In The Mind Of A Four Year Old

Small fry can be a morbid little thing, as witnessed by her creative endeavors:





Exhibit A: a snowman with his head dropping off





Exhibit B: another snowman with his head almost dropping off with a snail on the lower left whose features are a little grotesque, specifically, according to small fry, with a big eye and a small eye.

Then again there's the more 'normal' aspect of her imagination:



Purple the cat, as drawn by Daddy with a purple fountain (purple squiggle) and a blue banana, both penned by small fry.




A black and pink crescent moon with the sun next to it. The purple squiggles is not the sun. That's the 'stuff' that the sun is hiding behind. The sun is that faint orange blot, which incidentally, was drawn on the reverse of the paper.

I'd like to see her in a graphic arts class one day; who knows what will spring forth from her psyche?

Hm, maybe I wouldn't like to find out.

Sunday Scribbles

Early on a Sunday morning, small fry waxes creative; her dancing name, her new stuffed cat, Purple and a black fountain grace the sheet of paper.





It still baffles me how a four year-old can be so energetic and wide awake at 7am on a Sunday. By 8am, while I was still dozing on the couch, she'd already had two breakfasts, taken a dump, read her chinese books and made several messes of her bookshelves, and turned the living room rug into a war zone of colouring pens and pencils.

As I write, she's making a mess of the guest room.

Thank goodness for weekdays and playschool.

Sewing Into The New Year

Time spent not on the blog is cobbling and sewing fabric together to make:


1. A pair of leg rests (poufs) for my parents:

Lovely fabric finally back in stock at Ikea

2. A bag for a friend who's just delivered:

Left side

Right side

3. A 'replacement' bag for sis (who's using the one I gave her more than a year ago, day in and day out for work without a single wash since):

This is nicer than even my own bag!

In the works: too many to mention and I have a way of leaving projects unfinished, so will not jinx myself and post only when done.

What It Would Look Like If They Danced

This is one of the various cards that small fry leaves around the house either for us to find or made specifically for us. You can just about make out her name written haphazardly over the card in no order whatsoever. Or rather, in this case, the letters of her name over the card.

I asked her why the letters of her name were not in order and all over the place.

"Oh, I think they're dancing, Mummy. See, they have music! The music is brown."

How do you argue with logic like that?