Now that everyone has got their presents, I can show off my xmas sewing, just a little.
Wallets for my workmates (plus the light blue one for my mum)
Xmas decorations for the LSA’s at the school. Cross stitched aida band, sew into little pillows with ribbon to hang them.
Honeyeater cross stitched onto aida band, sewn onto a silk front, made into placemats with quilters cotton and pellon. Gift for my Uncle and Aunt.
Another wallet, this time for my ironing lady
I didn’t realise how long it had been, but it suddenly leapt into my mind this morning, that I am currently on a bit of a dry spell.
The authors/creators of Wikileaks argue that releasing all this sensitive material ensures true transparency on international affairs. And certainly, acts of human rights violation, questionable behaviour in war, and deliberate attempts to commit crimes in the name of nationalism …. should be exposed.
I think my subconscious is telling me that I need to let go my yearning for babies.
There is nothing like changing the landscape, to totally bamboozle a dog.
Our new lounge is arriving tomorrow, and so today the old lounge suite went to its new home. Hubby and the daughter are sitting on the floor in the lounge watching telly, and the dogs keep attempting to join them. However, the lack of lounge chairs, is seriously offending Monstorboy. He keeps walking to the lounge room, looking at the space, and then walking back out. He is now curled up in a ball on a blanket, tucked way behind my sewing desk ….. sulking I bet.
The longer it is, the harder it is to imagine what might have been.  Isabeau would have been 9 years old this year.  I try to imagine my tiny little girl as a 9 year old, and all I see is a darker haired version of Naomi. Maybe that would have been her, who knows.
Thinking of her still leaves an ache in my heart. Why do I have to carry this pain? Surely the shitty childhood, and crappy parents was enough …. why did I have to lose my child as well?
Happy birthday Isabeau …… Mummy misses you.
A few months ago, I posted about losing my dad. About how I wasn’t really grieving the man here and now, but instead the dad of my dreams. ……. the daddy that hugged me unreservedly, who didn’t criticise me, or torment me …. or punish me for loving my mum.
Sometimes the faith my children hold in me, is daunting, but still it can be a wonderful boost to my ego too.
I have been married almost 23 years. Many things in marriage you take for granted …… men are programmed to miss the clothes basket, more women snore than you would think, everyone farts …… and intimacy suffers in the face of familiarity.
