Pictures...

So, it's November.

The Diva Baby of Lucan has calmed down a smidge. Not enough for me to reply to emails. Read our book club book. Write anything. Shower.

But, I shan't complain. It turns out she has hidden talents. We had a photo session yesterday - you know the sort of thing, family portrait, all of us looking uncomfortable and forced, captured forever to hang pride of place in the hall (for extra humiliation.) But Diva Baby was a natural! Her first word was practically 'I'mreadyformycloseup'. She turned, looking over her shoulder, eyes popping! If she can avoid the D'Oub snail like metabolism (it's me glands!) and our horror of physical exertion, then she could be a supermodel. But, like, one of those supermodels that goes to Oxford too...

It's been all about the visual arts in the D'Oub household lately...

Myself and the Mr have obviously gone and got notions of being Charles Saatchi and decided what we really needed was a massive art collection. We've been doing with mass produced Ikea prints up till now.  I'm not going to slag Ikea prints off or anything, they've done us very well up to now. But I think there comes a time in a persons life when they just have to get something original up there. Having grown up in a house with a mammy who was an artist, whose works covered all our walls, I felt the need for some actual art work.

We had a budget set aside to have the interior of our house painted. Sure Mr Oub could have done it, but I wanted it done while I was young enough to have the eyesight good enough to enjoy it. But, we've gone and spent most of what was earmarked on pictures. They will have to cover up our manky paint job. Maybe Mr Oub will have to do the painting after all.

First up, thanks to the wonderful Titus, we came across the fantastic artwork of the artist Matt Kish. Loved his Moby Dick pictures. Couldn't resist and bought two!

 

It's a bit blurry, but I think you get the idea.

Framed and at the bottom of the stairs.

So delighted with ourselves and the pictures, we've been keen to find ourselves some more. I came across the artist Nicole Tilley in the Cow's Lane market a few weeks ago...

She does etching thingys - something about copper and wax and stuff... here are the two prints we bought

We haven't had them framed yet - the village framer is our new best friend, we're putting his kids through college at this rate. But soon they will be up on our messy walls to delight all and sundry.

Inspired by all this, we then discovered a little known Lucan artist who we feel has real promise. Even if her kids ask why she gave herself a beard.

Till next time, whenever that may be :)


Update: Just for Titus, I give u the work of Mr D'Oub, professional pumpkin carver!!!

Pictures...

So, it's November.

The Diva Baby of Lucan has calmed down a smidge. Not enough for me to reply to emails. Read our book club book. Write anything. Shower.

But, I shan't complain. It turns out she has hidden talents. We had a photo session yesterday - you know the sort of thing, family portrait, all of us looking uncomfortable and forced, captured forever to hang pride of place in the hall (for extra humiliation.) But Diva Baby was a natural! Her first word was practically 'I'mreadyformycloseup'. She turned, looking over her shoulder, eyes popping! If she can avoid the D'Oub snail like metabolism (it's me glands!) and our horror of physical exertion, then she could be a supermodel. But, like, one of those supermodels that goes to Oxford too...

It's been all about the visual arts in the D'Oub household lately...

Myself and the Mr have obviously gone and got notions of being Charles Saatchi and decided what we really needed was a massive art collection. We've been doing with mass produced Ikea prints up till now.  I'm not going to slag Ikea prints off or anything, they've done us very well up to now. But I think there comes a time in a persons life when they just have to get something original up there. Having grown up in a house with a mammy who was an artist, whose works covered all our walls, I felt the need for some actual art work.

We had a budget set aside to have the interior of our house painted. Sure Mr Oub could have done it, but I wanted it done while I was young enough to have the eyesight good enough to enjoy it. But, we've gone and spent most of what was earmarked on pictures. They will have to cover up our manky paint job. Maybe Mr Oub will have to do the painting after all.

First up, thanks to the wonderful Titus, we came across the fantastic artwork of the artist Matt Kish. Loved his Moby Dick pictures. Couldn't resist and bought two!

 

It's a bit blurry, but I think you get the idea.

Framed and at the bottom of the stairs.

So delighted with ourselves and the pictures, we've been keen to find ourselves some more. I came across the artist Nicole Tilley in the Cow's Lane market a few weeks ago...

She does etching thingys - something about copper and wax and stuff... here are the two prints we bought

We haven't had them framed yet - the village framer is our new best friend, we're putting his kids through college at this rate. But soon they will be up on our messy walls to delight all and sundry.

Inspired by all this, we then discovered a little known Lucan artist who we feel has real promise. Even if her kids ask why she gave herself a beard.

Till next time, whenever that may be :)


Update: Just for Titus, I give u the work of Mr D'Oub, professional pumpkin carver!!!

Who am I?

Okay, okay - feeling a lot less grumpy today - not much has changed as such, but I guess it's not 3am, the time when all problems band together, drink a few quadruple espressos and hiss at you.

I'm sitting here at the kitchen table threatening the children. It's homework time and they're just not in the mood. Hard to blame them. And for some reason they're not quite believing me when I say I will sell them if they don't shush.

And why this luxury, this blogging in the middle of the day?

Because the baby is in jail.

Mr Oub, as he does, got a notion in his head. And decisive, as I dithered, he set up the monstrously huge playpen (aka Babyjail) in our already crowded kitchen. I was all bitter, get it out of my beautiful kitchen like. But then we were all overcome... a bit like when you live beside a motorway and have gotten used to the traffic noise, but then you move and it's all quiet. It was odd. Strange. Baby Oub likes her cage. She shut up for once in her short screechy life. Whatever the bars are saying to her, she likes what she hears. We don't know quite what to do with ourselves. Other than prepare for a possible incarcerated future for our youngest child.

I'm an innocent mon!

So, I sat down to do a bit o' blogging. Horror of horrors, I am discovering that I have misplaced the funny. This post is just not going to get any more rib tickling than this. I dunno. Maybe it is possible to run out of your sense of humour - I may be dour forever mour. Not a great loss to the world of comedy perhaps.

But in the spirit of making people laugh, and it being my birthday week, here are a few old IDs I found recently as Mr Oub and I tried to clean out the study (once again). The study is our little landfill. Feck it in and shut the door. Methane is produced there. Hmm. Okay, maybe that was the kids.

Anyway, Here are some classics.

Mr Oub likes this one. He was getting a little lechy. I was not best pleased. I was all jealous of my previous self and like no, you will not find yourself a time machine and go back and cheat on me with my younger self. Or something...

I remember that beige cardigan. Crazy student me...

And this one is a classic. My journalism class had oh so wisely decided to go out on the batter the night before our pictures were to be taken. I look so rough on this id you could probably use it as sandpaper.

UUrghgghhhhhhh

And here, for no reason at all, is a picture of a trio of swans I made at pottery class last night. Quite.

 

Byes :)

Who am I?

Okay, okay - feeling a lot less grumpy today - not much has changed as such, but I guess it's not 3am, the time when all problems band together, drink a few quadruple espressos and hiss at you.

I'm sitting here at the kitchen table threatening the children. It's homework time and they're just not in the mood. Hard to blame them. And for some reason they're not quite believing me when I say I will sell them if they don't shush.

And why this luxury, this blogging in the middle of the day?

Because the baby is in jail.

Mr Oub, as he does, got a notion in his head. And decisive, as I dithered, he set up the monstrously huge playpen (aka Babyjail) in our already crowded kitchen. I was all bitter, get it out of my beautiful kitchen like. But then we were all overcome... a bit like when you live beside a motorway and have gotten used to the traffic noise, but then you move and it's all quiet. It was odd. Strange. Baby Oub likes her cage. She shut up for once in her short screechy life. Whatever the bars are saying to her, she likes what she hears. We don't know quite what to do with ourselves. Other than prepare for a possible incarcerated future for our youngest child.

I'm an innocent mon!

So, I sat down to do a bit o' blogging. Horror of horrors, I am discovering that I have misplaced the funny. This post is just not going to get any more rib tickling than this. I dunno. Maybe it is possible to run out of your sense of humour - I may be dour forever mour. Not a great loss to the world of comedy perhaps.

But in the spirit of making people laugh, and it being my birthday week, here are a few old IDs I found recently as Mr Oub and I tried to clean out the study (once again). The study is our little landfill. Feck it in and shut the door. Methane is produced there. Hmm. Okay, maybe that was the kids.

Anyway, Here are some classics.

Mr Oub likes this one. He was getting a little lechy. I was not best pleased. I was all jealous of my previous self and like no, you will not find yourself a time machine and go back and cheat on me with my younger self. Or something...

I remember that beige cardigan. Crazy student me...

And this one is a classic. My journalism class had oh so wisely decided to go out on the batter the night before our pictures were to be taken. I look so rough on this id you could probably use it as sandpaper.

UUrghgghhhhhhh

And here, for no reason at all, is a picture of a trio of swans I made at pottery class last night. Quite.

 

Byes :)

Hmmm...

It's nearly three am. There really isn't any point blogging now, cause there's no one around to read it. By the time morning rolls around, this post will most likely have quietly slipped down the blogrolls of the blogosphere, gently tripping off to binary purgatory unnoticed.

And that's ok.

I'm in a little bit of a grump.

Why?

Ah, hard to say... I think I feel that life is in a bit of a transitory phase at the moment. Things are changing. Evolving - will it emerge from it's chrysalis a butterfly or a moth?

Is it that it's my birthday next week? Just shy of the dreaded 4-0. I don't think it's possible I'll be 40 next year. I'm actually17 you know. Have been for years. But at forty,  if you're average, life is half over. Jaysus. A bit scary. I need to get a move on. Achieve! Don't I?

Or is it that my 20 year school reunion is on tonight and I'm not going? Couldn't work up the enthusiasm to see a bunch of girls I haven't been arsed to see in twenty years - just cause it's been twenty years since I saw them last...

Or is it that we're looking at secondary schools for the eldest Oub child and suddenly it doesn't feel like playing anymore? Yikes, this is an actual person we have to guide and grow. Where has the cute toddler who said funny things gone? He was far easier than this real, growing, creature who we might fuck up. The responsibility.

And then there is my lovely aunt whom I am very very close to. She is into hospital for open heart surgery on Wednesday. It's bloody scary. And I'm not so much worried that she won't come through it all - she has the best doctors - it's more her having to go through this awful time at all. The fact that she is getting old.  It's also seeing the same with my parents. Does one start counting how many years you have left with them?

And when and where and how do you balance these concerns with the reality that there isn't much you can do? That life is life and it'll have it's wicked way with you one way or the other.

(It may come as no surprise to you all that it was just my philosophy course marks that dragged down my over all finals results, leaving me with a 2.2, not a 2.1. Bitter, moi? )

But enough.

It's now half past three and the baba has decided to wake up and she's yelling.

Not much to be said about that.

I'll be tired in the morning, but maybe I'll have left the grump behind.

Hmmm...

It's nearly three am. There really isn't any point blogging now, cause there's no one around to read it. By the time morning rolls around, this post will most likely have quietly slipped down the blogrolls of the blogosphere, gently tripping off to binary purgatory unnoticed.

And that's ok.

I'm in a little bit of a grump.

Why?

Ah, hard to say... I think I feel that life is in a bit of a transitory phase at the moment. Things are changing. Evolving - will it emerge from it's chrysalis a butterfly or a moth?

Is it that it's my birthday next week? Just shy of the dreaded 4-0. I don't think it's possible I'll be 40 next year. I'm actually17 you know. Have been for years. But at forty,  if you're average, life is half over. Jaysus. A bit scary. I need to get a move on. Achieve! Don't I?

Or is it that my 20 year school reunion is on tonight and I'm not going? Couldn't work up the enthusiasm to see a bunch of girls I haven't been arsed to see in twenty years - just cause it's been twenty years since I saw them last...

Or is it that we're looking at secondary schools for the eldest Oub child and suddenly it doesn't feel like playing anymore? Yikes, this is an actual person we have to guide and grow. Where has the cute toddler who said funny things gone? He was far easier than this real, growing, creature who we might fuck up. The responsibility.

And then there is my lovely aunt whom I am very very close to. She is into hospital for open heart surgery on Wednesday. It's bloody scary. And I'm not so much worried that she won't come through it all - she has the best doctors - it's more her having to go through this awful time at all. The fact that she is getting old.  It's also seeing the same with my parents. Does one start counting how many years you have left with them?

And when and where and how do you balance these concerns with the reality that there isn't much you can do? That life is life and it'll have it's wicked way with you one way or the other.

(It may come as no surprise to you all that it was just my philosophy course marks that dragged down my over all finals results, leaving me with a 2.2, not a 2.1. Bitter, moi? )

But enough.

It's now half past three and the baba has decided to wake up and she's yelling.

Not much to be said about that.

I'll be tired in the morning, but maybe I'll have left the grump behind.

The People's Republic of Ireland

So, I should have been updating my blog for the last hour or so, but I was otherwise engaged. I was composing a snitty - yet non-libellous - email to my local political representatives giving out to them for not nominating Senator David Norris for president. Yes, it's all a bit closing the barn door after the horse has bolted - where was my email beforehand promising them all sort of deliciously democratic delights for their vote? The things a girl can do with a mandate could make your eyes water!

But no, I didn't email them beforehand as I just assumed they'd do the right thing and nominate him. I know, am I really that stupid? It appears I am. Really. It's embarrassing. So, now they've all been informed of my disgust (am sure they're just quaking) and I've promised my vote next time to some bloke who thinks Trotsky was David Cameron's more conservative older brother.

(Breaking News!- It appears that Waterford County Council have just done the decent thing and nominated him. Good on ye Waterford CC. That's more like it. )

And the thing is, I'm not even sure I am going to vote for the senator. I really quite like him, I think he'd be a brilliant president, the perfect person for the country right now. But I would like a little clarification on some of the more controversial things he's said. But, without him in the race, then I never will get that clarification and I will not be living in the democracy I thought I was living in.

This country's politicians really sucks sometimes.  Hmmm. A lot of the time.


(Breaking news! - Just got a reply to my email from local TD (MP or Congressman for my international readership. Lol) TD says that the councillors "acted in good faith and according to what they thought was the right decision for South Dublin County Council to make". )


Sigh.  So it was the right decision. Wow, winning argument! God forbid they give us any actual reasons... oh, hang on - because there are none! No one is going to come out and say they didn't vote for him because he's gay or because they know he's so popular that he'd stop their guy winning the election.

Gah.

But silly naive me for thinking there was any honour in politics. I really must have had a blow to the head recently. 

So, come on Dublin City Council, meeting this evening, do the right and democratic thing! Nominate Norris! 


BREAKING NEWS! - Yay, Dublin City Council stood firm for democracy and Senator Norris is now on the ballot paper! Hurray for democracy! And I'm sure my day long email flame war with the Mayor of South Dublin County Council had no influence...)