Having complained about doing this one's hair for the last seven years, I'm starting to feel myself saddened by the fact that after this week I will never again tame her long locks for school.
With Christmas fairs, presentations, learning celebration days and break-ups filling this week for us, it's difficult to find time for the 'really important' jobs that need doing this time of year.
Smoking hams for one,
... and bacon, for two.
Two smokers working this past Sunday, our smoke not comparing with that of the grass fires raging to our north.
our sunsets still slightly tainted by the same.
Our current sport of choice is
Every available piece of cement covered in lines,
Sally taking her job of linesman quite seriously.
Losers have to take washing off the line. My abilities (or lack thereof) make me a popular playing opponent, in turn I spend a fair amount of time at the clothes line.
The archer in the family is fine-tuning his skills,
all but one of his original arrows broken, since replaced with aluminium, a heads-up to Santa if delivering bows and arrows to small boys this season.
The molasses tank is empty. This last load delivered to girls last week not lasting long.
Molasses is no longer available, all consigned overseas. Mr Truss has advised a release of 6000 T (which won't stretch far) and I have developed a close relationship with our supplier Fred who I speak to daily. Fred's thick Dutch (?) accent difficult to understand, though the "No, no Molasses today" is clear enough. If predicted rain at the end of this week doesn't eventuate a new plan of attack will be employed, just not exactly certain what that may be at this stage.
Wallace procured a new toy at yesterday's school Christmas markets. Spying the life-sized turtle on Hughie's 'trash'n'treasure' table, I thought to myself, if there's one thing here I don't want coming home with us, that's it.
Surprise. Apparently a bargain too good to resist.
Presentation Night tonight.
Fun day tomorrow.
Bring on Friday.