Raindrops keep falling on my head...

and falling, and falling. That raging torrent (above) is usually a mere trickle, wow. Over a weekend of dramatic flooding  across the whole state, I've discovered a new sport. One I suspect is a close relation of the previously mentioned train spotting. I call it drain spotting. So much rain fell on us, I thought it might be entertaining to take the family on a little sight seeing road trip. We were not alone. At every bridge and alongside every drain, people were angling for the best view, some getting dangerously close to some very fast moving (and filthy) water. I suspect this "drain spotting" may well an extreme sport. I was even heard to echo the words of many a parent before me, including my own: "That kids, is why you should NEVER play in a drain!"
These kinds of comments seem to be falling out of my mouth at more and more frequent intervals. All I can do is grudgingly accept it as an indicator of my having unwittingly become a real life, proper, grown-up. It's not the only indicator, either. I think a reliable way of recognising these grown-up indicators is by relating them to parental logic that has otherwise seemed highly illogical. Take for example the theory of many a Mum or Dad that painting your house in neutral colours is smart and tasteful. A mere few months ago I would have passionately argued the case that life is too short for beige. But, disturbingly (much to the amusement of friends and family privy to the "beige is boring" rant) I have selected and covered much of the interior of our house in a colour called something like 'country cream', or 'fresh milk'. Strangely I like it, too. It's nice and fresh and a great canvas to which I can add creative elements of my own and it won't clash with the oodles of gaudy kitsch I enthusiastically accumulate. Now here's the really grown up bit. Life is too short to spend it up a ladder cutting in around the architraves.
The next piece of parent wisdom made sense to me a while ago now, but it's still worth a mention. Giving is as good as getting. I live for the special occasion. I love birthdays even if they're not my own. Being a parent to two kids and being married to their father adds five more occasions to each year. Yipee, I say. Now we get to do Mothers day, Fathers day, two extra birthdays and a wedding anniversary. I love any excuse to find or make something special to give to someone. Add to this the opportunity to bake something and I'm a happy hopper. I do think that gift givers fall in to two categories. Those that can and those that can't. You know you're on the receiving end of a 'can' when they nail it, you love it and you would never have thought to buy it for yourself. On the end of a 'can't' you either unwrap a box of chocolates, or cash falls out of the card in to your lap (both good, nonetheless).
The third disturbing grown-up indicator can be found on my ipod. I've started to seek out music from my parents music collection. Now, I don't mean the old school, cool stuff like The Stones, The Beach Boys or the Beatles (I ask for nothing more than their vinyl white album in my inheritance!) I'm referring to the stuff that was my first exposure to music. The daggy stuff. Dare I name it? I suppose I have to now. I love bouncing around the lounge room to the classy melodies of Dire Straits, The Bushwhackers (look them up, pure 70's bushdance dag!) and John Farnham. Then there's Grease and Bruce Springsteen. It's funny how therapeutic it is listening to the music I grew up with. It evokes lots of feelgood memories and some pretty intense teenage ones, too. I could come up with quite the mixed tape. Imagine juxtaposing some Farnham and Grease alongside some hand selected Foofighters, Cat Empire  and Pearl Jam. Pure gold.
After a busy week doing lots of buntyandsars making I trundled along to the Daylesford Makers Market. I thought I might not make it at one stage when the car threatened to drift in to a paddock on a river of water coursing across the road. Then there was the concern that, having made it there, it may well be necessary to paddle home atop my trestle table, box of stock balanced precariously on the back. For such a rubbish day weather wise it was a good day market wise. Thank you to everyone who braved the rain to get there.

Hopefully come Sunday Spring may have arrived because I'm taking my Mum along to her first market (from the sellers side) and I'm a bit exited about it. I've got a new idea I want to develop and add to the range. It's so cool I'm keeping it a surprise. Think retro, childhood papery goodie. I hope I can get a few made up, they'll take people straight back to being six years old. So, put some petrol in the car (hopefully you won't need to put it in a boat!) and get yourselves to Woodend for the Sugar and Spice Market. Should be a goodun!