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Sunday, July 15, 2012

Silent Sunday

Goofing around in London

Silent Sunday

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

From The I Can't Make This Crap Up Files...

The husband comes home from work yesterday, set his things from work down, and then came and gave me a conspicuous inspection.  It was like being seen by a doctor- only this doctor was wearing Air Force camo and had gigantic combat boots.  He was obviously looking for something on my face...

Hubby-  "Did your cheek or eye hurt today?"
Me- "Umm no...should it have?"
Hubby- "Well, last night when I was sleeping I rolled over and elbowed you straight in the eye. It woke me out of a dead sleep.  You didn't seem to notice but it had to have hurt.  Then this morning I checked to make sure I didn't give you a black eye."
Me-  "You elbowed me in the eye?"
Hubby- "Obviously I didn't mean to elbow you in the eye...."
Me- "How in the world did I not feel you elbow me in the eye? You would think that I would at least kinda feel it."
Hubby-  "Dunno, but you look fine."
Me- "Yeah, I think you might have gotten a call at work if I had woken up with a black eye!"

I find it completely weird that if my kid even breaths wrong in their sleep I hear it, but my husband elbowed me in the eye (according to him "pretty damn hard") and I didn't feel a thing.  I seriously was completely unaware that this event took place until The Man came home and gave me the once over.  How bizarre.

Monday, July 9, 2012

Being A Mum is Hard Work

My kids love playing in dirt.  The like to dig in it, build things with it, fill things up with it, shift it around my garden and plant things in it.  I can hardly begrudge them liking to get dirty.  I remember countless hours that my brother and I spent sitting in my grandmothers driveway, next to my grandfathers big white Ford pickup truck, merrily building roads and hills in the dirt for our collection of matchbox cars until we were covered in black silt sand.

However, my kids love of dirt has gone off the rails a bit.  You see they took charcoal bricks, meant for the BBQ and decided to crush them up into an ultra dirty mess on the deck at the back of my house.  Before I had a chance to sweep this pile of charcoal dust off the porch, my dog found the pile, and decided to have a good roll around in it.

My blonde Cocker Spaniel was covered thickly in charcoal.  Charcoal is great for cave paintings, eyeliner, wonderful works of art; not so much for the coat of an overly sweet pooch.  So, off to the tub she went.

As I was wetting down her fur, most of the large chunks of charcoal fell off her and sank to the bottom of the tub, and with each additional jug  of water I tipped over her, the water got blacker and blacker, leaving me with a false hope that really, this wasn't going to be that bad.  However when I soaped her up, the suds were a deep dark grey.  So, once I rinsed her, I let the water out and had to rewash her again, to make sure that all the charcoal was off of her.

I should also mention that the dog is not a fan a bath.  So each time I poured a jug of water over her back, she started shaking off.  Essentially I got as much of a bath as she did.  By the time I lifted her out of the tub, we were both completely soaked.  All I got in return was a look of betrayal out of her puppy dog eyes, for daring to stick her in the bath.

That about sums up all the thanks I get around here most days.  I still wouldn't trade it for the world.

Sunday, July 8, 2012

Silent Sunday

Aren't they pretty?

Friday, July 6, 2012

Dear So and So....My Mojo Has Gone Missing

Dear Anyone and Everyone,

Have you seen my mojo?  As you have seen, it's been a bit quiet around The Bungalow lately.  It's not that I don't want to write.  I desperately do.  I have opened a fresh blog post countless times over the past few weeks, wrote a couple of lines, then deleted it, and closed out Blogger; not because I don't have anything to say, but I can't seem to find my words.

For a supposed writer, it feels immobilizing.  Almost like a part of me isn't working properly.

Maybe it is confidence.  You see, I start writing a post, then read it back and say to myself "What a load of rubbish.  Even I find that dull.  You couldn't write your way out of a wet paper sack at this rate."  So I erase it and try again.  Then again, what I have written doesn't hold up to my internal standard and then I erase it.

Now I sound like one of those tortured writers; like Poe or Hemingway.  I am far from tortured.  I have in fact done quite a few very fun things like going to High Lodge at Thetford Forest, having coffee mornings with my friends and having a wander about one of the towns near me with one of my photographer friends.

However, when I start to write about these things I feel like I am starting to get repetitive.  Blah, blah, blah, here we go again.  Delete.

Oh, well, we all know that sooner or later my life will give me a story that I will just have to share with the world.  Then magically, my mojo will appear, just as it has always done, and I will write something nearly brilliant.

Until then, I will just have to keep my blog fodder eyes peeled and wait for inspiration to hit me.  It's what us bloggers do.  Just don't forget about me while I am waiting.

Ta, Kat

Dear Readers,

If you have your own letters, please link up.

Love, Kat