Stitch, stitch, sew

Anticipation is rising round here. (We'll soon sort that out, come Sunday morning.)

In deep concentration, creating a silence suitable for cathedral or mortuary, Shark, Squirrel and Tiger spend all the hours of daylight sewing their stockings.

This is a grand feat of needlework they accomplish every Christmas, for which, I proudly take my hat off to myself, smug home educating bastard that I am. For years I have required the children to create their own cards and novelty gift items. (I am falling short of knitting with my own hair, but only just.)

They might, of course, do this not in pursuit of mastering craft skills, but because they intuitively know a stocking's not coming from anywhere else, so they may as well get on with it.

Tiger

Shark

Squirrel's stocking is missing. I am not allowed to photograph it because it is not finished.
The possibility that it will ever be finished is remote, so I have put in a picture of my favourite garment, ever.
It is a tongue costume. I bet I would look irresistibly sexy in this little number.
It has the bumps and white bits for when you are diseased and malnourished and everything.

We did nothing else as a consequence of hours of silent stitchery, so nothing to detain you, except maybe the moment I brought home from my exhausting shopping trip three lemons and six eggs.

Squirrel's eyes lit up at the idea of some lemony curdy tarty treat in store. Until I told her that the lemons were for my tonic and the eggs were for balancing on my nose to show how amazingly clever I could be after half a bottle of gin.