Finland. And how to weave it into a Saturday in Brisbane.

Sometimes I forget the Finns of Finland. Of course, I always think of them when I ponder the marvellousness that is Marimekko.

This is Martha. 

I'm sick of calling her Child Four. If she were in Finland, I guess she'd be called Martta.
She is sitting in front of my old Marimekko bedspread. I'm not sure what to do with it ... whether I should leave it as-is, or convert it into a doona cover for her.

I tried many ways to weave some Finnish finery into our Saturday. 

Which was unseasonably windy. And the sky was as blue as the lakes of Finland.

And there was mowing to do. These are gratuitous shots. They have nothing to do with Finland. Looking at these photos, I think Child One must have stuck her hands to her head with glue.

I referred to the Finnish Design Shop site which is filled with Finland's finest.

Oooh, lovely. But impractical. 

 Spotty and gorgeous.

 Heavy, cast-iron, clunky deliciousness.

It's years since I've ridden a BMX like this.

I'd snatch this handbag in a second.

I love this get-up. 

So I decided to channel some Finnish head-scarfery while I tried to finish some judgments.

Well, one judgment.
Because I'm easily distracted, especially when it comes to whipping pre-schoolers in Connect Four.

They just don't get it.

Foolish Finlandish outlandishness.

Did some Finnish washing. Look at those teensy-tiny, stripy tighties! 

Gotta keep the washing interesting or it becomes tedious.

The Husband served up his finest Finnish fare which was actually Knackwurst.
But look at how European was his application of condiments!

Child One is digging some cool toons on her I-POd ... there's a crazy mix of capitals and lower-case in the word i-Pod which I haven't caught onto yet.

 We played in the sun as if the daylight would last for 19 hours.

And I did the washing up because this was one Hell Sinkey.

Fin!