Is ioma doigh a th' air cu a mharbhadh gun a thachdadh le ìm.

It's the last day before I have to return to work, so I spent the morning doing one load of washing after another, out to the regatta grounds for The Hobart Kite Festival (our kite went excellently, I might add), nip back home for a nap (they had one, I didn't), then (after one last load of washing), back out again for the Mercury Kidz in the Park. I'm not sure what exactly kidz are, but there were baby goats. Knowing the Mercury, it was probably a typographical error.

Ez proved the best kite flyer of the family, but that should be no shock.

Henry ended the kite part of the day with a choc mint ice cream. Yes he chose choc mint over the rainbow option.

To close the day, we went out to the beach, had a go on the play equipment, ate squid and chips, and then home to fold washing.

Good times.

That does mean that I am far too tired to pen anything caustic or witty. I'll sharpen up tomorrow, I promise.

Comments

USelaine said…

Ezra has very nicely formed hands for his age.

Lovely to see scenes of summer.

5 January 2009 at 09:31

Debbie Courson Smith said…

And the part I'm most impressed with - you did laundry? What a man, a man MANY ladies would want...lucky Jen!

5 January 2009 at 09:55

Anonymous said…

I love Elmo's expression - who'd have thought he was so into kites?

6 January 2009 at 10:03

Kris McCracken said…

USelaine, you should see his feet! Like a porcelain doll...

Diva, I do refuse to iron. And I do tickle. So there are downsides...

Jackie, Elmo has a very diverse range of interests.

6 January 2009 at 14:01

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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