the scent of water

Fifteen

So every day
So every day
I was surrounded by the beautiful crying forth
of the ideas of God,
one of which was you

~Mary Oliver

 

Happy birthday,N., it's a privilege to know you. You're good people. xx

 

Houston, we have Pretzel

The children and I were sitting in the lounge watching Undercover Boss together, where the business in question was a soft pretzel franchise. Somebody, Iona I would guess, wondered if you could make such pretzels at home. They looked kind of yum. Nathan and I asked our friend Google, and before the programme was halfway through, we were melting butter and kneading bread in our very own mini pretzel factory.  

After the children went to bed I boiled those pretzel babies in baking soda water before baking. It's what gives them that characteristic dark brown colour, I believe. I also believe that if I close my eyes and wish real hard I can make bad things go away, so you may want to take that under advisement. The tradition is to use lye rather than baking soda, and on this occasion I was desperately keen to forgo tradition. 

I have no idea what they are supposed to look and taste like really, and I suppose there are a thousand subjective answers to that question anyway.  All I know it that fresh out of the oven, they are a revelation. I swear, I heard the Angels sing.

Recipe here. For the metrics among us, I used 60g butter.

Drawing a blank

With random photo.

The local bookshop was selling canvases for 60% off, so I bought three. One for me, one for Eilidh, and one for Iona. Iona, not one to spend too much time on any one activity, asked for a very small one. She painted a rabbit on a hill with a sunny blue background and declared herself very pleased indeed. There were some small tears along the way when she realised that painting thin outlines on a tiny canvas was a lot harder than anticipated, a situation not at all  helped by her Annoying Mother giving Useless Advice. 

Eilidh took a while to decide her subject matter, then announced she would paint the most amazing flower ever. Which first required drawing the most amazing flower ever, a feat that two weeks later is still just a few petals toward completion. Every stroke and erasure of stroke, and re-stroke, takes her further away from perfection. Her Annoying Mother decided to Stay Well Out of It.

My canvas sits in its plastic wrapping leaning against my bedroom wall. Leaning forlornly. A large 24" x 36", it is destined for the living room wall, and both its size and potential occupation have me running scared. I can fool myself that my previous two tiny paintings stuck on the back of the loo door are just a bit of fun, but 24" x 36" is serious. I see it every time I enter my bedroom, still the same old blank it was the last time I looked, still no Michelangelo-like revelations emanating from it on what it is supposed to be. To be fair I have never asked. I have asked my husband, but he didn't know either. I insisted he tell me something. Um, he said, um, a plant.

So. A blank it remains.

Family + Food

Eilidh's 'Felicity' looks a lot better on her than it does on the dog. Not a difficult feat to achieve, admittedly, but one I couldn't pull off. 

Whoopie pies. Meh. Not in love, not even in like, which probably has something to do with the fact they came from a box and tasted quite distinctly of box. They looked good enough to impress the children, though, which I am happy to call a win. Edible, schmedible.

Though Warren's sartorial style will ever remain in question.

A photo of my family taken on holiday something like six years ago.  I can't remember exactly. I can't remember a lot of things that I wish I had taken better notice of, been happier in the moment with. It's easy to look at a photo like this and to feel the nostalgic regret of those moments lost forever. To be desperate to return and do a much better job at appreciating what I had, and what I could have done with it.

But look how happy they seem.  How goddam beautiful they are. I could keep bringing the pain of the past into my present, and bury myself under that burden, or I could hunt out pockets of joy and bring them forward as a gift. To me, to them, to our future.

Those cheeky cheeks. Love them.

 

Or you could just take a photo and blog about it.

Nathan is quite certain that if Life hands you lemons, it would also need to hand you further ingredients if you were to make lemonade.  Like sugar, water, flavourings and preservatives. Lemons make lemon juice. Further, he would advise that if Life does in fact hand you lemons, you should hand them straight back, letting it know that you don't want any of its stinking, rotten lemons. Thank you very much.

Personally, it is my sincerely held belief that 14 year old boys should never be left alone in the company of a metaphor.  

Because I don't waste enough time already on the magic interwebs

And neither do you, I am sure. Just to add to my fun, now I can take photos of junk around the place and make pretty palettes out of them.

There are tons of palette generators around, I know nothing about any of them. This one is from Sherwin-Williams and you can add their 'chip it' button to your internet tool bar. In case you are perusing a particularly attractive picture of the concrete outside someone's van window she snapped one evening while waiting to pick her child up from dance lessons* and really want to decorate your living area those exact colours. 

 

*According to Eilidh, the yellow cover is a 'free-hit' sign and if she stands on it she is then allowed to punch me in the arm without repercussion. Darling child. And severely mistaken.

 

Free wishes

Go ahead, help yourself. I made sure there was enough for everyone.

In other news, my feet are cold, I need a cup of tea, and am working up the courage to finish cleaning Iona's bedroom. I asked if her if I could sort it out while she was away at camp. She wasn't thrilled. She knows my tendency to remove any and all things that resemble any and all clutter. But she supposed so. If I really want to. Only, she doesn't think I quite realise how messy it is?

God help me. I am fully aware. 

Ways I am a bad mother #234

Her afternoon tea. Plus mandarin. Let us not forget the mandarin.

Case rested.

Just in case my children ever accuse me of being a bad mother. I will nod my head gravely and I will say, Yes. This is probably true.  But look! I made cupcakes!