Wednesday, October 12, 2011

When Playdough goes Bad

A speed blog, 15 minutes before midnight, can she get in a Blogtober post for the 12th October? 

Lots of hide and seek going on here at the moment.  Little one said peekaboo 100 times to me in the car on my way to Melbourne today, ah surprise, you're still in your car seat sweet heart, fancy that.

Our house is currently adoring the sweet tunes of Elizabeth Mitchell.  The little one adds in our local birds - Wattle Bird, Watlle Bird, Magpie, Magpie.  Love it that the seven year old sings along too.

I was going to add a funny nit treatment picture hear but that would be a bit cruel on poor Bowerbird kidlet. Bad mummy, stop laughing at your children's misfortune. Do you ever laugh when your meant to be giving sympathy? I have to cover my mouth sometimes.

    Mummy this playdough feels a bit dry.

Yep, I don't think it's much good. 

More fun with spaghetti. 

OOOOh, even better with water! 

Making boats

 Painting with playdough

 Making play dough scene at the beach - sculpting wet sticky play dough.  We later added some sprinkles and the a little bit of soup mix, then finally, after hours of fun, we scraped it all up and popped it in the bin.  This play dough has lasted since Xmas and it was great to give it one final Hurrah before we ended it's days.

Big Bowerbird chick has been getting creative on our new chalk board. All three were fighting over space today so I introduced the tray and tin to the mix. Pics another day.

Raspberry and chocolate muffins for afternoon tea.

Done! With a few minutes to spare, please forgive any typos or nonsense.

Post 99 makes me feel all 80s.

Speaking of balloons, I am shamefully enjoying the Cadbury balloon Bubbles add. Sorry I'm waffling, should go to bed!

1 comment:

  1. How cute is the little one making her spaghetti dough boats! Ahh..99 posts..great cause for skipping on a dancing mat to music. Little one has the right idea. Congratulations. :)


In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.
Margaret Atwood

“She turned to the sunlight
And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbour:
"Winter is dead.”
― A.A. Milne, When We Were Very Young