budding hair stylist

Caught Owen at the mirror. Not sure he was satisfied with the final style though - or perhaps to be caught on film was not what he expected:)

us

Us, recently.... just in case you thought we all caught a nasty virus and died;) after not blogging for so long...

Pancake Pals

Rosa spotted this recipe in big brother's recipe book and asked if we could make them...

The creative cooks set to work - taking turns to mix and add ingredients ....

I thought the finished products were quite well presented (we didn't have strawberries so we substituted red capsicum;) kind of unusual but kids didn't mind...

Bonn Appetit little junior chefs:)

A Mamma for Owen

How could I resist such a book when I spotted it in our library? I knew Owen would recognise his name on the cover. I wasn't disappointed:)

Nice to read together while Owen is having some "low-key" (whatever that means to an active 8yr old:) time after surgery (Owen had surgery to take his pacemaker out and put a new one in this past Wednesday).

Here is the true story the book is based on:

The story of Owen and a giant tortoise named Mzee, which means "old man" in Swahili, is a true one. Owen was rescued by the Kenya Wildlife Service and local fisherman after the hippopotamus and his family were washed down the Sabaki River by a flood and he was brought back to shore by a tsunami wave. Owen was less than a year old - hippopotamus calves ordinarly stay with their mothers for four years - and no-one could find his mother. So they brought him to Haller Park, a nature preserve outside of Mombasa. There the lovely young hippo chose Mzee, a 130 year old male tortoise, to be his mother; and Mzee doesn't seem to mind one bit.

I decided to have a peek on Youtube to see if we could see a baby hippo and found Owen and Mzee photo slides! Fun ! Definitely a recommendation from the Campbells!

Grandmas that spoil!

Gotta love Grandmas! Rosa's recent diary entry:

More projects

Recent projects:

Finally got the owl pictures I made on the wall!! I made these donkeys years ago and they have been sitting in the cupboard. With the kids all at Grandma's house this morning, a perfect opportunity arose! YAY! Just something about getting those little jobs done!

I made these little owls from small pieces of scrapbooking paper. The background is simply the old trick (I learned at school) of shaving pencils and rubbing the coloured shavings around to get that fuzzy effect. My only real disappointment was that the double sided tape I used under parts of the owl kind of showed through over time. Never mind - hoping no one will look too closely;)

Unless of course I put it on my blog;)

Then there was something about this quilt edge that just didn't sit right with me. I know, I'm funny like that;) Just didn't like that shiny edge. I just don't get the whole shiny thing... Maybe it reminded me of a baby blanket? Probably more likely some ugly quilt cover I had on me when I was a kid t

hat just gave me the shivers;) At any rate it had to go...

Before:

and After:

I just gathered scraps of fabric from various projects I've made, sewed them all together (with no particular pattern) and made them into a border for the quilt (just went right over the top)

Not sure it would pass quilting class but it did away with the shiny granny edge!

Only problem is I now have to scrape up enough scraps (and time) to do the matching type edge for Owen ...

And ironically... just as an after thought... only about 30 min. after taking this photo it was vomited all over by poor Rosa... seems she and Josh have come down with something...

So I guess my next project is to wash the said quilt:)

The exciting new method for washing dishes (no kidding!)

I have recently found a more interesting way to wash my dishes. The dishes still mount. They are still as high and as dirty as ever. But I have found that if I wait until the kids are in bed (and hopefully don't need anything else:) then grab my trusty computer, balance it carefully on the highchair near the sink (far enough away so as not to catch any splashes of water:) and put on a sermon tape - BINGO the dishes disappear and I forget I am even doing them! What's more I have enjoyed learning something useful instead of thinking over lists of what I have to do the next day!

Here is an illustration that was given at the end of the sermon which I enjoyed:

by Walter Wangerin, Jr.

I saw a strange sight. I stumbled upon a story most strange, like nothing my life, my street sense, my sly tongue had ever prepared me for.

Hush, child. Hush, now, and I will tell it to you.

Even before the dawn one Friday morning I noticed a young man, handsome and strong, walking the alleys of our City. He was pulling an old cart filled with clothes both bright and new, and he was calling in a clear, tenor voice: “Rags!” Ah, the air was foul and the first light filthy to be crossed by such sweet music.

“Rags! New rags for old! I take your tired rags! Rags!”

“Now, this is a wonder,” I thought to myself, for the man stood six-feet-four, and his arms were like tree limbs, hard and muscular, and his eyes flashed intelligence. Could he find no better job than this, to be a ragman in the inner city?

I followed him. My curiosity drove me. And I wasn’t disappointed.

Soon the Ragman saw a woman sitting on her back porch. She was sobbing into a handkerchief, sighing, and shedding a thousand tears. Her knees and elbows made a sad X. Her shoulders shook. Her heart was breaking.

The Ragman stopped his cart. Quietly, he walked to the woman, stepping round tin cans, dead toys, and Pampers.

“Give me your rag,” he said so gently, “and I’ll give you another.”

He slipped the handkerchief from her eyes. She looked up, and he laid across her palm a linen cloth so clean and new that it shined. She blinked from the gift to the giver.

Then, as he began to pull his cart again, the Ragman did a strange thing: he put her stained handkerchief to his own face; and then HE began to weep, to sob as grievously as she had done, his shoulders shaking. Yet she was left without a tear.

“This IS a wonder,” I breathed to myself, and I followed the sobbing Ragman like a child who cannot turn away from mystery.

“Rags! Rags! New rags for old!”

In a little while, when the sky showed grey behind the rooftops and I could see the shredded curtains hanging out black windows, the Ragman came upon a girl whose head was wrapped in a bandage, whose eyes were empty. Blood soaked her bandage. A single line of blood ran down her cheek.

Now the tall Ragman looked upon this child with pity, and he drew a lovely yellow bonnet from his cart.

“Give me your rag,” he said, tracing his own line on her cheek, “and I’ll give you mine.”

The child could only gaze at him while he loosened the bandage, removed it, and tied it to his own head. The bonnet he set on hers. And I gasped at what I saw: for with the bandage went the wound! Against his brow it ran a darker, more substantial blood – his own!

“Rags! Rags! I take old rags!” cried the sobbing, bleeding, strong, intelligent Ragman.

The sun hurt both the sky, now, and my eyes; the Ragman seemed more and more to hurry.

“Are you going to work?” he asked a man who leaned against a telephone pole. The man shook his head.

The Ragman pressed him: “Do you have a job?”

“Are you crazy?” sneered the other. He pulled away from the pole, revealing the right sleeve of his jacket – flat, the cuff stuffed into the pocket. He had no arm.

“So,” said the Ragman. “Give me your jacket, and I’ll give you mine.”

Such quiet authority in his voice!

The one-armed man took off his jacket. So did the Ragman – and I trembled at what I saw: for the Ragman’s arm stayed in its sleeve, and when the other put it on he had two good arms, thick as tree limbs; but the Ragman had only one.

“Go to work,” he said.

After that he found a drunk, lying unconscious beneath an army blanket, and old man, hunched, wizened, and sick. He took that blanket and wrapped it round himself, but for the drunk he left new clothes.

And now I had to run to keep up with the Ragman. Though he was weeping uncontrollably, and bleeding freely at the forehead, pulling his cart with one arm, stumbling for drunkenness, falling again and again, exhausted, old, old, and sick, yet he went with terrible speed. On spider’s legs he skittered through the alleys of the City, this mile and the next, until he came to its limits, and then he rushed beyond.

I wept to see the change in this man. I hurt to see his sorrow. And yet I needed to see where he was going in such haste, perhaps to know what drove him so.

The little old Ragman – he came to a landfill. He came to the garbage pits. And then I wanted to help him in what he did, but I hung back, hiding. He climbed a hill. With tormented labor he cleared a little space on that hill. Then he sighed. He lay down. He pillowed his head on a handkerchief and a jacket. He covered his bones with an army blanket. And he died.

Oh, how I cried to witness that death! I slumped in a junked car and wailed and mourned as one who has no hope – because I had come to love the Ragman. Every other face had faded in the wonder of this man, and I cherished him; but he died. I sobbed myself to sleep.

I did not know – how could I know? – that I slept through Friday night and Saturday and its night, too.

But then, on Sunday morning, I was wakened by a violence.

Light – pure, hard, demanding light – slammed against my sour face, and I blinked, and I looked, and I saw the last and the first wonder of all. There was the Ragman, folding the blanket most carefully, a scar on his forehead, but alive! And, besides that, healthy! There was no sign of sorrow nor of age, and all the rags that he had gathered shined for cleanliness.

Well, then I lowered my head and trembling for all that I had seen, I myself walked up to the Ragman. I told him my name with shame, for I was a sorry figure next to him. Then I took off all my clothes in that place, and I said to him with dear yearning in my voice: “Dress me.”

He dressed me. My Lord, he put new rags on me, and I am a wonder beside him. The Ragman, the Ragman, the Christ!

Pride and Belittling

My dear hubby recently bought me a little book "Amy Carmichael, Come Quietly to Meet You" .

When I manage to sneak a minute to sit down and read (and oh, what a blessing these rainy days have been;) I am always left challenged.

Take this challenging devotional titled "If I Belittle"

If in any way,... I belittle those I am called to serve

If I talk of their weak points in contrast, perhaps with what I think of as my stronger points... if I adopt a superior attitude, forgetting to consider the wisdom of the voice that asks me, inwardly, "Who made you different from the one you are criticizing- and what do you have that you have not been given?"... if I can easily discuss the shortcomings or the sins of any man or woman...if I can speak in an off-handed way, even of a child's wrongdoings... then I know nothing of Calvary love

This makes me gulp, read again and again and... well re-examine myself (only to find myself guilty - take for example my sighing and groaning over my children's wrongdoing to get me started... )

And then my brother kindly shared a Bible Story for evening devotions with our children over video skype on Sat. - the pride of Namaan (2Kings5) and his unwillingness to follow a simple instruction to wash in the Jordan (which was a little too dirty, too humbling for a Syrian high and mighty)...

(Would you believe it is the same sermon our pastor asked me to do a chalk drawing for to accompany his sermon this Sunday)

Pride - how very easily it creeps in. How easily I can let it take control of my attitudes...

Oh but I do know Calvary's love - but let me know it more!

Upcycling

Recently I turned this ugly fella (colours do look a little warmer than photo showed)...

Now I hope you are not offended that I cut this jacket up:)

Into this. Ok the baby is the cute part... Fits him perfectly and keeps his lil' chest warm.

Took me about 1 1/2 hours from start (adusting vest pattern I had) to finish. And that included hand stitching because I wanted the edge to be neat.

I used the lining that was already inside the jacket. Because I added the edging I didn't have to even turn the fabric inside-out. Just stitched shoulders and sides then added trim and one button on front. Ok. I admit I am NOT a perfectionist so I wouldn't want you to see my fast stitching inside but for me it works.

Am happy to send anyone a pattern (this one is size 0 but I could easily adjust other sizes up to size 6. I think....) if you wish.

I think I could actually make two more from the one jacket. Would be fun to try one from an old sweater.../patchwork of different fabrics...

Five books that changed who I am

I have been tagged in Cath's blog to list Five books that changed who I am.

Hmmm... very hard but I think these are the five I would choose (may think differently tomorrow (bar the first one)... I'm like that....:(

1. Yes, of course the Bible takes no. 1. I think in particular Simon Peter's words in John 6:68 "Lord to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life" have been life changing for me. Also just love to read verse after verse connecting the fulfilment of OT prophecies in the NT. Love the overall theme of God's Salvation - the BIG picture... it is most life changing!

2. Stepping Heavenward by Elizabeth Prentiss. I was given this book at the baby shower for our first bubs (now 10!) and have read it a few times.Hey, isn't it so sweet when someone thinks of presenting the Mum with a gift at a baby shower - was touched by this before I even read the book:)

This book is a tear jerker for me. I just can't get away from how it demonstrates sacrifice and the depth of Christianity at work in the daily (female) grind of life. I love it. But it can make me mad:)

3. Battle for Truth by David Noebel. I like the big thick edition:) This book changed my way of thinking. When I was studying for a Bachelor of Education I knew there was a lot of rubbish in many of the subjects at Uni. A lot of humanistic teaching. My big sister was given the said book from Dad. I think she invited me to read it. I did (well not in great depth because I am a bit lazy). It was an eye opener. I could see that every single subject I studied at Uni had these core philosophies at their base. I was shocked. I needed to be.

4. A Woman after God's own heart by Elizabeth George. Most of the books I have come to love have been given/recommended to me by someone special. This one especially. When in the Czech Republic teaching English and working with some missionary friends I came to love the Smith family who worked there. As I watched Sonya Smith's life I was personally challenged. I discovered she was reading many of Elizabeth George's books which got me hooked. I love the author's sweet way of wooing the reader into serving their family in a Godly way. I have read other books re. women serving their families that stand out as better books but these ones were more life changing for me because of my friend, Sonya and the way I watched her serve her family so patiently, calmly and sacrificially...

5. The Young Peacemaker by Corlette Sande. This is something we have just started using as a family. I am desperately hoping it will change who I am/how I teach my children to make peace:) I pray it will. We are not naturally peacemakers:) I hope that is ok- can I kind of change the title to books I hope will change who I am?

So I would like to tag Angela, Evonne and Anya (are you still in blog land Anya?)

If you want to do this:

Tag 3-5 people

Call the post '5 books that changed who I am'

Enjoy

What I do

Pictures of Tuesday 31st of May. WARNING. Not glamorous.

What I do:

Wash.

Delegate.

Remind.

Drive

Fix cars. (well pick up the parts, anyway)

Usher in visitors. Glamorous part of my day (visitors that is - NOT my house:)

clean bath scum.

teach.

comfort (at least try to)

Provide nourishment.

Read about heffalumps.

Manage landscape assistants.

Provide opportunities for a budding pastry chef.

cook.

Reassure, assist, (whatever it takes)...

Wash.

Read myself.

Put on P'Js. Chat to hubby about all of the above. Sleep. soundly.

With slight variation I think when I wake up tomorrow it will probably be the same:) all over again. Sigh....

It's what I do. Though tiring, patience-testing, energy-sapping...emotion draining, at times plain brain -depleting and downright toxic!....

I am truly blessed.