You know the moments?

When you look outside at the cloudless sky and the sun hasn't even risen yet? And you can still see a star or two? And the freshness, the newness, the potential of the dawn threatens to burst out of your chest because you feel just so compelled to move towards it and get out amongst it?

When your existence - not your life (subtle difference there) - feels so full you actually appreciate the air you breathe and the clear dawn sky above you? And even though the invasion of work and family duty pressures await you, this time is yours to free-think as you will. And so you make it good-thoughts thinking time because you've grown to realise how much healthier you feel for it?

When you look around your dishevelled messy cesspit of a lived-in home and marvel at what you have created? And you're not actually referring to said dishevelled mess, but the piece of land that is yours to plant and nurture at will, with its quirky house, sturdy roof, painted walls, furniture that means something to you, happy toddler-drawn pictures, birthday invitations on the fridge, knick-knacks that hold great sentimental value because of where you bought them or who gave them to you?

When you glance over at your dog because she is is whining in her sleep and you see with great affection for her that has actually fallen asleep with her ball in her mouth? And you spend a moment pondering how happy and simple a dog's life is but instead of envying or begrudging her you soak it up a little and take a lesson from it this time? And in that moment, you see how far you've come in your own motherhood (and related obstacles) journey, that you are no longer envious... of a dog?

When you are shown your own strength in such an obvious illustration because you single-handedly took a piece of earth

from this...

... to this? 

And you feel like you really nurtured yourself there because it was something you wanted to do so you just.... did it? And you stand back and give thanks that you are not only able-bodied enough to grab that pick and work over the hard, heavy, bogged clay soil, but that you were clear in seeing through the vision in the first place, that spurred you on to completion? How good is it to complete something you set out to start? Something you did "just because" you knew how much joy it would bring to your weepy heart?


Yeh. All those right now. And more. I'm loving and appreciating all of them.

What moments are filling you up right now?

2012: The Year of.... Getting my house back

Well, sort of.

I'm not going to bang on (much) about how I'm walking around the house already crestfallen that I will be alone for most of the day five days a week. And that it will at times probably remind me of all those days, years ago, where I would roam the house while Steve was at work and I had empty arms and only the memory of my baby to reach out to.

How times have changed. Why won't I dwell on this?

Because yesterday, it dawned on me:  when the LGBB starts school, I'm going to get my house back! I mean, I am going to be able to clean and tidy a room.... And it's gonna stay that way for the whole day!! This is a big deal when you work at home, tidying around a child (or children). Years ago, I gave over to the notion of being able to keep every room of the house spotless while there was a young person living here. Hell, I gave over to the prospect of having a house get all messed up when I started living with a man. But that's another issue entirely.

It seems like such a small thing. But I have a feeling it's going to actually be huge for me this year - the fact that I will be able to create some order, and I will be able to cast my eyes over things and my brain will register the orderliness. I think it will go a long way to brushing away some of the lingering blues, which I can safely call depression this far in to my life's journey, let's face it. That constant sense of never getting to the bottom of my list of what I would like to do in order that I feel like I've achieved anywhere near anything useful.... it's almost over.  I know it!

I hardly want to imagine it, but I am beginning to look forward to the days of mopping the floors and them actually staying dust, fluff and footprint-free! For up to 5 hours at the very least! Mercy me. And that I will be able to clean rooms completely without a single interruption, meaning I will be free to actually finish cleaning them and not just give them a cursory once-over saying "That'll have to do" because duty calls in another part of the house.

Mind you, this doesn't alleviate the issue of the three animals we share this home with. Sigh. I feel like I am running a créche for animals some days, what with all the mess I have to clean up after them. Not that I'm calling my child an animal..... Although sometimes.... hey, if the shoe fits.

"Let It Snow!"  This is why beanbags are evil.....

Is a house with some sense of order and/or cleanliness something that cheers you? Or do you not give a hoot either way?

Post rewind: Beyond nothing

The below was originally posted in October, 2009. It received no comments, which tells me either everyone had the same (or even less) care factor than me about it, or they didn't get the whole Spinal Tap thing... which still makes me giggle immaturely. GOD, but I love that movie....

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In the grand scheme of things, this is so far down the scale. It's below "Why does Beyoncé dance like that?" and "Why does dust get under stuff I never move?" in my care factor.

But this one time, a few weeks ago, we were at The Reject Shop and I saw this ace little dustpan and brush set on the top shelf way above my head - so, like, Steve's eye height - and I asked him to get me one when we were on our way to the register. He grabbed it, a long-handled brush and matching long-handled dustpan with a nifty little clip on the handle so you can lock the brush handle to it and store them both together, upright, freestanding.

Great! I thought. It looked a little bit smaller now that it was down from the shelf and in Steve's grip, but I thought it was mostly because I was comparing it to his tallness. Yes, it's a word. Uh, I think.

So we get it home and I go to use it.... I have to bend over! But it's no particular height that I can say "It was made for kids" or even simply "It was supposed to be this length", because, quite simply, it's a useless size.

Now I just feel ridiculous using it (and I do, because I have to, because I have to be right and prove to Steve, who at the time muttered the question, "Do you really have to spend $10 on this?" and I had said loudly YES I DO, NOW GET ME ONE). I feel like that scene from This Is Spinal Tap where they're performing onstage around the 11" Stonehenge replica that they had made up, because of a misunderstanding about whether they wanted it to be 11 feet or 11 inches. A sizeable mistake.

Maybe that's it. Maybe it was meant to be 120cm long. And someone made it .... 120mm. Hey, it might as well be that short because it's already close enough to the floor.

Comments test

Please bear with me, I'm trialling a Blogger comment system (ironing out the bugs as we go... oh, how exciting/daunting to go live with this!) that enables threaded comments.

I found the tutorial here if you're game to give it a go. Please dear GOD don't ask me for any help! It's taken me much of the morning to tweak this baby. CSS and Javascript is tricky enough as it is when it's your own code, let alone when you're dabbling with someone else's hack for a script to run within a Blogger template. Yikes! But it's as good as any I've found and I'll bet the author ("Shams") will help if you give him a shout out in his comments on that post. He seems to really know his stuff.

You should notice that if you want to comment on a post, it will still give you a pop-up window. But if you have clicked to a dedicated post URL (ie. you are viewing just the one post on a page and its comments underneath), you will be able to reply to individual comments. I've just noticed, though, that if you reply to someone's comment, once it's published there's no link back to the post/blog. Er... bit of an oversight, that. Shall look at fixing.

A bit convoluted, but until Blogger joins the world party, it could be a good alternative. Save for moving my blog across to a completely new platform - I still have not seen enough benefits to outweigh the hassles and time involved in doing that, as I'm not a start-out blog... me n' Blogger, we've got a lot of history y'know! - I think this might just work. My housework is "exemplary" enough as it is, without me spending even more unnecessary time faffing about with my blog look. Small tweaks are all I have time for these days. I don't want to nurse a complete blog export. Perish the thought!

Use it, bear with it for a while, let me know what you think. Feedback welcome!

Colours.... I'm working on those too ;-)

The new Mother's Anthem?

I'm absolutely certain that when I used to watch Annie as a ten year-old, I never properly understood poor Miss Hannigan's plight.

NOW..... after days like this when the LGBB and her sweet little terror friend make Christmas snow in my living room, their attempts to sweep up the tiny little beanbag balls just creating flurries against all my skirting boards (a week later and I am still finding rogue balls.... don't read too much into that.... under couches, under beds, falling out of cupboards when I open them....), I can more fully understand the poor woman.

The girls squirrelled away a dustpan and brush and attempted to clean it up themselves. When I checked in on them, this is what I discovered. Diligent workers, both talking but not really to each other, making noises about cleaning up "the Christmas snow". When I was spotted standing with mouth agape at the doorway, they were quick to assure me they were tidying it up. But with every sweep of their arms to indicate where the "snow" was, the "snow" lifted and spread to even further corners of the house. I would have sobbed but it was just so darn funny, I had to stuff my fist into my mouth to ensure they didn't see that this was actually so disastrous in terms of my attempts to have had a friend over to play so that Lolly would stay out of my hair while I got last minute prep's done for our Christmas Eve visitors that I just had to laugh. Sternly. So they knew this was not good. In one fell swoop, I had created even MORE work for myself. They have also annihilated the beanbag chair, bursting its seam by jumping into it so it now has a 20cm gaping hole that I have to try and fix.

This photo actually makes it all look quite tame... they spread this same distance in all directions of our living room.

You know what, though, I was thinking Miss Hannigan's actually got it pretty good. The orphans do all the housework for her. She has no significant other so can listen to whatever she pleases on the wireless. Heck, the old lush even has time to take a bath! What's her problem?! She should quit her whining, enjoy what she's got and consider herself lucky.


This song is a hoot. It's one of my favourite songs from any movie musicals (and I've seen a lot of 'em). Now, if only I could get wine to help me tune up my own voice....

Little girls
Little girls
Everywhere I turn I can see them

Little girls
Little girls
Night and day
I eat, sleep and breathe them

I'm an ordinary woman
With feelings
I'd like a man to nibble on my ear
But I'll admit no man has bit
So how come I'm the mother of the year?

Little cheeks
Little teeth
Everything around me is little

If I wring
Little necks
Surely I will get an acquittal

Some women are dripping with diamonds
Some women are dripping with pearls
Lucky me! Lucky me!
Look at what I'm dripping with
Little girls

 Lyrics link credit

Perceptions and Truths and Mandalas and Cookies

I'll be spending a bit more time over on my other blog in lieu of doing too much on here. I'd be really pleased for you to join in on those posts! Do drop in and visit if you haven't yet, I love to hear people's thoughts and reactions to the posts. They are quite different to this blog.

I will also be returning to the regular Monday Mandala Meditations that I had begun on here. The first one on the Earth Healing blog is up today if you're interested.

There is also a post about Perceptions and Truth, an excerpt from a regular newsletter I receive which I found particularly interesting and thought I'd share. Go check it out if you like.

Today, Lolly and I have a full day of baking ahead of us. She is calling me now from the kitchen and getting out ev-er-y-THING, including marshmallows, patty pans, Lindt chocolates (we're making Christmas cookies for her teachers today and I'm chucking in some of chocolate gold for them in case they need some more..... oh to be a kindy teacher, if only for the end of year scores!).

So, better go before it all ends on the floor. Have a great week, all!

Parity purchases

While economists are spreading mixed doom and gloom/boon messages about the Aussie dollar reaching parity with the USD, I decided to have a bit of a USD spend spree online. You know, to commemorate this historical occasion.

I bought some more goodies for my pursuit of the ideal bento box. Today, the shopping list was:  vegie shape cutters (floral, mostly); bento sticks (think short, blunt skewers in the shape of flower stalks, umbrella handles and the likes) which you stick into your cut vegies - awwwww steamed carrot flowers! - two kinds of bento separators (to wedge between your chosen bits of meal, very handy to keep flavours from mixing which is all important for the kiddies who don't like to merge anything with ANYTHING) in the shape of grassy hedges and a family of bears; a triangle shape sandwich cutter (this thing doesn't waste anything of your sanga but chops off the crusts AND seals your bread sandwich on all three sides as if you'd stitched it.... amazing!); another sandwich cutter that, again, doesn't waste anything of your sandwich and cuts off the crusts but has four very cleverly configured shapes - I think it's a bus, teddy, car and something else - into four dainty-bite sandwiches. There were a couple of other things as well and I got it all including shipping for $40.

Special mention to nellbe - who came across to my blog following a link I put in my comment on Lucy's recent competition post to view my first effort at the sandwich sushi - for reigniting my passion! And with the Aust. dollar in its current state, what better time? Eh? What? Oh, don't pay any attention to Steve, he always looks at me like that....

Since I first began, I have received a care package from my Japanese sister in-law, who is most excited to be able to share this new love of mine with me. She sent us over some Hello Kitty merchandise, including a gorgeous little double storey snack box that clips tightly in place, some silicone moulds in really pretty pastel colours, food stamps (not the kind from the Great War, but more your scrapbooking-with-food types... literally, hole punches of various shapes to make noses, whiskers, eyes, mouths of little characters out of cheese and nori sheets and stick them on rice balls). And the ultimate:  a Hello Kitty sandwich cutter.

Now, you'll have to forgive me the lack of pictures. But once I receive my latest shipment - damn and blast the infernal lack of bento accessorising outlets here in Melbourne (if not Australia), for I am yet to find one, even though I scour every thrift shop I walk past in the hopes of finding something really cool to use - I will show you some creations.

Lolly is really enjoying them, not that I do it every day, and I have to say... I too get a really big kick out of creating something she so loves. And it's special, different, something the other kids don't have - even if at the end of the day all I'm doing is making a healthy sandwich and vegie packed lunch look like a carnival.

Shine your shoes, brush your hair, scrub your windows!

The sun! The blessed sun is going to be out for two days in a row!!!!  Time to.....

Wash windows.

There comes a time in a domesticated adult's life when they must wash their windows. Properly. Thoroughly. And not just the main one or two (namely, that one at the front door, the one you look out of most - the kitchen - and the one the parents in-law are likely to notice straight away is covered in bits of dog fur and slobber). I mean, all of them.

Dust and grime and grease off the rod is likely to have rendered most winter-battered windows barely see-through. Well, it has around here, anyway. So I thought I would pass on some ever-so-easy failsafe tips that were offered to me by a kindly gentleman at a cleaning shop, when I went in to buy an industrial sized window squeegie-thingy.

What you will need to clean your windows:

Good squeegie is a must. Dog optional.

• Dish washing detergent - average, everyday liquid - nothing fancy required.

• A bucket with about 1L of warm water in it.

• A soft broom - I use my kitchen broom, it dries easily after I do this and it gets cleaned by the water at the end.

• A good quality squeegie - this is key. I forked out $20 for mine but I have not regretted it yet.

• A microfibre cloth - for cleaning down the rubber in between scrapes of the window and finishing off around the edges of the window if your squeegie doesn't quite grab in some places.

What to do:

Soap that baby up

1. Use the broom, dipped into the bucket so it's all nice and soaking, to soap up the window. Really get in there and make it soapy.

TIP #1: Do not hit the top of the window with the broom! Stay away from the top, so that it doesn't drip or dribble down your nice clean window.

TIP #2: Remember, you're not cleaning the window with the broom - the cleaning is actually done by the squeegie (hence the importance of a really good one), the broom is merely going to loosen up the gunk.

 

Don't hit the top of the window with the broom.

2. Starting from the top, scrape across the window with the squeegie, turning at the point where the end of it is going to hit the side of the window (so you're sort of doing a twirling motion with it, not straight across).

TIP #1: Just like not wanting to hit the top with your broom, you don't want to hit the sides with your squeegie if you can help it - this will only cause all the soapy water to dribble onto your window sides, which sort of makes the cleanup a bit more tedious. Not to worry if this happens, though, because you have your microfibre cloth and can give the window surrounds a bit of a rub-down.

TIP #2: Clean the rubber edge of your squeegie regularly, don't let it get too gooped up with the crap off your window or it won't work as effectively.

Cleaning inside windows:

Bit of water (and a drop of methylated spirits, but not necessary) in a spray bottle. Spray it on, clean the window off with a clean microfibre cloth. 

Violé! That's it, you're done. Now go grab a cuppa.

And there you have it. I tell you, I have enjoyed - yes, actually enjoyed - cleaning windows since learning these couple of easy tips. I owe that bloke a drink. He's made looking out my windows again thoroughly enjoyable, not plagued with angst-ridden thoughts of "Sheeeeet, is that dribble stain on the inside or the outside? Oh, WHY do I always miss bits and get scrape marks? I may as well have not done them."


Enjoy hopping the blogs today and have a great weekend, everyone.

I can't sleep

Thar she blows! Doppler at 3:15am, Melbourne time

I am surely the only person in Melbourne who left their child's entire wardrobe "drying" on the line. When 90km/h+ winds were forecast. And no let-up until at least daylight.

The wind is so strong it has woken me at 2am. I didn't peg anything that well that it will survive a night on the sodden, gust-blown line out there.

Someone in Gippsland sure is going to love Lolly's clothes tomorrow.

Nice one, Einstein.

Mother's ruin

Not as you would expect. Not in this house.  Mmm-mmm.

Not a clear liquid stashed in a bottle at the back of the linen cupboard (how inconvenient and at the incorrect temperature as well, just by the way).

No, in this house, it's something far more geeky and anti-social.

This obsession of mine is costing me valuable points, for instance, at my brother's house - where I was to be found perched *hee hee* on the couch, phone in hand, trying to get past this one blasted level that I had been stuck on since the day before. All at the expense of any coherent conversation from me. The most my bro and his lovely wife got from me last weekend when we were over for lunch and an impromptu computer install (that was where Steve came in handy) and concert (that was where the LGBB came to the fore) were improperly interjected laughs and grunts (they were from me).

As if I was keeping up with all their nattering when I had little green helmet-headed pigs to destroy! Ha-har!

I speak, of course, of.......  Angry Birds. An iPhone app/game that I just. Cannot. Get. Enough of. Right now. And I am here to say, I am going to make it through all of these locked levels if it renders me insane.

They say acknowledging the addiction is the first step. Right?

What about you? Do you have any phone app's you're ashamedly fixated on?

Right-o!

The rooms are clear (not clean, just clear... in readiness for the hosing down decent vacuuming they're going to get shortly).

The orange cake is in the oven. Made with oranges from our very own tree, IF you don't mind (soooo juicy, just miniature sized!). Two more oranges to use up, plus some lemons from our machine of a lemon tree, so next cake will be more a zesty citrus affair. I'll get that out in another hour or so.

Just finished a 30-minute internet workout (with the LGBB helping by gallantly passing me the hand weights each time it called for it).

Am soon going to embark on vegie-chopping for tonight's stir-fry pie - a delectable selection of sautéed veges (leeks, mushrooms, celery, zucchini) bunged in a pie dish lined with pastry, a few eggs cracked over the top, slash the yolks then crumble 200g-ish of goats' feta over the top before putting on your top layer of pastry.

And.... AND!!!  The cyclamen is still alive. And newly flowering, to boot. WHA'?! NNGhhghsfffl? How is that possible?

We're cookin' with Crisco here!

Meantime, about to play a game of hot-and-cold (the LGBB's latest fave), just because I haven't pressed the flesh enough with her today and she's been patiently waiting ever since getting home from kindy.

Yup. Gettin' back in the groove *squishing butt into the couch of life for the perfect comfortable fit, just like Homer Simpson*

Panning for gold

When the foul, biting, stinging stench of cat piss hits my nose as soon as I enter the laundry, I know it's time to clear out the kitty litter tray.

I don gloves, face mask, a plastic bag and the pooper-scooper (shaped like a cat with a square-cleft lip and holding it by its tail-handle). Okay, so maybe not the mask. I'm naw tha' bright to think of that.

I get down in a position that's part sprinter on the blocks / part fight-or-flight reflex ready. And in I go. Digging around with this little slot-bottomed shovel, breathing shallowly into my nose with such little breaths that only the top teensy portion of my lung function is utilised, I go as fast - but as painstakingly - as I can without working up too much of a sweat because that will just create the need for deeper intake into the nose/lungs. And when that inevitably does happen, because it's taking so bloody long to snag and bag every bit of offending cat excrement, the threat of breathing in that awful odour gives way to the need to... stay upright and not pass out through self-induced asphyxiation.

Tabitha uses a cat litter that is sand-like in texture. It clumps when exposed to any moisture/faecal matter, as illustrated hygienically on the box by sparkling-fresh blue droplets that are meant to represent the disgusting, battery-eating acid that is my cat's (everyone's cat/s') pee. I fall for it. I buy the box every time. It's meant to last "monnnnnnths and months", says the woman at the counter of the pet/farm produce store. Whacko! I say. Bonus for me that I won't have to fork out another $25 anytime soon. I feel like I should just line the cat's tray with $5 notes and be done with it. It'd be cheaper and I could just strain it off our nation's plastic-coated money. But with a guarantee like that - lasts for monnnnnnnths - I take the box home.

Well. We're only three months in. I am almost out of this magical ever-lasting piss-soaking medium. I don't know if it's my cat or my pedantic cleaning of her tray that is causing the level to go down so fast. I mean, I do what the instructions say: I take a scoop, shake it, pan for turd-gold and let the small cat litter particles sieve back in to the tray, tip the remaining cat craps in the rubbish bag. Step and repeat. When I come across clumps (of pee), in the bag they go as well. Except..... I think she's a *hushed tones, uttered behind a coy hand* heavy wetter. I don't mean to embarrass her, but the dear is not the most gentile cat I've ever come across.

Case in point:

• She is a guts-guzzler. She would eat and eat and eat if I let her and is already overweight - somehow - even though I only give her the prescribed can a day (and no dry food, not since this debacle)
• She nuzzles her face so far into her food while she's devouring it that, if she turns and looks at you when she's mid-dinner, her entire face is covered in slobbery cat meal. Like a toddler gnawing at a vegemite sandwich.
• She talks while she's eating. With her mouth full, no less. It's actually deliciously cute. If she hears anyone come in, she has to greet them, stuffing her face or no.
• She belches. She actually, audibly burps in appreciation after a meal.
• She's also been overheard to let fluffy off the chain as she jumps up to perch on the back of chairs/couches around the place. Have you EVER in your life heard a cat fart?? I ask you...
• Her *aherm* aim in the tray is not so great. She's a bit daft when it comes to perching over the porcelain (or in her case, the plastic lip) - I have come in to find bits dangling down the outside. And those are the days, if you were a fly on the wall (a very, very happy fly in the presence of all that shit), you would see me wail to the heavens, "Why do you hate me so?" with a sob.

So the cat is a bit too free with her flotsam. I think you get the picture.

Now cue me, pint-sized scooper in hand, watery eyes, screaming lungs, trying to dig out only the most used bits of this kitty litter. At the bottom of the tray, it's literally the consistency of wet sand at the point where the thinnest part of the waves slide up the beach and get absorbed in to the ground. You know that reeeeally sodden, really hard to dig part? The part that, if you skimped a bit too much on the beach utensils and bought a flimsy set of diggers and buckets, will shatter your spade into shards of brittle plastic if you try to dig even the uppermost layer off and into the bucket. And it's so very leaden with moisture (cat-piss moisture, in my case) that it will also make the bucket break in your fingers when you try to lift it to overturn it to make the turrets on top of your masterpiece.

Given that the bottom of the tray also has, above it, the loosened particles, I have to be very careful how I go about this business because, on more than one heavy-handed exasperating occasion, I have rushed it, gone in for the dig too deep and flicked the loose stuff, sending a spray of soggy cat wee bits all over the laundry floor. Joy! More cleaning for moi.

I have said it to Steve and I shall maintain......


Hell hath no fury like the cat litter tray.

Pimp My Lunchbox

Having recently been inspired by this delectable blog, sent to me by a dear friend, and also having a Japanese sister in-law (handy!), we are set for a Japanese style "take away lunch" frenzy here this winter. Have you heard of bento? I had, but did not realise the extent to which you can go crazy on it! It is, basically, in my layman's explanation and understanding, 'cutesy-prepared lunches gone crazy.' A pimping of the lunchbox, indeed.

There are all sorts of lunchbox shapes. Police cars, Hello Kitty heads, bears, bunnies, firetrucks. And that's just the containers. Then there are all sorts of stamps and food colour pens and shape cutters and lunchbox dividers. And if you think "Ahhh, I could do that with stuff I bought from Woolies", which is what I thought, you'd be mostly correct. But not like this. Not purpose made. The Japanese, they do this as a culture. The place is oozing with accessories for your bento box! And I'm wantin' me some merchandise.

Lucky for me, I have a supplier, ready and very willing to post me the whole kit and kaboodle. AND teach me the tricks of the trade, along with some simple kiddy-friendly Japanese recipes that aren't readily found here. Awesomeness. I'm so pumped about it!

I have spent hours scouring J-List, in tandem with my SIL, and we have decided this is almost as good as shopping together (which we can also do for hours, but only every 2 years when they holiday out here and stay with us). At least we don't have to worry about the kids this way.

So I decided to try out a little bits 'n pieces cut lunch for the LGBB yesterday, without all the gorgeous little shape cutters or cute Hello Kitty lunchboxes (which I am going to be receiving in a large package from my SIL sometime in the next month) - Lolly is ALL about Hello Kitty lately!? Don't ask me why. Just is flavour of the month right now.


Anyway, here we have little flowers cut out of a cheese slice, cucumber sticks, "sushi sandwiches" - rolling pin 2 slices of bread with crusts cut off, spread with ricotta/cottage cheese/cream cheese and fill with slices of salmon, then roll and cut like sushi (L loooooves these and is a sucker for this different take on her usual triangle-cut sanger) - some walnuts, a couple of dates and a googy-egg. Quite heavy on the protein, this lunch, now that I look at it. But she had had a significant amount of fruit in the morning, plus a hearty breakfast. We are in an all-day-graze "I'm still hunnnnnngreeeee" phase at the moment. I daresay there is a growth spurt coming on. So this is a good way for her to feel like she is getting a lot to eat because there is a lot for her to feast her eyes on.

And I just love making her lunchbox interesting every now and then. I am one of "those" mums who puts faces on boiled eggs, draws pictures of love hearts and butterflies on her drink bottle and lunchbox, tapes a little drawn picture inside the lid, yada yada..... So go ahead and hate me. I love 'er. I love making her feel special. And loved. She loves surprises, I love surprising her. We often love each other more when we're not actually within the same vicinity. We're a match!

I am all for bento. Bento on! I'll keep you up to date with my fledgling attempts as I foray into this new world of lunch box preparations. Takes a bit more time and effort but, hey, it is SO much fun. And everything gets eaten. Double bonus!

Procrastination-arily speaking

The LGBB and I wandered around to a neighbour's home today, to invite a playmate over for a couple of hours. The plan was, my young charge would be amused by her little friend. The two of them would play merrily, whereby I would be able to work, uninterrupted for another sneaky hour or so.

Ha! Best laid plans....

It was gorgeous having her friend here, though, I'll grant that. How I do love a friend who loves my daughter and treats her toys and things with the same respect and care as Lolly herself. In her excitement of having someone over to play in her room, it was actually Lol herself who has had to be calmed down and reminded to treat her things gently, and not the delightful friend, this time.

When we went in to our neighbour's house, after being neighbours for the past 2 and a bit years, it was strange to see the inside of this lovely home. I was struck again at how interested I am to see how other people have their places set up. The outside is neat as a pin, a gorgeous stately old place. Inside.... well, it was rather more lived-in than I had expected, compared to seeing it from the outside. Then again, I was really impressed that my neighbour, amongst the jumble, had a perfectly neat and clean sink. Not a dish in sight. There were papers and piles of books, clothes, toys, a right dog's breakfast from here to there. But the kitchen sink was immaculate. It put my own to shame.

After coming home, I was given cause to ponder how my house would appear (say, for instance, to the LGBB's friend's mother who would be coming in a couple of hours' time to collect her daughter). The pile of un-dishwasher-able dishes to the left side of my sink seems to be permanently there. Given the high priority I gather she places on diligently having the dishes done, I daresay I'd look like a slovenly sloth, me and my umpteen melamine character-transfer kids' dishes that DON'T GO IN THE DISHWASHER *angry grimace*. I don't do them every day, it's just something I put off, in favour of other chores, paid work, playing with the LGBB and..... ok, yes, blogging. It struck me that to anyone visiting, they're just a little pile of dishes. But to me, they are the most annoying of little jobs that I put off and put off and put off. Which is ridiculous, really, because they are so in-my-face and cause me such a grievance to see them every time I'm in the kitchen (which is one of those kitchens you can see from everywhere so you see dishes in plain sight all the time).

Oh, the whole thing just gets me a bit hot under the collar. Silly, really, comparitively speaking. But still. There you have it.

What is your put-off chore? You know, the one that is really a piece of piss to do, but you never do it? And then it not only builds up and gets worse the longer you put it off, but drives you nuts every time you pass it, either busy doing something else or otherwise just cannot be fagged doing it right then and there? I mean, I have several, but this dishes thing... it's really one of the most annoying!

My own fault, really

Because when my instructions aren't clear, this is the result:



I found myself in a compromising pozzy, on the loo, sans paper. WHY does that always happen to me? I mean, it's not like I use the darn stuff the most in this house *not looking at anyone in particular..... and the picture on the right is compleeeetely random.....* but apparently, I'm always in the wrong/right place at the wrong/right time and have to change the roll.

Except, on this day, I discovered that I hadn't even brought the spare rolls down to the cupboard in the bathroom. So I was stuck. Perched on my.... perch. And I had only a toddler to save me. Yes, it WAS that dire. There was nary a square to spare.

So I called the LGBB in. She raced up - how do they always make 5 or so metres sound like 100 really difficult ones?? sooo amazing - and stood at the doorway, eager to assist in that "Can-do" action manner that I love so much in kids her age. Hey... while they have it, you gotta love it, I say.

I tried to use as simple an instruction as I could.

"Mummy's run out of paper!"
"OH NO!" *cue horrified, desperate, suddenly serious look from child in the doorway*
"It's ok! But I need your help: Can you please get the toilet paper roll from the other toilet?"
"........OH....KAY!" She ran off.

Phew. It had computed. She had put the data in and it spat out....... the above piddly little scrap of frantically-torn paper. So desperate was she for me to be able to move from the throne and not be stuck there forever - for that is it for them, isn't it, I mean, now, this moment, is forever to them - that she didn't grab the whole roll. She tore off what she thought I would need.

I have to say, I do commend her for thinking my bottom is so dainty and delicate. I regret that I am going to shatter her illusions one day.


Er.... I finished this post and posted it, then realised two things:

1. Dear reader may believe that scrap of paper to be used, and
2. If not - for it is obviously unused - how did I dethrone?

Well. Let me just say, despite my apparent policy of full disclosure on this blog, that, dear reader, is one trick best left covered up. Like David Copperfield himself would say, a magician doesn't reveal his secrets. He'd just get a funny hairdo and make a ridiculous show about how marvellous said tricks are. And I'm not about to make a show about my bottom. kthxbai.

SOUP-er Mamaaa

I collect empty boxes. They are great for sticking bits of stuff to. And painting. No end of fun can be had with clagging some scraps of fabric to the side of a Nutri-Grain ("Daddy Cereal") box. Lolly enjoys pasting and painting them too..... Hey. How did you THINK I spent my day when I said I was working hard?

Henyway, so I collect all these empty boxes. Sometimes we use them here at home. But more often than not, I "donate" them to Lolly's kindy or occasional care centre. Painstakingly making sure I've removed hazards (like the serrated teeth on the cling wrap boxes and so forth). Ensuring I don't collect soy milk containers or egg cartons or anything else that may ignite an awful food allergy reaction.

Then I bundle them in the car, with the LGBB sitting amongst them like she's built a box city, and I take them with us to her occasional care day. The relief of getting them out of the house is quite surprising. I love getting rid of them, it feels good to both be useful and recycle them AND get my kitchen and cupboards clear once I've done a clean-out from the build-up. I feel like I've really achieved something! Two-fold! I'm a superhero of house cleaning! *hands on hips HO-HO!*

Then, when I go and pick the LGBB up, she always, always, ALWAYS tells me excitedly, "I did some painting!" or "I did some sticking!" or some other such crafty way with some sort of adhesive.

Annnnnnd.... you know what I'm going to say, don't you? I bundle her back in the car with, guaranteed, at least 50% if not all of those damn sky-scraper sized boxes back again at the end of the day, now adorned with half-dry paint and glue and bits of glitter n' shit falling off in my car so I have to carefully stack them and cart them all back home. And THEN display them around the house for days so we can all rejoice in their glory and splendour.

Ah, the joys. I have to laugh. *sob* And then do a resigned face like this:

(this one's for you, Sparkl-o-Matic)

My stovetop, the toddler

Random internet image - don't be fooled: you can bet this stove has obviously never been cooked on, it's from a Delonghi ad so of course it looks schmick and spotless!

I am firmly convinced my cook top is around 2-3 years of age.

Much like the warning method, "I'm going to count to three..... one, twooooo...." by which time whatever it is you've requested several times is being done only after you lay down the ultimatum of 1-2-3 "or else", my stove doesn't light simply by turning the knob. Oh no. That would be TOO easy.

It does that thing where you turn it on, hold the knob down so the ignitor switch is sparking and doesn't light the gas. Sometimes, I see flame tantalisingly right at the moment I switch it off. Repeating the exercise does nothing and the flames don't come back. So I have to get the matches out. Light one. Hold it somewhere near the hob... and magically, almost every time, it lights.

There is no way the match has anything to do with it half the time. More than half the time. Because it's nowhere near the gas. The darn thing just likes me to get to the "two-and-a-haaaalf" equivalent of the warning. It needs to see me get the matches out, strike one, basically go through with my warning, before it decides I'm serious.



Addendum: Just to be real - which is far more along the lines of Being Moi than the image above - my stove top actually is much more dull and dirty. In my haste to get the post finished last night, I cheated and grabbed an image off the www.... Here is mine, today, with slurps of *something* on it I haven't had time to scrub off carefully yet. Oh, and I blew off the crumbs from this hob before I switched it on so I didn't ignite them. Ho yeah, totally house-proud! (hey, what? I only just yesterday managed to get my linen cupboard contents out of our walking-room-only master bedroom and INTO MY FIRST CUPBOARD!!!! Say it with me: halle-freakin'-luja, it's about time! more on that next post)

My somewhat duller-looking Westinghouse version, it came with this 60-something year-old weatherboard house (was one of only 3 brand new things in the old girl). Although I must say, it's a 5-burner stove and that long one in the middle is awesome!

REALLY over being at the beck and call...

....of a three year-old.

Any/all of you reading who can cope with a single solitary child - one who has nobody else to entertain him/her except YOU day in, day out - who is sapping every second of your day, day after day, with no let-up in their pace, are my absolute, undying heroes. I think of myself as lucky, that for a few mornings a week, I ship the LGBB off to occasional care (3 year-old kindy from tomorrow, whoo hoo!) because at least I do something different with my brain then. But it's all still go-go-go, work-work-work at the moment!

My twitchy finger yearns to feel comfortable with parking her butt and eyes in front of the teev, but I just cannot do it. I feel like turning on the tv is caving. And I do cave. Most days, I cave and allow her to watch something, at some point. It mightn't be long, sometimes it's just one half-hour show, sometimes it's a 2 hour DVD - she enjoys it and Lord knows so do my nerves - but it's a break for the two of us. Well, for me, at least. I feel like her day is just one long carnival, which is how I love it to be on the one hand.... but at what cost to me, on the other?

There is a certain person here who has inherited more than a little of both her mother's and her father's independence and perseverance.... to put it as constructively as I can. Case in point: A lunch I serve yesterday, which was perfectly fine to eat yesterday, is apparently not okay to eat when I make it for her today. So after explaining rationally and simply that there will be no more food served until dinner time and that lunch needs to be eaten so tummies don't get hungry, and further warnings that the longer the lunch sits at her table, the yuckier it will taste, I find myself steeped in a battle of wills I don't want to be in. I don't want my kid to eat soggy cracker biscuits with now dried spread on them! But how can I back down? For they are like elephants, they remember something you promised them last Pancake Tuesday. And yet, allegedly, cannot recall the instruction you gave them 2 minutes ago. I refuse to cave, for I want the precedent to be - "if you decide to do X, the consequences will be Y and Z... it's up to you." She gets choices, with clear examples of what will happen depending on what choice she makes. It works perfectly and is nurturing this sense of independence she innately has - she is frustrated with smother mothering and determines to do pretty much everything for herself, and yet needs an audience to do these things - but sometimes, she tests me. It is usually around the thing that is most important to her. At this point in time, that thing is food.

So before long, I get the whingey and blantantly testing, "I'mmmmm hungreeeeeee" and I say, "Well, eat your lunch then." "But it's yuckyyyyy." Well, Toots, y'know what? That's too bad! This ain't The Ritz. I don't do a menu. Gurhhhh!!

I know I have no way to accurately compare - save for speaking to several other parents who have just the one child at home to care for - so I therefore won't even attempt, but I have to say I'm on the verge of Ballistic Alert here! And I'm not afraid to say it. People with more than one child who consider me lucky..... well, the shoe is on the other foot there, too, for they cannot possibly assume to know how it is in a house with an only child either and how that child behaves with no siblings. I yearn to throw another child into the mix, just to CHANGE it up already and perhaps introduce the word "others" into the LGBB's increasing vocabulary. But nature has so far had other plans for the three of us.

I will forever remember The Three's as equally the ever-lovelier and ever-more-belligerantly-demanding of ages.

My attention span has, once again (for I did lengthen it there somewhere between The Two's and Three's), been reduced to a mere 8 minutes [note: may or may not be an accurate representation of true attention span] largely due to the repetitive nature of the requests. She wants to do craft. I set it up. She devours it as I am setting it all up. She finishes as soon as I finish taking things out. She goes on to the next thing. I ask her to help me pack it all up. She says she hasn't finished yet. If I insist she pack it up with me, my afternoon is just one long 3 hour stint of unpacking, packing up, juggling phone calls in between from a client here, a tradie there.... heaven help the friend who phones because they are the ones I have to let go through to the machine lately.

A sane mummy surely cannot be made this way. If I had absolutely nothing else to do - if I had even one female on hand (mother, mother in-law, an aunt or a cousin even) to help me with menial tasks like dishes, folding washing.... ha-ha whatever that is, wiping benches and cleaning floors, I'd be more likely not to be at bursting point. I could cope with the requests and questions and demands and whining. The usual and very normal demands of any child. The LGBB is gorgeous, she is more beautiful every passing day. She is funnier, somehow, every morning when we wake up. I will be forever grateful - anyone who knows me knows this. Which is perhaps why I am beating myself up so hard.... I want to be thankful every waking moment. But it kinda gets blurred somewhere around 10am when I have been interrupted for the gazillionth time (when I have resorted to requesting "NO interruptions for just FIVE minutes!!" for the 999 bazillionth fecking time... okay, slight exaggeration, once again, but I use it to illustrate my deep frazzled frustrations!) from my housely duties which, if I don't get them done, just stack on day after dragging day. Even when I try to slice my weeks up, I cannot get the balance right.

And I am fully aware of the plights of others. Those without a child, those who have lost a child (or more). These people and their journeys weigh super-heavy on my mind and my heart. I do not feel, however, that it is realistic to be constantly in that place of gracious acceptance. I don't. Little flip-outs should be expected! We are, after all, human. So I just wanted to throw this post in, in case anyone reading is assuming I assert myself on some high-brow pedestal with all things parenting and Zen-ness. Ho-ho, I don't. And I have Steve's vouch for it.

I'm still drumming my fingers, waiting for it all to click into place. I don't know why I can't do it with one kid! Do people become more efficient the more children they have? I do not believe I would have any sanity or humour or dignity left at all if I had another child as demanding of my time and wit as this one.

And what the hell am I doing right now?

Procrastinating? Wasting time? Conserving some sense of self, however miniscule? Trying to forget all the housework is still there (I'm talking, obscene amounts of housework, not just a little bit - this is not a well-functioning house and has not been ever since we started building works.... in OCTOBER LAST YEAR!)?

Yep. You betcha. All of the above. I want to cry. But I think I'll just go and empty the dishwasher first. There's no time for heap-falling. And I really do, honestly, apologise for this whinge-fest in this current climate of loss and remembrance. I will gain my perspective back in due course. Right after I ... yes, unload that goddamn dishwasher and stack it again!!!!

Going...

Sneaking in one last one

Because I can't help myself and had to show off my creations for today. I give you...

Christmas pud's to rot your teeth on
Milk & Dark choc royals (the biscuits with the marshmallow sitting on a smudge of jam and then a biscuit bottom), topped with melted white chocolate, then a little raspberry and a coupla chopped mint leaves.

YU-HU-HU-UM.

As promised... Gingerbread cookie dough recipe

Now this is awesome. May be a bit on the gingery side for some (but after all, they are gingerbread cookies!) so experiment and perhaps use just 1 tsp instead of 2. They were very strong, but the icing set that off very nicely.


Gingerbread Cookies
These gingerbread cookies are as delicious to eat as they are fun to make. I think my kids enjoyed making these gingerbread cookies even more than sugar cookies this year. Perhaps it's because the gingerbread people seem to have a bit of personality. Use whatever decorations you have on hand. We found red and green striped white chocolate chips and thought they made terrific buttons for these gingerbread men.
Ingredients:
• 1/2 cup butter, softened
• 1/2 cup firmly-packed brown sugar
• 1/2 cup molasses
• 1 large egg
• 1 tsp. vanilla
• 3 cups all-purpose flour
• 1-1/2 tsp. baking powder
• 3/4 tsp. baking soda
• 1/4 tsp. salt
• 2 tsp. ground ginger
• 1 tsp. cinnamon
• 1/2 tsp. cloves
• gel icing for decorating
• M&Ms or striped white chocolate chips for decorating

Preparation:
1. In a large mixing bowl, beat the butter and sugar together until fluffy. Add the molasses, egg and vanilla. Beat well.
2. In a separate bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, ginger, cinnamon and cloves.
3. Stir into the wet ingredients until well-incorporated (you can do this with your hands).
4. Separate the dough into three pieces. Form into logs and wrap in plastic wrap. Refrigerate at least 1 hour.
5. When ready to bake, remove dough from oven and preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
6. Roll dough out to a thickness of 1/4-inch. Use cookie cutters to make gingerbread people.
7. Bake 8-10 minutes. Let cool and decorate.


For the icing, I used this recipe and coloured it with a touch of food dye:

Confectioners Frosting
2 cups (230 grams) confectioners sugar (icing or powdered sugar), sifted
1/2 cup (113 grams) unsalted butter, room temperature
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 1/2 tablespoons milk or light cream
Assorted food colors (if desired)
Read more: http://www.joyofbaking.com/GingerbreadMen.html#ixzz0ZMtkR6KH

In an electric mixer (or with a hand mixer), cream the butter until smooth and well blended. Add the vanilla extract. With the mixer on low speed, gradually beat in the sugar. Scrape down the sides of the bowl and beater. Add the milk and beat on high speed until frosting is light and fluffy (about 3-4 minutes). Add a little more milk if too dry. Place the frosting in a pastry bag fitted with a decorative tip and decorate the gingerbread men as desired.

Tint portions of frosting with desired food colour.
Read more: http://www.joyofbaking.com/GingerbreadMen.html#ixzz0ZMtyNJMU