are full of the beautiful people.

Here in Hawkes Bay, the summer dawdles on and on forever. It’s bliss! But after a couple of months of it, the thought of Autumn lurks tantalisingly on the horizon. Here we are then. Finally Autumn feels like it has arrived. The weekend has, of course been insanity, but between all the madness, there have been some pleasant moments.

See…

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Looking for the perfect tree…Image

Juniper looking pensive

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Excuse the angle, I was biking and attempting to multitaskImage

Again, Juniper finding her own dribble hilariousImage

Sharing Ice Cream at the market. Lucky lucky smalls.x

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Independence Day.

Can I hark back to the 80’s again? I know it’s been well thrashed out by the media and advertising agencies, but what happened to the independence of youth. I don’t want to get too deep into this, but I was the quintessential child of the 80’s. Catching crawlies, making my own lunch from the age of 5, my mum didn’t use glad wrap, so her lunches were always a bit soggy and cross contaminated (farm bake cookies rubbing up against the classic marmite sandwich), walking myself to and from school, neighbourhood wars, etc…

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Castle Point, Wairarapa – 19Ancient History. And the rad gentleman to the right was my Uncle Richard. Also, don’t laugh, I had a thumbsucking issue which meant my teeth protruded at every which angle.

 

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So how come my kids can’t really do any of the above?

Seriously, no one can be trusted anymore, my child can’t walk the 500m to the school gate without supervision until he is 8. There is fear at every turn. I must admit, it is all a little exhausting.

I want, for my kiddies, what I had. Complete, blissful, rose tinted youth. Thus the compulsory berry picking and river swimming escapades. I have enrolled my son in the only Primary School in the Lower North island that still allows Bullrush. The only school BR rule being, that if your clothes get ripped, you don’t tell tales.

Again, it is hard to deliver the message accurately with words without sounding a little harsh, but I am VERY keen for my kids to grow up without the cotton wool padding that is all too prevalent these days. A little bit of learning things the hard way. Like me warning off my son cutting up hot chillies for his potions, not once but twice, before the message became clear through lessons learnt.Image

 

 

Ahh, I don’t know. Probably doing more harm than good, but parenthood is a constant cycle of this. A learning curve for all involved parties.

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Siblings.

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My small ones.

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Me and my sister – circa the brownest decade ever. The 80’s. Look at the marvel that is my bowl cut!

I have never felt the sense of solidarity and understanding that I feel with my little sister. She is hands down the best person I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. She is honest and kind and basically the most generous person on earth.

That, for me, is one of the main reasons we decided to try for a second baby. I feel very lucky to have two lovely children and even luckier still that they get on so well (most of the time.)

I know that in the years to come, there will be squabbles and fights galore. Underneath it all though, I always hope there will be that indelible tie that bonds them and holds them together. When we as parents (inevitably) embarrass them, or tell them off, that they will be able to turn to each other and groan/roll their eyes/ sigh etc, and know that the other understands what they are thinking.

I’m hoping to encourage this bond in every way possible, which isn’t always an easy task when both children are so dissimilar. So, I guess I’ll grit my teeth and try my best to bear it when the eyes do get rolled, or when I overhear them talking about something I did that made me look totally uncool, and understand it is for the greater good.

hmm. Hoping that I can get a few more years under my belt before this time, but I suspect my daughter already knows how to roll her eyes…

.m.