Farewell then, 2009. Next year the girls hit double figures and turn 10, the age at which children generally (so we’re told) stop putting marshmallows up their noses.
I’m not sure if I’m feeling relieved or nostalgic right now.
Archive for the 'Pictures' Category
They’re right: things look somehow better in 3D.
The girls have recently devised an ingenious classification system for chins. Frankly I’m wondering how we as a species have come so far without it.
Pinch your chin between your thumb and forefinger. If it forms a cleft, you’re a Baby’s Bottom. If it just sort of bulges out, you’re a Fat Cherry. For some reason the Baby’s Bottom seems the desirable chin-type to have, to the point where the Hannah and Lauren will carefully create a chin-cleft with another finger before submitting for official adjudication. Although interestingly, anyone else caught trying the same thing is clearly the worst kind of chin criminal and is instantly branded a Fat Cherry.
Here are the results from our family. So, what kind of chin is yours?
There’s a reason this blog is pink. I wonder if you can work out what it is whilst looking at this photo of Hannah and Lauren decorating their bedroom today…
GO!
Hannah and Lauren are on school holidays this week so today, in a break from preparing to decorate their bedroom pink, we made some milkshake. (Are you perhaps seeing a colour theme developing here?)
The girls had to hold still while I fussed with my camera for ages, so by the time I was ready and said “Go!” they drained the glass in under ten seconds.
The King awoke one morning to the sound of great commotion coming from the drawing room beneath his bedchamber.
“Oh bother,” thought the King, “whatever can be the matter?” And without further ado he swung his legs out of the bed, slid them into his royal slippers and reached for his royal dressing gown.
On entering the drawing room the King was confronted with the most distressing of scenes. The Queen was sat between the two Princesses, both of whom were a-wailing and a-howling as if the sky had just fallen down. The poor Queen was trying to calm them with kind words, but seemingly to no avail. “Things break, my darlings,” she was explaining to her daughters as the King entered the scene, “things always break.”
“Now then!” announced the King gruffly (for there was little that pleased the King less than being roused from his slumber by the silliness of his Princesses), “what in heaven can have caused such a terrible hullabaloo?”
“Oh Papa,” cried one of the Princesses, whose name was Lauren, “our shoes, Papa!” She was scarce able to speak through a face that was a veritable mask of misery and mucus. “Look at our shoes!”
The King cast his glance in the direction of Princess Lauren’s outstretched finger and there he beheld two pairs of little dancing shoes, each shoe in the most wretched state of disrepair. He crouched down to inspect them at closer quarters.
“And pray what,” he inquired at length, “has turned your little Highnesses’ royal shoes to such sorry, ruined articles, as might be found in any of the paupers’ houses down in the village?”
There was a pause and then the other Princess, whose name was Hannah, said quietly, “Dancing, Papa. Too much dancing.”
The King thought for a moment. As a ruler he was feared throughout his Kingdom, but he had rather a soft spot for his little Princesses, and he had to admit, their dancing did always seem to fill his heart with the lightest and warmest of feelings.
“Tell me,” he said to the Queen, “does not the merchant in the village, Mr Tesco, sell dancing shoes?”
“I believe he does, my dear,” replied the Queen, but behind her the two little Princesses were nodding so vigorously that the King could tell at once that the answer was beyond doubt.
“And please, Papa,” said Princess Hannah, “I believe that Mr Disney in the centre of Trafford also sells the most beautiful dancing shoes!”
“Yes,” chimed her sister, “at eight ducats a pair!”
“Eight ducats?!” exclaimed the King. “Do you believe me to be made of money? Perhaps you fancy that, when I turn the tap in my bathroom of a morning, it is not water that flows forth from it but ducats!”
The Princesses went rather quiet again. “Well my dear,” said the Queen, “you are the King.”
“Very well,” sighed the King, “so be it. Have one of the servants ride down to the village and inquire at the premises of Mr Tesco and Mr Disney about new dancing shoes.”
But his pronouncement was not met with the joy the King had expected. Indeed, he had rarely in life seen a threesome of more downcast faces.
“But my dear,” said the Queen, “we have no servants.”
“No servants?!” roared the King. “What madness is this? I am the King!”
The Queen responded with an embarrassed shrug.
“Very well,” said the King, “in that case fetch my valet, Richards. He will not receive the news at all well, but Richards will have to ride down to the village to fetch the shoes.”
“Richards does not exist, my dear,” said the Queen, scarcely meeting his eye. “He is a mere figment of your imagination.”
The King looked about him in sheer astonishment. He was beginning to wonder if he had indeed been woken up at all this morning, or whether he was in fact still in his warm feather bed in the grip of some horrendous night fright. He rubbed his eyes and pinched himself firmly on his royal rump, but alas, none of it seemed to alter the situation. At length he groaned in despair.
“I can see I have no choice,” he grumbled. “Princesses, dress yourselves promptly. I shall ride you into the village myself, to the premises of Mr Tesco and, if need be, Mr Disney.”
And there was great rejoicing.
Hannah and Lauren established a revolutionary Pregnancy Post Office in our living room today. It’s like a normal Post Office, but where the postmistress (Hannah) is also a trained midwife. It’s the kind of diversity I feel all Britain’s post offices have been crying out for.
Two conversations overheard this morning. First, Before:
Lauren (on toy mobile phone): Hi, is that Hannah?
Hannah (also on toy mobile phone, about 1 foot away): Yes
Lauren: Are you a nurse as well?
Hannah: Yeah, I am actually.
Lauren: Good, ’cause I need your help. I’m having a baby!
Hannah: OK. When’s it due?
[Thud of Lauren hitting the floor]
Lauren: RIGHT NOW!!
And then, After:
Hannah: There you go, there’s your little baby.
Lauren: Is it a boy or a girl?
Hannah: Er… well, it’s just a baby really.
I’m beginning to doubt this postmistress’s obstetric qualifications.
It’s been a long time coming, but toothlessness has now come to visit, and it’s looking like it’ll be a long stay. Lauren’s currently ahead with 3 out, but Hannah’s got some great “wobblers” in there so she’s bound to catch up.
For the record, the first tooth to come out was Lauren’s bottom right one, on 1 June 2007 – aged 6 years, 9 months and 23 days. 
This year’s April Fools’ Day prank:
Unfortunately I forgot to blog it until 2 April. Still… erm… April Fool!
Scenes from this year’s Gingerbread Olympics, taking place in our dining room, just after tea. First the swimming event, then the diving.
This, as you can undoubtedly tell, is Hannah’s sound picture:
Click on it for the full story!
All quiet on the blog front lately, but I’m sure it won’t be long before the girls catch me in a creative mood again.
In the meantime, here’s a montage of photos of their latest obsession, Jenga. They discovered it while we were visiting friends on a rainy Sunday afternoon last week and have been hooked ever since. (They also fell in love with Scrabble, but being less of a physical sport I didn’t take any photos of that.)
I’ve submitted one of my family photos to a competition in JPG Magazine. Entries are put to the vote, with winners appearing in print and their creators showered with lovely prizes!
So, if you have the time and energy (and you like the photo!) please click on the picture below. I believe you may need to register in order to vote, but doing so is free of charge and very simple. All votes will be very gratefully received!
We appear to have a serious mouse infestation this morning. Worse still, there’s no sign of the costumes we just finished making for Lauren and Hannah’s school play, The Night Before Christmas.
Does anyone have any tips for dealing with this kind of pest issue, especially when they start striking poses in front of cameras?
This is a photo taken earlier today of Hannah and Lauren’s easels in our dining room:
(You can see a bigger version here.)
The girls doodle on their easels after most meals but as you can see the central theme doesn’t vary much.
I wonder if anyone can answer the following questions:
(a) Which is Hannah’s easel and which is Lauren’s?
(b) Where are the three pictures of me? (Warning: this one’s tricky.)
(c) How many weddings are depicted?
(d) How many women can you count with long hair?
(e) How many high-heeled shoes?
I only know the answers to a, b and c. I’ll take your word on d and e.
(Flickr users can also leave notes and comments here.)