April 8th, 2006

A Pocket Full of Murder

I'll never look at the pavement the same way again

Gacked from drakyndra over on LiveJournal, this is a truly amazing set of pictures showing trompe l'oeil sidewalk chalk art. How does the guy do this stuff? Just... wow.

In other news, I am not dead, really. Just busy-like. My big thrilling news of the past couple of weeks was returning the lovely but unfortunately redundant silver chain my husband bought me for my birthday, and getting a set of attractive apple-bordered stoneware dishes (all right, they're Martha Stewart, so sue me) instead.

I'd been using my good china (inherited from a late aunt) ever since we got married eight years ago, and it was getting chipped and broken, much to my chagrin because that pattern is discontinued and difficult to replace. So between the purchase of the new dishes and a serendipitous Craigslist find of three more dinner plates in the old pattern, I'm all set now.

Best of all, the new stoneware was marked down to a mere fraction of its original price, so after returning the necklace I was able to get twelve place settings and still have money left over!

What can I say, housewares make me happy. Especially bargain housewares. I'm weird that way.
A Pocket Full of Murder

*cringe*

I almost forgot to record something that happened tonight when we were all over at my husband's sister's place. She'd made us a nice meal, and I was pleased to see that Nicholas had helped himself generously to the food and seemed to be enjoying it, though somewhat less pleased to hear Simon chirp, "I don't want THAT!" to every second thing being passed around. However, the best, or worst, was yet to come...

Nicholas: What are we having for dessert?
Me: Let's wait and see.
Hubby's Sister: *puts out a large bowl of fruit salad on the table*
Nicholas: ...
Me (brightly, sensing impending disaster): Oh, look, Simon, fruit! You love fruit!
Simon: Yay, fruit!
Nicholas (looking bemused): What else is there?
Me: There's lots of lovely fruit here. We don't need anything else.
Nicholas (turning to his father for help): Can we stop and get something on the way home?
Me: *facetable*

Fortunately my husband's sister is a good sport, and has kids of her own, and didn't seem to take it amiss. But once we got back in the van I took pains to explain to both boys, gently but firmly, that there are things you do not say when you are a guest at someone else's table...