Today we had a wonderful pre-chrissy get-together with my immediate family; to see my sister who'll be with her in-laws on The Big Day, and see my other sister who arrived from the UK last night. Mumndad went the full catastrophe; turkey, chestnut stuffing, roast potatoes, pumpkin, parsnip, force-balls, ham (don't get me started), gravy, bread sauce, peas... And then followed it with clafouti, three types of ice cream, poached pears, Christmas cake... An amazing, incredible feast.
After lunch we wobbled down the hill to visit Mum's new chickens. My mother is a collector of creatures, at last count she had my father, two alpacas, a horse, two sheep and 25 heifers (who are about to find themselves pregnant as they keep breaking in to next doors bok choy patch and so are clearly in need of distracting).
On Friday, with some ceremony, four chickens were added to this menagerie - and my girls couldn't wait to meet them. You can imagine my mother's utter stunned mortification when she arrived at the chicken coop this morning only to find a large hole, a few feathers and all the signs that somewhere out there is a very well fed fox. Desperate phone calls were made and four more chickens were swiftly procured. By after-lunch they were settled and in place doing chickeny things (like laying eggs) for my daughters to be charmed by.
We've come home with six eggs - though this is causing Miss Four and a half some worry - she's concerned about the baby chicks that will be coming out of the eggs. Yes. I am trying to find a way to explain to a pre-schooler that only fertilised eggs turn into chicks. Hmm. When a mummy chicken and a daddy chicken are not fighting about the unfair division of chores in the household then... no... well, maybe she'll just forget about it... maybe?
This evening we're still too full to be interested in food. (HAH - you know, that even sounded plausible to me as I wrote it!). Let's put it this way... Somewhere deep inside my brain a small voice is claiming that I'm full - but despite this small annoyance I have made in-roads into the Unwanted Ham - on principal really plus we've got 5.5kg of the wretched stuff to go - AND eaten a lot of the ice-cream leftovers (waste not, want not, I always say). But now I must pay the price, now it is time for the fish oil.
I have a real hate-hate relationship with fish oil.
See there... on the left, fish oil. SHUDDER. Jessica, my awesome naturopath, has me on this selection of herbal supplements (iron, vitamin b and stuff to boost my thyroid levels). She talked me into fish oil once before - to boost my omega threes and help with my ultra-sensitive skin. But I was pregnant and after vomiting it up twice I left the stuff in the fridge until one of the kids got hold of it and poured it into my handbag (words cannot describe how that handbag reeked after that - it used to attract flies - so it went in the dressing up box and now I have my new handbag into which I can easily fit two bottles of wine and a 90K manuscript - who said good things don't come from bad situations?).
But now I have NO EXCUSE. Jessica says I MUST HAVE Fish oil or my skin shall all peel off. It MUST NOT BE in capsules (because she feels the stuff the capsules are made of should not be polluting my pristine body). Thus I must consume it in all its disgusting fishy sliminess. Really its a bit like treading on a slug with bare feet only it tastes fishy and you burp it for about three days afterwards...