Feeling the Love :)

We may well be in serious strife over our continuing lack of income...

In fact soon we may have to sell the car...

But we are not in Samoa or Sumatra or The Philippines. And when the ones you could not bear to live without are safe and well there is no reason not to laugh and cherish the love...

:)

Clean up begins

Dear South Australian Farmers, I'm extremely very sorry that I'm using precious water to rinse away your equally precious top soil. I dearly wish that it wasn't glued to the car by the one mil of rain we got the night before the dust storm, and the usual daily sprinkling of possum wee that I receive when I park under our Paperbark Tree. If I could think of a way to send the soil back to you I would do it.All is back to normal today after the excitements of yesterday. Though I can still taste the dust, and walking across the lawn kicks it up and makes my bare feet filthy. The weather people say that there is potential for another storm this weekend, but that it is unlikely because there isn't any soil left to be blown away. Still, this gives me an excellent excuse not to clean anything for a day or two.

The water people have relaxed water restrictions for a while...

Minister Costa has announced that hoses can be used to clean premises following the recent dust storm. Under Water Wise Rules, hoses with a trigger nozzle or high pressure water equipment can be used to clean vehicles, walls, windows and driveways over the coming week - from the Sydney Water website

Which is good news as the dust is impossible to sweep, it just floats around for a while and then settles somewhere else - if only the same cleaning technique could be used for the inside of the house though. And yes, non-Aussie residents, we do need government permission to hose our own driveways. Sad but true.

Dust Storm in Sydney

Woke this morning at about 5am to a sinister apocalyptic sky...Huge dust storm has hit Sydney and a lot of NSW. The screamies are not sure at all, they want to know where the dust came from, and is it a bushfire. Hubby miffed because spotless cars washed two days ago are filthy.
It smells really dusty and everyone is sneezing, even Sebby the spaniel.
Also, because its been so warm we had a lot of windows open last night. Whole inside of house covered in a thin layer of dust as well. YAY. More to clean.
Have to go and get emergency zombie destroying kit ready now. You know. Just in case it isn't a dust storm...

Sweet Peas

M' painted ladies are blooming.

They happen in threes...

OH. MY. GOD. Excuse me, but I'd just like to make the point that SOMEBODY/ANYBODY should have warned me about the things your children dream up to age you faster. I mean seriously. They know I have a High School reunion in a few weeks and after the last week of my life, any lingering smugness that I may just look just a smidge younger than I actually am (let's say 35 rather than 37 years, 9 months and 17 days) has been vaporised.

I am convinced they're doing it on purpose btw (that's trendy youff for By The Way, Diana).

Oh I shouldn't make light of it. That would make me sound like a worse mother than I actually am. You see it was horrible and serious. Miss 3.5 was bitten by a spider. Mmm. Nothing quite like having your husband tell you that your child is hysterical because she has been bitten by a spider that she is describing as black and red and has fang marks in her arm. Trust me interwebs it ages you.

We calmed her down, and whilst hubby hit google for advice, I tried to ease the story of what happened out of her. No easy feat, as anyone who has chatted to a pre-schooler will understand. She was climbing a tree in our front yard, came inside and there was a spider on her, which bit her and she knocked it onto the floor. She is was red and black, but then changed her story and said it was gold with red and black on it.

Meanwhile hubby had done a heap of research, and we knew that if Miss 3.5 had been bitten by a red-back she'd be in serious pain by this point. She clearly wasn't. We kept her calm and under close scrutiny, but once a band-aid had been applied to the bite-mark she continued as if nothing whatsoever had happened. Okay, now with a very healthy respect for creepy crawlies, but fine nonetheless.

See here she is, just fine...

Of course, having two disasters in the space of a week (see below for visit to hospital story) has led to many many people kindly pointing out that these things happen in threes.

Weeeelll - as Sam from Bewitched used to say - actually the spider thing technically could be counted as our third disaster of the week. We did have another one. A poo disaster.

A poo disaster involving my personal nemesis - the playground equipment at McDonalds.

Many of you will remember the incident at McDonalds where Miss 3.5 took off all her clothes and refused to come down from the highest heights of the McDonalds play equipment. Full horrible story here. We do not eat Maccers much, but lately hubby was lured back by the McAngus burger.

Everything was going smoothly and so when Miss 3.5 asked to go and play I only hesitated for a split second before saying okay. Well, hubby and I finished our burgers and went to get her. Grinning from ear to ear she whizzes out of the slide and into our arms. Awww. A kodak moment.

Until I glance in the direction of her trousers, and wonder out loud to hubby, "What's that coming out of the top of her pants?" Pretty much at the same moment he says, "What's that smell?"

Oh crap.

We rush her into the bathrooms, and quickly ascertain that this is one that we're not going to fix easily. We stripped off her bottom half, bundled up the clothes and threw them in the bin - trust me, you'd have done the same thing - cleaned her as best we could, wrapped her in hubby's jacket and made a run for it.

I still have the compulsive urge to wash my hands every single time I think of it.

So. One week, three disasters. I've aged.

sigh.

Urgh - Afternoon at the hospital

I've been having dramas.

Yesterday afternoon I was potting out my tomato seedlings - oh how I want to rant on about my home made potting mix with compost from the worm farm in it - but I shall restrain myself. Barely. Miss 3.5 was playing the swing. She's just learned how to swing herself without being pushed and is as pleased as punch about it all.

Well, I heard an odd thump and glance up to see her in a crumpled heap on the ground. I'd like to say I kept a calm head and walked over to see what the problem was, but no, I sprinted over there, falling over the dog, swearing and yelling at hubby not to pick her up.

She'd fallen off the swing. She was swinging very high, and when she was at full height from the ground she'd let go - It was a two metre drop and she'd landed on the back of her neck. My god. There is no reality check like seeing your child lying on the ground. Not screaming or crying, just still and pale. She didn't fully lose conciousness, but was kind-of drifting in and out for a few minutes. After about five minutes she wanted to get up. I was fussing about neck injuries, but she wouldn't stay still.

Anyway, we got her inside on the couch in front of the fire, but 45 minutes later she was still a dreadful shade of white and listless - so off to the emergency department we went.

The emergency staff at Hornsby Hospital were awesome. They kept her under observation for four hours, checking her eyes and whatnot regularly, but as time went on it was clear she was improving. Her colour came back and her main complaint was that she was hungry - as they wouldn't let her eat or drink. She'd been complaining about a headache and chest pain to me, though she wouldn't admit it to the nurses - so I was so glad to be there, just in case something developed.

After hubby fed Miss 5 he brought her down and we ended up in the pedes ward with both girls tucked up in the bed together and us sitting and watching the goings on in an emergency ward on a Wednesday night. This kid, I'd say 13 or 14, in the bed next to us had come in, barely able to breathe with asthma and had not improved so they'd decided to put in a drip to get more steroids into him, but his parents weren't there. Where were they? Gone out to dinner - I ask you. Suddenly it felt like I wasn't doing such a bad job after all.

They discharged us at about 9.30pm, and we all came home and had a feast of warm milk and peanut butter sandwiches and then fell into bed. When I woke up this morning everyone was in bed with me and I hadn't even been disturbed when they arrived!!

Miss 3.5 is doing well this morning. She's insisted on going to pre-school, but we're picking her up in an hour as she really should be at home.

I'm not one for moralising or pontificating on about the things our children teach us about the world and ourselves. So let's just say that I've realised I'd rather have a child that thought my cooking was "disgusting" than no child at all. :)

Parenting FAIL - again

My children are impossible. Completely and utterly impossible. Please excuse me whilst I rant...

I spent two and a half hours cooking dinner this evening. We had the most beautiful piece of prime rib and I wanted to make the most of it. It was intended for Father's Day dinner, but we ran out of time, and so I promised to do it today. Having baked some madelines for afternoon tea, because I promised Miss 3.5 that I would, I got the prime rib into the oven, reduced some home made beef stock from the freezer for a red-wine gravy, chopped up the pumpkin, potatoes, sweet potato and parsnips, made cauliflower cheese and my piece-de-resistance... made teeny weeny yorkshire puddings in a mini-muffin tray. I knew the kids would just love them.

Now you see why it took so long! Also in the middle of all that I made some yoghurt, tidied up, ran the dishwasher twice and did the washing up as I went along.

It all came together perfectly at the end. Well apart from me being still dressed in sneakers, velour trackky pants, the t-shirt I slept in and my fleece jacket (inside out as it turns out, which must have amused all the neighbours who chatted to me this morning when I was in the front garden). I'd wanted to get all dressed up, because such a spectacular meal deserves dressing up, and I was going to get out some tea-light candles and have some wine and it was going to be lovely and civilised.

So, I called everyone in for dinner, and they charged in like a herd of elephants screeching and whining and running around, and for some reason best known to herself Miss 3.5 is under the table screaming about something. They're asking me what 's for dinner and telling me they don't like it and refusing to sit down and I was trying to serve so it was still warm and nobody had set the table. And they were fighting about who was going to sit where and hassling the dog.

And all of a sudden it was too much. I'd had completely enough of my screaming whining family for whom I work day and night, and - like any mother - make sacrifices on an hourly basis. I was feeling used and taken advantage off, and just like Cinderella only there was no Prince and there never ever would be. So I threw a tantrum of my own.

"Enough," I bellowed. Flinging my oven gloves across the kitchen. "I have had enough you ungrateful shits. Do you have ANY IDEA AT ALL how f*king hard it is to produce a meal like this." Then I stormed off and refused to come out of my office until hubby crept in waving a glass of merlot at me. The merlot had a bug in it, but I drank it anyway.

By this stage the kids had eaten and were playing happily - apparently going to the aquarium to meet Santa - as you do, and hubby was finishing off the last of the washing up. So I was left to watch Talking Heads on ABC1, sip my wine and contemplate the fact I'd called my children ungrateful little shits - which, I believe is the honest truth, but that phrase is going to come back at me, its only a matter of time, and said f*king (again).

Well, as cool calm parenting goes, I've failed once again. And I'm wondering if I'll ever get it right. Pre-schoolers are such hard work. Mine fight endlessly, neither is ever happy about anything, and its like the bad times go on for ever with so few good times in between.

They're both at school next year. I'm trying really hard to treasure this time we have left at home all together. But to tell the truth, I'm actually hoping-to-god that our best years are yet to come.

Snipping of the Fluffy Dice - the revenge

Happy Father's Day everybody, hope yours wasn't completely unbearable. Right, enough platitudes, I feel like I'm on a bandwagon.

Father's Day did not feature at all in my childhood - simply because it wasn't my mothers cup-of-gin. However in the last couple of years I have inserted it into my own family's calendar, just because of all the advertising made me realise I was missing something in my life, something that could be bought from Bunnings or DJs or Myer. Oh alright. I inserted it into my own family's calendar because...

1. It means I can demand expensive presents on Mother's Day,
2. It means I can buy hubby some t-shirts that Are NOT Grey,
3. Because Hubby is a great Dad and I think the kids and I should acknowledge the patience and sacrifices he makes for us without ever expecting anything in return. YES. There it is. I've said something nice about him. Wait, was that a cold chill? Did hell freeze over? Of course not. That's not going to happen until I show a certain someone (let's call him DW) my breasts.

Anyhoo, I'm sure you're all gagging to know how the testicless one is. Er, no not hubby (yet - snigger). The dog. Sebby.

Picked him up from the vet yesterday morning where, upon seeing me, he threw himself upon the floor - legs in the air to better display his brazilian - and started the most ear splitting yelping. Alarmed vets abandoned their appointments and came hurtling into the waiting room to see what the hell was going on. Of course it was only me. One of the vets checked him over to make sure he was okay and then the dog was deemed a Big Girl's Blouse.

Sebby however had not yet made his point. He sprinted from the vet to the other person in the waiting room - a burly bloke with a fluffy bunny - and made friends, licking and wagging and admiring the bunny and all big spaniel eyes begging to take him home because SHE is the EVIL ONE and who know what she'll be amputating next - maybe with her TEETH. Then he looked at me and started the yelping thing again (the dog, not the burly fellow).

Yes. Clearly I was the one to blame.

After he'd calmed down a bit - shut up long enough to get to the car - I whisked him home and administered love, strokes and food - most of which was barfed up on the kitchen floor. He was pretty quiet and slept a lot, but started to perk up in the evening. The yelping only happened on one more occasion (and this was when he got into next-doors back yard and had to be passed over the fence to safety from their boisterous Kelpie).

This morning was, of course Father's Day. And to celebrate I was doing my famous (at my house anyway) chocolate breakfast - hot chocolate, chocolate croissants, nutella on waffles etc... Sebs watched proceedings for a bit from his mat, and when he judged that the entire family was present and enjoying the heady aroma of chocolate and baking croissants, he positioned himself under the table and with a small grunt, produced the most offensive smelling poo I have ever encountered.

End of breakfast.

Sigh.

Cute huh?

Sebs at the beach after slightly misjudging size of wave.

He was off on a playdate with wonderful Peta and her two beautiful boxers Ham and Pearl.He rather fancies Pearl - that's the lovely lass on the right. Rather more than is seemly. So, today he's off for the snip.

Bye balls.

I wonder what happens to them after they're snipped off? Made into a coin purse or something I suppose.

New Lappy

It has been pointed out to me that perhaps the rest of the internet is not as thrilled by pictures of lettuces as I am. sniff. I find this extremely difficult to believe. Extremely. Next you'll be telling me that photographs of my clean laundry pile, or before and after shots of my desk when I'm in tidying mode are equally mundane. Pfffft. As if.

So, you have suffered with me through the loss of lappy. Well, disaster upon disaster and the billion year old computer that I was using to replace lappy had spat the sodding dummy as well. Bastard. Hubby is still job-hunting and finances are tighter than a rodents behind around here. The plan had been to hold off on buying anything except take-away food, ice-cream, chocolate, alcohol, waygu beef and gadgets that fit into the cigarette lighter of the car etc... until hubby was once more gainfully employed. BUT, faced with the prospect of sharing hubby's half-size laptop that is still not quite right after he poured a cup of coffee into it, we realised that a new laptop for me was going to be less expensive than a divorce and the resulting counselling bills for the children.

So, I am now in possession of a MacBook. Yes. Not only is it a new lappy, but we've gone to a Mac. Why? Actually I have no idea why. The discussion about what to buy went kind-of like this... (kind of)

Me: Stupid bloody f*king bloody wretched half-assed bloody machine

Hubby: I think its borked

Me: Har, har, har. Also, don't mess with me, I'm doing re-writes and PMT is approaching along with a full moon...

Hubby: No, seriously, its borked.

Me: Did you know Bron keeps misreading borked for corked and having a drink when I write in on the blog? I'm going to have to start timing putting up my posts better (not at 6am). OMG THE BLOG THE BLOG. Will I ever be able to update it again? (this is where I went from denial to er nial, or something. Hmm. That sounded funnier in my head).

Hubby: Calm down

Me: No, waaah, pass me chocolate, waaah.

Hubby: You are on a diet

Me: AND SCREW WEIGHTWATCHERS - this is a disaster. You get extra points for disasters. I read it somewhere.

Hubby: Its time for a new laptop

Me: (Calming quickly) What sort of laptop?

Hubby: Well you could get a Dell, or another Benq

Me: Do they come in purple?

Hubby: Er

Me: If you were me what sort of computer would you get yourself?

Hubby: Well a Macbook, without question, they are the best.

Me: So that's not good enough for me? Hmm?

Small bickering session ensues with hubby getting defensive and me taunting him about walking so easily into that one - I mean you've been married to me for six years now love, and that was a seriously amateur mistake.

So, I have my macbook. Its very lovely, but not having really used a mac properly since around 1987, I'm not yet up to warp speed. Also its quite easy to delete things on a mac. Who knew if you put the shortcut for the program in the trash it deleted the whole thing and then your husband had to be all 'ner ner nee ner ner' before he reinstalled it. Ahem.

On a serious note...

Writers; twice in the last month I've nearly lost access to all my work. However I use http://www.getdropbox.com to automatically back up all my work to the internet. It is FREE and EASY and has saved my sanity, my marriage etc... Use it to back up your precious manuscripts. That is all.

Because you can never have too many photos of lettuce...

Italian lollo (green) and Oak leaf - plus two sneaky garlics Freckles lettuce.

Oak leaf
Freckles (again)
What? Grew 'em myself.

Sticks in the Ground

I know everyone has been losing sleep waiting for pix of my pear hedge... And my new raspberry patch...

Yes. My hilarity knows no boundaries.

When Possums Invade...

You know how I've been moaning about the possum pee smell in my study for forever. Well, yesterday we moved my desk and this is what we found...So you see the black furry bit? That's the possums tail. And the grey furry bit? That's the REST of the Possum.

Hubby is doing man things later tonight to fix it.

God help me.

Spring has sprung

Heirloom Tommy Toe tomatoes. Yesterday there was nothing there and by this afternoon...
Broccoli seedlings...

Burning Off

Lately we've had a bit of a warm patch with the weather. Which, because its August, means burning off.
In Sydney the pristine early spring days are invariably marred by huge plumes of smoke and the smell of burning eucalyptus. Today was no exception.

At one point the smoke became thick and the the sound of helicopters had me starting up my usual bushfire pastime of staring obsessively at the smoke, pacing around the garden and checking the internet to see that all is well. Of course all was well, and within twenty minutes the smoke had died down and the choppers were gone.

As the weather has got warmer, the significance of the forthcoming bushfire season has become more real. When Black Saturday happened down in Victoria, it was the end of the bushfire season around here. We knew that for the next few months the risk of fires was going to be very low.

That, however, was six months ago.

Lately reports have been circulating of the recovery of the bushfire victims and the effected habitat. Many people still have not lost that air of shell-shock as they relate once more how they lost their entire family. I still cry to read stories of bravery, unimaginable loss and breathtaking miracles. The shattering effect that Black Saturday had has not faded for all that its been pushed to the background by cool weather and good rain.

Its got me thinking about what's to come. Last year we had two smallish fires nearby, both started by lightening strikes. Every year we get at least one. There are dire reports of this being 'the worst fire season ever' - but we get that every year around now. I think this bushfire season will be no different to the last in terms of severity. But what will be different is the knowledge that my family is as vulnerable as those people who lost everything in Black Saturday.

So I suppose the question is how is that going to change my attitude. What am I going to do differently. Will I sit here, hanging on the internet and the radio, following the updates and swap phone calls with friends and family. Well that's what I usually do. Take a few photos? Blog about it? Or will I have a plan of action, know what to do, when to leave, whether to stay? At what point to call hubby home from work. At what point to pack the car?

We have a fire plan. I've downloaded the bits from the Rural Fire Services website, discussed it with hubby. But its a daunting thought - the whole bushfire thing. A very daunting thought.

New Website

Hurray, hurray. The new website it up and running and totally un-borked.

http://www.caitlynnicholas.com/

Last Week

So, whilst George the teddy was having an awesome week at our house last week, mine was brimming with ups and downs. Here, I know, I'll make a list... (because I am a capricorn and I love lists).

1. Sent The Bunker to New York - now have fingers, toes and things crossed.
   
2. Lappy died. I KNOW. Can't I just point out that I was teetering on the brink of sending The Bunker off. I mean I was planning to do it two days later. It kind-of went bzzt, and hubby said something like, "I think its 'borked'". I have no idea what that means but I think its IT person for 'totally screwed'.
   
3. Housekeeper left - I am going to have to clean my house myself (WAAAAAAAAAAAAAH). Oh Jocelyn we will miss you SO MUCH - People ask me a lot, "How do you do it?" Meaning how do I write 95,000 word manuscripts, run a house, cope with pre-schoolers, dogs, cats, husband, cook, bake, shower, have conversations etc, etc. Well, here's the secret - I have a lot of help. Esp with the conversations. Jocelyn was a big part of that help and now she has selfishly left me to go and spend a year in Italy. Well thanks.
   
4. Completely screwed up website re-design - hubby had to save me.
   
5. Redesigned website - don't look yet, dotster is dragging its heels in redirecting the dns (I have no idea what that means either but hubby explained all about it for about thirty minutes earlier this morning - thanks hon - I had no idea I was so good at yawning with my mouth shut).
   
6. Planted my pear hedge - okay, so it looks like two sticks in the ground - but one day it'll be marvellous, in ten years or so.
7. Had a night of cackling with the girls on Saturday night - thanks Margo you're awesome (and I am SO SORRY your name was never called out on Romper Room). I think the conversation that will stay with me the longest is the one about which of our husbands have had prostate examinations from Dr Fat-fingers up at the Medical centre.
   
8. Took the kids to the Opera House yesterday. Met up with my sister and her three week old baby. So TINY and cute.

Er, I think that's it. Shall not mention trip to shoe shop with vile tempered children... am still recovering and may need counselling.

oh sigh.

George goes to Nonna's House

Today we took George to visit mumndad. Whilst I developed a migraine working on my latest masterpiece everyone else fed the cows...And discussed life with the horses. Hubby threw off his guise of mild-mannered IT Guy and spent the afternoon chopping wood with My Dad. They threw chains around tree stumps and ripped them out of the ground with the tractor, wielded chainsaws (okay hubby wasn't allowed near the chainsaw for his own safety), and even perspired a little. Hubby also saw quite a few Very Scary Bugs.

Tomorrow George goes back to pre-school, ready to spend a week with someone else. Bye George, I shall miss you.

George goes to Playgroup

George has his own special spot in the car. Here we are off to playgroup. Its freezing cold and raining today, which means I've brought hubby to playgroup to fully experience being locked inside an echoy hall with fifteen or so children. Funnily enough he spent most of the time outside on his phone begging recruitment agents to get him a job, any job.I love being on playgroup morning tea because it means I can do some baking. George, the kids and I made chocolate yoghurt mini snack cakes, Madelines and an apple teacake. Really they were only things that got me through the morning, oh that and three cups of tea, which hit my bladder at the exact time the toilets backed up.

sigh.
Miss Five has given up eating anything that isn't loaded with sugar. That and her mania for computer games has me convinced that I shall be up for Parent of the Year at any moment.

George does some baking

We've got lot's of baking to do before playgroup tomorrow, as its our day on Morning Tea. George has been helping with the Madelines.

George goes to the Woodchop

George has had a very exciting day. But not nearly as exciting as me. WELL, I mean how can you compare hanging out with a five year old who has eaten an entire bag of fairy floss and is going around and around in a teacup, with going to a gym-party and having to RUN and SKIP and DO BUNNY HOPS - all in a very jiggly bra.

I ask you.

But, this is not about me or my breasts being one centimetre closer to my navel. This week is all about George.
So our local Woodchop (which is a village fete with woodchopping involved) was on up at the pub/shopping centre today. Hubby took Miss Five (and apparently 'didn't notice' how much fairy floss she was eating). George accompanied her everywhere, down the big slide and was fascinated by the woodchopping competitions. I'm always terrified they'll take a leg off by accident, but George was pretty laid back about it all.

They got home at around lunchtime (which is when those in the pub are beered up enough to start wandering around and its best for small children to be elsewhere). Miss Five has spent the rest of the day white-faced and vile tempered. Poor thing. I've tried to redress the nutritional balance by offering vast quantities of water, fruit and other high fibre foods (like oats), but all she has done is scream "I want fairy fluff," at me. George has been unperturbed by this behaviour. Actually, I'm beginning to like George more and more. He's a bit like the dog, only he doesn't go around raping teddy bears and chewing off Barbie heads.

sigh.

George Goes To Swimming

George the teddy watching a DBD (he can't say V very well).

Meet George...

George has come from pre-school to stay at our house for the week. We will take lots of photos of George and document his week with us.He only arrived this afternoon, but he's already had some afternoon tea (fingerbuns with sprinkles) and is settling in nicely.

Kitchen Disaster...

I have just sorted out my clean laundry pile. It took me FOUR hours. FOUR. With no distractions and no rest breaks. Yes, yes. The glamorous pace continues here at chez Nicholas.

Here is last night's dinner...
Looks lovely doesn't it?

Well. It wasn't.

Yesterday I was having one of those multiple disaster days. Thus spilling a glass of water led to putting the rescued glass on the corner of the table which led to it being knocked on the floor which (not surprisingly) led to shattered glass everywhere, which led to the dog being outside, which led to the dog eating alpaca poo from the spud patch, which led to the dog being sick... and so on

So when it came to cooking lasagna for dinner, I was unsurprised to find that we had no beef stock left - I substituted Vegemite in hot-water (not exactly gourmet, but I figured it'd do) - and no lasagna sheets left either - which led to a strange assortment of left-over pastas being used and dinner downgraded to a pasta bake.

THEN I got distracted by facebook (hi Wend and Liz, yay we're friends now - please, please do not tell my husband about all the men I slept with at CSU. K? thxbai). This led to the mince being cremated. But, undefeated, I scraped off the un-burntest bits and shoved them in with the pasta.

THEN it came time for the white sauce - no drama's there. Well not until I had a bright idea. You see I have this vile vile fish oil that Jessica the naturopath insists I eat for my omega threes. I went on strike because it is so utterly vile, and we have compromised - I now take the evil stuff in capsule form. At the time Jessica suggested that I use the leftover fish liquid in cooking, to held the kids with their omega threes.

So, as if burnt mince wasn't enough, I add a huge tablespoon of orange flavoured fish oil to the white sauce thinking the cheese/milk/whatever will cover it.

WRONG.

Oh so very wrong.

The best way to describe dinner last night was overcooked pasta with mince that first tasted a bit fake-orangy, then tasted very burnt, with a really really offensive lingering aftertaste of fish.

Yummy.

Hubby ate it.

sigh.

Bubbles

Blowing bubbles in the garden. Yes I am wearing a blanket.

Catch-up

The Bunker is finished. Done and dusted and off being torn to bits by various readers. Its occupied me fairly fully for the last month or so, and now that its off my mind for a while I'm catching up with the other things I love to do. Namely cooking and gardening - oh and my children. OH OKAY. Cooking and gardening.

Actually, I have been doing some reading to improve my parenting...

I'm not sure that its working - not the books fault of course - as every time I try to meditate I either fall asleep or get bored and remember something vital I should be doing. I KNOW I need to practice. But...

Buddhism for Mothers is a good book, and I do seriously recommend it for anyone with young kids. The advice about being 'present' with your children is so relevant and useful, also its worth reading just for the stories of embarrassing things other people's children do to them.

My drive for sustainability continues. We've reduced both our water and electricity bills, though not as much as I'd like. But progress has been made. I've also taken another step in loosening the grip of the supermarket on my life. Bought a yoghurt maker (more later). This has led to me investigating further dairy products I can make at home. So far I've had huge sucess with making ricotta (all you do is boil milk, add lemon juice, strain - too easy). Next experiment is creme fraiche.

I have been doing glorious things to the potato patch, namely spreading alpaca poo (courtesy of Jock and Pepe - Mumndad's alpacas) all over it. Which the dog is helpfully eating. BLESS HIM and my children who keep treading in the vomited up results. I love my life. No really.

See he looks cute. BUT HE IS THE DEVIL.

Sigh.

Here is how I am going with my 'new look'

New Look

Just sortin out a new look. Cannot do it in private, no the world must see the blog in its underpants (which, it must be noted, is a happier sight than me in my underpants).

We're all going on a winter holiday...

Firstly - MANY CONGRATULATIONS to my sister, who had my second nephew on Tuesday. Alex is a teeny weeny 2.5kgs (5.5lbs) but doing well regardless. My sister is having a couple of dramas due to the epidural and is suffering the mother of all headaches. So gigantic hugs to her and best wishes from all of us. WE ARE SO PROUD OF YOU.

Anyway, enough gushing.

Leura. Alluring Leura. Up in the Blue Mountains, just a hop, skip and a jump from Mumndads house.

Oh sigh.

I'd like to say it was huge fun, but I was in the company of two children who were devastated because they did not see a mountain that was blue. Two days of "but I want to see the blue mountain. MUMMY. I. WANT. TO SEE. THE. BLUE MOUNTAAAAAAAIN. Waaah."

sigh. sigh. sigh.

They were excited. SO excited. So excited that they didn't sleep, and forgot how to behave in cafes (or public or private or anywhere). Places my children had tantrums...

1. Car park at Echo point
2. Echo point
3. Car park of holiday flat in Leura
4. Stairs of holiday flat in Leura (one on each flight - yes stereo)
5. Holiday flat in Leura
6. Leura main street
7. Leura Cascades
8. Leura Toy and Train Museum
9. Loaves and Fishes in Leura
10. Leura Bookshop
11. Car on the way to Blackheath
12. Govett's Leap carpark
13. Govett's Leap
14. Govett's Leap information centre
15. Cafe in Blackheath
16. Main street in Blackheath
17. Non-stop screaming until they passed out at 8pm
18. 4.30am Miss Five upset due to hubby snoring (tell me about it sweetie)
19. 5am Passing train deemed to be thunderstorm
20. Leaving Leura holiday flat (stairs and carpark)
21. Most of the way to Norman Lindsey house at Springwood (mostly because the didn't like the sun OR the view was on the wrong side of the car)
22. At Norman Lindsey cafe
23. Norman Lindsey garden
24. Car down to Nonna and Granpa's house

Fun times.

I'm going to go and lie on the couch in a comatose haze now...

Guest Blogging

I'm guest blogging today over at the lovely Selena Illyria's blog as part of her Australian Heat Week. Go, see me babble about The Bunker - which is going to be FINISHED in a couple of hours (ie Saturday night). Woo hoo.

http://selenaillyria.com/2009/07/australian-heat-week-6-caitlyn-nichols/

Fairy Party

Holee Mother of God. I had heard that kids birthday parties were as bad as arranging a wedding (I always want to write weeding? Why is that?) but this week I have experienced this first hand. There were outfits, and cakes, and catering, and bonboniere, and balloons, and decorations...

And the actual birthday itself, several days before the party, led to an influx of barbie dolls dressed as whores and transvestites. Miss Five's take on it was... "I think Barbie needs some knickers on. She can have Snow White's." Yes, in keeping with her reputation the Snow White doll was the only one who arrived wearing suitable underwear (or any underwear at all for that matter).
The party has taken the best part of this week to sort out. But, it was a success - you have never seen so many happy little fairies! The wand decorating which I though would interest them for five minutes kept them all busy for half an hour; and the fairy skirts, which I thought there'd be fights over, were utterly ignored. I now have ten fairy skirts from the Hot Dollar shop that'll fit anyone with a six inch waist or smaller. I'm sure they'll come in useful.

Cooked masses of food. Including sausage rolls, chicken mini-pies, chicken spring rolls...
And of course a pink marshmallows and cupcakes birthday cake.
Hubby, of course, was not to be outdone and made sure it was All-About-Him by 'accidentally' standing on a rusty nail. He is presently at the doctor getting a tetnus shot and may have to have his entire leg amputated due to gangrene - well that is what you'd think if you saw him limping. Oh I KNOW I should be more sympathetic (and I am, no really) but there are leftover cupcakes...

Breakfast at Tiffanys: Only it was after lunch and stinky cheese was involved

So late last week I changed out of my usual food spattered, snot smeared outfit, got all gussied up (including shoes with a 1.5cm heel and even mascara - which I might add, I didn't even rub into panda eyes until I GOT HOME - yes it seems as I get closer to 40 I am finally learning about makeup) caught public transport (hi there small chinese lady eating raw garlic behind me on the train - I've not forgotten you, no doubt you had no idea I even existed - well how could you THROUGH THAT FUG). And, met up with the sublime Jess Dee at the Lindt Cafe in Martin Place in Sydney.We had no good reason for meeting up, except that it was an excuse to eat chocolate. I immediately realised we were both on the same page when Jess persuaded me to eat waffles FOR LUNCH - with... wait for it.... NO savories first - because that would've spoiled it. Yes, it was almost as wild as the time I drank a large part of a keg of beer and then went swimming in the Murrumbidgee River downstream from a very dead cow. (Ah CSU Wagga).

Anyhoo. We ate chocolate, drank chocolate and then I bought more chocolate - although not the usual Lindt bars as I knew it was On Sale at Coles for half the price. Oh how thrifty am I?? Did you know that Lindt Lindor balls came in flavours like peanut butter AND cinnamon. I was amazed, but then, as we all know I am very easily amazed. Or is that amused? Er.

Well, we found ourselves all hyped up, unwilling to return to the suburbs from whence we'd come and at a loose end. So we went shopping. Sensibly our first stop was the Sydney GPO building, where poor Jess found herself dragged to a lovely little cheese shop deep underground. Of course I HAD to buy this incredibly stinky brie that I saw there. Stinky is probably a slight understatement, polite people would say it smelled like old socks, but I am not polite (I am, according to my mother; crass and have a stumpy neck). No, that dear brie smelled like a thousand people had farted in a jar and then they had buried the jar under a chook shed and poured decomposing seaweed liquid over it once a week for a hundred years.

So where do you think we went next... Armani? Prada? Tiffanys? Yes. All three. (OH OKAY, we didn't go to Prada because we were scared of the scowly shop assistant creature at the front door). Really though, the brie showed some restraint in battling its way out of my handbag until we arrived in the rarefied atmosphere of Tiffanys. Suddenly every time I stopped to look at something sparkly I could smell it.Really, its rather difficult to be swanning about pretending that you could actually buy some of the things there, when you smell like a fart in a jar.

Today I finished eating the cheese. Of the last six nights it has made its welcome presence felt every single time I opened the fridge, I have eaten it five. And, coincidentally I have had indigestion five times as well. Yes. A cheese that once I'd have had for breakfast, now defeats me.

sigh.

AAAAAAAAAAGH.

Am having website issues. There has been a fire at my webhosting people's place. One of the servers that burnt down had www.caitlynnicholas.com on it. SIGH. SIGH. SIGH. Therefore I cannot access the site to update it and it dissapears periodically.

Sorry about that.

TA DAAAA...

Secret Intentions

Out today: 7th July 2009

The Book Depository (free international postage): http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/book/9781605043272/Secret-Intentions

Amazon: Click here

Mybookstore and More: I'll update the link the very second it goes live on their website http://www.mybookstoreandmore.com/

Excerpt:

Zani hesitated outside her front door, fumbling with nervous fingers for the right key. She glanced back at Corbin, who smiled genially and made no sign of leaving. Fang, who’d spent the evening alone in her basket, could be heard barking her head off. The moment Zani managed to get the door open, she shot out ready to defend her mistress against all foes.
“Is this your guard dog?” asked Corbin, laughing as Fang’s paroxysms of barking faded into interested sniffing.
“That’s Fang,” she said, grasping at the conversation with relief.
“Fang? An interesting name for such a small, sweet dog.”
“She’s purebred, and her official name is Princess Cherry Wuffles III. The breeder named her, and I couldn’t bear the thought of either Cherry or Wuffles,” babbled Zani.
“Ah, I see,” said Corbin, who didn’t seem inclined to hurry back to the art gallery.
“Coffee?” she asked, her voice catching, even though she was sure he’d refuse.
He nodded. Her heart, which, up to that point had been thudding a little faster than usual, stopped. “Um,” she said after a short pause, during which her heart resumed operations.
“Should we go inside?” he suggested.
“Yes, I think inside would be an excellent idea.” With the air of one who regularly entertained large Frenchmen, she showed him through to the tiny sitting room just inside the front door.
“Very nice.” He examined the room with interest, but didn’t sit down. “Why shorten it to Fang?” he asked, following her up the hall to the kitchen.
“She sensibly bit my brother when she was a puppy. It was more of a firm suck really, but he’s never got over it.”
“So you called her Fang to remind your brother of this?” Perceptively Corbin touched on a can of worms that Zani was not going to discuss. She was keenly aware it may seem mean-spirited to anyone who didn’t know Paul.
“It’s a complicated situation,” she said, and turned away to busy herself with cups and the kettle. Conversation over.
Having the unexpectedly observant Corbin in her home was unsettling on a level beyond the whole mess at Sunberri. The men in her family including Sebastian, the man her father dreamed she’d marry, were all so self-absorbed that they rarely, if ever, asked her about herself, and then it was only to cover social niceties before steering the conversation back onto themselves. She wasn’t used to men who actually listened to her.
One thing was clear.
Her task was to prove Corbin was leaking company secrets in order to take over Sunberri. It was not to have cozy kitchen table chats after art gallery exhibitions.
She tried to think of something that would politely get rid of him, glancing at the phone and willing it to ring. An emergency, nothing too serious, but an emergency nonetheless would be perfect. True to form the phone did precisely the opposite of what she wanted and remained silent. She racked her brain to come up with something that wouldn’t make the next day at work awkward, but decided the best strategy was to get rid of him as quickly as she could, and instead, like Polly, she put the kettle on.
He hadn’t seemed to take her coffee invitation on anything but face value, but perhaps he was just biding his time. She examined him closely for biding. Settled comfortably at the kitchen table, he’d bent to pay more attention to Fang, who gazed up at him adoringly. The tart.
Out of both coffee and milk, Zani put a large mug of peppermint tea in front of Corbin. To his credit he peered into the cup and looked only briefly horrified. Unwilling to get any closer to him than she had to, she retreated to the safety of leaning against the bench top.
“Nice house,” he said, glancing around the kitchen, at its scrubbed wood table, marble bench tops and giant fridge.
She could almost hear him thinking “a bit too nice for an unemployed secretary who lives alone”.
“My mother left it to me when she died.” As most people did when they heard that news, Corbin looked discomforted.
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Oh, don’t be, it was years ago. She died of breast cancer.” Zani adopted a breezy tone designed to put Corbin at ease and declare the subject closed. She suppressed the small twist of grief that always accompanied any conversation about her mother.
“You miss her. No?”
Zani felt a flare of irritation. Bloody man, couldn’t he see that she didn’t want to talk about it?
“No. Yes, I mean of course I do. She died when I was fifteen, and Dad never got over it. He didn’t have a clue what to do with me. It was so hard…”
Corbin looked at her with such sympathy that it made her skin prickle uncomfortably. He didn’t need to know these things; they just made her and her family more vulnerable. Grabbing the cloth from the sink, she briskly wiped down the immaculate bench tops, her back to Corbin, her expression hidden.
“It was a long time ago,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Now tell me, which part of France were you born in?” To Zani’s relief Corbin took the hint and began to chat about his idyllic childhood at La Rochelle, in the west of France. She neatly folded the cloth. But he watched her with an air of speculation that made Zani want to fidget. As if he’d figured out something important.
He finished the peppermint tea with a grimace and placed the cup firmly on the table.
“I should go. Thank you for the cup of…of…it was quite interesting.”
“Thank you for walking me home, and thanks again for giving me another chance to work for you.” Zani began a farewell patter that lasted all the way back down the hall to the front door. Her bourgeoning relief faded when she opened the door, looked up to say a final goodbye and caught Corbin’s eye.
There was an almost predatory gleam, and it put Zani’s senses on high alert. Suddenly she became aware of how close he stood in the narrow doorway. She smelled his piquant masculine scent and the peppermint of the tea he’d drunk. He half muttered a curse in French, and bent toward her.
He’s going to kiss me, she thought a moment before his lips met hers.
Startled, she stiffened and tried to pull away, but his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her closer.
He is kissing me. Her mouth opened under his gentle pressure and Zani forgot any thoughts of resistance. Her lashes lowered as she gave herself up to the sensation.
She felt giddy, as if she’d drunk too much champagne. Frigid air drifted around them from outside, but she barely noticed. Only Fang shivered as she sat in the hallway and watched the kissing couple with an air of resignation.
Somewhere in the back of Zani’s mind a small voice was shouting. Telling her to stop, telling her that the last thing in the world she should be doing is kissing. But kissing Corbin was like eating Belgian chocolate. You knew you shouldn’t eat another, that one more would be too much, but you eat another anyway. Despite your noblest intentions you can’t resist the temptation. It’s almost an addiction.
He pulled her closer and deepened the kiss. Zani twined her arms around his neck and, like butter in the sun, melted against him.
Then the kiss was over. Corbin’s embrace relaxed infinitesimally, and Zani drew away from him. Self-loathing overwhelmed her in seconds. Fury uncoiled in the pit of her stomach and she stumbled ungracefully backwards into the safety of the house, slamming the door.
“What the hell am I doing?” she asked Fang, who stood in the hallway watching her with a quizzical expression. “What the bloody hell do I think I’m doing?”

~~~~~~~

AND, if you needed anymore convincing...

Fallen Angel Reviews: http://www.fallenangelreviews.com/2009/January/RachelC-SecretIntentions.htm

Food and Wine Show

So. Last Friday hubby and I pottered off to the bacchanalian feast that is the Sydney Food and Wine show. Pic of booty... I have not attended the F&W show before. Generally I lack the motivation to even know when these things are on - I mean ffs its a miracle my family is cleaned and fed - what more do you people want. However, the knowledge that Kath and Kim's fave beverage is Chardonnay (and no doubt filling up brain cell space that should be occupied remembering what to do when traffic lights turn red) stood me in good stead and the loves at Kampai gave me free tickets for answering the question correctly.

OMG. Well, why did nobody tell me that it was an orgy of drunken middle-aged ladies, porky celebrity chefs and providors flogging everything from microfibre wipes (WTF?) to teabags sewn with gold thread by nubile nymphs living on Mt Olympus (well that's how much they cost anyway - and did I buy them? HELL YES)?

My first celebrity chef spotting was Manu from Ready Steady Cook, he was sitting in one of those vibrating chair thingys and talking on his mobile. I would've skibbled over for a photo, but had a nasty collision with a woman, two wine glasses hung around her neck, one slopping red wine over her left boob and the other slopping white over her right. Mmm. Classy lady. Anyway, she tottered off and fell over a garbage bin, and hubby and I got distracted by the absinthe tasting stand.

Needless to say at 60% proof I was shortly in no state to sneer at anyone falling over garbage bins AND owned my very own bottle of absinthe.

I can go no further without mentioning the chocolate.

So you take that stick, put the chocolate end in hot milk, then you are on a fast trip to warm melty chocolatly bliss.

Final thing that I loved...

Caramelised balsamic vinegar.

Bliss.

To sodding much to do...

Here is a list of what I have to do this week...

1. Finish the rewrites for The (will this book never end) Bunker
2. Update the website for the release of the print version of Secret Intentions - uh, tomorrow
3. Do some blogging (tick :))
4. Organise a fairy party (including godhelpme fairy food, fairy decorations and fairy games)
5. Buy & wrap presents, and generally make a fuss about Miss four turning (holy crap) FIVE
6. Send both children to pre-school in pyjamas (clean) for end of term pyjama party.
7. Go and visit my parents - who are on the cusp of building a house and Not Coping
8. Worry about my sister and her baby due in a couple of weeks. But shhh, don't tell her, she doesn't like it.
9. Get the dog castrated (I'm not making that up, and I'm only mentioning it because I presently only have one pair of knickers left that don't have teethmarks in them).
10. Buy self new knickers - for in case I get hit by a bus and end up in heaven trying to explain teethmarked knickers.

So, its going to be a busy week. Plus I've got a couple of catchup posts about my trip to the Food and Wine show and lunch with the divine Jess Dee at the Lindt Cafe. So stay tuned...