The Spoon

We don't really use it...

A dear friend in New Zealand sent us a decorative wooden spoon.  It's handpainted with a native flower and a city name.  I can't really use it; it looks like it is for show.

I thought about it for a fair while.  I was a bit reluctant to put it up and Emperor asked why.  Well, I've read far too many blogs and the like where the parents beat their kids with wooden spoons and then hang the spoons up as a reminder to the children that the next whoopin' is conveniently reachable by Mom 'n Dad.  So that's why.

"Are you SERIOUS?" he asked. (Is his voice starting to change? Because it just cracked.)  "People hit their kids with spoons?  And then put them on the wall?  Like, which people and what are their names?"

Well, I never said the world was normal.  Sigh. But I wound up hanging up the spoon.  I mean, it's a cute souvenir.  I shouldn't be afraid that random people are going to think I am beating my children with decorative objects just because OTHER people beat THEIR children with decorative objects, right?  I should be able to enjoy this just because it makes me happy to think about my friend when I look at it in the kitchen.

There it is.  Not long after, I overheard Emperor explain to someone about "beatings with wooden spoons."  Sometimes I think I should just never explain anything to anybody.

The Flowers

Clearly, these flowers are not mine.

The scene:  I find a box by my front door when I return from running errands.  It's from a flower shop.

"It's not yours, Mom," Emperor assures me.  "Nobody sends you flowers."  Ah, but my name is on the box.  Inside the house it goes.

Emperor trails me as I set it on the counter and peek all over the box for a return address.  Nope.  Just the flower company.  Bummer.  I get a knife out to open the box.

"MOM!" Emperor yelps.  "It's not yours.  These are someone else's flowers.  You should put them back where you found them.  Or maybe give them to one of the neighbours.  It's probably theirs..."

But... my name is on the box.  So I open it.  Emperor cringes.  I look in the packaging for a card.  I look in the vase.  I peel the flowers out of the box to look for a card -

"Just put them back!  I don't think these are your flowers.  You shouldn't open them!"

*crinkle crinkle*

And I cut the stems according to package directions over someone's objections ("You're CUTTING them now?  MOM...") and put them in the vase with some water and flower food.  Sigh.  At this point Emperor is resigned to the inevitable; Mom has obviously stolen and damaged the flowers.  Then I called the company to find out who sent them. 

It's from my mom and dad!  Thanks, Mom and Dad!  See?  These ARE my flowers.  :)

Greetings From the Archive!

Mommy's Woodjie Pumpkin goofing off for the camera. :)

The NEW Kitchen!



I got new windows for my kitchen sink area.  Painted the frame white.  Still haven't decided what to do with the backsplash bit under the window; am thinking of small tiles instead of white paint.



 My house was built in 1964 and has almost all the original windows still.  I got tired of looking at bugs and cobwebs on the kitchen sink window and replaced it.  I couldn't clean it properly as the window didn't open well and I sure couldn't clean it from the outside as it is very high above the ground.  This should be much easier; the windows tilt in and have real working latches!  You can't let an event like that just go without fixing up other things nearby.  Do you like the colour of my NEW kitchen? I chose it to go with my Polish pottery.  Technically, yellow would be the best colour but it would look absolutely hideous with my black appliances and wouldn't "transition" from the stone brown in the next room very well.  So there you go.  No more squinting and bobbing my head about to see what is going on in the back yard.  It's so bright and airy, and I will enjoy looking out my window when winter comes... there is nothing like being able to see the view without having to feel the weather sometimes.



Blurry picture, but gives a nice overview of the kitchen. 



Bye-bye, gross-o windows.



Of course the Polish pottery stays in the same place.



Do What Ya Gotta Do.

It's either ingenius or poor parenting.

I don't know what to say lately.  I feel like I'm not 23 any more and I don't have the energy for deep cleaning too very often.  I don't have the energy for blog controversy, either.  I even started a new blog about homeschooling Emperor that is entirely controversy-free.  It's just about... homeschooling Emperor.  That's all.

Take a wild guess at the blog URL and see you there if you find it.

Anyway.  Lately I've been digging into the children's bags of hand-me-downs and getting ready for the change of seasons.  I took a picture to share with you.

Here's a little peek into what "large family living" is really like.  Mom rips the doors off the ol' closet and sets up a shelf like this from which the children select all their clothes.  Elf and Emperor share this shelf and their underwear and socks are in the milk bin.

Some of the things that I think will fit toward the END of winter season are stored in a tall dresser nearby.  I simply cannot dive, midseason, through 50 garbage bags full of clothes to find something only slightly larger than what's already out...

Each child has one pair of shoes, one pair of sandals for summertime, and one pair of winter boots.  No extras, sorry.  As it is having 16+ pairs of shoes in my entryway isn't the first impression I like to make on guests.  (I have no guests, but since I am blogging, I am *pretending* that part.)

In truth, my basement looks like something out of Hoarders, tenth season, where the producers get really desperate and start interviewing families whose problems aren't quite 183 dead cat bad, but bad enough that you feel better about your own cleaning and organizing skills when you are finished watching.

Well, what's been up with you guys?