Yesterday I could have been writing The Great Australian Novel, making plum jam, sewing a designer creation, or snuggling with a Hollywood style handsome toyboy. Instead I was conquering Mt Washmore, nursing a head cold, ignoring several tantrums, breaking my resolution to shop from my stash (but seriously - kids fabrics for $1.50 a metre?!?!?) scratching the surface layer of clutter/crumbs/chaos off the house, and trying not to get too close to a gastro-prone, but none-the-less lovable husband.
Today the fog has lifted somewhat; I have only one load of washing left (and it is almost finished the spin cycle) I have paid the bills, and done some chores, and the small boy and I picked the remaining plums this morning so the jam is bubbling on the stove. Does anyone else love that jam is just fruit and sugar? It seems too easy to taste that good! Call me a communist but I also love that the top quality, high on the branches, perfectly juicy fruit goes into the same pan with the misshapen, slightly bruised, maybe a bit pock-marked fruit and the end result is just the same :)
I am listening to Enya, enjoying the antics of Mr Potato Head (as Dan plays alongside me) and wondering whether to clean the kitchen or go play with the $1.50 pyjama fabric?
I hope you are having a rose/ruby/plum coloured Tuesday too!