Monthly Archives: January 2012

Clothes thief.

After having two girls and a mountain of fairy costumes, I think it may be time to invest in some more dressing up outfits…..well, Evie has always wanted to be a cowgirl you know…..

Monday drudgery.

Nothing like a grey Monday in January to suck the enthusiasm out of you.
Someone slap this melancholy out of me.

Holy Smoke!

Thought my cooking smelt funny.
My oven glove got too close for comfort.

Bouncy bouncy.

On the bouncy castle!

Soggy.

Soggy.
And cold too.

Blondes have more fun.

Blondes have more fun.
Don’t they Barbie?

In Training.

Bonnie’s training is going well. Nothing she won’t do for a biscuit.

Go to bed with a story.

Big Boots.

But trying to fill them!

Room for improvement.

I have lost count how many times a day I tidy up but the maelstrom follows in my wake.

The Boy Can sing.

Gruff has discovered singing and he loves it!

The Dogs on my Street.

Back by overwhelming public demand, here are a few canine characters I know.

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I saw a cat.

Guinevere and Lancelot.

I’ve had Guinevere and Lancelot all afternoon.

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Test Card.

Doodlemum is having a hormonal meltdown. Normal service will be resumed soon.

Ripping Yarns (Part 4) Born This Way.

Step into Evie’s mind, if you dare…

Dog-Chair

Very comfy. Gruff has no preference to using the cat either….but the cat does.

The Helmet.

Gruff’s got a new helmet. It’s brilliant.

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Toothbrushes.

The Swansea Tea Party.

On no account are boys or dogs allowed.

Sardines.

I’m just glad the cat decided not to join in…

Growth Spurt.

They all woke up looking bigger this morning…how did that happen?

Ripping Yarns (Part3 – Millie’s Revenge)

Get Dressed for Battle.

It’s hard work dressing you know…


Cowgirl.

Evie has now decided she would like to be a cowgirl when she grows up.
She would like to go to cowgirl school and learn about what cowgirls do.
I wonder if there’s a Haynes manual on this?

Spot the Ball.

Art School.

Squeaky Squirrel.

Bonnie had a squeaky squirrel for Christmas, here is the story of it’s demise.

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