Fermenting things

I do love a good ferment.

However, sometimes a good bacteria goes bad and you end up with a smelly mess.  And sometimes things that ferment get forgotten about and die of neglect.

This would be a case of the latter. And if you think this attempt at home made vinegar looks bad you should smell it.  On the upside I think I've invented penicillin - so really I deserve another Nobel Prize (yeah, got the first for irritability and general foul temperedness - but I don't like to boast about it).

Luckily I can start again. I have a couple more vinegar mothers that I can add to red wine and try to turn it into vinegar.

For anyone remotely interested you do this:  Place vinegar mother in a container with 1.5litres: 50%wine 50%water. Taste after 4/6 weeks. Double quantities. Cover container with muslin as it needs oxygen.

Aside from this I have remaking my unset plum jelly.  Has now set beautifully...

But of course it didn't all go according to plan. And no, I did not catch an artery with the cheese slicer, I cracked a jar when I was pouring boiling jelly into it. Spectacular yes?  Why does it always happen when the jar is full?

Then, in a moment of complete BHG-ness (BHG=Better Homes and Gardens) I took to covering cereal boxes with pretty paper. I have no idea why. None.  The house is a tip and the dirty washing pile smells unspeakable. We've eaten nothing but baked beans for days. So what do I do to rectify the situation? Well, results below. Quite pleased actually.

Should've got that Nobel Prize they give out for domestic goddess-ness.

:)

Waiting

When any member of his pack isn't home, Sebs sits vigilantly at the front window, waiting.

Its also prime post-man barking position. Or delivery van, tradesman, neighbours, dogs, cats, birds, butterflies, caterpillers, ants, leaves that Dare To Move... you get the picture.

He spots the offender, flys to his feet in paroxysms of barking and then sticks his nose on the glass and wuffs at them.  See the smearly glass. Nice.  

All that defending of the castle can be exhausting on a small spaniel.

::::::

I'm much improved on yesterday.  A trip to Miss 5's new school uniform shop chased away any residual overwhelm-ness - so cute in her new Uniform. Oh and cooked brownies and madelines for a family afternoon tea this arvo. That's helped too. Probably more than it should.

:)

Teensy Bit Overwhelmed Today

Never, ever want to see another plum in my life. Ever. But, oh joy, have sorted out my 13kgs of plums - made into jelly, or frozen for when I make them into jam, and the maggotty ones? Well I poured boiling water on them and tossed them in the compost. :)

TAKE THAT MAGGOTS - hmm, suddenly I'm reminded of yelling at my children. Why is that?

It has all not been completely successful tho. Alas.  The plum jelly has refused to set properly thus far. I boiled it to the magic 104.5 degrees so it must be not enough pectin.  This means I'm going to have to remake the sodding stuff, but I think I'll pretend I'm giving it time to think about setting for the next couple of days before I embark on the process again. oh sigh.

Other than that, after the heat and the full-on-ness of the past week I am feeling almighty washed out and low this afternoon.  Things I haven't got to, like editing Drive, and not having a single flat space in the entire house that isn't covered in crap, and the dreaded clean laundry pile, and the caterpillers demolishing my calendulas, and being overweight, and not being able to see myself in the bathroom mirror due to the centimetre thick layer of... er... 'spatter', are all starting to pile up.

Ah, go away overwhelmed feeling. You are not welcome here.  :(

Holy Hell its hot. Not the weather for spending the afternoon stuffing oneself with food, but I did it anyway.

For today's breathtaking blog installment I have photographed things in my garden that have not karked it in the last 36 hours.

OH, that's such a lie. Who's for a photo of a dead and dying potato patch?? Anyone? Anyone?

Nope not looking good. sigh.

Still, the passionfruit vine is passionfruiting...

The chillies are chilling (snicker at own joke)

The corn is corny (lol)

And the cucumbers are... NOT SUCCUMBERING (ah ha ha ha)

Yes I agree, that is quite enough from me.
:)

Crab Apple Jelly and Plum Juice

Spent the day watching the sun disappear into an orangy bushfire haze, the mercury hitting 39, and creating havoc in the kitchen.

My first job was to start on the processing of the 13kgs of plums that are currently scattered about the kitchen.  Words cannot really describe what it is like to be boiling 6kgs of aforementioned plums and being assisted by a very enthusiastic nearly four year old - headache inducing comes close.  Sigh. Still, I managed to keep her out of harm's way mostly.

These particular plums are going to be turned into jelly - so am straining out the juice through muslin.  In the photo the pulp is in the muslin that has gone a fantastic shade of red and is sitting in a colander in the top of one of my stock pots.  Its about to go in the fridge and in a couple of days I'll add the sugar and turn it into plum jelly.  The peg is entirely superfluous and was hubby's contribution to the process.

Whilst this was going on I had defrosted some crab-apple juice that dad gave me ages and ages ago - this stuff is so tart that it makes lemons look like complete wimps.  So I added a LOT of sugar, boiled it until it reached 104.5 degrees precisely and then bottled it.

So, six, five, no six jars of crab-apple jelly...

And scones with crab apple jelly for afternoon tea.

:)

I've also been making two Smitten Kitchen Chocolate Pudding Pies for a family thing.  Normally I am not overly fussed with my pastry. HOWEVER - mostly because the Universe is punishing me for losing my rag with the kids when they ripped a branch off my beloved lemon tree this afternoon - the crusts collapsed mid-cook and I had to whip them out of the oven and squish them back into crust shape with a fork, then promptly had a rare blonde moment and over cooked them.

I just know these little suckers are going to leak.

SIGH.

Still, I do plan to fill these with chocolate and sugar, and top them with enough cream so HOPEFULLY no one will ever know.  It'll be our little secret. K guys? K?

Hot - and not in a good way

Oh. My. God. Today it hit 44 degrees here. FORTY FOUR or 111.2 in the old scale.  And guess where I was?  In an un-air conditioned classroom attending a parenting seminar.

Urgh does not really cover it.

The seminar was fantastic, I have been discovering the slow parenting movement and Forest pre-schools - pre-schools where the kids spend all day messing about in a forest with no toys except what they can find - I kid you not. They do have a shed or similar to hide in when the temperature drops below -10 (yes MINUS TEN DEGREES CELCIUS) or there is a storm, but other than that they potter about outside playing with sticks and lighting fires with flint stones, none the worse for wear. 

I also experienced my first encounter with an attachment parent.  I'm an each to their own kind of person in most things and parenting style is no exception.  Personally, attachment parenting has always been one of those things that I was sure if I tried my head would explode within twenty minutes and I'd have to retire to bed with a valium and a large glass of bacardi.  But yanno, if it works for you...

When I realised that the mother in question had eschewed the offered child care and was bringing her two kids aged 6months and 2.5 into the lecture with her I was all you are KIDDING me, and how totally selfish is she, and great, 40+ degrees and I'm stuck in a room with her screaming kids.  But these kids were without doubt the happiest and most beautifully behaved I have ever come across. Not a peep out of either of them. They ate, played happily and silently and then napped.  Woke up, got a hug, and went on with their playing.

I honestly never thought that children could behave like that in a crowded room - mine certainly wouldn't.

Arrived home with Miss nearly 4 in a sweaty heap and the sum total of achievements since then has been sorting out my bumper 13kg plum harvest into those for drying (the perfectly ripe ones), those for jam (the under-ripe ones) and those for making into plum butter (or puree or fruit leathers) - the over ripe and blemished ones.

OH AND... we got a new shower head.

:)

Bushfire Survival Queen and Hunter of Lost Car Keys

Hmm, so its all happening on the meteorological front tomorrow.

The Bureau is telling us that not only will there be a duststorm with vile air quality but we're expecting severe fire weather in Sydney as well.

Ye Gods.

I blogged a while back about how helpless I felt knowing my area will at some point be threatened by bushfire (you get that in an extreme fire danger area).   Since then I've done some research and talked to people and have nutted out a When To Leave plan.

So, for what its worth (and because its been a slow hot day in Chez Nicholas) this is our bushfire evacuation plan...

• Severe fire danger
• See or smell smoke - locate fire (internet, radio, phone RFS)
• Fire 20kms away - stay put and monitor
• Fire 10kms away 
• Moving towards us - Leave
• Moving away from us - stay put and monitor
  
• Fire 5kms away - Leave
• Extreme fire danger
• See or smell smoke - locate fire (internet, radio, phone RFS)
• Fire 20kms away
• Moving towards us - Leave
• Moving away from us - stay put and monitor
  
• Fire 10kms away - Leave
• Fire 5kms away - Leave with extreme urgency
• Catastrophic fire danger - leave

We've got all sorts of contingency plans and whatnot, but I won't bore you with them.  Except to say that the shirt below is my official Fire Fighting Shirt.  Pure cotton flannelet and striped pink, pale pink and cream.  Should there be the slightest hint of fire I'll be slipping this stylish baby on (bought in 1986 - thank goodness flannelet never goes out of fashion) and hurtling down the highway to have coffee in Killara.  Yes, I am a seasoned survivor. Seasoned I tells ya.

In other news My Wretched Husband - let's refer to him as SOMEONE - buggered off to Chatswood this afternoon leaving me to discover that the SOMEONE had decided to play hide the car keys five minutes before I had to pick up Miss Five from pre-school.  Ten minutes later I was just pulling on  my sneakers to RUN through the 37 degree heat the 2kms to the pre-school and get her (desperate phone calls to friends had gone unanswered) and I glanced at the pram. A suspicion dawned and sure enough there in the back pouch were the keys. WHERE HE HAD LEFT THEM.

Argh.  Don't worry, I've made him suffer and I'm not done yet.

Manic drive and I got there late but not so late that she was sitting forlornly alone on the mat waiting for me. PHEW - bless the other slack mums in the world. Bless. Them. All.  Had to recover sitting in the bed with the kids eating ice-blocks and writing letters to Santa (for the kids - Santa already knows what I want, same thing as last year... a pirate).

Also the dog has eaten a lot of unripe plums (yes, I feel that is going to end Very Badly).

sigh.

Gingerbread Part Two

Ta daa... one fully functioning gingerbread house. Every bit of it edible.

The square bit in the garden is a vegetable garden people. A. Vegetable. Garden. (and not a "square bit with hamster-dropping-things in it"). And the green stuff artistically scattered about the dish is grass - and yes I put grass in the garden and not your usual snowmen because it is an Australian Gingerbread house.  Was going to put in an above ground pool (blue jelly in a ramekin dish) but didn't have room.

Back view.

Note cunning jelly belly wall down on the bottom right there. Covers monumental cock-up involving a lot of very runny icing.

Tips for anyone interested.

1. Reinforce roof with wooden skewers - stick them on the back with icing
   
2. Use glass headed dressmaking pins to hold structure together when gluing with the icing - dont forget to remove them :)
3. Once you've added the icing sugar to the eggwhite beat on high for a long time - ten minutes or so. If icing is dripping off the house then its not been beaten enough. Icing should hold its shape and lollies shouldn't drop off.
4. Dont mix your green food colouring into the coconut 'grass' by hand - green thumbs!
5. Even though you think it will be fun to include your children when decorating - don't do it to yourself. They only want to eat the lollies, nag, whine and bicker and then go hyper on you the minute their little system tries to process all that sugar and food colouring.  Do what I do and save that part for when you have your entire extended family present.

Of course because this wasn't enough, I also harvested about 10kgs of plums from next doors tree. They taste wonderful and I'm almighty chuffed about it - they'll ripen in the next few days - if we leave them to go ripe on the tree the birds get them all.

Watch this space for a thousand plum recipes...

:)

Gingerbread Part One

Am making a Gingerbread house for a family thing on the weekend.  However, before I get to that I'd like to point out that I have a migraine and feel completely crap - am not even hungry. Yes. That is how sick I am. 

So today's post is short and sweet.

Semi cooked gingerbread, with crushed boiled lollies about to go into the oven.

And the result... WINDOWS
 (sorry for the unfocussed look - sigh)

And we did make excellent use of the leftovers

Sunburn

So Miss Five spent the day at her big school today, and I got to hang out in a cafe with No Children and get a taste of what next year will be like (yes, that's rejoicing you can hear).

Now yesterday hubby took the kids to the beach. There was a breeze off the water and it was overcast - and I just know that every Aussie reading this is howling 'perfect sunburn weather' - and indeed it was. They were all slathered in suncream with hats on but...

Miss Five copped it around her eyes and the side of her face.

And hubby got his legs to medium rare. Check out the lobster feet - poor love (snicker).

Its an easy mistake to make, and I know it won't happen again. Live and learn as they say.

However, I did have to turn up as a new parent at the new school with a slightly baked child.

Yes, parent of the year me.

sigh.

Drive

So I've been going on (and on and on) about editing Drive.  Thought it was only fair to share some of my hard work. Here is the first couple of paragraphs. (OH WHAT - I'm doing nablowrimo and I am all out of blogging inspiration and energy today after about nine hours of editing and Very Small Screamy Children).

Drive Me To Distraction
by C Nicholas (me)

“If he doesn’t slap my arse, make women driver jokes, or tell me to brace myself because he’s the most shit-hot race driver I’ve ever seen –“

Mike’s eyes continued to glaze over. They’d paused when she’s said the word arse, but now they continued their journey to complete ambivalence.

“- then we’ll get along just fine.” Alex finished with a sigh.

“You’re never going to get anywhere unless you lose that chip.” Mike stepped close and brushed an imaginary chip from her shoulder. His gaze wandered down from her shoulder to her chest.

Alex knew from experience that elbowing people in the nose hurt a lot, but even so, the urge to damage Mike was unusually persistent. She had her racing overalls unzipped to the waist, it being a rare hot English summer day, but now she pointedly zipped them up to her neck. Heat exhaustion was preferable to Mike trying to peer down her tank top.

Again.

She snatched her clipboard from her desk and departed the small administration office of Thruxton Motorsport Centre with enough force to make the windows rattle in their cheap aluminium frames.

Outside the smell of baked tarmac and hot oil hung heavily in the warm still air. She glanced at her clipboard as she undid her racing overalls a couple of inches, Rob Dryden was her next client for the Race Driving Test, and had elected to drive the Lotus.

She strode up the pit lane to where the Lotus was kept. A man waited for her, turning as if he’d heard her coming, though she wasn’t nearly close enough. He smiled as she approached, a warm sexy grin.

Tall, lean, brown hair flopping across his dark eyes and the pale skin of an office dweller, all came together to make him meltingly handsome, in a laddish way.

Surrounded by men, working in an industry that only saw women as decorative, Alex had learned to be aloof and matter-of-fact. Especially with the distractingly handsome ones. But the hint of kiss-me-nowness about his grin unsettled her.

She zipped her racing overalls all the way back up again.

“You’re a girl,” he declared as soon as she got within earshot.

“And you’re yet another idiot,” she muttered.

“Pardon?”

She ignored him. “Hi, I’m Alex. I’ll be taking your racing licence test today –“

“Sorry,” he interrupted her spiel. “That sounded really sexist of me. I was just surprised.”

She stared at him for long enough to make the confident grin falter.

“I’m sure you were surprised -” She consulted her clipboard, and kept talking so he wouldn’t start on about female driving instructors, and how he was totally for equal opportunity and well done her for being a girl. She’d heard it all before. “- Let’s get in the car and we’ll see what you can do.”

Alex didn’t bother to hide her reservation. Rob Dryden’s variety of driver was all too familiar. Couldn’t drive a racing car to save his life. It was easy to tell after seven years in this business, if he’d been examining the Lotus and reeling off its vital statistics the moment there was someone close enough to listen then chances were he’d be a decent driver. But those that ignored the car and looked at the view were never any good.

She handed him the keys, stamped around to the passenger side and wrenched open the door. Best get it done and over with.

“Accelerate up the pit lane and then we’ll turn out onto the track.” She pointed the way. He stamped his foot down on the accelerator. The car made a strangled whine then lurched into second gear with a shuddering clunk.

“Watch it,” she muttered. He shot her a startled look. The kiss-me-now grin was entirely gone.

They staggered around the track. Rob Dryden went out of his way to ignore Alex’s instructions. He accelerated too fast into the corners, and hurtled down the straight barely in control.

“This is a tricky thread the needle. You can do it at about seventy but you have to take it from the far left of the track.” She braced herself against the dash and blew out a sigh. If he didn’t listen then at their current speed there’d be only one outcome.

Rob Dryden remained at ninety in the centre of track. The tyres squealed like fingernails down a blackboard as he tried to take the hairpin corner and lost control of the car. It spun in a graceful circle on the loose gravel at the side of the tarmac, and ended up pointing in the wrong direction.

“What the hell are you doing?” growled Alex, when they came to a halt.

“Driving the sodding car -” He stopped talking so abruptly that it was as if he’d inhaled his next words. Then he sat, staring at his knuckles which gleamed though his skin, white against the black of the steering wheel.

Alex sighed again, remembered her anger management course and tried to let the tension go. It didn’t want to leave.

Spring has Sprung

Spring has sprung at our house, you want to know how I can tell?

Well the plums are ripening on next-doors plum tree (and being eaten by the King Parrots - which I was planning to photograph but the wretched dog started barking).

And today I pulled out the last of the Broad Beans and am drying them in the sunshine (some to plant next year and the rest to use in cooking)...

And the flowers on the Hydrangea have gone from this...

To this...

But the most telling sign of all is that we've taken the cover off the World's Most Boring and Pointless pool...

Fancy a dip anyone?

sigh.

Old

I find peculiar satisfaction in old stuff.  Anyone who's been reading The Blog for a while is entirely too familiar with the couches and trays and furnitures that belonged to my Grandmother and now reside in my lounge - some call it too tight to fork out for new stuff - I call it filling my home with antiques (or "recycling" when I'm in an environmentally friendly mood - you see now I want to expand on being in an environmentally friendly mood and move that into a call for a No F*rting Day (and add a few jokes about hubby exploding). But NO. That would be Crass. I am writing about Old).

Of course my most favourite old things in the world (apart from mumndad) are my teacups.  They are all handmade bone china and were produced in the UK by a company called Shelley China between 1882 and 1966.  The company was then sold and all the moulds for the teacups were destroyed.  This means that no more teacups could ever be made - and attempts to recreate the moulds since have failed. 

*I'll note for the purists that the company was originally named Wileman and it became Shelley China in 1910.

This teacup, which has a backstamp that dates it between 1910 and 1916, is one of my oldest.  The shape is called Gainsborough and the pattern is glamorously called 7084.  The artist has signed the back with their unique mark, which is `x`.

Because it is hand painted, if you look closely there are spots where the gold guilding has missed a bit, or a delicate dot is slightly off line.  This is what makes me love these cups the most. The mistakes. I think about the artist working in the factory a hundred years ago and wonder what they were thinking, or if they were chatting. Is that dot out of line because they were distracted, upset, excited, tired.  Did they mutter a curse, but decide to leave the mistake anyway, or simply not care less. Who was `x`?

The other thing that charms me is wear on the guilding in the centre of the cup, where a teaspoon has gone around and around.  Who held that teaspoon? What was her life like (I always assume her)? This cup has survived two world wars, imagine the things its seen and the experiences of the people who's fingers wore away the guild on the handle.

I also wonder where the cup will go next. This one, I think, may become an heirloom, and maybe it'll be passed from my daughters children to their children. Perhaps one of them will break it and have to keep the accident a secret so she doesn't upset her mother.  Now that would amuse me.

I'm not one for locking treasures away.  My teacups are here to be used and I am quite resigned to them breaking.  The dresser in my kitchen looks like this... (sorry the light is awful for photography today)

And when I have guests I invite them to pick their favourite cup to have their tea in.  Kids as well. I have half sized or demi-tasse cups for them to use.  My mum always, but always, picks the one that has a dead fly in it - sigh. 

Of course my girls have their own favourites - and this is one of the main reasons I started collecting in the first place - so that as they grow up we have a firmly established tradition of drinking tea together and talking, the cups are just an excuse to do it really.  Hubby has his own cups as well, less lavishly decorated, but still sleek and beautiful. 

So yes. Old. My Teacups. There you have it.

:)

Plaiting Garlic

Harvested garlic from the garden

Tidied it up

And plaited it (insert lame vampire joke of choice)

Other than that today has passed ferrying Miss five to the doctor and paying $57 for seven minutes and the information that she has a double ear infection - which was another $20 on antibiotics.

Sigh.

Ruckus in the Australian Publishing Industry

Today there was a large ruckus in the Australian Publishing industry.  Its a long story regarding opening up of the Industry and allowing parallel importation of books.

Parallel importation would allow booksellers to import overseas editions, irrespective of whether they’d already been published in Australia. It’s a measure resisted by most authors and all Australian publishers, who fear that exposure to open market will wipe out the local industry. Full article here

The recommendation by the Productivity Commission—that the market be opened and that parallel importation of books be freely permitted except for the first 12 months in a book’s life—appears to be nothing other than meddling with an existing successful model with no predictable outcome, except the dismantling of an industry. It is excellent news for publishers and distributors in the United Kingdom and America. The amazing Agent Sydney has the full story.

Well yesterday the Australian Government released a statement saying that the rules in place will not be changed and that the recommendations of the Productivity Commission would not be put in place - largely because it would lead to the Government having to subsidies the publishing industry if we were going to have any industry at all.

This is brilliant news.  BRILLIANT. My dream of walking into an Aussie bookshop and seeing one of my books published by an Aussie publisher is alive. ALIVE I tells ya.

:)

Meh.

Frankly the best and most thrilling news I can report today is that we've managed to pay the house insurance.  Had to sell the first born to NRMA to do it, but now if there is a bushfire we shall at least be able to replace a third of our possessions, so it was well worth it.

Other than that it is hot. Hubby has spent the day levering one of my Uncle's cows out from under a tractor, out of the dam and then out from a trench (same cow - tractor was an old rusty number in the paddock that it managed to get wedged under, then wild with thirst it sprinted into the dam and got stuck, then hours later it fell in a trench and couldn't get itself out - it is just fine now, in a new hazard free paddock with its friends). And there is a distinct niff of dead possum down the far end of the house again.

Cleaned bathroom, ate entire packet of caramel crowns, dropped screaming child off at pre school (child didn't want to stay), picked screaming child up from pre school (child didn't want to leave), paid bills, bought a thermometer, did a zillion loads of washing, went to the supermarket...

In my defence have been looking after a sickly child today (not the one I sent to pre school).  But really its been a forgettable type of day, but thanks to NaBloWriMo, I shall now remember it forever.

:)

Over Christmas Already

Spent the day at Mumndads.

Recently the alpaca's have had a haircut.  They do not think its funny.

I however, do.

Miss Five is running a temperature and Miss nearly Four has had me up the last two nights for a variety of reasons, mostly to do with glasses of water and discussions about when Santa might be visiting.  So am feeling more knackered than usual today, and am washing hands like someone with OCD.

On the subject of Santa, is it just me or are the shops getting the decorations out ridiculously early this year?  Hornsby Mall has had its huge Christmas tree out for three full weeks already.  The kids are so confused, they think Santa is arriving any day now, and its made even worse because we've got an early Christmas celebration for m'sister Clare in a couple of weeks.  We've still got six or so weeks to go and I am already tired of talking nothing but Christmas every time I set foot in a shopping establishment with a child in tow.

Shopping overlords you are cruel and unreasonable when it comes to Christmas.

Also dodgy neighbours down the road...

1. Cut your lawn - there are homeless people living in that thicket,
   
2. Stop finding abandoned toys at the tip and attaching them to your house and car - its beyond creepy, and
   
3. FFS if you must put up your extremely lame arse christmas lights, don't switch them on until DECEMBER
   

:)

Perfect Sunday

This morning we went to check out the new RFS fire control centre at Cowan. Spent a happy half hour playing in fire trucks and chatting to firefighters.

Its another of those things they don't tell you about parenthood.  Yes. One of the perks if you ask me.  You spend a lot more time around people like fire fighters - going to open days and excursions.  In fact a certain Mother's Group, who shall remain nameless, organised a trip for their children around the local fire station simply because rumor had it there was a hot new fireman.  Ahem.

Then we took the kids around a local Open Garden. It was a magical fairy garden, made even better because it was drizzling rain and there was noone there except for us.  Hubby got in terrible trouble because he is so noisy and scared away the fairies - frankly I don't think fairies come out on rainy days and it was lucky for them, because if they had he'd have accidentally squashed them with his gigantic feet. I know, I finally admitted it, I'm married to a potential FAIRY SQUASHER.  I feel so much better now.

Spent the afternoon in the vege garden.

Beans and calendula...

Heartsease, in the potato patch. I love heartsease, it always makes me smile. :)

And more calendula in the spud patch.  Both are edible flowers.

:)

Broken teacup - Broken heart

Yesterday a teacup was broken at our house.

One of my Shelly teacups. Rare, valuable and almost one hundred years old.

But you know what? I actually don't mind that much about losing the teacup.  I keep the broken ones - sometimes they turn up here smashed - and one day I'll make one of those mosaic tabletop things out of all the pieces.  Its bone china, its flawed, it cracks and it breaks. Sh*t as they say, happens.

But this one broke my heart because of the way it was broken. 

Miss very-nearly-four was misbehaving, and was informed that if she didn't behave herself her new music box would be taken away for an hour.  She didn't listen and shortly thereafter the music box was perched on top of the dryer, out of reach.  After an obligatory five minute scream I thought she got over it and went to find something else to do.

Well I was half right.  She had certainly found something else to do.  She walked calmly down the far end of the house, picked up one of the few teacups she can reach and dropped it onto the slate floor.

Rotten little bugger.

Hubby are I are still so taken aback about it all that we haven't figured out how to discipline her yet. 

I think that she hoped that by committing such a heinous crime, mummy's head would explode and then out of guilt I'd give the music box back - and according to Growing Great Girls children this age can and will press their parents buttons like this.  We talked to her calmly and tried to get the story of why she did it, and yes she did say that it was because she was angry with me, but I'm not so sure I didn't lead her to say that. I told her that we'd talk about it the next day, and this morning before she went swimming she mentioned that we still have to talk about the teacup.

I think I'll probably remove a couple more toys, along with the music box for a few days, and perhaps instigate a more rewards based system of discipline - so then I've got something more concrete to take away if it looks like she's going to continue along this path of behavior.  They're both very interested in money at the moment, so I may start paying pocket money for chores, which also gives me a lever to take away the pocket money.

Suggestions welcome.

Sigh.

Last Gasp

Okay and you so thought I wasn't going to make todays post.  Well here I am. 

Just got home from dinner at Berowra Waters Inn with hubby, mumndad and m'sister.

Was a degustation meal and I had...

San Danielle Proscuitto, Duck Liver Parfaist, Mesclun leaves, Carta de Musica - or pate and toast with lettuce for decoration.

Sauteed Potato Gnocci, Wild Mushrooms, Crisp Gunciale, Quail Egg Croustillant - or eggs with mash and mushies

Roast Duck Breast, celeriac, foie gras cromesquis, new season netarine, port - or duck

THEN

Wagyu Scotch Fillet, saute of sweetbread, shiitake mushrooms, asparagus - or beef with mushie sauce

Small cup of cauliflower soup with white truffle - or HEAVEN in a CUP - trust me, I never thought I'd say that about cauilflower anything

THEN

Coconut Panna Cotta, Fresh Mango, strawberries - or a dessert that wobbled like my boobs when I go running with no bra - OH KIDDING - I never run.

Plus more petite fours that you could poke a stick at. Or an ant for that matter, as we endured a flying ant invasion, and they all flew into my hair and tried to eat me, before losing their wings into my glass of New Zealand pinot noir.

Nice.

No seriously it was. A fantastic meal.  Much giggling.

:)

Wherefore art thou...

Well Good Lord.  Not only did I have a no television afternoon with the kids, but also we picked broad beans from the vege patched, cooked them and they hoovered them up for their dinner.

Wonders never cease.

That has been about the highlight of today though.  Other memorable moments have been Miss Five having a screaming tantrum in the car park - I got into the car and drove off when she wouldn't behave - and no, she still hasn't forgiven me. (I'll point out for the fussier members of my family the community that I went about four meters and she was in plain view lying on the tarmac grass, and at no point was she in any danger whatsoever).

Then Miss nearly four had a screaming tantrum of her own when we got home from the pre-school run, so I left her in the car (I'll point out for the fussier members of my family the community that it's a cool day and I kept an eye on her from the house most of the at all times).

Other than that I've edited about three lines of Drive, and er... been to the supermarket and cooked and stuff.  What? Its suburbia, this is as good as it gets.

:)

Cannot. Stop. Sneezing.

Urgh. I think we should all brace ourselves for the misery of me having a summer cold. Its not so much that I'll think its cute to blog about oozing, mucous, sinuses, tonsils etc, but more that when I'm blogging and sick I just tend to get all ranty. Not only ranty, but also a warped sense of how hilarious I actually am. It ends badly. Always does. Frequently with key members of my family not speaking to me.

sigh.

So today has been busy. First thing this morning, at a time when I am usually wandering about in my pjs, I was at Miss Nearly Four's new pre-school (which is at the same school as Miss Five's kindy) for an orientation. It was lovely, I met her teacher for next year, and just wanted to snuggle on her lap whilst she read me Meg and Mog (kidding, mostly).

Miss Nearly Four did sensationally well, making me a fetching hat, learning french and banging her drum at the correct moments during singing 'I Am The Music Man.'

I sat through yet another talk on life in pre-school, and found myself ridiculously excited about the thought of helping out in the tuck-shop and being a parent-helper in class and going on excursions with all these darling little girls... yes, I know, how the mighty are mellowing in their old age.  I also totally bought into the talk about after-school activities and was on the verge of signing the girls up for tennis camp, mandarin lessons, musicianship, art classes... until hubby stared and in horror for a full five minutes and then concluded I had to be kidding - I went with kidding.  But I mean they'd thank me later, wouldn't they?

We made it home in a tired heap by lunchtime, whereupon Mum arrived with my littlest sister who is over from her home in London.  Haven't seen her for more than a year, so there was much talking and eating and talking and drinking tea and a short break to put together a sodding ant-farm, and then more talking.  Do not get me started on the ant farm.  You have to cook things to feed the little buggers??? Not to mention the gigantic pair of ant catching tweezers that came with the kit.  I can just see that part of it ending very badly.

So, at the end of a very long day, me and the kids chilled out on the sofa and did one of their most favourite things. Taking photos of themselves with my laptop.

Excusemoi Monsieur but I do not want to see your Pen*s

Well, day three of NaBloWriMo and I have already come to the point where I am blogging on very little sleep.  The usual suspects were involved, namely cat, dog and children.  So, in my fatigued state what better to do than take a trip down memory lane and blog about a few of my travel adventures.

I thought I'd reminisce about France, love the food, like the people, adore the language... but as I sit here, the most vivid memory of my travels there is the number of men that couldn't wait to waggle their tackle at me.

From a phone booth in Blois, to a chateau on the Loire, to the quiet streets of Le Puy.  It seemed that regardless of the temperature random French fellows felt  a burning desire to whip their boy bits out of their trousers.

The first incident was in a phone booth.  My sister and I were squished in there, calling Mum back in Australia to assure her that we were fine. Just fine.  Alas half way through the conversation we were disturbed by a thud against the booth and both glanced around to find a middle-aged guy, trousers around his thighs, pressing his small, cold and frankly embarrassed member up against the glass.  He was all, "allo, you want this eh?", whilst his pen*s was all, "its cold and I need a wash, can we go home now?"

Being entirely unprepared for this we did a beautiful impression of Not Coping At All, saying things like 'Oh GOD his dick is out," to mum on the phone and then hanging up and realising that as he was against the door we couldn't get out.  Clearly this made his evening, as with a final wink and a leer, he tottered off, tucking away his mortified appendage and pulling up his trousers as he went.

Sigh.

So we scuttled back to the cheap hovel we were staying in, made a revoltingly expensive call to Mum to get her to stop booking her flight to come and rescue us, and resolved never to venture out after dark again.

Only after dark didn't seem to be the determining factor.

Three days later we had arrived at Chambord, a famous Chateau on the Loire.

It was late January by this time and bitterly cold.  The temp rarely made it above four degrees or so, even on sunny days.  I love travelling in winter. You get places like Chambord practically to yourself, and my sister and I spent hours wandering around the house and its grounds.  At some point we split up to do our own exploring.  I was climbing up the famous double helix staircase, where there are two flights of stairs that curl around each other but never meet.  You can, however, see people taking the other flight of stairs through little alcoves.

So, I'm doing the tourist thing and snapping pics, the place is deserted and its just me. Only, it isn't. As I raise my camera and frame a shot across from one alcove to the other, I realise there is a youngish man standing in the alcove.  For a moment I wonder why he has his fist like that in the front of his trousers, and then, in a happy moment I realise its because he has his poor cold embarrassed pen*s in his hand.  He's all, "here is my gigantic pen*s ready for you to photograph," and his pen*s is all "no its fine, I'll stay here in your hand where its warm?" and I'm all, "if this is France what are the Italian men going to be like??"

So I reel away and hot-foot it to the coffee shop until my sister appears and we catch the bus back to our hotel.  In hindsight I so wish I'd taken the photo.  Hell of a lot more interesting than a marble staircase.

Anyhoo, so the final one. And really its a bit cheating because our last guy wasn't actually flashing at me.  We're in Le Puy (which btw is pronounced Le Pwee, and not Le Pie, and yes it is where the lentils come from).  Heading up the main street in search of dinner.  Its cold and sleety and everyone is bundled up in scarfs and beanies and big jackets, the wind is just bitter.  Then, casual as you like this older man walks past. Bundled up like everyone else except his fly is unzipped and gaping open to reveal no underpants - no, this is no absent minded zipping problem - its a cold, unhappy pen*s, on display for the world to see problem.

He hurries past, eyes down, and is gone into the miserable weather.

Odd. So very very odd.

And sadly that ends today's trip down memory lane.  Tomorrow perhaps a list of the drug deals I've witnessed in various clubs around the world, or maybe a monologue about the seedy hotels with grimy sheets where you have to excuse yourself to get past the local prostitutes who hang out in the doorway.

Nah. Back to whittering about m'children, m'garden and m'lettuces and the War On Slugs.

:)

Parenting Girls

October was a manic month. The family and I seemed to lurch from one big event to the next, and I spent a lot of time moving forward very quickly, permanently in sink or swim mode (which is polite for Not Sodding Coping).

Meals have been crap, all the fruit in the fruit bowl has gone off rather than being eaten, I've got a sore throat, the kids have mouth ulcers, and we are all run down, cranky and over each other.

So, my job over the next few days is to pull things together, and get this whole trainwreck back on track. The house is tidy and clean right now, so at least I can walk around barefoot without treading in cat or dog vomit, poo, or cat, dog or child wee, OR getting a barbie shoe embedded in the sole of my foot - those little suckers are sharp.

Next job is to clear off my desk, ug, who knows what unpaid bills are lurking in there. Not to mention un-filled-in forms. I dragged myself through the forms for Miss Fives Primary school a week or so ago, and now I have a similar, but slightly more evil set for Miss Nearly Four's new preschool. Sigh.

I blogged a while back about the Kindergarten induction we went to. Whilst the kids got to know the layout of their classrooms the parents were sent to the library where we were given the most wonderful seminar on self esteem and resilience in girls.

Hubby and I had been expecting a lecture on homework, teaching to read etc, etc but the only mention of such things was to say that kids are taught using a phonetic system that we would not be familiar with - and actually I was because it was how my mother taught me to read, because that was the way she was taught to read. So when they say new, they really mean recycled.

So, as a result of that seminar I am presently reading Growing Great Girls by Ian & Mary Grant.  Its fantastic, and unlike many other books on the subject, its down to earth and relevant.  It interprets the modern world and tackles tough issues like the effect of child specific marketing, sexualisation of girls in the media, in a practical head on manner.  Stuff that is quickly becoming something that I have to deal with.

I was brought up on a farm in Kent, in southern England.  Secure, protected. I didn't know who Abba was, or Buck's Fizz and the only TV I watched was the adless BBC1 and BBC2.  So when it comes to the reality of being a child in a modern urban environment I'm clueless.

So this book is putting it in perspective for me, and laying to rest quite a few of the worries that have been bothering me.

:)

NaBloWriMo

Should've posted this yesterday but was too busy ranting about the delights of living in suburbia and illustrating to all and sundry what a cranky old hag I'm turning into.

In lieu of Nanowrimo this year, I'm doing NaBloWriMo.


I blogged almost every day in October - oh OKAY almost entirely about the Halloween Party - but still, blogging it was. So am not too overwhelmed at the thought of doing it every day in November. Hell, if I run out of things to say I'll just whack up a couple of lettuce photos (just for Jess :) Who, I might add is almighty chuffed right now because Only Tyler is releasing in print today).

YAY Jess.

So yes, blogging every day. Watch this space. :)

Shouting at the Neighbours

Yesterday evening I heard a ball from next door bounce into our back yard. It was about the tenth of the day so I rolled my eyes and prepared for the ring of the door bell asking for it back.  What I was not expecting was to overhear the following conversation...
"If you climb over the fence onto the spa, turn right, go through the gate and the ball will be outside the sliding doors."

What. The. F*ck?

I slipped out and sure enough there was a teenaged boy standing on our spa, happily trespassing on our property. He was a stranger - a guest over for dinner next door.

I asked him to leave, without bothering to hide my anger.  He appeared to think it was all rather amusing, and took his time about it.

It was obvious to me that this was something they'd been doing for quite some time.  Our spa lid had been mysteriously broken some months ago - and now I think we're finding out why - and from time to time I'd spot a ball in the backyard, and make a mental note to throw it back later, only to find it gone when I looked.  I just kind of thought hubby threw it back.  But he says not.

I can't describe how angry I was.  Incandescent with rage just about covers it. And yes, I know they were just kids getting their ball back.  I am stunned at my own reaction.  Amazed at how offended and upset and insulted and trespassed upon I feel (yes, very biblical of me).

So I go over to the neighbours to discuss this transgression with some adults.  The boys all laugh and point out the window then run away and the parents ignore me leaning on their doorbell. 

Yup.  That helped.

So there is me, yes me, about to start bobbing up and down over the fence and yelling at them all. 

Well, I took a few deep breaths, calmed a little and went inside to cool off.  Then fifteen minutes later when I felt more composed I went back. This time our neighbour opened the door.  His expression told me he was fully aware of why I was there.

I opened my mouth to have a sensible reasoned discussion, I was worried that the boys would try and get a ball out of the pool and fall in, our spa lid was broken, I don't like that the kids think its okay to come and go as they please in my garden... That I'm a sensible adult and boys will be boys but they've crossed the line and could he please have a chat to them.

But suddenly all the anger and upset landed on me.  I couldn't get the words out and just shouted incoherently at him whilst his dog (the one that shat on my strawberries and dug up all my apple trees) stuck its nose in my crotch. 

Me.

Shouting at someone. 

I mean Bloody Hell. I only shout at my husband and children - because they are special like that.  Certainly never a neighbor who I am on smile and wave terms with.  Now that I think of it, that may have been our first actual conversation - though I do talk to his wife now and then.

And now, as I sit here and think the whole thing through, I'm at a complete loss as to what happened.  It has shown me a side of myself that I kind-of didn't realise I had.  Before yesterday I would have said that I was pretty easy and laid back about the things kids do, not overly fussed about privacy, or see the garden particularly as my own personal space.

But now I'm really wondering.