Sandcastle

From the beach its sandy walls rise,

Its turrents reach up to touch the skies.

A tiny moat dissolves the keep.

Its pavers are strong, though only two inches deep.

Tiny footprints embedded in the sand,

Where once a child there did stand.

Its grace and beauty a short time will last,

Before the sea washes it into the past.

Author Unknown

 

Was a bit of a fiddle (not quite as simple as I thought when I boldly announced that I would make one) it is now on the summer season table in the big girl's classroom at school.. what do you think?

A little seed

For me to sow...

A little earth

To make it grow...

A little hole.

A little pat...

A little wish,

And that is that.

A little sun,

A little shower,

A little while,

And then - a flower!

                           by Mabel Watts

I feel very clever, I made this pretty little hair clip last night, with a pattern from the purl bee. My pretty big daughter loves it, I love her.

My wee nephew

was born a couple of weeks ago. His parents invited me to his birth not I think so much as a witness but as a keeper of the space - to give encouragement and love (and if needed, to pull 'medical' clout so his mother could get on with the job of labouring and birthing). She did a fabulous job and we arrived at her chosen hospital an hour or so before he was born - just long enough to settle into the new space and start the hard work of pushing.
I loved watching this new babe unfurl from his mother.
I wept a little as my brother's big man hands reached down gingerly to catch his newborn as he slid into our world.
I couldn't supress my joy when his mother reached out for him and his arms reached back, fingers splayed, eyes wide open as if he was saying "Oh there you are"

This little ditty is an old favourite of mine, our new family member is a Sunday's child - Welcome little one.

Monday's child is fair of face,

Tuesday's child is full of grace,

Wednesday's child is full of woe,

Thursdays' child has far to go,

Friday's child is loving and giving,

Saturday's child works hard for a living,

But the child that is born on the Sabbath day,

Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.

Our big girl baked us bread the other night

It was wonderful.
She was watching a cooking show on television and when it was finished came running downstairs and asked me if I would just "google potato and rosemary bread" so I did and -
She mixed it and kneaded it, watched it rise and double in size. She punched it down - ahh she loved that bit. Then she made it look the way she wanted, popped it in the oven, and waited. Oh the smell of freshly baked bread.
She is very clever, my big girl - it was very good, still warm and spread with mustard and gobbled down with left over Christmas ham and pickly things.

You must not throw upon the floor

The bread you cannot eat,

For many a little hungry child

would think it quite a treat.

For wilful waste brings woeful want,

And you will live to say,

'Oh, how I wish I had that bread

That once I threw away.'

ANONYMOUS

This is an old rhyme used in a lighthearted way to smooth over meal-time mishaps. Variations are endless -

 'You must not rub into your hair

The porriage you cannot eat'...

Our old boy

Wilbur, was 17 years old this October just gone. He is a bit of a sad sack - always has been, we rescued him from the RSPCA when he was about six month old. He is a Russian Blue, very beautiful but not keen on people in general and especially not children.

Tonight as I sat with knitting on my lap (I'm up to the sleeves) he looked about for somewhere to sleep - and spied the only free lap to be that of a fidgity eight year old. Much to her surprise and delight he jumped up and then curled up on her little lap. She, recognising what special moment it was sat stock still for quite some time before gingerly reaching down to give his little chin a scratch - he purred and her heart was beating with joy. "mummy" she whispered "look who is sitting on me!"
I remember the joy of the first family cat I can recall finally loving me when I was small - he was grey too - Gunsynd was his name and oh how I did love him back.
So while I was sitting knitting and watching my girl get some loving from our old boy I remembered this poem and said little bits to myself as i knat. It was my gandmother's favourite, my mum likes it very much too...

Pinkle Purr

By A. A. Milne

Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,

A little black nothing of feet and fur;

And by and by, when his eyes came through,

He saw his mother, the big Tattoo.

And all that he learned he learned from her,

"I'll ask my mother," says Pinkle Purr.

Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,

A ridiculous kitten with silky fur.

And little black Pinkle grew and grew

Till he got as big as the big Tattoo.

And all he did he did with her.

"Two friends together," says Pinkle Purr.

Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,

An adventurous cat in a coat of fur.

And whenever he thought of a thing to do,

He didn't much bother about Tattoo.

For he knows it's nothing to do with her,

So "See you later," says Pinkle Purr.

Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,

An enormous leopard with coal-black fur.

A little brown kitten that's nearly new

Is now playing games with its big Tattoo...

And Pink looks lazily down at her:

"Dear little Tat," says Pinkle Purr.

A beautiful Blue Moon to welcome the New Year

The origin of the term "blue moon" is steeped in folklore, and its meaning has changed and acquired new nuances over time. Some folktales say that when there is a full blue moon, the moon has a face and talks to those in its light.

Historically, moons were given folk names, twelve each year, to help people to prepare for the related weather and crop needs. Names varied with locality and culture, often with descriptive names such as harvest moon, growing moon, snow moon, and egg moon. Most years have 12 moons (giving 12 names), but in the years with thirteen full moons the monthly "seasons" would be expected to come too early – for example, hens would not recommence laying their eggs by the fourth full moon since it was still too cold – so the early moon was named a "blue moon". This then re-aligned the rest of the year's moons and "seasons".

The last blue moon to shine on New Year's Eve was 19 years ago, in 1990.

The MoonPercy Bysshe Shelly

That orbid maiden, with white fire laden,

Whom mortals call the Moon,

Glides glimmering o'er my fleece like floor,

By the midnight breezes strewn.

*Blue moon info from here

i broke my ankle

this was a rather foolish thing to do BUT it does enforce some down time and there are a few little projects that want starting and finishing.

The big girl and I should get together and make clay 'sand castles' for our season table and her classroom one; they will also need sea horses and possibly mermaids. Oh and butterflies - summer must have butterflies.

I have a little jacket I have been knitting for my wee baby girl and if i don't finish that soon it won't fit! that is the problem with me and knitting and babies - babies grow!

So, a knitting rhyme or two...because I am knitting moss stitch and so you should know a rhyme for plain -

In through the front door,

once around the back,
out through the window,
and off jumps Jack.

and one for purl too -

Under the fence,
catch the sheep,
back we come,
off we leap!

Morning has come,

night is away,

rise with the sun and welcome the day.

Beatie Bow

I love my wee babes feet, they are just the most divine little bony bits. My big girl's piano teacher says this wee one not only has piano fingers but piano toes too.
Anyway a little toe rhyme to get my blog moving...

(grasp hold of each toe and wiggle as you go... might even get a giggle)
Beatie Bow, big toe
Mrs Moore, next door
Solomon Riddle in the middle
Lucky Jim next to him
and last of all, curled up, baby small.