breaking (in) the house

Isn't there a rule that says it's not a real housewarming unless someone breaks something?

I love summer flowers.

I also love buying them from grumpy farmers who say things like, "We do food, we don't do flowers," when asked for paper to wrap said flowers in. (Not me. I would never have had the nerve to question that grumpiness.)


Have a happy Friday, everyone.

the social butterfly that I am

Last summer was really busy. Last summer was cool and not terribly sunny, but we had all sorts of things to do that didn't involve heat or sunshine — like climbing outdoors, or the MINI celebration — and the week when it was terribly sunny and warm, we spent at the cottage soaking it up. It was a good summer.

This summer I had intentions. I was going to relax. I was going to update this blog more than once a week. I was going wander around Toronto taking photographs, and maybe take long walks to the Beach. It was going to be so good.

Well, now I know that this summer is making last summer look like a sleepy church picnic.

As far as I can figure it, we haven't had a single weekend without some pre-scheduled social event-type thing since June 26. Since then, there have been three trips to the farm, one trip to the cottage, one soccer tournament, one World Cup final (go France — oh, wait), two birthday parties, Las Vegas, one wedding, one visit from the adorables, one slightly hare-brained sausage-making scheme (that was last weekend), and more spontaneous barbeques and hostings than I can remember.

Coming up before the equinox, we have another wedding (out of town), a houswarming (ours), another visit with the adorables, and at least one more birthday, possibly two. Oh, and Iceland.

It's still a good summer, but I feel like I'm going to die from social exhaustion.

And also, more pertinently, it is making me a failure at this whole "keeping my intentions" thing that I had vaguely had going. I haven't had time to go through all of the photographs from Vegas (300+) or the sausage-making (~200 — and which is exactly what it sounds like, by the way), but hopefully I will, soon, and then I will blog about it, because I know that you are all waiting with bated breath.

...
Meanwhile, you can have a mildly amusing photograph, evidence of my last-ever attempt to wind a centre-pull ball on my own:

Dyed in the Wool mediumweight in "Vixen," Bailiwick sock pattern
Yes, that used to be one ball until it gutted itself — literally. Or, as Pd said, "Oh. It exploded."

my boys

Well, technically only one of those boys is mine, but they're both adorable, aren't they?

My sister- and brother-in-law, with their two little boys in tow (that's the younger one above, and the older one at the bottom), came to town for a few days last week, and stayed at our place. It was lovely. And chaotic. And kind of fly-by-seat-of-pants. I've discovered that leaving the house with two children happens in stages — you start at the back of the house and you slowly gather everything with you at each stage. Kitchen, dining room, living room, door. It's kind of like a military campaign, but with diapers and little toy cars. (The older nephew has a thing for cars. And also Cars.)

They were in town for a family wedding (Pd's side, obviously). We went to the playground in between the ceremony and the reception, while the wedding party were taking their pictures; we don't go to the playground in formalwear. Usually.


Things that I have discovered that we don't really have enough of (at least, in terms of a family of four adults and two kids): sleep, space, dishes, and bathrooms.

pictures from a vacation

We're back from Vegas. We took the red-eye, which leaves Vegas at 11:30 pm, and lands in Toronto at 6:30 (technically 6:45, but our flight was early) in the morning — which, not incidentally, is 3:30 Vegas time. About the only good things about the red-eye are that it's reasonably easy to sleep (albeit not well), because of the dark; we also got the chance to see a visiting friend who was leaving Toronto the same day, and we actually got to watch the morning fog burn off the downtown skyscrapers as we were being driven home; that was fun.

Otherwise, it really has no redeeming qualities whatsoever.

I will most likely to do a travlogue or a photoblog or something, but until then, here's a quick summary of our trip:


Hoover Dam, looking south. The new bridge is supposedly opening this week.


Vegas sunrise outside our window, before our way-too-early-in-the-morning trip to the Valley of Fire.


Valley of Fire.


The kitchen (and the view from our countertop seats) at L'Atelier de Joel Robuchon, our first meal in a Michelin-starred restaurant. The food, needless to say, was fabulous.


How do you follow up a Michelin-star dinner? By having brunch in a Thomas Keller restaurant: Bouchon, inside the Venetian.


A slightly blurry sign for LOVE, Cirque du Soleil's tribute to the Beatles. Slightly blurry is appropriate, as we missed the first 15 minutes of the show after I semi-collapsed from heatstroke in front of the Venetian. Good times. No, really — the show is fabulous.


Balloons inside the Bellagio. This has nothing to do with anything, except for the fact that I love balloons.


Pd's amazing photograph of the Luxor, taken outside our hotel with an improvised tripod and an 8-second exposure.