Fun With Adobe

Taking the Plunge!

I'm updating things. You know that local Magazine I've been working on? You can see some of the issues online now here. I've always been so bad at keeping a portfolio. I would much rather hang out with humans than computers, and though I always know where everything is, it's usually where no-one else will ever see it. I send artwork off without taking a photo, I file things onto external hard drives and put them safely in a drawer. So now, I'm searching and scanning and uploading and having FUN and getting a crick in my neck.

But the modern working world demands that I have my work visible on the internet. Sigh.

In Smelly Teenager news, Chas slammed a door and BROKE a glass pane. He is £138 poorer, and I feel for him, I really do.

Smelly Boys

There is a rule somewhere that if a teenager gives you a hug, YOU HUG THEM BACK, right? I know this rule, I'm a good mommy and anyway, when have I ever refused a hug?

But if the teenager is sweating like a pig and smells like a goat, does this rule still apply? I'm just wondering. Because I think that they wait till their most extremely stinky moments to get all amorous. Nobody ever loves me when the're all showered and ready for bed, they just grunt. But when they've come in from an exhilarating ride and have mud splattered up their back and armpits that vamp and helmet hair? They just looooove their mummy.

Sean and Chas building a 'Cajon' drum. Poor neighbours.

Sam making a Feature Movie spoof, "DEATH BY SNAILS!!!" (with Charlotte Bill, Producer extraordinaire and cousin of fabulousness!) Lots of terrifying action sequences and awesome special effects. Coming soon to a theatre near you.

Well, I still need my mummy sometimes, so I know they do too. They just don't know it right now!

Look out, Escargola!

TGIF

Duuuude, it's been a busy week!

But now, IT'S FRIDAY!!!

See ya laters, alligators!

In Which There are No Brownies Left for Breakfast

We live across the road from Max's primary school. Isn't that super-convenient, for a mama who used to drive for HOURS every day? One of the side effects is that my house is a convenient drop-off point for friends who have an early morning appointment, or kids who have streetdance later, or small neighbours on bicycles who are just passing by. It's been a wonderful way to make friends, for me and for the boys. On Fridays we tend to have everyone over and the boys tear in and out and the mummies, grannies and teenage girls convene around the kitchen table cackling like mad. Or sometimes joining the boys in their antics. Sometimes we mix up a vat of Mega Bubbles (a bucket of water, good quality dishwashing liquid and some glycerine makes the BEST bubbles ever. Add eye of newt if you think it will help) and if it's very rainy we put a kids' DVD on. Occasionally someone falls off their skateboard or crashes on the trampoline.

It's a great way to end a week, cry over spilt milk, psychoanalyse and forgive detractors, laugh like maniacs, plot, plan, scry the future and jot things down in our calendars. 

Last week, I kept thinking there was something I should be doing, at around ten-thirty-ish. But there was no Margo to visit, so I went out instead. To the grocery, the stationery shop, anywhere! And yes, I went to Margo's flat, where I gradually cleaned things, removed foodstuff, threw away obvious garbage (parsley expired in 2006, anyone?) stripped the beds, and watered the plants. I took three bags of cabbage and half-packets of baking soda home, where I will use them up eventually. Unfortunately, no hidden boxes of chocolate, chests of jewels or cases of wine have been found. 

Margo does not go in for clutter and has always been tidy so there really isn't that much to do there. 

I've been applying for jobs. Send awesome job finding vibes! 

This morning, my house needs tidying. I went on strike earlier in the week from picking up boys' socks from the floor, and as soon as the darlings are up, we will be busy bees. Then we'll do nice things together this afternoon. I love weekends! 

Edited: Bubble recipe here. That post is from 2008, and I just nearly died laughing reading the comments! 

Kicking and Screaming

Early this morning, Margo left for Trinidad with Mum. When I went over to lug suitcases and give kisses, Margo narrowed her eyes at me, "You're in on this too, are you?"

Margo had forgotten everything, and was convinced that we had plotted to get her out of her flat, and why had no-one told her she was going somewhere? Mum and my aunty steered her into the taxi amidst protestations, and when Margo tried to escape at the airport they wondered if someone would call the police.

Big sigh.

Hopefully this evening, Margo will be sitting on the porch happily sipping on a gin and tonic with Dad and watching the sun set over Venezuela, and will have completely forgotten the events of the wee hours of the morning.

Las' Lap

Mum has been here for over a month now. We have been having a great time and it is so good to see her.

But the whole time she's been here, there's been The Decision. What is going to happen to Margo? Should I get a larger flat, and have her with me? Should Margo move into a home? Should she go to Trinidad for a 'Visit', and stay with Mum? There are nursing homes in Trinidad too. How about having someone move into Margo's tiny flat with her?

Margo, the most independent ninety-four year old in the world. Who insists that she does not NEED any help (I just visit for a cuppa every day, see, on my way to the shop. Cuz it's on my way. And I might as well get Margo's groceries, while I'm there. And I have nothing to do today, so let's go out.)

Finally, a decision. Margo is hopping on a plane and heading to Trinidad, initially to stay with Mum. She forgets this every five minutes, but people keep coming to visit and to remind her.

Margo lived in Trinidad for years, after the war. Her home town had been bombed to smithereens and my grandfather had been in Trinidad, an engineer with the Merchant Navy (which is a whole BOOK full of stories) so he packed up his family and shipped them away from the mess and rubble of England. My mum met my dad there, and after her family moved back to England she finished school, bought herself a ticket on a boat going in the right direction and sped back to her island and her handsome and dashing feller. (I WONDER WHO THAT DASHING FELLER IS? Has he fixed his blogger thingy yet? Does he need reminding how? Will we ever know?)

Margo used to come and visit us every year in Trinidad, whiling away the Winter months. We always got along like a house on fire, Margo and I. I would show her my sewing projects and she would say "You should baste them together, dear," and I would ignore her and end up unpicking. Last week, we had the exact same conversation as I tried to add a few interesting inches to the lining of a dress. "Have you basted them together?"

"Nah, just pinned... OW!"

"Why are you unpicking?"

"Oooh, look over there!"

Ahh. The advantages of a complete lack of short term memory.

I will miss Margo so much. I am sad, happy, excited at my imminent freedom, worried, and absolutely dreading the hairdresser tomorrow. Margo will forget that she wanted a haircut, and then worry loudly while it's happening that they will cut too much off, then accuse me of MAKING her go, then complain that they hardly cut her hair at all, then forget she's been, look in the mirror and announce that she MUST have a haircut tomorrow. Repeat.

Margo knows, really, that this is it. It's not just a visit, although she wants us not to sell her flat yet 'Just in Case', which is fine. In a moment of clarity, Margo said: "This is it. This is my Las' Lap." In Trinidad, the Las' Lap (last lap) is one last BIG party at the end of the Carnival celebration, the final run before Ash Wednesday and Lenten fasting.

I love that lady's style.

We're Baaaaack!

Appledore is great. The tide came in, and we cast fishing lines and gazed at the water and looked at the seagulls. Then the tide went out, and we walked across the estuary, all the way to Instow. At least, the boys did, every day, accidentally falling into slimy black mud along the way. As you do. The tides in Appledore are some of the highest in Europe, eight meters I think!

In between, we ate fish and chips (AND curry sauce!) wrapped in newsprint. Greazy.

There's an arts festival this weekend, and the little store on the quay sells fresh bread every morning. I went in for eggs and walked out with OMM NOMM NOMM the first morning, and by golly I believe I put on five extra pounds in fresh bread and croissants and hot-out-of-the-oven deliciousities. Chas says that should be a word. He knows nothing, it IS a word. Now he says "That should be in brackets". Go to bed annoying boy, it is nine o'clock!

Now he's criticizing my extreme use of exclamation marks!!!! So There!!!!!

Mwahahaha. I am going to sleep now. The rest of the family can stay up all nigsht sifedxc2 5t43 ulk7jh4tqrdyb694km

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Oh good grief!