Out.

I haven’t understood much of this week at all.

Isaac started nursery, Noah is still at home, I’m running on crappy minimal sleep, I fell out spectacularly with one of my best friends, I’m seriously doubting my abilities as a professional photographer (again), and sweet baby Jesus, I would really like a PROPER holiday or maybe just some peace or something soon.

So after yet another tearful (Isaac’s tears, definitely NOT mine) nursery start, and a shitty rainy day, The Smalls and I walked a bit. With camera.

Clickem to biggem.

Camera play time. (For me.)

New camera. The Mr had to sell a kidney to help me afford it. It’s kinda nice, if I’m honest.

The camera, not the kidney. I never saw the kidney.

I’ve already done one wedding with it, and I’m hoping I did a Good Job. It’s bloody complicated, and I have a fuck ton of settings to learn about, but I LOVE that.

So I’ve been enjoying having a bit of play time with it! Nothing technical, nothing fancy. Just my fave 50mm f/1.4 lens and the camera. *Happy face*

CAT.BIG SMALL.LITTLE SMALL.

Obviously. Pics of The Smalls. Obviously.

Yes, Uggs and tartan pyjama bottoms. I am truly at the height of fashion.

 

The Day The Smalls Took On London Town

I don’t have much in the way of words at the moment, I think much of it is the same old whiny depression shit, which I’m dealing with, badly, but y’know, you just keep going.

However, in the midst of all the crap, The Mr and I took The Smalls to London. Started in a hideous, tiny, pokey little hotel, which quite literally served as our dumping ground and somewhere to attempt to sleep. The Smalls didn’t care, WE WERE IN LONDON!!!

It was only 2 days, but wow, it was brilliant. I mean, I’ve been to London a million times; I have family down there, I’ve shot weddings there, I’ve been to meetings and conferences there, but with The Smalls and The Mr, it was great. They were great.

Day 1: Ass-crack of dawn, travelled on the train, hotel, walk through Hyde Park, lunch at Wagamama in Kensington, underground to Buckingham Palace, walk across Westminster, 3pm Big Ben chimes, London Eye, Tower Bridge, dinner in Strada (where they were the most well-behaved, ridiculously exhausted kids I had ever seen), M&S for some sneaky vino/beer, pass out.

Day 2: Walk to Pret-a-Manger (for a decent healthy start of a bacon and egg roll, porridge and fruit), tube to Natural History Museum (since when did that place become a furnace?) back and forth to collect luggage from hotel, Euston, dinner from M&S (seriously, so easy to make an easy tea of chicken wraps and salad and fruit juice and muffins) train home, pass out.

Absolutely can’t wait to do it again.

Happy Birthday, Little Small

AND THEN, he was like, 3, and stuff. Faces covered in scars and bruises, noses streaming with crusty bogies and snot, still in their pyjamas for half the day.

Still cute though. And that’s just the way I would like to remember Isaac’s 3rd birthday.

Happy Birthday, Little Small. Keep smiling this smile, ok?

Happy Birthday, Little Small. Keep smiling this smile, ok?

My brain still hurts from Jamaica

Jet lag is severely kicking my ass. So I’m going to fob you off (again) with some pictures of The Smalls being all domesticated and cute and stuff. I didn’t have to edit these photos, unlike the 49 frillion photos from the photo shoots before I went away. So you know, total cop-out in this post.

It’s amazing how willing they are to wash their hands when they know cake will follow.

Somehow, this kid can break eggs and NEVER get shell in the mix. Unlike his mother.

Somehow he does the same. And he tells you about it too.

Note to self: Check blender thingy is working before you start baking.

I love it when they do the hard work.

They currently sniff everything. Everything.

The cakes were slightly browner than I would have liked, but that’s what happens when you are consumed by the urge to sleep. Still, they didn’t care.

It’s cake, innit?