Knitting is not the only craft - well in our household this week anyway. I've been painting Mr Wriggly's room. It occured to me as I feverishly sugar-soaped walls, masking taped corners and slapped up paint during the young lad's naps that I should have done this before he was born. It would have taken a full day or two at the most. Instead it has spun out to almost a week.
Still, some of the delays were unforeseen. While sugar-soaping I discovered a bubble in the plaster. I brought it to the attention of the Squeeze, who before you could say 'Knit Widower' (which he is demanding to be called these days), had stuck his fingers through it and discovered a huge crack running from the inside of the room to the outside wall. This explained the mystery leak in the downstair's ceiling.
I left the Knit Widower to work his blokey magic and fix the crack he had so merrily excavated out the second story window. I came back later to find him hanging out the window with a trowel in one hand and using his other hand to stuff fistfuls of cement into the crack. "You may have knitting" he called down to me, " but I love cementing!"
It occured to me then that I had actually married McGuyver. I have seen the Knit Widower scamper up a makeshift ladder in a storm, lash himself to the chimney pot with a scaly bit of old rope he found abandonned in the back lane and calmly fix cracked roofing tiles. Then there is legendary time he and his mates were riding their motorbikes from Sydney to Philip Island for the Grand Prix and one broke down. He fixed the bike with some chewing gum and one leg off of a pair of pantyhose. What they were doing with a pair of pantyhose on that trip is more of a mystery to me than how he actually used it.
Anyway, painting a room for Mr Wriggly has allowed every member of the household to engage in some form of craft. Here is a quick snap of the finished product, and chance of me to flash my Babette once again.