The Day of Lurve

Do you love Valentine's Day? Or do you shun it? I totally paid it out when I first met my boyfriend-at-the-time Matt. He went out and returned with a framed drawing and said "Happy Valentine's Day". Oops.

I'm still not into fluffy white bears, red roses and balloons.

I'd rather a handmade card, or a drawing, or a book, or something uber thoughtful like being serenaded by my bedroom window (just joking Matt, if I hear you singing out the window I'll throw a bucket of water on you especially if it's in your pseudo Nick Cave voice).

Despite my cynicism, I am happy to be proved wrong. Please! Do prove me wrong. What's your best Valentine's Day?

Latex Is A Tricky Thing To Sew (the post also known as: Luckily Christmas Happiness Was Not Dependent On My Sewing Prowess)

Remember these? Remember how I was going to whip up some customised washing up gloves for my husband? I was to be the creator, Santa was to be the courier. Couture gloves. He would have been the fashionista up to his elbows in washing up bubbles. The Sartorialist may have snuck some photos of his hot dishpan hands.

Who needs instructions I say? I've got eight sewing lessons under my belt. Who needs to ask for help? No, not I said the little Red Hen.

Apparently latex is difficult to work with. I now know this.

Apparently this project wasn't as simple as I was thinking it might be. But Cath made it look so darn simple. Hmph and a belated bah humbug! I was going to whip these up for every kitchen-lovin' person I knew. They would have been the talk of the kitchen.

Apparently we've now got one heck of a messy glove with black and white gingham trim, and the other lies next to it, dormant.

And apparently I should have looked to see if there were instructions before I embarked on this festive (festy?) project. There are instructions, simple, effective instructions.

Thank goodness the weight of Christmas joy was not resting on my creative shoulders. Otherwise, there would have been a whole lotta tears. Enough to fill the sink.

Look At Me Go!

I've been stitching up a storm - I'm loving this new rhythm. Maybe it's the sick me that allows me to stitch. Most of the time I'm running around like a blue-bottomed fly, but the sick me lies on the couch stitching and falling in love all over again with Gilbert Blythe. You try and tell me you're not a sucker for this classic.

See my colouring in? Well I was only going to do a few petals, however, once I started, that gentle rhythm took over and now that I look at it... Well I think it would look like I'd just been a little lax with my stitching and couldn't be bothered. And my friends - that would never do. Onward stitching soldier.

Matt tells me it's starting to take shape like a stained glass window. I love this. I love stained glass windows (there's nothing like that perfect hue of blue bright and bold with sunshine bursting through - take a look when next you're inside a church).

Anyway - I know I've piqued your memory - go on, here you go.

PS - If you haven't already - enter my Kimya Dawson giveaway. You don't have to have a blog - just a way for me to contact you. Don't be shy!

The Kitchen Sink

kitchen sink

Originally uploaded by tashalutek

Does anyone else have quibbles with their housemate over who should do the dishes?

I thought there was an unspoken rule - if you cook dinner, the other person washes. Apparently my husband doesn't know this.

Or another rule. Perhaps if one person has done the washing up five nights in a row, perhaps it's your turn...?

Anyone else have this problem?

Unfortunately our kitchen sink doesn't look like this. Unfortunately it's currently stacked with dishes. Unfortunately that's what's called a Mexican stand off.

Something To Disturb-ya: The Lizard Man

nature lovers from way back, here's a friend we found in our house over the weekend, it's easy being green in our house - you just get tossed back into the garden.

First up, I've converted my two wee ones to love this song. Sick I know. Not that they've seen the clip. We've been indulging in a little bad dancing about the house. Well one obliges, the other merely surrenders in my arms. She is after all ten months and really has no choice. She squeals with delight though, so I'm guessing she digs it too.

I've been spiralling out of control this weekend. I keep driving past the bin. Can't stop thinking about it. I even take detours well out of our way to scope it out. I should be employed by the FBI, ASIO, someone even a private investigator could use me. I should certainly be earning points for stalking, or should I say, staking out my prey. I've been wondering what I'm missing out on. But each time I do succumb and do a drive-by, the bin is empty. They're playing mind games with me. Again.

This brings me to The Lizard Man. I caught a small lizard in our bedroom this weekend. This is a normal occurrence, we seem to have some type of reptilian museum going on in there. I often find them curled up near the doorway in Winter. I'm not such a mad keen lizard fan, but The Doctor is pretty well into them. I often look up to see him walking around the garden with a small lizard in hand. He must be quick to catch them, cause they are wiggly, squiggly things, but he loves it.

So The Doctor came in to remove the lizard for me. He took it outside, but I was pre-occupied trying to thwart my ironing pile from growing any larger, and Matt was otherwise occupied with the contents of the fridge. A few minutes later I asked The Doctor what he had done with the lizard, and if he had popped it back into the garden. He usually does and tells me they've returned to the 'Mummy wizard'. He told me he'd put it in his sandpit and that he'd play with it later. We were on the way to get new sand, so I figured - great the lizard will have time to escape from poking, prodding small fingers.

As we were getting ready to go out, The Doctor was toting a small gardening bag that he keeps his tools in. I asked him what he had in it. "Oh it's a secret." I was a little dubious, "Is the lizard in there?"

"No, Mummy, it's a secret."

Fair enough, I've got loads of secrets in my bag. But usually I call them C.H.O.C.O.L.A.T.E. Each to their own. The Doctor isn't at the age where he knowingly fibs. I trusted him and off we went to the nursery - where they have a small cafe. We had a drink, bought our sand and hopped back into the car - I then had the genius idea that we would just nip up to the sewing centre as I still hadn't picked up my sewing machine from being serviced. All was good in the world.

On the drive back I noticed The Doctor peering into his bag. "Is the lizard in that bag? What's in your bag?"

"It's a secret, Mummy. Just a secret. It's not a wizard."

I thought fair enough, I'll stop hassling the little dude. I then decided to shift the responsibility elsewhere. As all good managers do.

"Matt, do you think The Doctor has a lizard in that bag?"

"No, he doesn't have the dexterity to pick up a lizard."

Ah. That's clearly where he's wrong. I've seen The Doctor pick up more than just one lizard. And not just on slow, cool days when they're travelling at half the speed. No. I've seen him with lizards on steaming hot days. Wiggling in his hands. With tails still intact.

I gave up. But not for long. Once we pulled into the driveway, The Doctor peeked once more into his bag (the secret one) and then I saw it. The small lizard. The 'tired' lizard (as The Doctor once called it). I freaked. I told Matt to get The Doctor and the lizard out of the car, pronto.

If you've ever met my husband, he's a supercruiser. As titled by my sister. He is. I don't deny it. I don't even think he denies it.

To cut a long and slightly cranky story short, the lizard freed himself of the secret bag, and is now loose in our car. Matt and The Doctor left all the car doors open in a bid to release him back into the wild.

And now, while driving, I have complete paranoia that a small lizard is going to poke its head out. I even felt a phantom lizard crawling across my toes in the car.

"Oh yes officer, sorry, a lizard crawled across my feet while I was driving hence the rapid acceleration. Oops."

A likely story.

Let's just hope that when I next go driving, one of these doesn't pop out from under my seat.

PottyMouthMama: Bin-Raider

Last night I set off at 8:30pm. I left it late so that all the neighbours would be tucked up in their little houses doing what all neighbours do. Eating dinner, watching re-runs of Wheel of Fortune and listening to their children crying on and off until they finally succumb to sleep. Oh that's just me that does that, well hmph!

I drove up again, just in case it was another large stash and I needed the boot space (amidst some prams, green bags and a smattering of sand toys) to hide the haul. I got out of my car. Firstly, here's my mistake. I didn't check to see who was around. When I hopped out, I was holding a torch. I was wearing a hoodie. There was a man, 60 or so putting his bins out, who stopped to watch me. Checking out what this hoodlum was doing. I was like some crazed deer stuck in the headlights. What could I do to meld with the 'hood? I looked at my mobile. Hindsight tells me this probably looked even dodgier. I then popped the boot - I was freaking out because he was standing there watching me (I hadn't even gotten close to my bin yet), touched a few things in the boot and popped my torch in there. I don't need to explain that right then, my brain stopped working. I then walked down the road, away from the bin, away from my car, and away from the staring man. What was I going to do? Who knows. I waited 'til he walked up his driveway then I returned to the car and drove off home. My heart was pounding a little too hard.

Matt was surprised I came home so quickly. So empty-handed. I recounted the story. I watched the end of my movie (watch it, but the book is brilliant, and you'll read it in half a day and never, ever forget it, I've read it a number of times, and it's amazing each read) and then went back out at 10:10pm.

I figured by this time the driveaway dude would be tucked up in bed watching his stocks plummet while his wife ironed his socks.

I decided to make a quick kill. Bin number 1 - paper recycling - full, but my friends, I just couldn't be bothered. If the treasures hadn't floated to the top, I just wasn't going to get into it. Call it tiredness, call it laziness, or call it lack of mojo, whatever - I seem to be losing my will to dive. Bin number 2 - glass/metal/plastic recycling - some cut glass...in amidst poison bottles. There was no way my un-gloved hands were going that-a-way.

And then there was the cherry. Another gleaming white skip in the driveaway. A big 'un. I stood in the street wondering if I should chance it. It's now that I realise I have forgotten to tell you one important point. There was a light on in the kitchen. A booby trap? Were they peering out from their windows just waiting for me? I figure that because it's just the kitchen light, that perhaps it was accidentally left on. I sidle down the driveaway a wee bit, comfortable that my mother-in-law (who recently received honours in law) has told me it's not trespassing until you get to the front door (I may have that wrong - so don't blame me if you get busted). Peer into the bin. It was dark outside. Oh so dark. But with a full moon rising, I could see the skip was completely empty.

I might tell you now that this was a relief. I know. You're probably shaking your head at me. Relief that there was nothing? Yes, it's true. How much excitement can one take? Not much more! The adventures of me and my bin are adrenaline pumping, but is my wee heart going to give out one day because I find... vintage tea towels, pillowcases, costume jewellery, oversized Jackie O style sunglasses still in their box and a yellow bedside table (these are on my wish list to find, ok??), who knows. I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this up.

To be honest, I am more than a little peeved with these people. How many people have had enjoyment from reading about my escapades, me with my torch riding into the sunset? Lotsa lotsa. My family ring me the next day to find out what I found. It's a given. But these people, emptying this house, a room at a time - well they could have given all this stuff to charity stores and as well as making some collectors very happy, they could have helped a charity along the way. But instead - they've tossed everything in a massive skip and sent it to landfill.

Don't get me wrong. I am very grateful. But all that crockery that they've tossed, someone would have loved it. Me, probably.

Hearing me?

Anyway, in the event that I didn't find anything, I went op shopping* beforehand. I will have to photograph a few more things, but here are two (albeit crummy photos) for tonight.

This crazy looking sugar bowl that Matt finds mildly disturbing.

And this pink creamer. That funny little vase in the background was another thing that the bin provided me in an earlier loot.

* Op shops = opportunity shops - charity shops - money you spend goes to the charity.

You Know What Night It Is

And I still haven't gotten 'round to showing you all of my loot. Here's the rest of it. The round up.

Lucky for Matt our wedding anniversary wasn't tonight, otherwise instead of wining and dining with him, I would have been diving into a bin. Romantic? Not so much.

So tonight. Bin night. I have a hunch there's not going to be much. Maybe some empty chip packets. Maybe an old takeaway container. But gosh. I really hope I'm wrong.

But just in case I am wrong, I went to the op shop and picked up a couple of beauties. I'll show and tell tomorrow.

A Day To Remember

This time three years ago I was getting ready to get hitched. Or as I like to tell Matt - we were becoming stuck together. In a good way.

If you're doing the maths, then yes, our son is older than our marriage. We did things backwards. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Today I'm remembering the week before and the mammoth effort of my Mum to pull everything together, walking down the aisle with my Dad, my sisters and my good friend getting ready in a mad flurry after a champagne breakfast, and a night celebrating with good friends and family. And questioning why I didn't organise a nanny to look after The Doctor who at five months kept waaahing for the boobie. A nanny could have helped woo him, instead of me racing up and down all night, pulling my dress off and feeding him off to sleep, and progressively looking more and more dishevelled with each visit to him to try and lull him off to dream land. Oh well. Memories. The corners of my mind.

Today - best of all I'm remembering all the reasons for marrying my best friend, my lover, my Matt. Awwww.

But here's a word to the wise - Matt never buys me flowers. So every year I go and buy myself a beautiful bunch and pretend they're from him. No harm done. This year cream ranunculus and freesias. Delicious. Everyone's a winner baby! (While this song has nothing to do with our wedding, the above mixtape has everything to do with our wedding, ah there's nothing like a little nostalgia on a Wednesday, is there?)

Uh Oh

If you've never been to pottymouthmama before - welcome. But might I suggest you do some back reading before you proceed. I suggest you start here.

Otherwise:

Someone Was Already There - Chronicles of a Garbage Bin

stool stylist's own

So when I arrived to see my beloved bin last night, I had come ill-prepared. I had forgotten my torch. I had a quick look at the bin but couldn't see anything by the dim moonlight, so I drove home and decided to wait an hour or so to darken up the night sky and go a little more incognito, and also to be a little more prepared. I jumped back in the car and drove* home.

When I got home my husband was surprised to see me empty-handed. I quickly explained that I did have to go back out, the deed was not yet done. I think he was secretly relieved when I returned empty-handed, those thoughts were quickly turned on their head.

At around 8:08pm I set out. Please note it's here that I feel all CSI-like, you have no idea how much this thrills me. Being a little more prepared I had packed some gloves and my torch. I could have taken a brush to take some prints off that bin and look for any epithelials. Get the feeling now I watch Grissom a little too closely? Hmm, if you knew that I called Sunday evening CSI Sunday you may be a little concerned. But you don't know that, so you don't have to worry.

When I got back to the bin - someone else was already there. I had just flipped open the lid and removed one black plastic garbage bag full of loot. I was about to reach in and retrieve a most fantastic 'Air India' suitcase when I saw him. I was more than a little startled. It was pitch dark. I had nothing more than my torch, a pair of latex gloves and my mobile in a pocket. For a moment I contemplated calling my husband. He was only two minutes away. I was feeling really, really anxious. I actually think I can say, that is a complete understatement. It was dark, there was just me, the garbage bin and him.

The biggest, fattest, hairiest huntsman ever. And then some. Eight hairy legs. Two beady eyes. Oh it just sends chills down my spine. And he wouldn't move.

If you're a long time reader of pottymouthmama you might already know that I am a little more than afraid of these. This week, we've already had one in our bedroom that Matt failed to evict, only for me to find hiding in the curtains the next day. Deeee-lightful.

Anyway. Fat huntsman. Me. Garbage bin. Suitcase. Metal things. Darkness. Can't see properly. I try and flick the huntsman off. Nope. Not budging. He was fat, seriously fat (probably a female). I really should be presented with a very large, very shiny bravery award. There was just no way I was leaving that suitcase for a spider. No way. So I flicked it a bit more* and then it finally retreated. To the other side of the suitcase. I grabbed the handle and threw the suitcase onto the footpath. I was about to pick up the suitcase and pop it into the car - when who should I spy right next to it? Yes, you guessed it - the fat hunstman.

By this stage I already had the garbage bag in the boot. I had torn it open to ensure I wasn't taking home someone's dentures, enema kits etc, and to my great surprise I found this cute little eggcup. Not that I use eggcups, but he's definitely cute - and has a very old David Jones sticker on his derriere. And the little pup with chipped off ears - dogfight anyone?


Once in the safety and light of my own home, I tore into the bag. I found this old cat clock - his eyes move - so cute. This little shelf that I've cleaned up, along with some vials of sand, an old Indian, this creepy little dolly in the bag - Laura Palmer?!
This little tribal doll. With real fur. Hmm. Must be pretty old the fur is disintegrating. Tasty.
If you fancy that little doll in the zip bag (a keyring!) please let me know. It's yours.

Who knew a bin could make someone so happy? Will it continue to rain gifts on me? Will the relationship with the bin last? Or is it just a fling? And just why did the people tossing all this stuff out ignore pottymouthmama's note she left in the mailbox? Find out next week when you tune into pottymouthmama.


* No spiders were harmed during the looting of this bin.

Those Who Thrift Together, Stay Together (How to Manage a Husband When Op Shopping)

So our first full day here. What did it hold in store for us? For me? Well, given I missed the bin, I decided to hit the oppies hard. I left the kidlins with their adoring Ollie (my Mum) which was rare. I love being able to go op shopping without the smalls, for the simple reason, it's easier to go fast without going crazy!

First stop and before midday, I sent the cash registers spinning with a grand total of $11 spent. Whoa Nelly. I am a crazy cat. Two awesome blouses for $2 each - and they both fit perfectly. Totally, absolutely, 100% perfectly. Can you feel the joy? Two small water karafes for a phenomenal $3. Some pillowcases. A chocolate brown clutch.. Oh gosh, it was like opening Pandora's Box if she'd been into vintage goodies instead of wreaking havoc on people.

After lunch I hit the shops again. This time I had my husband in tow. What kind of husband wants to come to the op-shops? Mine! I had to manage this, so I gave us a maximum of five minutes in each shop. I didn't feel the heat. No siree. I'm a seasoned op shopper and know which sections will hold the most fruit. So many vintage sheets, pillowcases, and aprons to pick up.

Matt came out empty handed, disbelieving that I had managed to pick up so much in such a short amount of time. He was also scoffing out how we were actually going to get all this stuff home, in light of the fact that our car was completely chockers driving up.

Am I the only one talented enough to completely fill the car with absolutely everything before heading off? I'm guessing it's a Mum thing. Gosh I am hoping it is, otherwise I have no explanation (other than it must be hereditary). Every trip away I can guarantee I get hassled by Matt for how much stuff we're taking. Hmph.

Third op shop and this one is usually the banana in Carmen Miranda's hat. While I did find a cool piece of fabric and a sweet little crochet piece, there wasn't that much fruit to be eaten here. Maybe it had been harvested already. Who knows, but it wasn't like I was disappointed. We still had one to go - so off we trot, Matt still hoping he was going to find something exciting.

We rolled up to the final oppy for the day. We got out. I still was optimistic. There's nothing like the quiet thrill of country op shops. No. Nothing. All that pre-loved goodness just waiting to go to a new home. Hmm. We walk up to the door - and boooooom! A big fat sign tells us they close at 2:50pm. A big fat reminder that we're not in the city anymore Toto. We had arrived at 3:05pm. Oh the pain. The heart ache. It was almost as bad as fretting for my bin.

Fear not. It's open at 8:30am tomorrow. And guess who's going to be staking it out.

Tomorrow more pics of the loot.

An Update

My husband has been chastising me, though I know he'd vigorously deny it if you asked. Lucky he's a little lax when it comes to reading my blog, otherwise I'd be in big trouble for telling you.

You see apparently here at PottyMouthMama HQ I've neglected to update the status of his painting, and have left you, dear reader, hanging. You're probably sitting at home, drumming your fingers on the table, comfort eating, -re-watching re-runs of The Golden Girls and calling people you don't really want to talk to, all because you've been wondering, what ever happened to...

So here it is. The finished painting. I love it. It hangs beside my bed and I love waking up to see my first newborn - swaddled up, jaundiced, puffy head from two hours of pushing, ah yes, that's exactly as I remember my little love bug.

Have I mentioned my husband is an artist, first and foremost, but currently he's masquerading as some sort of crazed office worker at an insurance company..? Oh the things you do to bring home the bacon.

He's been hung in the Dobell at the Art Gallery of NSW, has had a number of exhibitions, and he's hopefully working towards a new show soon.. Watch this space (because apparently I am doing his PR too).

Which brings me to tell you that the Dobell is currently on at AGNSW. For anyone that doesn't know, it's Australia's most prestigious drawing prize, and usually amasses a number of wonderful works. If you're in the city and want something to do, check it out.

This Is...My Favourite Art Store

Oxford Art Supplies.. An iconic art store on Oxford Street, Darlinghurst.

As soon as you walk in the door, the smell of paint, pencils and paper wafts to you. Beautiful. The shelves are jam packed with anything and everything that you could dream of, perfect for an art project.

The staff are fantastic, knowledgeable and thankfully, tend to be artists, so they know what they're talking about..

Plus - this is a little nostalgic for me, because Matt used to work there - and it was here, while he was unpacking paint, that I told him that we were expecting our Bean... Now that's over three years ago! And he continued stacking the paint in shock.

This store is a wonderful maze of art products, and a constant buzz, it's open til late and set right in the busy hub where uni students tend to flock.

Matt has lots of great friends from his days working here, and I remember undertaking some silly crank calls when he worked there - late at night.

Now there's also a Chatswood store that also houses a fantastic stock of art books. Brilliant!

Thanks to Handmaiden for a fun theme, and head on over to Angela at Three Buttons to check out who else is playing This is!

Buns of Steel:: Days 1-4

I've joined forces with this group in a bid to get fit. Here is my take on days 1-4.

Day One:

I set out early evening to squeeze in 20 minutes of walking before the babies head to bed. Instead I wind up walking for 45, and enjoying every minute of it. Spying through darkened windows. I spy a little boy sitting up for dinner all on his lonesome. An old man says hello. Yellow lights map out my walk. Over-sized dogs guard a large house that looks better suited to English country-side. The hardest bit on day one is starting.

Day Two:

Today I really can only go for 20 minutes because I have to be home to fulfill feeding duties, my husband has barren boobies. I slip into cruise control, but because I've left it 'til later, it's dark. Here are a few pointers as to why you should avoid night-time walking:

- my head came into very close contact with a branch - ouchy ouch
- it was so cold my ears started aching
- visibility is poor, so unless you're wearing a reflective safety vest, you're like an invisible target for fast-moving cars
- I wasn't so much interested in perusing houses, as wanting to be in my own
- I almost, so close, just missed it by a fraction, trod on a very dead, very squashed, very bloody possum that had met it's maker on the road. Tasty.

Day Three:

Recovery from my head-banging incident. I head out early afternoon. It's the weekend and I am going to make the most of it. 45 blissful 'me minutes' later, after powering through our backstreets I am plum tuckered out, but feel good. I've been throwing a few hills into the mix, to ensure my hindquarters get a good work out. I'm heading for buns of steel. Look out!

Day Four:

A less hectic pace sees me walking beachfront with my family. Today we're dodging weekend crowds, but it's nice to have someone to chat with, a welcome distraction. No 'me minutes' today - but when you're in the sunshine, taking in the long, inky line of ocean meeting horizon, who cares?

I have started feeling muscles I thought I'd lost. Walking is good. Get out there!

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So there's a snapshot of my first few days of forming a non-rehab-requiring habit. 17 days to go.
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Finally my camera became friends with me again. I can show some pics of some fabric my sister sent me as part of a swap (yes, we play swaps - she's in Perth, I'm in Sydney, it's bound to be a surprise). These gelato-inspired goodies are destined for my yo-yos... YO! YO! And the patterned fabrics, they are from my other sister, and they are being saved for a quilt for my little one. That's when I learn to sew.