Art Battle

Just participated in my fourth Art Battle, this time in Toronto at the Great Hall. It is 100% pure excitement just to watch and even more so to participate. I have been lucky so far to always reach the final round, keep your fingers crossed that I win it sometime soon!

Have to thank the Art Battle team (and founders) for providing artists with such a great opportunity to push ourselves to higher levels, share our work (and yes even sell!!) as well as get some great exposure. If you haven’t attended a battle yet check out their Facebook page or Website to find an event near you, you will not regret it!

 

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Free Range Versus Caged….Kids

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Which ones look happier and healthier?

Life would be so much easier for all of us if everyone just took a balanced approach to things. But no everything has to be extreme, exaggerated and sensationalized. Like the shock of the year; parents who let their kids walk home from school alone.  The police picked these children up and then punished the parents by keeping their kids for hours with the Child Protective Services (CPS).  The CPS decided the parents are guilty of unsubstantiated neglect.  And of course we should not suspect them of having some ulterior motive even with all the scary stories of legal and medical kidnapping going around. Human trafficking in a prettier package is acceptable apparently.  Don’t know why there isn’t more noise about this instead of kids walking home from the park.

So if you let your ten year old go to the park alone, you can get in trouble. But the law gives your seventeen-year-old, and in some places sixteen-year-old, the right to leave home if they feel like it? Confused teens (with raging hormones) that make bad decisions, should be allowed to leave their parent’s protection for something stupid, like say not wanting to do chores?  Yeah that makes a lot of sense because shelters would be far better than parents.

Free range parenting, with just enough helicoptering to make sure the kids are safe from any extreme danger, would be ideal.  But Helicopter parents would probably faint at the idea of letting the kids walk home themselves or lighting sparklers in the backyard. If we look at today’s kids we find all sorts of problems that might be solved from going to the park on their own more often.  How about obesity? Kids who aren’t in the park are sitting at home in front of the television or tablet or what not gadget and munching and watching and munching and playing and munching and chatting. Turn off the damn wi-fi and send those kids off to the park.

Paranoid, depressed, moody kids.  These kids don’t ride bikes, or skateboards or go dig up earthworms. They do watch the stupidest shows ever created, that have nothing to do with reality (although they claim otherwise)and glamorize being bitchy and mean. Or they have perfectly chalked out schedules in which they have no free time to just be kids. They are too busy with ballet, then piano, then lessons for something unpronounceable.  No wonder kids are so depressed these days.  Give them a couple of bucks, tell them to go buy some seeds and grow a vegetable garden or buy some fishing line and a hook then go down to the river to catch dinner. Or just hand them an (uncut-no they won’t choke on it!) apple to eat on their way to the park.

Besides all this Helicopter parents have the horrible habit of doing everything for their kids. As if everything needs to be done perfectly all the time. Just let the kids do it themselves and actually use their brains, it’s good exercise for them! They can do their homework themselves. Then go to the park. They can clean their rooms themselves. Then go to the park. They can make their own snacks. Then go to the park!

When we were kids we would be out all day climbing trees, riding bikes and yes just walking around town. We were just as likely to be kidnapped or killed in accidents as our kids. In fact if you look at stats (here and here) our kids are actually safer than we were.  Our parents taught us to be careful then let us out of their sight. They had a couple of hours of peace and we had hours of fun. The result?  Happy parents and happy (active) kids. So how about we let our kids be kids and enjoy their childhood while they still have one? (Although we have made such a mess of it that we may have to force them to just go be kids!)

(pics from News Track Live and Before It’s News)

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Family Dinner Discussions: How to talk about politics, drugs, poop and bad jokes.

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Dinner time and weekend breakfasts are great. When you all sit and eat and talk about stuff together. With all the kids there. My kids have grown older so they spend less time with me now. Or should I say I no longer have some small child clinging to my ankles crying its little head off because the cookies are finished or the cat is sleeping or unicorns aren’t real. I know a time is coming when I will actually miss that.

That going crazy trying to cook and clean and feed and do laundry, all with kids fighting and crying and lacing themselves up around my shins. Ok I guess it won’t be too soon that I will miss all that because every time I see a pregnant woman I drop down to my knees and shout “Hallelujah that’s not me!” I do love my kids though.

Which is why eating together is great. You know food, talk, love blah blah blah. Food is an excellent catalyst when it comes to loosening up tongues and inhibitions. We talk about everything at the dinner table. From politics to lame celebrity news to drugs and farting. We use language that would be otherwise frowned upon, but food just makes everything ok.

A couple of days ago we were eating when one of my teenagers commented about weed. I have learned so much about weed since my annoying inbetweeners became teenagers. For example I had no idea you could make weed brownies. Not that I am planning to or anything. But I feel quite appropriately enlightened. My seven year old twins know what weed smells like. I always thought it was a skunk gone haywire somewhere. This was good motivation to convince the kids that anything that smells that bad can’t be good. They have assured my they won’t smoke it. I have assured them I won’t always be around and they need to make smart decisions and will be accountable for their own actions. I then went on to tell them the grisly details of drug addiction. I hope those nightmares stay with them forever and they pass it down to their kids someday.

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These are baked without weed. Really.

Political discussions usually come on Saturday morning when I am making parathas and Teen 1 makes the omelet (du fromage btw-always). No matter what we start out talking about, it always winds its way to politics. And then there is much shouting and screaming. Especially after Teen 1 claims I am racist. I then tell her, very loudly, exactly what racist it, I was born and grew up in Canada when people were less enlightened and very racist. I am not racist, I just have a keen interest in conspiracy theories.  War is a big money maker, wars are planned. For the greater good of the privileged few.  And I am Mom, I have seen the world. I am right. End of discussion. Go read some damn history books.

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Seriously though our kids only know what the media tells them, they need to read more books. I lecture on this at great lengths, I know they will retain some of it, and realize there are two sides to every story, someday. Just like I did.

Then of course there is poop. No discussion is ever complete without poop or fart jokes. Or some other jokes. Yesterday Teen 1 whipped out her cell phone in the middle of dinner to tell us some great jokes. They were awful. I hope you enjoy them as much as we did. (Note:extreme stupid ahead)

What’s worse than finding a worm in your apple?

The Holocaust.

Why did the boy drop his ice cream?

Because he got hit by a bus.

What’s red and smells like blue paint?

Red paint.

An Irishman walks out of a bar.

What’s green and has wheels?

Grass. I lied about the wheels.

A dyslexic man walks into a bra.

How do you confuse a blond?

Paint yourself green and throw forks at her.

Knock, knock.

Who’s there?

Dave.

Dave who?

Dave proceeds to break into tears as his grandmother’s Alzheimer has progressed to the point where she can no longer remember him.

What did the farmer say when he lost his tractor?

Where’s my tractor?

Why are black people good at basketball?

Dedication and hard work.

Roses are grey, violets are grey. I am a dog.

What do you discuss at the dining table?

(All ridiculous humor from here http://anti-joke.com/)

House Sold

Click to read on Dawn: http://dawn.com/2012/05/06/humour-house-sold/

I sold my house before I moved back to Canada, it was quite an experience and I discovered things I couldn’t imagine about people I have known all my life.

Remember the house I got renovated? I sold it. And I moved. But that is another story. Unless you have gone mad and decided to move half way across the world — and having gone through this extremely painful process myself I would not advocate it for anyone — never sell your house. First of all you should only sell your house, if it has a leaky roof, cracked floors, and crumbling walls. Or if a close relative has passed away and left you a mansion on Tipu Sultan road.

Selling your house is an uncomfortable process; it will keep you up at nights and give you plenty of indigestion. You will have all kinds of people invading your privacy requesting tours of your house at odd hours of the day. And they will want to know why you chose to paint your daughter’s room two shades of pink and why the kitchen counters are black. They will shake their heads unbelievingly at the ‘extravagant’ price, then bug you after you sell the house to someone else, why you didn’t inform them first, because they had their hearts set on it.

A house that you have lived in for a long time becomes part of you; it hosts your celebrations and shelters your rainy days. It watches your children grow and becomes their first friend; its walls hold up everything from little pink and blue bunny rabbit cut-outs to posters of sleek cars or rock stars with bad hair-dos. It provides a personal little haven known as the bedroom, where your moody teenagers retreat to when the world doesn’t treat them right. It listens patiently, never judging, never offering unwanted advice to the angry adolescent but pacifies them with the knowledge, that here, they are accepted. It sadly hears your fights and joyfully watches reconciliations. It guards every secret obsessively.

I miss my house. And it took me months to wind everything up. Twenty years of possessions are hard to get rid of. And you won’t believe the junk I had. Actually, you probably would because every Pakistani woman has an incredible imagination when it comes to recycling. Closets that were full of spare dupattas of cast away suits, clothes piled up for repairs or distribution to various destinations, shoes that had been worn out and forgotten about, hair clips, scrunchies and makeup kits that were never used. Stashes of candy, hidden from the children. I could almost hear my house moan sadly as I continued to deprive it of all its belongings.

The kitchen cupboards were stripped of countless empty ice-cream containers, unused dishes, utensils and plastic bags. Oh how we women adore our plastic bags! Of course my maid had a field day, and I felt a bit guilty at her bliss on receiving such trivial little titbits. I know my house will miss her too. The way she helped me scrub and dust out each and every corner was admirable, getting our house ready for the new owners as we reminisced and even shed some tears together.

Sniff. Enough! Never regret a decision, it wastes too much time. Just learn from it. Which gets me to the real point. When we put our house up for sale, a wise old person told us it is ethical to ask your neighbours first if they are interested. We did, fortunately everyone already had their own house. Neighbours are one thing. Relatives are another.

Never sell your house to a relative. Especially if you are the type of person with a lot of ‘lihaaz’ (read: doormat). That is where they get you, at your lihaaz. Because of lihaaz you will sell your house at a rock bottom price and then listen quietly as your relatives whine incessantly about how broke they are. They will also want to get it renovated some more before they move in. Never mind the fact that you still live there. Lihaaz aap ko mar day ga.

After the house is sold, your relatives will come often with the pretext of helping you wind up the house. They are actually coming to make sure you don’t damage any of the walls while moving out large and heavy furniture. Speaking of large and heavy furniture, don’t bother trying to sell it or give it to any of your best friends. Your relatives will do you a big favour by insisting that you leave everything and they will take care of it for you. Later they will complain to all and sundry that you left your broken down junk for them. That ‘junk’ that will later adorn their drawing rooms.

And then of course there is the large collection of electronic gadgets that you will leave for them. And they will have the gall to phone you up to tell you the stuff you left for them (that they had asked for, by the way) doesn’t work, and it is costing them a lot to get it fixed. So you offer to give them their money back… oops, you gave it to them for free. So what to do now?

Don’t let it come to this, heed my advice and never sell your house. Especially not to relatives.

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Arranged Marriage:Dear (Not So) Suitable Boy

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Contrary to the Indian movies that often portray every young girl’s goal in life as securing that Suitable Boy’s proposal, most girls just wanted to have fun.

Dear (Not so ) Suitable Boy,

I have been meaning to write to you for some time now (about 20 years) but somewhere along the way, after I realized you most certainly were not my knight in shining armor, I married someone else and had five kids. So yeah I was a bit preoccupied. No, I didn’t end up marrying the knight in shining armor. He still hasn’t shown up. Curse you, Disney. Curse you.

I remembered you and your audacious proposal yesterday night as I was scooping fat cat’s dehydrated poop out of the litter box. Please don’t be offended, you do not in any way remind me of dehydrated cat poop. I just get random thoughts scooping poop.

I just want you to know that it never would have worked. I was done the second I realized I was about to be shown off like prize cattle, when I saw you sitting there in my aunt’s drawing-room with your mom, your dad and your female sibling. I am surprised you didn’t bring your grandparents. I stopped at the door and I checked you out. Sorry I wasn’t raised in Pakistan, yeah I checked you out and you did not even make my “last guy in the world list”. But let’s be honest, you were there with your family to do the exact same thing. I just beat you to it.

Yes, in those few seconds I was able to sum you up and sweep you aside. I was a narcissistic nineteen year old what could you expect? I knew I was on every eligible bachelor’s mom’s list, most likely first or second, because I fit what every desi mother-in-law wanted. Tall, thin, fair, but most importantly, Canadian National. God bless our hypocritical, stereotypical desi double standards!

Besides being turned off by the fact that I was about to be paraded in front of a guy I did not know (why can’t people just arrange a normal lunch with lots of people?) it was the moustache. That ridiculously thick moustache that made Tom Selleck look like a fuzzy lipped female. Had you never heard of Johnny Depp? Apparently not. You looked like a forty-five year old, (yes I am aware that you were not actually forty-five, but damn that was some ‘stache!) a forty-five year old who was accompanied by his parents and little sister to check out a nineteen year old chick. That is not a good first impression.

I did my utmost to be as obnoxious as possible to your mom and little sis. I refused to go into the drawing-room to meet you, I didn’t see the point since I had already decided we were most certainly NOT meant to be. So they came to meet me in the other room. I disagreed with everything your sister said, I mocked the fact that she didn’t enjoy Jane Austen which she was required to read for school. I love Jane Austen. The second a tray of drinks was brought in I hopped up and rudely grabbed a drink for myself to the shock of both my aunts.  And your mom. I wanted her to realize what Canadian National meant. It meant I was not the standard docile girl who had been embedded with the concept that I had to marry whichever Suitable Boy thought I met his mom’s standards. I would not be cajoled into an arranged marriage just because everyone thought you were a Suitable Boy.

Fourteen hundred years ago my religion gave me the right to decide if I liked a guy enough to marry him, but along the line somewhere all that got lost in stupid cultural backwardness. Up till the point where girls were displayed to be evaluated by a boy and his family. To see whether or not she was good-looking enough, submissive enough, to make a good daughter-in-law and wife. Then the poor girl waited, hoping not to be rejected as Prince Charming went on to check out the next eight girls on Mama’s list.

The point of all this is, you probably have kids now. Unless you jumped off a cliff in a fit of drama, your ego bruised by a girl who had the impudence to refuse.  If you have a daughter please don’t parade her in front of dozens of young men and their families. Let her peek in the drawing-room first. And if she doesn’t want to go in and meet them, don’t make her.

Sincerely,

The Canadian National you are so lucky not to have gotten hitched to.

P.S. Do remind her however, that the knight in shining armor rarely shows up, she should not waste her precious time waiting for him.

Resident Evil: Messy Kids

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Friday is the last day of the week the house stays clean. As the kids come home from school, my neat and clean abode slowly turns into Boxing Day aftermath.  Yes my kids have issues. They are suffering from “our mom is too good to us syndrome”. Yeah I need to work on that.

By Saturday there are dirty dishes in the sink. On the dining table. And on the coffee table, under beds, near the computer table and yes even in the bathroom. Unwashed clothes decorate floors in bedrooms and outside the clothes hamper, the litter box needs to be emptied and toys need to be put away. The walls are screaming their discontent at being adorned with what seems to be yesterday night’s spaghetti dinner. And this is the start of my weekend. Sound familiar? Well at least I’m not alone.

I am the mom, I do not get tired, I am never sleepy, I do not need to relax. My only aspirations in life are to cook for, feed, clean, wash, and pamper anything I have given birth to or married. I realize that: “you look tired today”  is not my friend sympathizing with me. That is her  saying “Woman you need a face lift, hair dye and a week at the spa.” The only thing I can afford from these options is the hair dye, which I am not gonna do anyways. Honestly I rather be grey than have to scrub that dye from the tub every time I wash my hair. Being perfectly coiffed is so over rated. I am just going to embrace my inner Carol. I mean just look at her!

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I have some suggestions on how we should deal with these problems:

1. Pack up all their stuff in black garbage bags and inform them it is being donated to the Salvation Army.
2. Take it out to the front yard and put up a garage sale sign.
3. Collect it all in the backyard, surround it with a circle of rocks, light it up and roast marshmallows over it.
4. Bury it in the compost heap.
5. Take pictures of it, especially close-ups of underwear and then post it to their Facebook walls.
6. Invite their friends over for a get together and not let them know about it.
7. Pack our own bags, get in the car and drive to South America. Take all their electronic goods to pawn off along the way.
I am thinking either # 3 or #7. Let me know which worked out best for you!

Handmade Home Decor

So I did it! I participated in two Christmas Bazaars and opened a shop on Etsy. The past two weeks were like a whirlwind. It was really busy and I ended up sleeping late every night (read: I look worse than any zombie on The Walking Dead).

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Was it worth it? Yes. I learned a lot. Sold some stuff. Got feedback. Met great people. My house is a mess (understatement of the year). The floors are sticky and covered with unrecognizable substances. There is enough dirty laundry to make Cinderella grab a shotgun. I don’t remember when I last brushed my hair, there are two families of birds now living in it.

But my kids and desi guy were incredibly supportive. I am truly grateful for my family (including especially my aunt and her daughter who keep messaging me with encouraging chats) because it can get so overwhelming. You doubt yourself at every stage, work yourself to extreme exhaustion and it gets lonely.

It was good to participate in those bazaars because of all the great ladies I met. They had plenty of advice and encouragement, and you realize you aren’t really alone. And of course there are the moments that you look back at and laugh at, like when I fell flat on my derriere because I grossly miscalculated the position of my chair. I am sure I brought much joy to the rest of the vendors at that point. I jabbed myself with a happy faced thumb tack as I rushed to pin something on. I then profusely dripped blood all over the floor as I searched frantically for the ever absent tissue.

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Here are some pics from the events…

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My stall.

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My friend’s stall. Food. Good. Me gain weight.

And here are some pics of the decor items I have created…

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Christmas tree ornaments. Everyone loved these.IMG_0935

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Cushion covers.

Table runners

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Cell phone or cosmetic pouches.

I would love for you to visit my store, and please “like” and share things! You will find Eastern Allure here and on Facebook here. Oh and if you like to pin, Eastern Allure on Pinterest.

If you are in Mississauga and see something you like, message me on the Eastern Allure page so you don’t have to pay shipping, you can just drive over and pick it up!

(All pics courtesy of moi, except zombie chick, who was courtesy of google images)

Kids in the car

Every time we go out with all the kids we swear it will be our last trip. We remind our snarling, fighting brood as they cause pandemonium. I write this post ( on my treasured S3) in the car as their drama unfolds in a very familiar way…

Middle child: Mom! She pulled my hair and choked me!
Twin 2 : she’s lying!
Middle child: No I am not!
Twin 1: Eww who farted?
Twin 2: It was you!
Teen 1: SHUT UP!
Me: STOP IT ALL OF YOU
Middle child: Stop pushing!
Twin 2:  then look out your own window!
Middle child: That is my window!
Twin 2: Idiot! Stay on your own side!
Twin 1: Someone keeps farting! (lots of laughs)
Twin 1 : You aren’t allowed to look at my window(in a very whiny voice)
Teen 1: SHUT UP!
Teen 2 : YOU SHUT UP!
Twin 2 : (whispering)You’re ugly!
Middle child : No you’re ugly!
Desi guy (husband):We are never taking you guys anywhere again! (laughs and giggles from the back seats)
Twin 2 : I need water I’m thirsty.
Me : No you had water before we left…
Twin 2 : But I’m thirsty again!
Me: Its only been ten minutes.
Twin 2 : Mommy!
Me : No then you have to go pee again and we aren’t stopping every fifteen minutes for that.
Twin 2 : I’m hungry.
Teen 1 : OMG SHUT UP! Mom why do we always have to bring them?
Twin 2: :Stop saying that you are so mean!
Me : What are you looking at?
Desi guy : Nothing
Me : Yes you are!
Desi guy: Its nothing
Me (snatching his cell) : Stop it and keep your eyes on the road!
Middle child : Hey motorcycle dude!
Me (hissing) : Stop that!
Twin 1 : But its a motorcycle dude! (Lots of giggles)
Me : The window is open, motorcycle dude can here you!
More giggling.
Teen 1 : SHUT UP!
Desi guy : THAT IS IT WE ARE TURNING BACK!
Silence for  thirty seconds.
Twin 1 : Who farted?
Middle child : Ewww!
Twin 2 : I’m thirsty!
Twin 1 : Move over and stop looking out my window!
Teen 1 : SHUT UP! ( loud Indy music coming from earphones)
Teen 2 : oh my god you shut up and stop screaming shut up!

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Acting like angels as soon as they realize I am taking a picture.
Desi guy :  what are you doing? Put the phone away you made me miss my turn!
Me : SERIOUSLY?
Desi guy :  yes. STOP TAKING PICTURES!
Drive in silence for two minutes, then stop at our destination.
Desi guy : Ok only teen 1 and 2 are getting off with mom. You three stay in the car with me.
Middle child : Awwww why?
Me : You dont need uniforms
Twin 1: But we wanted to play hide and seek and this is the best store for that!
Me : Are you kidding me?
Twin 2 : Puleeeeeeze?
Teen 1 : SHUT UP!
Teen 2 : oh my god you shut up, you’re louder than all three of them!
Teen 1 : nobody shut up!
Five minutes later
Me : Come on we cant buy uniforms today.
Desi guy : What happened?
Me :There is a one hour wait at least.
Desi guy : You’re exaggerating
Me : Nope.They made a waiting area. And it is full..must be at least fifty people sitting there. You wanna wait in the car with these three?
Desi guy : Nope. Let’s go
Twin 1 : Awww!
Twin 2 : Yay!
Middle child : Move over!
Twin 2 : I’m thirsty!
Teen 1 : SHUT UP!
Desi guy : THAT IS IT WE ARE NEVER TAKING YOU GUYS ANYWHERE AGAIN!
One minute silence.
Twin 1 : Who farted?
Desi guy : Damn it I missed the exit again
Twin 1 : Dont lick me!
Me : Stop licking your sisters.
Middle child : I’m not licking her. I just  licked my hand.
Twin1 : Yeah and then she touched us with it!
Me : Where are you going?
Desi guy : What? Oh damn it missed the turn again.
Me : I think you should teach me to drive now…
Twin 1 : who farted?
Oh my god I need a vacation.

Just Enjoy It

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I am not going to give myself airs thinking I have been chosen by a Higher Power to show staggering patience and unbelievable tenacity so that I can complete some deep and meaningful task. I think God throws stuff at ( a select group of chosen) people like me to keep us entertained. Like having a desi guy as a husband (desi: of Indian sub-continent origin) or five wildlings for children. A germophobic health freak best-friend. Having a split personality: Angry Woman, Procrastination Woman, Can’t Stop Laughing Woman, Desi Mom, White Dad( let’s have a barbecue).

I found it very entertaining, for example, when desi guy ran a red light while cruising down the street at a leisurely speed:

Me: “You know you just ran a red light right?”

Desi Guy (slightly panicked): “Are you serious?”

Prodigal Son (enjoying this highly): “Yes, oh my God. What were you thinking we could have been killed.”

The roads had been absolutely empty. No excuse though.

Desi Guy: “Why didn’t you stop me?”

Me: “You are the one driving.”

Desi Guy: “This is your fault. You distracted me.”

With my incredible beauty? With my mesmerizing siren song? Had I been picking my nose? Whatever. It was my fault.

Speaking of noses and picking and stuff, teenager 1 wanted me to pierce her nose.

Me: “I don’t know, it’ll hurt.”

Teenager 1: “I can take it. You got it done that way when you were my age.”

Me: “By a village woman who had pierced the noses of half the country. It’ll be faster with a gun.”

Teenager 1: “omg just do it for me please.”

Me: “Look at this needle. See how big it is. This is going to hurt.”

Teenager: “Just do it.”

Me: “I can’t.”

Teenager: “Just do it.”

Me: “I can’t.”

Teenager 1: “Please!”

Me: “I can’t. My hands are all shaky.”

Teenager 1: “Oh my god mom just do…ow. You did it.”

Me: “yup.”

Teenager 1: “That’s it?”

Me: “yup.”

Next morning:

Teenager 1: “Mom. Mom. MOM!”

Me (packing lunches for school) “What?”

Teenager 1: “Can you pierce my nose again? The thread came out.”

Which wall shall I bang the frontal lobe of my cerebral hemisphere against?

My relatively new best friend is a doctor. She does not practice. Thank God. She is relatively new because although I have known her for three years, the first two I kept losing her phone number. I ran into her several times at Wal-Mart and school, each time I took her phone number and each time effectively managed to have it deleted via the kids. It was God’s way of telling me don’t bother, it is not meant to be. Then sometime last year I met her outside the school and dragged her to my house for tea. The tea I make is absolutely narcotic, people can never get enough and they keep coming back for more. I am a loud-mouthed-pajama wearing-female Dr. Lecter who doesn’t serve liver. Or kidney. Just tea, and I drag people I am acquainted with back to my house for that tea. I want to see what would happen.

Anyhoo…my relatively new best doctor friend has some peculiarities. She won’t let me shop at Food Basics because one of the cashiers there has a fungal infection which she diagnosed after observing it for half a nanosecond one day while shopping there. We can’t shop at the dollar store now either. Or Target. Or Suzy Shier or Winners. You know risk of frequent fatal fungal infections.

I wonder if her liver would go well with a spot of tea? Either way, I will just enjoy it.

2010-Madhatter

(pics from Google)

Weekly Writing Challenge: Lunch Posts

Hungry Little Monsters:A Lunch Post

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After wasting time I decided to write,
looking at the clock I had a great fright.
It was time for hungry offspring to return from school,
I had to cook lunch! This is so uncool.
I panicked I flipped,
Into the kitchen I tripped.
What to cook,
I trembled, I shook.
Last time lunch was delayed,
Twin 2, on my shin she preyed!