
I made this for my nieces' birthday, she will be five the day after I turn 30 (OMG) between Christmas and New Year. Her Mama mentioned she liked this book and so off I went. I looked at the Haba one (man it's pricey) and decided to make a bendy dolly with clothes and various bits of bedding, a green needle felted pea (yeah, it's bigger than the princess's head, I guess she'll be feeling it under her duvet) a princess hat and of course an old beloved copy of the Ladybird book from my vast collection (cough, cough), I can spare it....

Esmé thought it was for her. And modelled it in it's special bag (like the fabric?!) for a long time.


This means I am now free to get on with my knitting. I love getting things finished, this princess and pea set has been hanging over my head for the longest time, and making me feel heavy with it's virtual, non existent (that was the problem) weight. So it's done and now I can hope to finish Esmé cardigan before Christmas. I feel so much lighter, phew. It's wonderful to finish something. Crazy since no one expected or asked me to make it, it was all a big constraint of my own making - it was all in my head, but oh so real. Weird and interesting that I do that.

I saw a huge splodge of jam (blood?) on the kitchen floor this morning and set about scrubbing it off (task and a half since the heat from the AGA had dried it on). Problem was it
looked like I had only washed one little spot, it really did and the rest of the tiles gleamed dully and mournfully at me, begging also to be cleaned, I obliged, and as doing so noticed for the millionth time (it felt) that my dh had trodden chicken shit in yet again. I ask many times for him to
easily use the other door sparing me the shit on the floor (the chickens have a yuck habit of hanging around by the kitchen door in hope of scraps) and yet I must just sound like a nagging drone because he obviously doesn't hear me (or ever wash the floor). And so my thoughts turn to divorce (in that crazy way they do when one is on their hands and knees cleaning up someone else's shit). But then I wonder, who will chop wood? How will I afford supplements (or even food come to that), or even where will I live? These superficial thoughts turn me back to the present moment and suddenly I don't mind scrubbing what is really only a
tiny bit of chicken shit, from the floor. In fact look! A whole clean floor, and Esmé didn't wreck the house whilst I was busy (true blue bonus)! The world is a sunnier place.
And I am very ridiculous because I actually do love this man who I share my life with. Without the wood chopping or supplements, living in a damp cave he'd make me happy. So what's a bit of chicken shit between friends?

Totally irrelevant, the boys looked like what non home educators think we look like all of the time, so I took a picture, just to prove.....? Er, we occasionally do? I dunno, it was unusual in any case.


Today Esmé liked her baskets, crayons and looking at the chickens.

