~ last week I scraped the knuckles of one hand against our wood-panelled walls while carrying the laundry basket upstairs. They bled; I used the last plaster to stem the flow. I then scraped the knuckles of the other hand on our bedroom door, carrying the same basket. I look like I’ve been punching things. I haven’t.
~ I am also sporting a delightful burn on my inner arm after deciding to use said arm to support a very hot oven rack. Yeah. I’m a klutz.
~ it isn’t a wise idea for someone with a dairy intolerance to order a hot chocolate in a cafe. Nor is it wise to use that mug of chocolatey milk to wash down a cheese scone.
~ when we moved into our old house, we had two cabbage trees. We chopped one down, and there was much rejoicing. I spent the next three years whining about the leaves shed by the remaining tree (if you bundle 6-8 of the fallen fronds together and tie them with another, they make great kindling, FYI). At our new house…we have three cabbage trees. However, the positioning of them means I hardly notice the fallen leaves. Interesting. Or….not.
~ chicken flavoured crisps really don’t taste like chicken at all. At least salt & vinegar delivers what it says.
~ silence broken by birdsong is one of my favourite sounds. With two small, children, silence is rare around these parts, but Pickle is sleep-feeding in my arms while I type one-handed, and Tall is reading to himself. Bliss.