FEAT. socks

So ... I bought husband some socks for his birthday last month. Amongst other things okay? Sheez.

I bought him some fancy-pants socks from Feat. sock co. - a wee bamboo/cotton blend nod to hipsterville and all that he ain't.
His birthday was in mid-July, and last week I noticed one of the socks had a hole in the toe.

So I thought what the heck, and sent them a mail kindly inquiring whether they'd send someone round to darn it?
That was on Friday.
On Monday replacements were hand-delivered to our front door.

Considering he wears biker boots all day they gently suggested he try some from their more rugged cotton/nylon blend range. Probably not a bad plan.

I like this kind of service. I like supporting local brands who take this kind of pride in their reputation. I even like their little sock movie (how cute are those scallop-edged socks for girls?).

And I thought seeing as I have a modest public platform here, I'd thank them publicly. Thanks Feat!

daddy play dough

This is what happens when Daddy gets asked to make play dough.

Have I mentioned how much we love play dough?

always be a unicorn

Last week Friday turned 6. I think I gloated enough about the wonderful child she is here, so I'll just say this:

She is magnificent.



The awe and wonder on her face here is magnificent.

Also, how could it not be when presented with this?

And playing through our heads the whole time last Friday evening, after a morning in hospital with the grommets, and at the tail end of a super busy week, as Husband flexed his exceptional icing skills and I painted plastic unicorns silver and filled ice cream cones with sweets and hung streamers and packaged the last of those %!&## fizz balls ...

Always be a unicorn my sweet girl!

on father's day

I'm grateful that my father is such a big part of my life.

That he lives close by, that he loves unconditionally, that he makes me laugh, that I learn something new every time I see him and that he loves his granddaughters with insight and humour and absolute joy.

And these days, especially on Father's Day, I am grateful that my girls have a father - who is present, responsible, who loves them unconditionally, who makes them laugh, teaches them stuff, who is intuitive, inventive, patient, supportive, firm and ridiculously affectionate.

Long may they have him in their lives, and may they appreciate his presence every day.

On Father's Day I take a moment to think of all those women, strangers and friends, who are doing this amazingly huge job on their own. And for all those people,who no longer have a Dad in their lives.

Thank you Dad, and you husband-guy - thank for being here.

baby you can drive my ...

Husband roped us all into visiting the Classic Car & Bike Show yesterday. Poor son-less man ...

It was great though, I love me some enthusiasts. Clusters of elderly gentlemen on fold-out chairs in the shade, swopping tales of restorations and daring adventure. Sharing laughs and memories.
Even more endearing, the young guys hovering near them, tapping into the wealth of experience, no doubt liberally seasoned with some old-fashioned BS.

Timour Hall was an appropriately stately venue, it was a coolish day (for a change) and I had the best ice coffee of my life.

We each picked a favourite vehicle to take home.

Husband's was this Austin Healey. Just the thought of him driving it gets my motor racing.

We chose this Piaggio Vespa for Sunday, reckoning I could run her to school and back in it to start, and later it'll do well for her and a friend. Or a puppy?

My choice surprised me as much as anyone. But it was love at first sight. 1972 Ducati in red & white.
Yes. Please.

But Friday still had no wheels. She was resigning herself to riding side-car with Sunday until, as we slowly started our way back home, we came across a corner of the show as yet unexplored. And there she found her.
The car she'll be dreaming of for the rest of her life.

Nothing speaks to a child of the Hello Kitty generation quite like a PINK Citroën 2 CV.
We had to drag her away.

by any other name

Friday calls her Dad by his first name.

She calls me Mum, or Mummy, or sometimes Mama, but he is always Charl.

'Mum! Charl! Let's go this way!', echoes through the forest on a Sunday morning.  
'Mum, Charl suggested we have a chocolate biscuit now.' Oh really?

I think it's kinda cute but he doesn't really like it.
'Clearly you're the Mum,' he says, 'but people must think I'm just the boyfriend.'

We buy our veggies on a Saturday from an old guy who comes round in his bakkie, Yunis. His kids, married with kids of their own, still call him Daddy.
'Doesn't it bug you when she calls you that?' he asks Charl one morning.
And it does a bit.

I'm fond of it 'cos that's what I call him, and I reckon she'll outgrow it eventually.

And I like to remind him it could be worse. A friend's kid when she was this age used to call him Michelle.

What do your kids call you?