Fashion Friday (Delayed Broadcast):: Pirates

Arrrgh - I'm sorry seadogs. I've been eating oranges and sauerkraut by the bucket full. Otherwise I've been brushing up on my sea shanties, doing jigs and getting my sea legs.

Hopefully my Fashion Friday friends have not mutinied. Otherwise I'll have to make them walk the plank.

Yer see my pretties, X marks the spot - but because my name is LeXi - that be the treasure you be loking for. ARRRRGH.

Jacket: vintage
Scarf: a gift
Jeans: Country Road
Boots: Costume National
Bustier: on loan from my friend Clare
Hat: straight from the dress up box
Parrot is optional.

Fashion Friday is on holiday this week. FF will resume next week.

PSSSST! How Can We Be Lovers If We Can't Be Friends?

Yesterday I spent the afternoon - between working - taking on the huge role of educating the younger members of our team on Michael Bolton and his hefty back catalog.

Between you and I - I once had a wee crush on Michael Bolton + his golden mane of hair. I even bought his Christmas album. Now that is devoted people. DE.VOTED.

So I am well-versed to educate the younger civilians in my life about Michael Bolton. Did you know, for instance, that he dated Ashley Judd? Yep.

However, in the last few years, I'd let my Michael Bolton knowledge slip. Thankfully after straying from the Michael Bolton path, my friend led me to the fountain of Bolton again. Have you seen this treat?

Tiny Dress Ups

Tiny is big loving the dress-up box at the moment. Mostly she's just loving her tutu too-too much. Five days running and by now it has been encrusted not with jewels or sequins, but instead Milo, melty chocolate, dirt and any other sticky food groups that she's gotten her filthy mitts into.

Today she dragged out everything from the dress-up box and simultaneously was a dancing koala-lizard. Interesting? Experimental?

Once we got home from our afternoon excursion she raided the dress-ups again. This time - a dancing pirate. See the theme here?

I think I'll try and sneak that tutu out of her room tonight for a quick wash. Chances of success are slim to none. But worth a shot.

Yo Ho Ho!

We sailed on the great big sea (of road) today, down south to celebrate my nephew's birthday, pirate style.

Why are pirates called pirates? Because they ARRRRGH!

It was such a beautiful day in every sense. We each had a wonderful time and wouldn't have missed it for all the gold on the bottom of the sea. Happy 5th Birthday O! We love you!

PottyMouthPirates: I'll Be Sea-ing You

We've been out sailing the high seas today. It's treacherous out there. Watch out for pirates on the harbour. They're rampant. It's been raining in Sydney non-stop for three weeks - and today - fortuitously timed for my cousin's wedding, the sun blitzed us for a pearler of a day out on the water. How lucky we were not to walk the plank and instead enjoy a tipple of bubbles and cruisy conversation. A wedding on the water. Swell, huh?

This is me doing my best sea dog impersonation.

Why are pirates called pirates?

Because they arrrrrrrrrrrgh.

Postman Pat

I am notorious (in my own head) for never finishing things. Take for example the day I posted about letter writing with my biggie small. I did mean to get back to you if you commented.. But I just didn't. So here I am to make amends.

If you'd still like to play Postman Pat with us, please email me your postal address. We'll work on something over the weekend, and hopefully, if all goes to plan - your little ones (or you!) might receive something in the mail other than a bunch of bills. Now doesn't that sound like the sweetest plan?

Just a small thing. My biggest little one is 3 and a bit. So we'll be abstracting it up. Don't expect some kind of Picasso wizardry. Simple is key people!

Also, later this week I'll be posting a giveaway.. Excitement to the max people.. Stay tuned.

And finally, the photo that I posted yesterday - well it wasn't the bin.. I put you off the scent though, didn't I? Now you're madly going around all the number 33 houses ripping open the lid only to discover old tins of Snappy Tom (which BTW - are recyclable!) and hairballs, maybe even the missing silverfish.. Who knows.

Day 13:: Meeting The Fatherload (or Lightning Does Strike Twice or Close Your Eyes If You Just Don't Want To Know What This Girl Found Next)

Day 13: We've been thrust back into wintery weather. It's cold. It's grey. It's raining. Not exactly enticing for an evening walk unless you're a slug or a snail. Given I am neither, I was thinking of skipping out on Day 13. You'd never know the difference.

But I knew there was a cat in Melbourne that I had told I was doing this 21 days thing. If I didn't go, he might go off his Snappy Tom, and that would never do. A promise is a promise, and so I walked. Just a short 20 minutes, I couldn't get too cold in that time. Off I trotted with my seeds hidden in my pocket.

I scouted for patches of dirt that would make a nice home for some new flowers. I picked up a stick to help me in my venture. But every spot I saw didn't seem to suit. I finally came down a hill, found a quiet little alley and roughed up the earth, sowed a few seeds, covered them back up and resumed my walk.

It's in this street that I discovered the motherload. I hadn't really thought much of that place. I was trying to go cold turkey. I didn't have that ache in my bones telling me to go back, and my husband is averse to me collecting any more 'things'. But something drew me back.

I still held my seed packet tightly in my hand, my stick in the other. I noticed that outside that house there was a wheelie bin. Just a small one, standing guard at the end of the driveway. Surely not. No, there'd be nothing in it but a few old wrappers, a few dustballs, maybe even a hairball if I was super unlucky.

Obviously, I was feeling lucky punk. I flicked open the lid with my seed planting stick. Lo and behold what met my eyes was like gold! If I had found the motherload last week, then surely this was the fatherload. Is there such a thing? Well there certainly is now.

Piles and piles of old crockery. Strangely, I have been wanting for a very long time, a mix 'n' matched, hotch potch of crockery for everyday use. And only this week I'd been thinking that our dinnerset was pretty well over red rover. It's all chipped. It's all marked. It's just ugly and it's not a joy - but Matt uses that stuff for mixing paints - so it's not like I was going to ever just boom toss it out.

So I picked out a pile of this crockery. Lovely old patterns. Not a chip. No siree not a chip. I hot footed it home with about six plates in my hot little hand, to be greeted by my husband with a quizzical look plastered on his face.

"Where did you get those?"

"Someone's garbage bin."

- He screws his face up. I go put them straight into the sink. Can you feel the love tonight?

I had dinner, got the kiddlies into the bath, and headed out (see a theme here?) - again with torch in hand. I went through as much as I could. I probably should have worn gloves - but in all my flustered excitement, I just didn't bother.

If there's anyone living there - they're now thinking - my goodness, this crazy hobo lady is back. With a washing basket. Emptying our bin into her car.

Sadly a fair bit below the plates was smashed. So I didn't go beyond that. I couldn't very well upend the bin on the road. I was tempted to bring the whole bin home with me, and return it when I had gone through everything under the pale light of our garage. Now wouldn't that be a sight?

So this is it. Close your eyes. Hold your breath. The fatherload.

Do the mother and the fatherload have children? We can only hope.

PS - I know it's illegal - but have you ever heard of anyone being arrested for stealing garbage? Not me. Can you imagine my mug shot? I'd be the most excited person in history having found this loot.

PPS - Curlypops, go hard this weekend. The garbage is your oyster - now found the pearls.