Adventures in the Land of Cherubs

Busted...

2012-02-19T08:32:00.000+11:00

I had a lovely visit last week from a dear friend yesterday. Emma and I have two cherubs each, each born a week after the other, a tradition we broke 3 months ago when she had baby number 3- actually it was quite strange seeing her pregnant without me sharing her morning sickness and growing belly! When our second cherubs were 6 weeks old, Emma introduced me to the 1000 steps, and twice a week we would chug up and down them, talking non-stop, taking advantage of the absence of our older cherubs to finish conversations.

Last week, our cherubs were playing happily, I was cuddling a divine new cherub, and BabyG came racing out to the kitchen.
'Quick, come look, it's so cute.'
We followed BabyG into the Little Miss' Room to find my Little Miss, and Emma's Harry (one week older than my Little Miss) snuggled up under the doona. I was too slow with the camera, but I did manage to capture this:

When The Man came home from work, BabyG told him that the Little Miss and Harry were lying in bed together 'like they were married'. Cute now, but in 15 years? Not so much...

Bountiful...

2012-02-15T09:23:00.000+11:00

My garden isn't very happy with me being back at work; it's feeling very neglected, and is plodding along without me, throwing the occasional dirty look. Lucky my dad is here at least once a week giving it some love, and it reciprocates:

We have so much beautiful silverbeet and tuscan kale- I have taken to picking it and blanching it every Saturday, bagging it in freezer bags to add to pasta sauces, casseroles etc. And the tomatoes- I have more than what we can use or give away. I'm a little too flat chat at the moment to worry about sterilising bottles etc for sauce or passata, so instead I followed a freezable recipe of Stephanie Alexander:

This is just before it went in the oven (180degrees c), and is 1 kilo of tomatoes, three chopped garlic cloves, a sliced onion, a bay leaf, oregano and parsely and a quarter a cup of olive oil. After an hour in the oven it is all gooey and gorgeous, caramely and sticky in places. Allow to cool for about 10 minutes, then stick it in the food processor with a handful of basil and blast it. I actually made two batches, and after running out of plastic containers I used freezer bags- last night I simply added a little bag to the water while the pasta was cooking (a Jamie Oliver trick) and by the time the pasta was ready so too was the sauce. The cherubs loved it, and I love that everything except the onion came from my garden.

My little nun...

2012-02-09T08:13:00.000+11:00

BabyG has taken to school as I knew she would- amazingly. She is awake before the birds, uniform on, morning checklist complete, so I've found every morning this week I'm having to distract her with an activity because we're 30 minutes ahead of schedule. She may need to work on some elements of her education though...

Tuesday night she told me she learnt how to pray- she did the sign of the cross, and then said 'in the name of the Father, the son, the Holy mother and the big sister'. Nearly right but I'm sure she'll be forgiven in time...

Green Mama becomes...

2012-02-06T18:46:00.000+11:00

School Mama! Yes, my older cherub started school last Friday...

Thursday night I was driving home from work and had a massive cry from nowhere, emotions so overwhelming that I considered pulling the car over. I pulled myself together, went home, and was greeted at the front door by said cherub, placing her shoes at the doorway so it would be quicker to get in the car.

On the day itself she was awake by quarter to six, and up out of bed by 6.15am, dressed in her uniform by 7. She was so excited, so bursting with joy that I found myself swept up in her joy and decided to get over myself, and embrace her happiness. Her grandparents came to watch the Little Miss, and when my mother, the former early years teacher of 35plus years (the same woman who has spent the summer telling me to keep my emotions in check on the first day of school) took one look at BabyG answering the door in her uniform and burst into tears. The Fabulous Aunty Sam, normally the rational one in the neigbourhood, welled up at the same sight before getting trigger happy with her camera (seriously, how lucky are we to have a professional photographer a- as our friend, b- living right across the road?). We bundled her in the car, and then walked up the hill to her school, she refusing to stop and pose for pictures, demanding we hurry up! We went upstairs to her classroom, she found her name badge and the home for her school bag, turned and pursed her lips into a kiss for us, and that was it. Her dad came out of the classroom red-eyed, but me, the biggest sook in the universe, felt nothing but happiness and no sign of tears.

The Man dropped me off home, and the Little Miss immediately asked for her big sister. I took her to Chadstone for a couple of hours, then we went to pick up BabyG (1pm finish on the first day). The Little Miss spotted BabyG coming towards us, bellowed BabyG's name, then barrelled past all the waiting prep parents to give her sister the biggest hug in the world. She turned her little face to BabyG and said 'hows school?'

'How was it?' I asked her in the car.

'The best day EVER', she told me, then wanted to go to school again the next day, a Saturday...

The four-legged cherub

2012-01-31T21:41:00.002+11:00

I don't mention this cherub much, probably because I'm so busy with the other two. This is Poppy- The Man bought her for me when we were about 8 weeks pregnant with BabyG. If we were about to pick up poo off the floor we figured we may as well start practicing with puppy poo. She and I walked every day, the distant getting shorter and shorter until the day before my due date when I attempted a walk around the block and felt like a brooding cow. Poppy is very cute, but she's a barker. A shocking barker actually, so much so I really expected BabyG's first word to be 'Poppy!' BabyG came along, and Poppy was relegated to outside. She and BabyG were babies together, so Poppy was a little too boisterous for BabyG's liking. The Little Miss, however, loves this four-legged cherub. They're best pals. She feeds Poppy her dinner scraps, holds her hand out for Poppy to lick and chases her around the yard. Last week I watched the Little Miss try to shove a tennis ball into Poppy's mouth in a version of catch that only the Little Miss could come up with.

Tensions have been strained between Poppy and I of late- with two other cherubs needing my attention, Poppy was put on the backburner. A couple of weeks ago I started taking Poppy on my early morning runs, and she's been really good. She pulls a little at the start of our run, but then settles into a lope beside me, really good considering she hasn't been on a lead for a good 6 months- shameful, I know, but I figured that with the cherubs chasing her around the yard she was getting her fair share of exercise. The Fabulous Aunty Sam took this shot of Poppy at BabyG's party, and it prompted me to finally give this four-legged cherub, this essential member of our family a little love. Mabel, the cat, on the other hand, will be waiting for that same treatment after her early morning yowling outside our bedroom window...

Make a Splash... BabyG's 5th Birthday Party

2012-01-27T22:45:00.001+11:00

Best go make yourselves a cup of tea, my pretties. This is a long one...

The sea was angry that day. Through the crashing waves the sounds of sweet singing was compelling, so enticing the ships were drawn to the rocks, and drawn to their demise. Beautiful creatures swooped below the surface, scooping the treasures and using them to adorn their underwater palaces. OK, OK, I'm tired, that's the best scene-setting I can muster.

We had a gorgeous day in fact, yesterday, Australia Day 2012, and my older cherub's fifth birthday. The night before, the Fabulous Aunty Sam and Uncle Baz marched over the road, carrying their outdoor table, and joined us for a little drinkie-poo, which would have been very relaxing if it weren't for me having to get up every 20 seconds to usher an excited soon-to-be birthday girl to bed. I was up at 6am- my cherub likes to wake up to a transformed house, and I love to see her face as she wanders in from her bedroom, groggy with sleep but eyes drinking in every detail. For this party, she wanted mermaids and pirates. I'd bought every shade and style of green fabric possible for the tables, and I wanted a fishing casting net to drape over the pergola. I looked at some fishing tackle stores and online, and the cheapest I could find was $100... I don't think so. I went to the fabric superstore near my work, and they had a pale green netting fabric on sale for under $2 a metre, so I bought the remaining roll. We used that to drape over the pergola, and I used a couple of metres of it as a photo backdrop against the screen, along with some insanely cheap sequin trims. On the table the cherubs ate from I used a basic green poplin and covered it with a sheer green net, and on the desert table I used a gorgeous jade green satiny fabric with emerald green tulle over the top. On the tables I had strands of 'pearls' and some beautiful shells- all Christmas decorations I was able to snaffle at the Works at 75% off. My dad has spent the last few weeks beachcombing, and he converted his treasures (shells and driftwood) into mobiles with fishing line, and they hung above the dessert table. Here's a pic of when he hung them:

And here's another of it all kind of together:

Yes, the top left image- that's my reflection in the window. I bought a gorgeous top from Kamikaze last month, and while I was going for mermaid mother (cross pirate with a bandana) I actually ended up being more sea-witch. I've printed off some photos of myself to stick on the fridge but am considering them BEFORE shots. But I digress...

The goodybags were the buy of the year- a couple of weeks ago the major fabric superstore I alluded to emailed me a $10 off voucher- these 15 bags cost me under $2. Next to the goody bags were the obligatory number 5 cookies- BabyG insists on these, and we also had palm trees and dolphins. They're all sitting on a bed of sand (biscuit crumbs). Gold coins were scattered over the table, and at the far end were beach cupcakes- blue icing and biscuit crumb sand. The boxes were donated by Cassie, my little pal from over the road, left overs from her 21st a couple of years ago. The only issue with these- when BabyG handed them out to her guests with their goody bags the children tipped them upside down to look at them and they fell out of their little stands within the boxes, and sand went everywhere, so they stopped looking pretty very quickly.

Remember the tails?

They were a massive hit and the girls were thrilled when I told them they were theirs to keep. I had lots of fabric scraps from these, so I made them into a seaweed forest that the children had to pass through to enter into the party:

It also worked really well as a invisible wall- they stayed on the garden side of it which meant we could keep an eye on them. I'd also made another one out of streamers that was across the entrance at the front of the house. See the streamers at the base of the photo backdrop? Middle picture? BabyG and I made ruffly seaweed by feeding two strips of crepe paper (on a roll) through the longest stitch on the sewing machine.

As the children arrived we offered them a tail or a pirate bandana, a tattoo and a face paint (by my gorgeous sister-in-law and my wonderful friend Tracey), and then we sent them off for a play. I kept games to a minimum this year- last year I had them scheduled to the minute, which they did enjoy, but it was hard work, and hard to keep track of everything. This year I kept it simple- we had a pearl search which took them to every corner of the garden searching for white polystyrene balls, we had mermaid hopping relays, we had crab relays (where they held their ankles and shuffled across the lawn- bloody hard work!) and we had a wiggle your tail competition where they all danced and took turns to stand in the middle of the dancing circle to wiggle their tales. Easy, and they loved it.

I kept the food pretty simple this year too, and I'm glad I did. At this age they really don't want to eat much, they just want to play. The kids had fairy bread in the shapes of palm trees and dolphins (thank you Aunty Sam), sausage rolls, marshmallow fruit kebabs (thanks mum) and 'octopus'- take a cocktail frankfurt, leaving room for a head cut the base of it into quarters and then cut them in half too, drop them into boiling water and they curl up like little octopus. The children loved them- adults not so much... Older and wiser. To drink I had some tropical punch (horrid little juice tetras packs) and some underwater punch- a fishbowl vase on the middle of the table, filled with sparkling mineral water and blue fish and starfish- these were icecubes from trays from ikea in the shape of fish and starfish- I mixed some water with some blue food colour and froze them, then popped them into the fishbowl at the last minute. The children loved these, and I'm sure their parents loved their blue lips and tongues. They also had the aforementioned cookies and of course birthday cake- this one was a layer cake, vanilla and chocolate, with a buttercream icing that my cherub didn't like! The adults had sandwiches and boccocini and basil skewers (thanks Donna), tuna dip and mexican dip (thanks Rose!) and they also seemed to go mad for the sausage rolls and fairy bread.

After eating, I managed to get all of the children (except my youngest) to pose for some pics, me shouting 'now give me an arrrgghhh!' and 'ahoy there':

We sang happy birthday and BabyG blew out her candles, cut her cake and thanked everyone for coming:

The Little Miss did not enjoy this part at all- have a look at her face in the bottom middle photo. She cried through the song but cheered up when offered a slab of blue icing.

We then set the children to work with a broom handle and the pinata, BabyG handed out goody bags and cupcakes, and that was that:

Yes, my cherub is now 5 years old, and this time next week will have just had her first day of school. She had a wonderful time, and went to bed a very happy cherub indeed, and I'm a very proud, somewhat exhausted mama...

Thank you to The Man, my gorgeous husband, who is STILL not touching the cancer-sticks, and has been an absolute dream to boot xx

Bad, bad blogger...

2012-01-24T22:21:00.000+11:00

I had it pointed out to me today that it's been 10 days since I last blogged, by a person who claims she can't make it through a work day without me brightening her day. As insane as that sounds I 100% believe her- we used to work together in an organisation I affectionately referred to as Casa di Hell. So here's a quick update, and hence me being a bad blogger. If I were a good one I'd write these up into separate posts:

1. BabyG and the Little Miss were skipping across the yard in their knickers last week when BabyG dropped to the ground like she'd been shot, wailing and yelling. I rush over as she's screaming there's something sticking out of her foot, thinking what has she possibly impaled herself on. She had a bee sting hanging out of her foot- our lawn has been dotted with bees feasting on the leek flower heads and strawberry flowers- and she obviously stood on one and it got its revenge before flying off with no bum to die in the rose garden. She was screaming 'get me to the hospital,' I carried her to one of the Cape Cod chairs, stuck an ice pack around her foot, then handed her my iphone so she could tell all of her nearest and dearest about her scrape with injury. She insisted Aunty Sam come over and verify Mama's treatment- and three days later Aunty Sam was also felled by a bee. That will teach her for telling my darling 4 almost 5 year old to drink a cup of concrete.

2. I'm working three days a week which impacts heavily on my ability to drag a couple of hundred words out of the minutae of my day, and impacts heavily on my ability to do anything around my garden. Thankfully, my dad came over today and gave it some loving so it's looking fantastic, important because:

3. It's BabyG's 5th birthday on Thursday, Australia Day, and my laundry bench is almost completely covered with party stuff- a box full of plates, napkins and cups, fabric, mermaid tails, pirate bandanas, ruffly seaweed, seaweed curtains, goodybags, cupcake boxes and an octopus pinata, made with love, newspaper and pva by Mama, with dangly legs attached by The Man. I can't even begin to think about what else is in there- basically the result of a few months thinking. I bought some Christmas decorations 75% off that are going to pass as mermaid pearls and treasures looted from sunken ships. Her birthday letter is written, three pages of you-are-the-best-thing-that's-ever-crossed-the-face-of-this-planet, and her birthday interview conducted. Her answer this year to what do you want to be when you grow up? Well, I don't really know, now I just want to be me. When she was turning 3 she wanted to be a doctor and a witch, and last year she wanted to be an artist.

4. As BabyG is turning 5, she's set for school, and so last week I took my baby school shoe shopping. Lower lip trembling... She looks so incredibly cute in her Ronald McDonald shoes and is as proud as punch.

5. Earlier this week, I labelled BabyG's uniforms, bag, etc etc etc, and she took the opportunity to put on her sport uniform, complete with new sneakers, and showed her dad who nearly exploded with pride.

6. I'm not too bad with all this school starting kerfuffle, better than I thought I'd be. We went to the ballet today, and she snuggled into me on the train on the way home, and squeezed my hand as she chattered away, and I rested my cheek on the top of her head and breathed her in, and made a silent prayer that I'll always feel this close to her.

And that's enough, hopefully, to get Cass through 20 minutes in Casa di Hell, and it's enough to keep me from falling over the edge into weepsville...

Eggshells...

2012-01-16T22:39:00.000+11:00

Saturday The Man went to the doctor with a muscle strain in his back. Saturday night he came home with prescription medications for said back, and a pack of nicotine patches and declared Sunday would see him giving up the cigarettes. I was thrilled. You see, The Man has given up around 3 or 4 times in our 6 ish years together. There was talk of it before our wedding. There was talk of it before the arrival of BabyG, and then again after BabyG (her baptism was the breaking of him- a cigarette after lunch after 4 weeks off them). There was talk of it before the arrival of the Little Miss, and there was talk of it after. As per above, I'm thrilled, but also a little wary, given my lovely, calm, happy husband turns into a short-fused, ferocious, snapper when giving up his elixir of life. On one occasion he distracted himself by surprising BabyG and I by coming along to a gymbaroo session, where he sat cross-legged, twitched a lot, and grunted along to the songs.

On hearing this news on Sunday I updated my facebook status with some flippant, witty comment about cleaning out the cherubs' playhouse so he could have somewhere to sleep. He hits back with 'thanks, no pressure, now everyone knows.' Yes, doesn't matter that the wife and cherubs want him to give up the smokes, it's much worse if my 42 facebook friends are disappointed if he doesn't give it a good crack.

It's Day 2 and there has been no head spinning ala Linda Blair. We worked out last night that it costs him roughly $5800 a year- that's a decent holiday and that's going to be his reward. He's always had a fascination for the Forbidden City in China, I might book him a trip for his 12 month anniversary of quitting...

Make a splash...

2012-01-15T11:05:00.000+11:00

The invitations for BabyG's party arrived on Monday, and just in time, too. I had 17 mermaid skirts sitting in my laundry...

Last year, possibly twenty seconds after the last guest departed from her birthday party, BabyG told me she wanted a mermaid and pirate party for her 5 party. I've always had a bit of a thing for mermaids, too. On our honeymoon, we spent some time in Hawaii, and in a gallery near our hotel a local woman was selling beautiful water colour prints, one with a mermaid balanced on a rock watching the passing parade. I bought a set of three, deeming them perfect for a cherub's nursery, whilst simultaneously praying, wishing hoping that said cherub was at that very moment making its way into existence- which she was! When I discovered I was having a girl cherub, inspired by my hawaiian prints, a friend made me a beautiful mermaid canvas, an under the sea world of felt and fabric, too beautiful to describe in worlds. These artworks, donning my cherub's bedrooms since before she was born, have been the inspiration, or the concept if you really want me to be wanky, for planning this party.

In around March last year, Lincraft were having an insane sale, where tulle and other shiny, frilly, silly fabrics were less than $5 a metre. I bought a pile of it, thinking how cute would it be if every girl had a mermaid tail? Yes, a fantastic idea at the time, not so fantastic 10 months later when I've got the butt-ugly table protector on, the cutting mat, and a pile of fabric:

Actually, It's been really quick and easy- I mocked up a pattern between an old Womans Weekly costume book I found on ebay a couple of years ago, and the wonderful www, lined up piles of fabric and cut away- 1 evening of work. The next day I attached interfacing to the underside of the tails (just using a cheapo lining fabric) and joined fronts to backs by pins, that night sewing them all together. The next day I cut out all the waistbands, and sewed them to the skirts. Three days, in between working, playing with cherubs, and all the usual cooking, cleaning blah blah blah. I need new pins, the fabric and interfacing completely stuffing them- I think the interfacing I bought was too stiff, but the next level down seemed too soft for the effect I wanted. My machine is still rooted (that's the technical word, feel free to use it) from before Christmas, so I used my mother-in-law's machine, so absolutely powered through these. The hardest part has been trying to vacuum the green frays that cling to every surface of the house. But I am completely thrilled with the results, not least because they are preventing me from doing any ironing:

More importantly, the older cherub loves them, and has been talking about her party using phrases that could make me weep, the little sweety...

Pals...

2012-01-14T08:44:00.001+11:00

Earlier this week, typing away madly, I looked out my office window, across the courtyard and into the playroom to see Mabel the cat stretched out in the sun. Two minutes later, I saw my Little Miss waddle into the room, spotted her pal and stretched out next to her to have a cat nap. This cherub has a real affinity with this cat, and vice versa. They seek each other out, they snuggle up together, and every morning the Little Miss runs into the laundry to get Mabel's breakfast before she's thought of her own. She really loves her. BabyG, not so much. Perhaps I put her off the cat when I freaked out when I was 7 months pregnant with her- at 2 am one morning I wandered into the cherubs room, and found the cat sleeping in the cot, right where the baby's head would be in two months time...

New Year, New Look

2012-01-06T00:00:00.000+11:00

No, not for me. I'm timeless. Why mess with a masterpiece? I have the luckiest cherubs ever- they manage to travel with their own stylist. Our wonderful friends Seany and Tracey came to the coast for a couple of nights to have NYE with us, and Tracey brought a multi-pack of hair elastics and set to work covering BabyG with bali-braids. The Little Miss bellowed 'my turn', and sat herself down, and Tracey managed to get two braids before she (the Little Miss) took off on her next adventure. Tracey also came armed with a pile of glow sticks, a tradition we've had for the past three NYE. She and BabyG drape them over every possible body surface, and when I put BabyG to bed at around 9.30pm, she piled them up next to her bed like a little ultraviolet pile of nuclear waste. The first thing she did when she got up was put them back on again. The second thing? She pulled out all her braids to check her curly-wurlies. I was shattered- after all Tracey's work I would have liked them to see at least one more day...

New bathers...

2012-01-05T23:40:00.001+11:00

Each year, Santa gives the cherubs new bathers, which come in very handy for these beach-lovin' babes. This year, Santa managed to find matching hats- they can get wet too. Not that the other cotton kind can't, but having hats made out of the same fabric as the swimwear stops the arguments of leaving hats off whilst paddling. Now the only time the hats come off is when one throws a wobbly because Daddy turns a circle too quickly on the body board and one unexpectedly commando-rolls off into the water.

Gone fishin...

2012-01-05T12:28:00.000+11:00

We spent a gorgeous five days down the coast after Christmas. The weather was sensational, and my father-in-law who has been (in)patiently waiting for almost five years was able to take his firstborn grandchild out on his pride and joy to share his number one passion. There were fishing rods dropped off by Santa at the holiday house, and a lifejacket from Nonno, she stepped aboard and we were off. The sea was smooth, and she even had a drive of the boat. No fish, though. She kept saying 'when are we going to catch a fish, Nonno?' and I think Nonno was nearly sweating blood with the effort of trying to land one, any one, but no go.

The next day, cherubs occupied by their Aunty and their Grandmother, The Man, a cousin visiting from Italy and myself went out. It was hot, and safely anchored I decided to take a jump off the boat to cool down. I jumped off, being careful to land close to the ladder, turned and the boat was at least 10 metres away and still moving further. Farrrrkkk.... For a second, I actually thought they'd started it up while I was under and moved it forward, and I wondered why I didn't hear the motor? I started swimming, got nowhere really fast, and The Man offered to throw me out a rope. Not wanting to lose any (more) dignity in front of the visiting cousin, I dug deep and somehow swam against the current back to the boat and hauled myself up the ladder trying not to cough up a lung. The visiting cousin is afraid of water; she couldn't believe I'd willingly flung myself overboard, especially as five minutes earlier we'd seen a dolphin fin. I calmed down, then jumped back in, grabbing hold of a rope this time so I could stay close and pull myself back if need be. Cool and refreshed, I returned aboard and landed a fish. One more than The Man and one more than my father-in-law who both caught NADA.

The wind in our hairs...

2012-01-04T19:54:00.001+11:00

As I said in my Christmas post, the cherubs were given bicycles for Christmas, which means Mama has conniptions twenty-thousand times a day, and the suburbs ring with the sounds of my screeching. Monday saw me screeching for a different reason- at 9am the cherubs and I were outside in the 32degree heat. They were playing in the rudie nudie, I was watering, intermittently squirting them with the hose and bellowing 'don't run on the tiles, they're slippery.' I had my back to them giving the fig tree a drink when I heard an almighty whack. I actually thought they'd knocked over one of the wooden chairs, it was so loud. Then BabyG screamed her sister hit her head, I drop the hose and run across the lawn and up onto the patio area to see my younger cherub lying flat on her back, eyes rolling and twitching in her head, feet jerking. I picked her up and she flopped in my arms, head lolling. I sent BabyG inside to get The Man (blissfully asleep), and when he appeared at the top of the stairs I told him to ring an ambulance. The ambulance arrived with three angel paramedics on board who checked out the Little Miss, by now having a little cry, but not her normal cry. They wanted to take her to the Royal Childrens so I found myself strapped to a stretcher, the Little Miss in my lap. The Man dropped BabyG to our wonderful friends across the road and followed us in. I was worried, but not overly so, until the Little Miss went floppy in my arms again and was increasingly difficult to rouse. The paramedic sitting with me told her colleagues to change the Little Miss' status to category A (meaning she needed to be seen immediately on arrival) and to 'bump the lights'. Sirens came on and we went through every red light in the city. We were wheeled into the Royal Childrens Hospital, nurses and doctors came from everywhere, a nurse took the Little Miss out of my arms soI could get off the stretcher and she threw her head back and wailed for me. Crisis over. They gave her some medication for what was no doubt a whopper of a headache, gave her an icy-pole, observed her for three hours and then sent us home when she was playing peek-a-boo with her dad. The care was exemplary and the new hospital beautiful. That afternoon in the 38degree heat she played with her sister as if nothing had happened and has been fine ever since. Thank God.

Christmas 2011

2012-01-03T18:36:00.000+11:00

The collage above captures the spirit of our Christmas perfectly- casual, fun, and just a bit dishevelled... actually that describes me pretty well too...

The sun shone early, my friends... Well, that's not true. As per the past two years, the cherubs slept in, tired from a late night with Christmas Eve celebrations at The Man's Nonna's house. They didn't just sleep in; we woke them, and their little bleary eyes lit up when they saw the pair of pink bikes under the tree, and the bulging sacks from santa. My bleary eyes lit up when The Man gave me some beautiful Clinique skincare and ... pause... a mont blanc pen! As with every other writer on the planet, I've always longed for a gorgeous pen, and now I have one. He was a little spoilt too- for the first time in three years I've been able to buy him a Christmas gift that he hasn't paid for, and it felt good. I bought him a pair of cape cod chairs, and I broke my sewing machine making him some gorgeous cushions to go with them. I made the cherubs a breakfast of pancakes with strawberries and bananas, but they were too excited to play with their gifts to eat, so for the first time The Man and I ate uninterrupted, and without having to share. Christmas miracle indeed.

The extended family came over for lunch (my parentals and brother, The Man's parentals and sister, and a cousin from Italy), and twelve hours later The Man and I sat with a Baileys and watched the lightning explode all over Melbourne. A wonderful, wonderful day with my beautiful family.

Magic...

2012-01-03T18:26:00.001+11:00

The weekend before Christmas saw BabyG invited to another birthday party- this time her bestie was having a fairy party, and that called for a new costume. Halfway through the creation of this one my Little Miss wanted a set of wings too, and together they've been flying around the Land of Cherubs, making noise to rival the flock of baby cockatoos that have taken residence in the neighbourhood, to my eternal horror. Seriously, I can't even make a trip to the rubbish bins without feeling like armageddon is upon us all. The fairy theme continues- The Man took the cherubs to the coast a day ahead of me last week. After 45 minutes where I thought I'd lost my grandmother's engagement ring (I wear it on a chain around my neck with dogtags engraved with the cherubs' names) Mama needed some time to herself. I pottered around the house, I went shopping, I bought myself an overlocker, and the next day I made my way to the coast. In our absence, fairies made their way to our house via a fairy door, and a whole lot of fairy dust. They left a lovely letter for the cherubs, and the older cherub has written back twice. Her face was priceless- she wandered into the house after 5 days of being away, started playing with her christmas gifts, then shouted, 'Muuuuummmmm! Daaaaaddddd! Fairies have moved in!'

December mumblings...

2011-12-22T06:07:00.000+11:00

It's been a pretty big week in the Land of Cherubs. Last week we had the kinder Christmas concert where BabyG was a Christmas fairy:

And a gorgeous little fairy she was indeed. The Man and I sat there positively gloating with pride at this one. Full of confidence, she is. The polka dot top was a Christmas miracle in itself- we'd received requests that children wear red or green or Christmas themed clothing and that was the closest I had in a wardrobe that's been invaded by pink. Perfect match though, is it not? After the Christmas fairies performance, the children had a costume change, and came out as various animals (mine was a joey) to act out Wombat Divine whilst the teacher narrated. And while I know you'd like to stick a fork in my eye about now, I just have to add that BabyG could have narrated- she'd been acting it out word for word at home for the past two weeks, and she's planning a big Christmas day performance as well for her captive audience. After the concert, the teacher handed out a totebag (decorated by each child) that contained the most beautiful treasures of the children's time at kinder, including the kinder book- photos of the child's year at kinder. Divine, indeed.

We took another cherub home with us after the concert- her mama was unwell, and the veggie patch kept the cherubs entertained:

Finally, we have carrots that don't look like something out of Harry Potter. The girls are yanking them out of the ground almost constantly despite me bellowing about Christmas lunch. Our raspberry bed has finally started fruiting after two years (is that right, Aunty Sam?) and the second the berries get a hue of pink the girls are pouncing on them and gobbling them up.

On Tuesday, the older cherub finished kindergarten, a milestone she embraced with her usual (friggin' awesome) approach of onwards and upwards. I had a little cry, though. Not surprising considering the old-school telecom ads (Memories... like the corners of my mind) used to have me howling. She's had a wonderful kinder experience, this cherub of mine, and it was an environment she enjoyed every moment from, and her teachers gave me the most wonderful feedback about her beautiful nature. I received a lovely message from a fellow kinder mum this week (hopefully, our younger cherubs will be in kinder together if we both manage to sleep with the right person to get a place), and she told me she'll never forget her first kinder duty for 3 year old, where my cherub completely wooed her. As I said to the mum, yes, we think BabyG is pretty amazing, the first cherub to relatively older parents was always going to be the temple at which we worship, but it's wonderful to hear it from people who are not obliged to adore her! I will miss our regular walk to kinder- unfortunately, BabyG's school isn't within walking distance. I won't miss having to hold the Little Miss whilst she spins in my arm tassie devil-style because she wants to stay and be part of the kinder group.

I finish work today for just under a couple of weeks, and summer stretches out before us. Lots of sunshine, relaxing, writing, playing and daydreaming.

Memories...

2011-12-18T16:52:00.000+11:00

I know I've been a shitful blogger of late- in fact I had a message to that effect the other day, but as we all are I'll blame it on being really busy in the lead up for the festive season. Not too busy though to catch up with some dear friends on Friday night. Tracey is married to my husband's best friend, and we're lucky enough that she's also our hairdresser. She comes to our house, she cuts our hair, she plays with the cherubs and she's just basically divine. She's even been known to look after other people's children at birthday parties, she's that lovely... her husband has a hilarious app on his phone which had me coughing up a lung. After flashing him a smile Friday night I now have this:

As I said on Facebook (where he graciously put me for the world to admire) I'd forgotten how hot I am. Can't wait to go skiing next winter.

Snoozy...

2011-12-08T07:40:00.001+11:00

This picture of my cherubs captures my mood at the moment perfectly- I'd love to just flop myself down anywhere and sleep for as long as I'd like...

That's BabyG's ear poking out from the crook of the Little Miss' arm there. They're inseparable, these two, and it's almost a little insulting how well they've adjusted to Mama being out of the house three days a week. My work is very accommodating, they've allowed me to select (and change) the days I work based around BabyG's seemingly unending commitments, and they're happy for me to arrive at work at 8 (and thus have a 20 minute drive as opposed to 40 minutes in peak hour) and leave at 4.30, which sees me home in time to do dinner, play, bath and bed, which is ideal.

I'm enjoying being back at work, and I'm surprised how quickly I've moved back from cherub land into working land. My knee was acting up last week, and I realised it's not from exercise (what's that?) but from stomping around in heels again for longer than a couple of hours at a time. I have my first Board meeting on Saturday (5 hours...) and I wrote a communications update for it, and have amazed myself at how much work I've knocked over in essentially 12 days. That's a benefit of having my own office, and also getting there an hour before everyone else, and not having anyone bellow 'mmmmmuuuuuummmmmm' every five seconds.

The garden is looking a bit melancholy, though. In October, knowing NANO was ahead of me, I put some seedlings in and hoped for the best. They're plodding along and hopefully will give us leeks, carrots and fennel for Christmas. The girls eat the fennel fronds straight from the garden after hearing me call it the lolly plant. A couple of weeks ago I bought some hydrangeas for the garden bed outside my bedroom window, having ripped out the yukkas which were getting too big. The bed is still looking massacred- hopefully this weekend between kinder birthday parties and a christmas party and a Board meeting I'll get a chance to shift some soil and get the hydrangeas planted. Maybe not...

Nano wrap up

2011-12-05T11:48:00.000+11:00

Nano finished last week, and I haven't looked at my would-be novel since. I do have plans to, though, as soon the silly season is over. The notebook and index cards have been packed up high to clear the desk for the sewing machine, but will be pulled out again on boxing day, when we clear the house for a couple of weeks and take the cherubs to the coast. It's not finished, I don't think it will be within 50,000 words, but I'm going to keep plugging away without looking back until I complete a first draft based loosely around my plan written in October. I do really love this story, the setting and the main characters. Even the horrid one has grown on me, and she's said and done some really amazing things that have endeared her to me and surprised me.

I really liked the nano-process- would have liked it a lot more if it were in any other month than November, and starting a new job threw a bit of an added extra for me as well. Will I do it again? Absolutely. I have the start of a really good book committed to paper.

Nano Day 25

2011-11-26T01:02:00.000+11:00

OK, technically, I'm writing this on Day 26, as it's just hit 1am in Melbourne. I've had a bad week, Nano-wise, not writing anything for 5 days. I've been reading the pep talks, and thinking about my characters and plot moves, but have just had too much in my head and too little focus to sit down and force out some words.

The big question is can I write just under 26,000 words in 5 days to be a Nano-winner (ie complete the challenge of 50,000 words in 30 days)? Yes, no problem, if I ran away to the farm for 5 days, alone, no issue at all. I wrote my masters thesis in 2 weeks at the farm, but that was much, much easier than this. I had every chapter planned out to the paragraph, and writing was basically just linking them all together. That was the old farm too, and I sat at the family table with my laptop whilst dad pottered around outside, mum kept me fed and watered, my director at the time rang me almost daily for briefings that were all sitting in her in-tray. 'oh yes, here it is,' she'd say. Right until the next phone call. Happy times, all except the former director part. This time, I think I may hit the 30th of November and have to declare myself a Nano-loser, of sorts, but I'm actually feeling like a bit of a winner, I must admit. And now, to bed, and dreams of literary glory. Or a good night's sleep, whatever comes first. My guess is literary glory.

Nano day 22

2011-11-22T22:18:00.000+11:00

I haven't written a thing for two days... actually, that's not technically correct. I have the word 'luminousity' scribbled on my notepad. That's one word when I should have written over 3,000. I do have a good excuse though- yesterday I worked, and when I came home my brain was a tad shrivelled. Today, I didn't work, but I did lots of this:

Yep, good old fashioned play. The cherubs needed me more than my nano-novel today, and with tomorrow being Day 1 of BabyG's school transition program, I needed some fun in the sunshine with them...

How good do my roses look in the background of the bottom two left images?

My work here is done...

2011-11-22T22:10:00.000+11:00

Sisters...

2011-11-20T17:33:00.000+11:00

We took the cherubs into the city this afternoon to see the Myer windows, and then we went for a run around Station Pier- after the chaos of the city Port Melbourne was bliss- we had the entire Pier to ourselves, and we ran up and down the length of the Spirit of Tasmania. A gorgeous, gorgeous day...

Not a word written, but the night is still young, my friends.

Nano Day 19

2011-11-20T01:40:00.000+11:00

I've been a woman on a mission tonight- after a slow-ish couple of days, I've written 4164 words tonight in just short of four hours. I sat down with my original plan of sorts, and made a couple of notes about what I wanted to do tonight and tomorrow, and went for it. I've written 8 pages. It's funny, years ago when I was writing fiction all the time I really disliked dialogue, it always felt so contrived and clunky, but this novel is full of dialogue, and it seems to be working well, flowing well, and sounds pretty realistic, well I assume so, because as part of the nano-process I haven't read back over the work at all, except for the last couple of paragraphs so I can get a handle of what I'm up to. So at day 19 I'm up to 38 pages, 22,059 words, and I am still excited by the story. Looking good...

Nano Day 15

2011-11-15T22:42:00.000+11:00

I quite literally dragged myself off the couch tonight to tap out some notes for my nano novel, and thank god I did, because I managed to pump out another 1166 words, and solved a bit of a dilemma I've been having. I'm trying very hard not to get too hung up on any negativity with this nano-business, as I knew it would be a hard slog meeting word counts between the cherubs, life and starting a new job, but I thought I'd be able to sit at a cafe and churn out words on my lunch breaks... Well, I did do that today, to an extent, but I'm finding my head is completely spinning with work, which isn't conducive to fiction. Last night I had my final kinder committee meeting where I handed over my role of two years to a new bright and earnest volunteer, and yesterday was a cherub day, so I had decided not to write, but managed to spit out a couple of hundred words last night (more dilemma solving). I read earlier today that a Nano intern had written 11,000 words in one day. She doesn't have the life I have, which is not to make excuses, or denigrate her effort, but that's an amazing feat. My plan from here on in is to keep having cracks every night, write more on the nights I haven't worked and so thus don't have a head full of communication strategies and media targets etc, and on Sundays when The Man is home really aim big to hit the 50,000 word count by the end of November. That's the plan...

Nano- Day 13

2011-11-13T22:51:00.000+11:00

I've had a pretty productive weekend. I'm still not up to date, but in the last two days I've written 5,146 words, making me 4,971 words short of the nano total for day 13 of 20,800 words. I'm a little worried about that, but not too much. I'm really happy with what I have written, and I've probably been wasting some time by searching for good words. My dictionary and thesaurus have been getting a real work out, which goes against the nano concept of just writing, and while I know what I've written will need one hell of an edit, I still want to have some jewels to work with when I get to that point in 15 (ish) more days time. The good news is I still love my plot, I still love my characters, and everything is working. I'm finding it easier almost two weeks in to write without reading what I've already written. The Man had a read of the entire manuscript about a week ago, and thinks it flows, that it's working and that he wanted to keep reading which is always a good sign. I spent a couple of hours this morning not writing, but having a pedicure and getting my nails done for the first time in five and a half years (the nails I mean, not the pedicure, although that was a long time coming too, I might add), and it was great to sit there just thinking, planning, plotting, but without being able to jot. My thoughts seemed very clear without the pressure of having to cement them down. I've had a very creative burst ever since- have been writing for hours, lots of scenes, lots of dialogue that move the story along but don't contribute a hell of a lot to the word count, unfortunately. I've managed to avoid making a single meal for the cherubs except for lunch yesterday, which does do a lot for the word count.

I have a pretty full week coming up, with three nights where I won't be home to write. Before you go thinking I'm out living the wild life, enjoying myself, bite your tongue. I have a kinder agm and handover where I pass on the responsibilities of committee membership to the next ~~poor sucker~~ willing volunteer (whoo frigging hoo!!!!), a talk at my cherub's school next year about building resilience in children, and a kinder dinner. OK, that last one will be lovely, but it won't contribute to my word count. But I'm sure a glass (or two) of something wonderful will make it all better.

Have a good week xx

Nano day 11

2011-11-11T17:47:00.000+11:00

Arrggghhh! Not a word was written yesterday- on my nano-novel anyway. Instead, I wrote reams upon reams at my new job, and came home with a spinning head and absolutely no desire or energy to formulate another sentence. I'm feeling much the same now, but the night is young, my friends. I'm having a coffee whilst I give the cherubs dinner, and that might give me a lift to plug away tonight. I'm almost 5000 words down. But it's the weekend, so hopefully some time to make up some ground.

On another note, I just had a chat with my mum that left both of us completely perplexed:
I'm employed to work 24 hours per week. I am working 3 days, from 8am til 4.30pm, which includes half an hour for a lunch break. Should I be leaving at 4 or 4.30?

NANO Day 8

2011-11-08T19:53:00.000+11:00

Holy crap, do things escalate (or not) quickly... I dragged myself to the computer last night after the cherubs went to bed, having been unable to scribble down even a sentence during the day, and thank goodness I did. I managed to scrawl out another 900 words, bringing my total to 8153, when it should be 10,076 words, if I were doing the prescribed 1600 per day. I had a good reason though- I spent the morning at my mother's house, and the afternoon canoodling with the cherubs on the trampoline. My last day as a full-time stay at home mum...

Yes, today I started my new job. It went really well, nice organisation, nice location and ... my own office! After over twenty years of sharing office spaces this is bliss. No one popping a head over a cubicle, no one regaling me with tales of their weekends, no one eating tuna casseroles centimetres from my computer monitor. This is good. The work is/will be interesting, but not so insane that I'll be writing media releases on my days off. The mother guilt hasn't kicked me in the tummy too hard yet- although it started to last week until the Aunty Sam offered to come and slap it out of me. It's a big change after three years of being at home with the cherubs, but I'm ready, they're ready and apparently the great big world is ready too. It's really, really nice to be wanted for something other than kinder duty, I must admit, and it feels good to be using my two Masters for something other than wall decorations. But my nano-novel has taken a beating- hopefully over the weekend I can get back on board.

Nano day 6

2011-11-06T22:20:00.001+11:00

Almost a week in, and I've written twelve pages, 7216 words. I'm not quite on track- I had a crap day last week where I only wrote 503 words, which lost the head start I'd written myself over the first couple of days. I was hoping to get back on track and get ahead of the word count again, but yesterday saw me dragging BabyG to a birthday party (or the other way around) and in the heat, The Man and I decided to go for a quick bolt to the coast to the holiday house. This was my writing studio yesterday:

Today I joined my husband and my father-in-law out on his boat. We were out there for around 7 hours, with a quick break to say hello to the cherubs on the jetty. This is an incredible feat for me because I'm usually queasy and begging to be taken back in after a couple of hours. I wrote just under 5 pages on the boat, had a little catnap in the cabin, and even managed to fish:

This, my friends, is a banjo shark. I thought it was a stingray. Fear not, he's back swimming with the fishes- and not in the way people assume when an Italian says that.

I've just finished putting my five pages of scrawl into my word doc, and as I type I'm feeling the boat rocking. I'd love to keep writing, but I'm struggling to focus my eyes on the screen and my tummy is churning. I had a snooze in the car on the way home which might give me a second wind later tonight when the seas subside a little- and I made our Christmas pudding tonight so I have to wait for that to finish steaming before I can go to bed anyway. Hopefully if not tonight then during the week I can scramble back some words- I really don't want to fall too far behind the prescribed schedule- as of now, I'm 1200 words behind.

And now, for a laugh, look what my husband hooked:

Holy beetroot batman!

2011-11-04T00:24:00.001+11:00

Can you believe the size of this beetroot? I didn't weigh it, but to make a guestimate, I think it would weigh more than the birth weight of my firstborn...

The little wheelbarrow beside said firstborn is completely full of broadbeans in this photo, buried beneath the last of my garlic harvest, and another giant beetroot. I made the most divine meal from the broadbeans, and I have to share it. It would be a crime not to.

I belted up a bunch of mint (also from my garden) in the mortar and pestle. I boiled the shelled broadbeans for two minutes, then added them a few at a time to the mint and belted the crappola out of them, but not too much. I wanted some of them to hold their shape. I added a couple of tablespoons of olive oil to the mix, swished it with the mortar (if that's the proddy thing, not the bowl), then piled in about 50 grams of parmesan that I'd grated. I added a smidge more olive oil to loosen it up, then the juice of one of the Fabulous Aunty Sam's lemons. I'd sliced some baguettes lengthwise and grilled each side, then piled the broadbean mixture on top. It was gorgeous, lumpy, lemony, beany and parmesony. Can you tell I'm saving my vocabulary for my Nano-novel? It doesn't end there. The next night, last night, my mum, The Man and I had the leftovers, about a cup worth, stirred through barely drained pasta. As the Little Miss would say, 'deeee liisssshhhh ussss'. Except she didn't say that- I'd put some in a spoon for her to try earlier and she screwed up her face, spat it out and said 'that's yukky'.

And guess what? I put one of the beetroots through the juicer with a carrot, two apples and some watermelon and the cherubs inhaled it. The after, not so clap hands happy. The Little Miss' nappy stopped my heart for a second, and BabyG screamed for me to come look in the toilet at her bright pink poo. I swear this blog writes itself some days; I couldn't make this stuff up. Feel free to quote me.

NANO day 3

2011-11-03T10:46:00.000+11:00

Here I am, start of day 3, and I just opened my word document and hit 'control/end'. It's really hard, this not-editing stuff.

I decided against writing 50,000 words longhand- I don't know what I was thinking with that one. Instead I just keep the word doc open on my computer, and when I can I sit and pump out some words. Yesterday, I was early for a meeting, so sat in the car and wrote three and a half pages. Last night, I added that, and a little more. The word count for the start of day 3 is 3646- not bad considering my little pal here, currently with a thumb in her mouth and her head on my knee, got a hold of my index note cards and played 52 pick up with them yesterday morning...

NANOWRIMO- day 1

2011-11-01T09:07:00.000+11:00

Apologies if you're expecting a cherub or garden update- for the next 30 days the bare minimum will be done for the garden while I battle out each day to deliver 1600 words of a novel for NANOWRIMO. I'm going to use my blog as a mini-diary/record of the month, as I don't think my notebook will fit another scrawl. Look away now if you're squeamish, and in December I'll see you for a garden update that will hopefully be something other than drowning under the weight of broadbeans.

Today is day 1- but I actually started writing just after midnight last night. I have spent the past weeks plotting and planning, writing short prompts and notes on index cards, doing cluster diagrams on large sheets of paper, and last night I was over it. I wanted to write, and to write in proper sentences. It was officially 1 November, the kick-off, so I sat down at the computer and wrote for half an hour before going to bed. The hardest part was not editing as I went, a habit long ingrained from working to tight deadlines. It was a real struggle for me not to go back over what I had written and correct. Same thing this morning, still technically day 1, I want to go over the page I wrote last night and edit, but nay, internal editor, be gone! My plan for today, Melbourne Cup Day in my parts, is to get as much written as possible beyond the daily quota to make up for the rest of the week when I might not be able to write as much with the Little Miss saying 'knee knee'. I don't want this to impact on my cherubs, especially when I'll be abandoning them to the horrors of grandparental care as I go back to work next week. The poor little things, having to endure all kinds of terror, ice-creams, walks along Beach Road, making pasta.

Word count- 521

Hallo-whatever

2011-10-30T18:29:00.000+11:00

I think I may have a new nickname in these parts- no doubt 'churlish bitch' because I refuse to take part in Halloween.

For the past 5 years, someone has stuck an orange piece of cardboard and an info sheet in our mailbox, saying 'let's do halloween! It's fun!' Apparently, a local family has an american mum (or someone who lived in America, and she's taken it upon herself to drum up some halloween spirit in the Melbourne 'burbs, or more specifically, mine. If a household wishes to participate, they attach the orange cardboard onto their letterbox, and the trick or treaters know they are welcome at that house. The only place I've stuck my orange cardboard is in the recycle bin. There's no way I'm dragging my children around the neighbourhood, knocking on strangers doors to take lollies and chocolate from people they don't know. It's dodgy enough that I let them sit on the lap of a strange big hairy man once a year- why would I encourage them to take lollies from strangers?

'Naysayer', the people shout at me as they pass my house with their pitchforks. 'It's fun, the kids get to dress up.' My cherubs dress up every day. That's not special. And I've been watching some of the local kids walking around, fake blood dripping, parents glaring at my absent orange cardboard. Do I want to spend upwards of $50 on crap for other children? Do I want my children yelling 'gimme gimme gimme?' to a bag of their own crap scavenged from around the neighbourhood? Do I want to have a discussion with my almost five and two year olds about the significance of ghouls and strippers? No, no and no.

I'm not alone in my opposition to this encroaching of consumerism. The Fabulous Aunty Sam thinks it is a crock too, even more so than I. She's on her front lawn turning her hose on anyone who walks past, even the innocent dog walkers.

OK, rant over. That was fun!

Sincerely,

Churlish Bitch

Fate...

2011-10-28T11:15:00.000+11:00

On the day I announce to the world (OK, three of you) of my plans to write a new novel, the universe intervened and sent me an awesome job offer. A 25 hour/p/week communications role in a fantastic advocacy organisation in a wonderful part of Melbourne about a 20-30 minute drive away. On the day I announce to the world my new novel plans and then subsequently get a fantastic job, my number 2 cherub wakes from her slumber with a barking cough and difficulty breathing. I spent 4 hours overnight in an emergency department while she was treated for croup. We were seen immediately although the place was full to capacity, and I feel incredibly lucky to have access to first world medical facilities, but sheesh. Is the universe telling me something?

Leaping...

2011-10-27T09:30:00.000+11:00

I'm not sure if you've felt abandoned, but I have to be honest- I've abandoned this little blog of mine somewhat over the past few weeks. I do have a good (ish) reason, and don't fret, the cherubs are still being fed, watered and played with, and the garden is still getting the love it needs. In fact, I'm a bit achy from spending a couple of hours yesterday yanking out weeds and SOMEONE ELSE'S ivy. Anywho, it's time to come clean with my readers, all three of you.

In September, I wrote that I'd had a particularly creative patch, with several stories jumping into my head. I plotted down their bones, and prepared to put them on the shelf for a little while longer. My cherubs need me, I bleated to myself. I knew that whenever I sat down on the computer I'd hear 'muuuuuummmmmm', and no matter how many times I could wave at them through the office window into the playroom window (separated by a courtyard), I'd still eventually have to get off my bum and present myself in person. Nothing can get written like that. Hell, 90% of my blog posts are written with many MANY interruptions, which is why I never make sense.

Several years ago, around 8 in fact, I was back at Uni, having found myself addicted to study. In my first year of my Writing and Literature masters I chased and absorbed anything and everything to do with writing- writing exercises, plot identification tools, character questionnaires. I was reading through a favourite writing website when I first heard about NA-NO-WRI-MO. Yes, a truly shitful acronym, it stands for National Novel Writing Month. Only it's not national (American), it's international.

NANOWRIMO is 30 days of 'literary abandon'. Basically, the premise is you write 50,000 words in the 30 days, with no editing, no rereading what you have already written (except for the last paragraph so you can remember what you were up to), just write, write and write like a person possessed.

Thus, at it's core, NANWRIOMO is writing a 50,000 word rough draft in thirty days. The first time I came across NANWRIMO I loved the concept, but was too much of a control freak to go along with it as a novel writing exercise. I wrote the word count for the 30 days, but worked on several short stories instead, not wanting to write 50,000 words on one piece that might not be able to be salvaged.

Fast forward 8 ish years, two babies, a garden, a necessity to cook actual meals for other people EVERY day and not just live on a wedge of blue vein cheese if the mood takes me, and I find myself on the precipice of 50,000 words. Yes, I've signed up. Yes, I'm letting go of my 'usual' (ie old) way of working. While with NANOWRIMO you can't use words you have already written, you can plot before the 1 November kick off, and you can do some work/thinking about characters. To that end, last month I picked up a blank notebook off my shelf and joined the cherubs in their endeavours, using The Man's Mont Blanc for luck. I have an outline, a setting, some characters and an interweaving plot line that I'm completely in love with and is affecting my dreams. I already have 36 pages of notes, bones that I'll use. I'm going to write 50,000 words by hand. I'm excited!

Sunday by the Sea...

2011-10-24T09:50:00.001+11:00

After a frenetic Saturday that saw me battle with a ballet bun for BabyG's ballet concert, then battle with a certain Little Miss to remain seated for one half of said ballet concert, we thought a day trip to the coast might settle things down.

Indeed, it did. We walked, we made daisy chains, we ate, we flew kites and Mama had an afternoon snooze while the cherubs' aunty took care of business. I must say I was most gratified to wander upstairs after my kip to see the aunty looking just a little dishevelled after chasing two cherubs around- I'm sure she thinks all I do all day is play with the cherubs and relax. Ha!

I came home to a lovely invitation from the Fabulous Aunty Sam- a tour of an urban permeculture forest on the other side of the city. I regretfully declined, for two reasons:
1. It's on a Saturday afternoon, whilst The Man is at work, and BabyG has a birthday party I have to take her to.

2. The visit has disaster written all over it. Permeculture intrinsically implies chickens wandering freely, having been hand-raised. Hand-raised chickens intrinsically implies THEY HAVE NO FEAR OF HUMANS, nay, they are drawn to humans. Picture this: Sam wandering through garden, enjoying vista. I spot a flock of chickens heading my way. I fling my considerable body weight onto Sam. Sam's back rejects the human backpack, and she collapses to the ground with me atop. The chickens think we're playing and climb and clamber all over us, hideous wings flapping, horrific beaks pecking, horrid claws gripping. I'll be screaming like a banshee in reverse, head spinning, vomit drowning all the vegetation within a square meter. Sam screams 'get off me' and rolls, flinging me into a bed of broadbeans which snap, crushing all the innocent earthworms in the mulch beneath.

You see why I can't go?

Glorious garlic...

2011-10-22T09:15:00.001+11:00

During the week, I wrestled these beauties from the garden. Gorgeous, aren't they? Perfect timing, too; I believe the next Twilight instalment is due to be released any moment. These will ward off Edward AND his insipid, vacuous girlfriend.

Actually, I'm hoping they'll ward off a whole tribe of ills and evils. I made a gorgeous chicken soup yesterday afternoon/last night, and added a chopped up head straight from the garden. They're strange to use, fresh, as they look like an onion until you cut through them, and you can see the individual cloves. As they dry, the cloves separate and have that fragile, papery skin and look a lot more like garlic. The flavour is milder, too. They don't have that raspy, strong, unmistakable taste and smell; it's more like a hint of garlic.

I still have around eight left in the garden, not quite ready to harvest. Within the next two weeks though, they'll be forked up and plaited like the ones above, ready to dry and keep us in garlic for the next 6 to 12 months- or hopefully at least until the next lot I put in (around February) are ready for harvest in June(ish). I ran out last season, and after growing my own I really dislike buying garlic, bleached white with who knows what, and shipped from China or Mexico.

I love the look of plaited garlic- my grandmother did it, and I think that's the only reason I have done it as I have nowhere to hang them, and they'll dry just as well laid flat but almost unconsciously I plaited them. My cherubs were watching me, and I told them about my grandmother, and it struck me that the simple act of plaiting garlic is a way for them to be connected to her.

Crime and Punishment...

2011-10-19T08:27:00.001+11:00

This little cherub (above) donged her big sister on the head with the fairy she's holding, and was given a talking to, and sent to the naughty step. Doesn't she look devestated?

I've always found the whole punishment thing a tad tricky. I'm fine with the discipline part, we have well-communicated rules in this household, and I follow through like a champion, but sometimes I worry that I'm a little hard on these two. On the other hand, I get some lovely feedback on their behaviour and they keep getting invited back to be around other cherubs, so I must be doing something right.

They are difficult to admonish though. I tell one off and the other cries. Last week, I told BabyG off about mucking around with her seatbelt, and the Little Miss said 'Mummy! You're being rude!'

This week...

2011-10-17T08:43:00.000+11:00

BabyG milked a cow at the Collingwood Children's Farm
The Little Miss' cot was converted to a toddler bed
and
Mama had a quiet, secret cry in the office farewelling babyhood.

Lots of other things happened during the week, lost in the buzz and hum of a household. Cherubs giggled, made cars out of boxes, dressed up again and again and again, and had jarmie days in the sunshine.

They also helped me harvest the first of the garlic. It's looking good, people, gorgeous red-purple heads just under the size of a tennis ball. I plaited them together by their foliage and can't wait to see how they end up as they dry and slightly separate.

The sunshine and rain have made the garden swell to almost bursting; everything is about to explode. The strawberries are covered in flowers, the raspberry canes have tripled in size from last year, the asparagus which sent up it's one lonely shoot is now covered in flimsy flowers, and the broad beans are doubling in size every four minutes. The native frangipani is starting to form flowers, the crabapples are completely draped in pink, and the roses are glorious. The japanese maples reflect the sun at all times of the day, and under one, where I absent-mindedly dumped an out-of-date packet of diggers seeds, a mass of coloured poppies have sprung from the soil. I've been sitting in the sun with a notebook on my lap taking it all in, between bouncing on the trampoline with the cherubs and yelling 'watch out for the dog poo!' I love this time of year.

Fairy godmothering...

2011-10-09T21:57:00.000+11:00

Please forgive my absence this week- I had to get my princess to the ball... Or my first born cherub to a princess party.

I think it would have been much less stressful to have carried a kayak to the sea, put myself and the two cherubs in it, paddle across the Pacific to LA, take a bus to Disneyland to buy a costume than make it myself... but the cherub didn't like the one in the shops, she wanted the one on the cover of the book. Who am I to argue? I hit the internet, and using some of another pattern, and some of my brain (always dangerous), I managed to cobble together her costume, and joy of joys- it was still in one piece at the end of the party.

Live your dreams...

2011-10-05T09:36:00.003+11:00

I don't know if I've ever mentioned before that my sister-in-law works for an adventure/eco travel company. Last month, she came home from the Rwandan jungle where amongst other adventures she cavorted with mountain gorillas (as opposed from a Melbourne nightclub, with city gorillas). In the 6 years I have known her, she's been to Vietnam, Africa (twice), Italy, Antarctica, Mexico, Argentina, Guatamala and a whole lot of other South American countries I have no hope of spelling without getting off my bum to grab a globe from the playroom. Before I met her, she had been to Egypt, Indonesia and lots of other places. She's been on every continent and I think the only places missing off her wish list are India and China.

My sister-in-law has given my cherubs the most incredible gifts, beautiful, unique treasures from all around the world that they (and I) love. She's an incredibly generous girl to the cherub's parents too; I have some beautiful things that if you walked into my house you would think I'm incredibly well-travelled. I'm not. AND she gave my husband a sombrero after one trip, and I can't tell you how many times that has come in handy...

This is all well and good, but the obvious question is other than recieving some really lovely gifts, having a relative in the adventure/eco travel industry- what's in it for me? Well, so far, BUGGER ALL. Two days ago that all changed.

A text from my sister-in-law:
SIL: Have you read Mao's Last Dancer?
Me: Yes, awesome
SIL: Oh, the author is coming to do a presentation and book signing at my work
Me: OMG
SIL: Want to come?
Me: I can't- fucking fairy day!!!
SIL: It's at 4.30pm at my office, let me know if you can come
Me: Sold! I actually have tears in my eyes!!

Apologies for the overuse of exclamation points, but I was a tad excited.

Yesterday, saw me ~~endure~~ enjoy my older cherub prancing around in a fairy costume at the local callisthenics club with her kinder pals before I bundled her into the car, drove her to my parentals where she and the Little Miss waved me farewell as I took the train into the city. I spent just over an hour making the walk from Flinders Street to Lonsdale, wandering through shops and arcades, marvelling at the changes. Five years ago I knew every lane, every building, and now it's like something out of Hogwarts with moving lanes and stairwells and 30 storey buildings shifting all around at their own whim. I stopped at a bookstore, an old favourite where I lost many a lunch hour, and bought two versions of Mao's Last Dancer- the autobiography and the children's picture book version. I was waiting in my sister-in-law's foyer when a man came beside me carrying a huge box. I bellowed out a hello, blushed and then felt very proud of myself for not gushing out loud. It was Li Cunxin, author of Mao's Last Dancer, about to prepare for his presentation and book signing.

My sister-in-law collected me, dragged me through her office introducing me to colleagues, and showed me the office wall of shame (that's why it is so important to get a good passport photo- you don't want travel agents sniggering over it). We sat down in a large room, three from the front, and as the room filled I held the two books on my lap, my mind full of questions. Li began his presentation that was basically a motivational talk to my sister-in-law's company. He was as wonderful in person as he is on paper- articulate, funny, passionate and of course, inspiring (well, duh). I was in tears no less than 4 times in his 45 minute talk, and was buzzing from every part of my body.

Li explained his hesitation in writing his autobiography; one reason he hesitated is because his english is self-taught. I often think about language, and I'm a long-term collector of words. However, I often find myself using the same words and sentences much the same way I tend to wear the same clothes. I've wonder if having english as a second language enhances vocabularies- when you have to search for a word not in your natural/native vocabulary, you are so much more open to choice, and less reliant on habit. I wonder if that's why the South American poets are so bloody brilliant- their language is so visceral, so unexpected, so eloquent. My italian cousin described her mum's garden in the height of summer as 'arid'- yes, perfectly apt, but not a word I would have automatically chosen. My father-in-law has some beautiful turns of phrase, and some shockers, too, but they're his anglicised ones picked up on building sites. Li's language (both oral and written) was so evocative, so powerful, and utterly enthralling.

He finished his talk with some footage of his very last ballet performance (breathtaking, made me want to buy a season ticket to Australian ballet with my non-existent bucketloads of cash) and then opened up the floor to questions. Myself, I had at least 4 coherent questions I could have asked, and a dozen incoherent ones, but given I was an interloper at a work event I limited myself to asking Li just one- his motivation for turning his autobiography into a picture book. He then signed both of my books, and in the picture book he inscribed it to my cherubs- Live your dreams.

Thank you RC for inviting me!

Thanks to the lovely Kimberly, I realised I didn't give Li's answer to my question- his motivation for making a picture book version of Mao's Last Dancer. Li was away for a weekend with a group of friends, one of which was Graeme Base, author of Animalia and other books. Graeme encouraged him to write his life story, and Li sat down and wrote 8 a4 pages. This was sent to a publishing house, and the MD of children's literature saw it, loved the imagery and knew it would work as a picture book, but the publishers wanted the autobiography to stand alone first. There is also a version for secondary school students. Li is also a father, and wanted his story to connect with children as well as the adult book market. By adult book market I mean grown ups. Sorry to disappoint, any new google visitors.

Breakfast at the farm...

2011-10-02T13:04:00.001+11:00

Apologies- this is one of those posts that do nothing but indulge a mother. Two questions arise from this collage:

1. How cute is this cherub?

2. Why does said cherub's mother have eyelashes NOTHING like those of her offspring?

Week one done...

2011-10-02T13:00:00.002+11:00

We had a blissful couple of days at the farm last week for the first week of the term holidays. The cherubs climbed haystacks, found a bush teepee, rounded up cattle, saw the new season calves ('ahhh da babies' says the Little Miss), patted the horses and played on the beach.

I admired my brother's lavender hedge- that's it, bottom right. It's amazing, a deep, purple flower, over a metre tall and gorgeous green foliage all the way to the ground, not like my woody grey specimens. The secret? It's italian lavender. Yet another thing my dad's ancestors can take credit for along with the invention of the mezzaluna.

I also slept- a lot. On the first day, the cherubs woke at 6.30am, and when my mum got up at 7 she sent me back to bed. I did. After some time running through paddocks and along sand dunes I put the Little Miss down for a sleep in the afternoon, and I joined her- for three hours. Bliss indeed.

With the cherubs occupied by people and things far more interesting than me, I read, read and read some more. I have some credit at a local second-hand bookshop after trading some books last summer, so I picked up some reading material. I bought a first-time novel by a Queensland writer that I'd seen at the Melbourne Writers Festival around 10 years ago- at that time she'd published a book with her brother. It was a fantastic read- right up to page 88. When I turned the page the paragraph was completely fragmented, and I found myself on page 204. Yes, over an entire century of pages missing, not ripped out, but unprinted. I read on, still enjoying it and hoping to pick up what was missed soap-opera style. I read for another 30 or so pages, then found myself on page 183. Sheesh! I perservered, but obviously the narrative flow was disturbed, so much so that four days later I'm still completely confused. Basically, she got the guy, but what happened before that I'm not really sure about. If it were my book, I'd be devestated. There was nothing on the spine of the book to indicate it was seconds (normally publishers mark a black line across the bottom of it) and I've just spent an hour on the author's website searching for any evidence that I'm not the only person on the planet who picked up the only copy on the planet with this unbelievable printing error. Nothing. As I type I'm looking around for the hidden camera. There's nothing on her author blog, either. Therein lies a dilemma- should I contact her? What purpose would that serve? I don't think I missed any critical plot elements, but how much would it suck to put your heart and soul into over a hundred pages of work to have it disappear at the printing press? Perhaps ignorance is a bliss akin to sleep...

The boogeyman...

2011-09-30T09:29:00.002+10:00

Last month, an email was sent to me from a fellow-kinder mum, that she'd received from a mum in her contacts who had received it her child's kindergarten, in the next suburb across from us. According to the email, a group of parents were walking home with their children after kinder, and a four-year-old boy had run ahead, and was approached by a man in a car. The mother didn't like the look of him (the man in the car, not the child), ran to secure her child, and the car zoomed away. The registration number was taken, and the plates didn't match the car. The police, the kindergarten explained, were taking this incident seriously, and the kindergarten was informing their community to be aware of their childrens whereabouts following this. Our kindergarten's President had received similar information from her older son's school, and had also heard that a 13 year old girl had been approached by a car with a similar description so we decided it wouldn't hurt to raise awareness around child safety, and I re-sent the email around our kindergarten mailing list (around 90 families).

The next time I was at kinder, a number of parents thanked me for sending out the email, as did a number via email. Everyone, it seems was spooked. As I walked to and from kinder, I saw some behaviour changes. In the past, I've seen other children come flying around a corner, and then several minutes later their parents come into view. Now I wasn't the only one who had their child walk beside them and not run ahead more than one house at a time. Abduction fears isn't my number one reason for this; cars reversing out of driveways is. I also wasn't the only parent screeching like a mad woman from the footpath, not allowing their child run out of sight in the spare block beside and behind the kinder.

A week or two after my email, I received a phone call from my little pal who used to live over the road, a nanny in the area, who had also been told about a man driving around trying to abduct children. By the time the story had reached her, the 'almost' victim count was at seven. Then last week, I received an email from another kinder mum, who had received it from her childcare centre, who had received it from another kinder in the area. Some parents were supervising their children playing in a playground alongside the bike path, a man with a german accent in exercise gear was talking to the children, and when the mothers intervened he ran off down the bike path. The kinder who reported this reminded parents to actively supervise their children in light of this 'incident', which to me, could be a man about to go for his usual run, stopping to use the playground equipment to stretch, responding to a child who says hello to him, and then going for his run. Without knowing the full details, nothing of what I read was alarming; the children weren't in any direct danger whilst their mothers were 'supervising' them. Along with the higher powers of the kinder I decided against sending out the email and feeding the beast. Actually, given the german accent, he may have been Hitler. No-one mentioned a funny little moustache though...

This has been eating away at me for a couple of weeks now, and then last night I read this post, which prompted me to write this, and get some of my muddled thoughts a little clearer.

'Supervise your children' has been the only message that has come out of these alerts. Not that I don't agree that this is critical, but instead of reacting ineffectually and looking at every man in the street as a potential Hannibal Lector, why aren't we reinforcing the importance of teaching our children self-protective behaviours?

It's not the first time I've ever thought about these issues- you don't get to be a 38 year old helicopter mother just from one scary email. A former colleague had worked for a branch in the State government's Child Protection department, tracking pedophiles, and whilst she'd never allow her children to use public toilets, she was much more concerned about the people they came across in 'safe' places, older siblings at playdates, older children at holiday programs, aunts, uncles, anyone. She had armed her children as much as she could, and made the communication channels as clear as possible so if the unthinkable did happen, they could tell her. BabyG was only 16 months old at that time, but I started having the chat with her about her privates being private, and that if anything or anyone asks her to do something that makes her uncomfortable to say no and to tell me. I bought a book to help me along, but I still feel hopelessly inadequate and unprepared.

I know I'm going to sound completely judgemental here, and I suppose I am, but I feel that we are completely missing the critical issue. Chances are the boogeyman, the stranger in the bushes is never going to harm our children. Statistics tells us that well over 90% of children who are harmed in any way are hurt by people they know, or by someone known to their family. This is much, much more scary than the boogeyman, and finding a way to tell my sweet beautiful angels that there are people in the world, people in THEIR world that may want to harm them is really fucking difficult.

Outta here...

2011-09-27T09:13:00.000+10:00

It's holiday time here at the Land of Cherubs. I have given my to-do list the flick for two weeks. Yes, I'm THAT spontaneous and in a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants mood. Bite your tongue- I knew after the last holidays when I missed a birthday party that I would never be without a one-sheet planner as well as my diary again. NEVER I tell you! On my internet travels I found a holiday planner chart and plotted out our days for the next couple of weeks. Thankfully, it has only three commitments- our regular pantomime visit, fairy day at the local callisthenics club and a birthday party. The rest of the time I have absolutely nothing planned. We're off to the farm today for a night or two with my parentals, and if the weather is good we'll go there again next week.

Yesterday, the first day of the holidays, I dropped off the Little Miss (above) to my parents, and BabyG and I went to the Tivoli for Pinnochio. As always, it was fun with lots of 'boooooos to Stromboli. We sat together, perched on a booth bench, and when we first arrived BabyG spotted a friend. The girls said hello, her mother and I exchanged pleasantries, and the mother asked if we were with a group of friends?
'No, just us, a special little treat we do each holiday,' I said.
BabyG and I returned to our seats, and then spent the rest of the pantomime listening to a group of 'friends' chat all the way through the show, one of them complaining that their child doesn't listen or seem to concentrate and can't follow directions. Hmmm... Seriously, ladies, do you really think the rest of us wanted to spend $40 listening to you?

I'm really looking forward to getting out of Melbourne and going to the farm today. I'm hoping for fresh air and sunshine, sand and grass, sunset and a skyful of stars, gardens and paddocks, and cherubs and grandparents doing their wonderful thing.

Gorgeous spring...

2011-09-25T18:34:00.000+10:00

This morning as I shlepped worm juice from one plant to the next, I looked up and saw Michelangelo's finger of God, pointing right down upon the trees. A divine shade of green, is it not?

Making home...

2011-09-21T09:23:00.001+10:00

I spent some glorious child-free time on Sunday wandering through a local homemaker centre, looking at furniture, thinking about our space, longing for a piece of outdoor something or other that would see The Man and I farewell the day sitting back, relaxed, glass of something lovely in hand, babes sound asleep in their beds, visions of sugarplums dancing in their heads. You know, that lovely feeling of imagination drifting as you move through mock rooms and mock lifestyles. I think our entry needs something... and our courtyard which gives me grief every time I walk past it (ie 42,899 times a day). Having said that, the japanese maple has burst into leaf, and is looking spectacular after I top-dressed it with compost a couple of weeks ago. Drifting, planning, and scheming (in a nice way, of course)- what a wonderful way to spend some time.

When I came home, I discovered I wasn't the only one pondering living arrangements:

BabyG created this little circle of lovely- grass clippings filled with freesia blooms. The scent was amazing.
'The fairies will love that,' I told her.
'No, it's for the flies,' she said, and disappeared to collect some lily pily berries for them. According to The Man there was even an apartment building in the fly village as well, with a pool. Very lux surroundings, I must say, and close enough to the house and it's spiderwebs to make easy work for our spiders. We have spiderwebs everywhere (outside) at the moment, and yesterday afternoon after a sunshower, BabyG called me to the window and pointed out a perfect web.
'Look, Mummy, it's glistening like magic,' she said to me, and guess what. I filled with tears. Such a perfect turn of phrase. The sooner this kid learns to write, the better, because I can't keep up with her oral poetry and stories that constantly spin from her mouth.

The scent of freesias are everywhere- they are a giant variety, and two nights ago, BabyG yanked out a handful, along with some leaves and some beautiful anemones and asked for a vase:

I offered to cut them down to where their stems were bent, but she wanted them like that. David Jones won't be breaking into the house to steal them for their display, but I really couldn't think they could be any more perfect. And on that note:

The glint of gold...

2011-09-15T14:13:00.000+10:00

A few weeks ago, my aunt went to the Tutankhamun exhibition currently on at Melbourne Museum and had a fantastic time. So did the fabulous Aunty Sam and Uncle Baz. I really wanted to go and asked The Man if he'd take me? Yeah, no. Not interested.

I love the museum, and think it is an awesome space for kids. For a while there, I was going almost once a month- $8 entry, cherubs are free, we can have a picnic in the children's gallery or buy lunch there, easy parking. However, the last time we went to the museum, BabyG ended up like this:

No, not from the museum, but from tripping over her commando-crawling baby sister and whacking her head into the tv bench. The museum and the eyebrow injury are totally unrelated. I thought it was high-time we went back, and this once-in-a-lifetime exhibition was the perfect excuse.

We shipped the Little Miss of to her grandmother for the morning, and BabyG and I set forth on our day. We were a tad early, so I took her to Brunetti for a coffee (for me) and a pastry (for both of us). Brunetti is a gorgeous pasticcerria that always makes me doubly grateful to be a Melbournian, and to be Italian. It's the perfect blend of both worlds. BabyG rang her dad midway through her pastry to gleefully tell him where she was, what she was eating, and that she was about to go and see the real gold.

And real gold indeed- the exhibition was unbelievable. I glossed over some of the details in the captions, not wanting to explain about embalming and other such procedures, but we talked about the boy king, and how he re-established his people's belief systems, and we talked about how his tomb was discovered in the 1920's- 'the glint of gold'. As she wandered around looking at the exhibits, asking 'what's that? and that? and that?' BabyG would listen to my sometimes very vague explanations, and then say 'I believe all this is true, I think it really happened'.

We then had some lunch, and then moved upstairs where we saw old faithful, Phar Lap, and sat on the Luna Park moon. There were school groups everywhere, and again I was reminded that BabyG would be amongst them soon. This cherub of mine is turning into such a big girl:

It was a lovely day, just the two of us. When we picked up her sister, we popped past The Man's work to say hello, and she told her Dad about the glints of gold. It ended up costing us a pretty penny, much more than a usual museum visit, but it was all worth it when I watched BabyG and the Little Miss running around the house that evening, seeing glints of gold, digging, and shouting 'we found Tutankhamun!'

Italian gorgeousness...

2011-09-14T09:06:00.001+10:00

My in-laws just came home from 10 weeks in Italy. My mother-in-law asked me repeatedly what I wanted brought home, and there was one thing. Two, if you count my wish that was never going to happen- my body weight in gelati. I wanted Vogue Bambini. Seek, and ye shall receive. Here 'tis, wrapped in plastic. Deliciously elicit...

Yesterday, I sat down with a coffee and opened it. The clothes are sublime. Insane, some of them, but sublime none the less. I'm very pleased to see ruffles are big in girly-wear in bella italia, considering I just spent a bucket-load (not that much, darling husband) here...

When I was around 4 months pregnant with BabyG, my in-laws went to Italy for over four months. On the way home, I bought a Studio Bambini, and devoured it. I immediately subscribed. My sister-in-law went to Italy on a work trip and to meet up with her parents, and I asked her to keep her eyes out for me for the Italian equivalent, Vogue Bambini. Always compliant, she came through with the goods, and brought me home a copy I have sitting behind me on the bookcase as I type. The images are beautiful, fresh, ethereal. Reading these two tomes opened up a new world for me, as did pregnancy in general. It was a first real awareness of the gorgeousness and vast breadth of cherub clothes. Before these came across my path, I was focussed on adorable onesies and baby wraps, thinking only of a newborn snuggled against me. At the same time, Collette Dinnigan released her Enfant range, and Big by Fiona Scanlon opened. I crossed my fingers for a little girl cherub. At 18 weeks, it was confirmed. We were having a little girl to drape in Galliano. Yes, and to smother in mascara and lipstick. As I said, some of the images are over the top, and more than a little cringe worthy, but the non-studio-shots of little girls in boots and white shirts make me swoon. Vogue Bambini style cherubs in these beautiful cherub clothes, but then shoot them like adults, with no trace of childhood, apart from a few props. I know that if my little girls were in that get-up, within five minutes they'd be rolling down a hill, grass in their hair, white shirts crumpled and grubby. Exactly how I like them, and exactly how they should be...

Seven links challenge...

2011-09-07T07:37:00.000+10:00

I love the internet. I wrote my Masters thesis on online health information, and spent 12 months pouring over websites. I love the connections it enables, the way it makes the world a much smaller place- well for those of us fortunate enough to be born with the socio-economic and cultural means to access it.

One of my favourite bloggers, the lovely Kimberly from The Wyatt Zoo, picked me to play along with a seven links challenge. Me, little old me. This is what I love about the www- Kimberly and I are on opposite sides of the globe, both of us keeping a digital dynamic record of our cherubs growing, eating dirt, giving big sister smoochies and all those wonderful things. We both love doing what we can for the planet from our own little corner of the globe without being didactic, and just as my garden is bursting into life, hers is getting ready for the onslaught of winter.

OK, the seven links challenge as I understand it- I have to nominate seven posts of mine. This is going to be tricky, some of these categories, considering my readers are basically my mum and my baby's godmother, but we'll have a crack:

1. Most beautiful post- Crybaby- This still makes me weep, this one. I think it is so evocative and captures that moment of my heart breaking just a little as my number one cherub makes her first formal steps out of my reach.

2. Most popular post- Melbourne Museum, followed very closely by My Little Butterfly's Butterfly Party, both obviously thanks to Google. Along these lines the most search keywords are butterfly party, birthday cakes, cherubs, domestic godliness (WTF?) and, my personal favourite, sister-in-law stories.

3. Most controversial post- Come for a stroll around my garden in June. I'm as surprised as you are by this one. The only reason I have nominated this as controversial is because I received a nasty comment from someone calling me a breastfeeding zealot, and telling me to get off my high horse. I didn't publish the comment, but I stewed on it, and the next day wrote a post telling that person in around 500 words to bugger off. I kept it there for a day, but then took it down as it didn't sit well with me. I'm not big on nastiness. It still plays on my mind, though, I have to admit. I don't think I come across as a breastfeeding zealot, but I did breastfeed both cherubs, the first to 13 months, the Little Miss to just shy of 12 months. I am very proud that I could, especially with BabyG because I had a horrendous delivery for her. I had a beautiful pregnancy where I basically stood at the top of a hill, arms outstretched, spinning in circles, surrounded by butterflies and fluffy rabbits, and I sang to the heavens above. OK so that didn't really happen, but I did feel fantastic, and glowing, and was one of those smug pregnant women that you want to give a ham sandwich to. My waters broke on my due date, my contractions started soon after, but in a story for another post it all turned downhill, I had an emergency c-section, and then 16 weeks later had to go back under anaesthetic to have my c-section debrided. So basically, breastfeeding was the only thing that went to plan. If it hadn't, it would have been no big deal, move on, bigger fish to fry, but it worked, and it was fantastic. Why should I feel guilty about that? I'm not writing it to make anyone else feel guilty or bad about their situation.

4. Most helpful post- The main purpose of my blog is to keep a digital record of the cherubs and the garden, for myself and for my friends and family that I can't keep in touch with in my day-to-day life. The other reason I write it is the blog gives me an opportunity to be in the habit of writing regularly. I was a writer before I became a mother, and I miss the act of writing, of constructing sentences, of chasing words around a page. I don't want to make a firm commitment to writing projects while the cherubs are home with me but the blog is the way to satisfy an urge. For that reason, I'm not sure if I have any helpful posts. It does give an insight into how the garden has developed, it gives a peek into our family life, and there's a few recipes here and there. I did get a few responses about my broad bean posts, but mainly from people who I know in my real life who read.

5. Most surprising successful post- Most Uninteresting. This was a post I wrote about feeling a little stifled by the motherhood gig, about having nothing much to offer a conversation. I didn't get comments from it, but a lot of page views. Strange. Does that make it a success?

6. Post that didn't get the attention it deserved- Sorry mum, look away, but fuck... All of them! When you're a writer as brilliant as I, the fact that the publishing houses aren't knocking my door down is horrifying. HORRIFYING I tells ya! Seriously, I don't know how to answer this one (and some of the others, really) is because I don't have an expectation for attention.

7. Post that I'm most proud of- I'm quite chuffed with the 'about us' pages that tell our story. They took me basically two years to write, and I love seeing our life laid out chronologically. It's easy to lose sight in the day-to-day blah blah blah, so I love to see on one page how our little family has grown, and how we're transforming our home from a dustbowl to a green blanket.

8. My favourite post- Sisters- I added this category because this post to me makes my heart sing- my two cherubs snuggled up together in towels, fresh from the shower laughing and giggling, moments after the younger of the two of them dropped a bomb on the shower floor.

I've really enjoyed doing this challenge. I can't believe I've written over 400 posts in not quite two years. OK, some of those posts are just photos with a title, but my fingers did hit a keyboard somewhere along there. It's been great reading back, seeing how far the garden has come along, how much my cherubs have grown. A lot of posts I'd forgotten writing, not surprising given the sleep-deprived haze I've spent the last couple of years in.

Now, the second part of this challenge is to pick people to play along- I don't think I can do this part. Instead, if you're reading (hi mum, hi Sam, hi Rose), if you have a blog, have a look through your posts and see what you discover. Thanks Kimberly for thinking of me!

Poor Sleepybear...

2011-09-06T15:16:00.000+10:00

BabyG never had a dummy. I had a midwife bleat on to me about nipple confusion, and by the time I made it through that 6 week haze of life with a new baby I figured I had made it through the hard part, what would be the point of introducing one? Six months later, as friends were getting up hourly overnight to stick the dummy back in I was glad. At 12 weeks, that adorable stage when babies stick their fists in their mouths, BabyG discovered her index and middle fingers on her right hand, and to this day still sucks on them as she drifts off to sleep. They were her dummy. I tried giving her some transitional objects, some fluffy toys etc, but in the morning they'd be lying on the floor next to the cot. I wasn't too fussed- she had her fingers, and any orthodontic work in the future was worth it for the self-soothing. Besides, what could I do?

My aunt, on the other hand, couldn't believe I sent my child to bed without anything to comfort her. No milk in bottles (will rot her increasingly-distorted teeth), no dummy, no blanky, nothing. When I had my second child, my Aunt gave me the most beautiful bear, with instructions that he was to sleep with the Little Miss.

This is how he started:

This is Sleepybear now:

Poor Sleepybear. Believe it or not, he spent 12 hours in the day spa on Saturday night- aka a soak in the laundry tub followed by a spin cycle. His fur is no longer soft and irresistible to stroke- it's crusty and more than a little stinky. He's been dunked in porridge, weatbix, soup, orange juice and had milk sprinkled over his tummy. His ears are no longer little half moons but pointy devil horns from where he's been sucked. His right eye is dangling and protruding because the Little Miss likes to stick her thumb through it to bring him right up against her face as she sucks her thumb. He gets stuffed into bags, strapped into strollers and locked into lunchboxes. I do have one rule, though, and that is he never leaves the house. Whenever I see him around I fling him back into the cot, and reinforce that he's Sleepybear; he lives in the cot to wait for sleepytime. There's no way I'm dragging that poor bedraggled thing anywhere, and there's no way I'm taking a chance on losing him. I've watched friends and family be hostage to all variety of cuddly creatures. That's not going to happen to me. My sister-in-law wants to buy a new one, but I like this Sleepybear. He's looking not so fresh, and it's nice to know that no matter how unfortunate my tummy has ended up at least no-one is spooning cereal over it...

Resiliance vs toughness...

2011-09-05T09:10:00.000+10:00

Last week, after dinner, a neighbour and I went for a walk around our neighbourhood. It was a beautiful night and we walked for an hour talking about cherubs (she has 4), food, school, gardens and travel. I really enjoyed it, and it's so nice to have another reminder that I'm not alone in some of the feelings that motherhood bestows, one of them that horrible tightening in the tummy that happens whenever I think about the social and emotional minefield that is cherub friendships.

I've had some chats to BabyG about managing conflict. She has some children in her kinder group who are quite aggressive and violent, although thankfully it seems just with each other, not her, and it took her (and me even more so) some getting used to, having never seen anyone slapped before. We've even done some role plays about what to do if someone does something she doesn't like. Her initial response was to 'go and tell Rachael' (her teacher). I've told her to have a go at dealing with it herself first, by saying 'stop', 'I don't like it', 'keep your hands to yourself'. Her voice isn't very persuasive, so I've taught her to say it gritted through her teeth, but loudly. If they persist after she's told them to stop, then she can go and get some adult assistance. The thought of fights makes me want to put both hands over my ears, close my eyes tight and scream 'la la la la'. My husband is of the philosophy of never start a fight but always finish it. I really want her to learn to stick up for herself, but without having to resort to the ancient Italian martial art, Vaffancul, which I can loosely translate as 'punch him in the throat'. Thankfully, BabyG seems to be the sort of child that other kids gravitate to for friendship rather than torment. Fingers, toes, unmentionables crossed that this stays the same. FOREVER. Don't argue or try to reason with me here, la la la la!

Happy Fathers Day...

2011-09-04T20:36:00.000+10:00

What a beautiful, beautiful weekend. Yesterday, the cherubs and I made a chocolate cake for their dad and their grandfather in preparation for our Fathers Day feast today. They had a lovely time, especially when I turned my back and they licked mixture off the kitchen bench... Can't wait for their 21st birthdays; I have some wonderful photos of these two little munchkins. In the morning I planted out my seedlings grown lovingly from seed- some fennel, cavolo nero and leeks before sowing some new seeds- two types of heirloom tomatoes and a french variety of basil. In the afternoon, my sister-in-law came to visit, so I snuck away with Aunty Sam to Bulleen Art and Garden to stock up the herb patch. We spent an hour or thereabouts in glorious sunshine, wandering, laughing and I came home with two varieties of sage, some cammomile, dill, thyme, hot/spicy oregano and ... I'm forgetting something here, but don't fancy a trek out to the garden in the dark to jog my memory. The garden is going great guns- I will do a post this week because I really need to immortalise it at the moment for those days when I'm not feeling so chirpy about it.

I had an early evening nap, then went up to the stoopid market to pick up a few things for our Fathers Day feast. On the menu we had lasagne, silverbeet and feta pie, brocolli and cauliflower canneloni and a green salad. For dessert we had cannoli (that my brother seemed to inhale) and a chocolate cake to end all chocolate cakes. I didn't think the cherubs had devoured enough chocolate yesterday, and so I decorated the cake with kit kats, and sprinkled a pack of M&Ms across the top (thanks to a lovely kinder mum for the inspiration). BabyG added the car as a final touch this morning. For the first time in our family history (almost 6 years) a champagne bottle didn't go pop... Perhaps because my mother-in-law is still in Italy? She's such a bad influence that one. They (my in-laws) are due back early Wednesday morning after 10 weeks in Italy, so I'm sure there will be lots of popping over the next few weeks. We really missed them today, but my sister-in-law (their daughter, The Man's sister) and my brother came along, and we had a lovely, relaxing day. Now I'm about to curl up with my Diggers Club catalogue and find some more herbs. I saw on Gourmet Farmer last week a wasabi plant- would love to get my hands on something like that.

Book review...

2011-09-02T09:25:00.000+10:00

I'm guest posting at The Book Chook today, a book review I wrote recently. Yes, instead of writing my own stories, I'm reviewing others. Hmmm... No, it was pretty much a once off, but a really good process to go through. Unless of course any publishers/bloggers want to send me more books?

I was sent the book with a request to review it by another blogger, a children's literacy blogger, but not the Book Chook. It had been a while since I'd written a review of any description; I think my last was about 6 or 7 years ago, when I reviewed a local farmers market for Melbourne Weekly. I needed a 'review' (he he) of my skills, so I read the review publishing guidelines of Australian Book Review and set to work. My review included some criticism of the text, but also highlighted the positive elements and its strengths, and some ideas for discussion. I submitted it to the literacy blogger (not the Book Chook), and received a response thanking me, but declining it. She felt strongly that my 'negative' review conflicted with her blog's philosophy of helping parents encourage a love of reading.

I reacted badly. Although the blogger felt my review was exceptional, honest and professional (her words) I felt quite wounded. She also felt it was overly critical, and that she highly respects the work of writers and illustrators. Rightly or wrongly, I took this as an insinuation that I don't have the same level of respect, and quite frankly, this hurt. I've spent my entire life completely and utterly in love with literature. Literature has influenced every element of my life in some way, big and small. I was blessed to be born into a family that valued reading, and I'm passing that value on to my own cherubs who, too, are surrounded by books and are growing up in a literature-rich home.

While I 100% support this blogger's work, her philosophy, and her right to put whatever she pleases on her own blog, I'd never considered a negative review would dampen anyone's enthusiasm for reading- in fact I think it would heighten it. We all have different responses to text- just get a few bottles of red into me and ask me about Eat Pray Love... actually don't worry about the red, I'll be more than forthcoming without it. One of the best nights of my life was spent at a bar with a group of fellow students and a lecturer discussing The God of Small Things. Myself and a friend loved it, worshipped it, reread it constantly when we wanted our writing to have that same feeling of ethereality, but the lecturer thought it was overwritten crap. His words.

I was prepared to metaphorically chuck the review, but I reconsidered. I did put some work into it, and it felt good to be typing for something other than a kinder newsletter or for the Land of Cherubs. I felt like it deserved a home, so I sent it to the Book Chook. While she completely understood the other blogger's perspective, she was happy to publish it and give it a home. I told the other blogger that it would be published elsewhere, and also told her that I think the work she is doing with her blog is wonderful, and that she's doing an incredible job. And if she's reading this now- I'd love to talk properly, have a chat, sans cherubs, about books, language and literature.

If you get a chance, have a read and let me know what you think...

Storytelling...

2011-09-01T12:17:00.000+10:00

On the weekend, I stumbled upon my older cherub telling stories. She was sitting in the dry creek bed garden under the native frangipani on the world's most uncomfortable seat (the first I ever bought, $20 from Ikea) and chatting away, completely lost in the story she was creating. It was about a prince from a far away land wanting to marry her, but she said no, she wanted to stay at home in the palace with her dad, the king. I managed to sneak a couple of photos before I interrupted her reverie. She flashed me her beautiful smile, then went straight back into her story.

I was like that- I could weave in and out of moments. I wrote on the train on the way to work, I wrote at work in between working, and wrote on the train on the way home from work. I kept several projects on the go at once, flitting between each relatively easily and seamlessly. It wasn't unusual for me to spend all day writing, and then all night, just me, my computer, a notebook and a bowl of M&Ms. Since I became a mother, I've found I can't give over to writing (well, duh). I know there are two other little voices that need me more at this point of time. But, oh, my fingers are so itchy to write and write and write. In the last two weeks alone I've plotted out four stories, all of them potential winners. I've made a promise to them, to myself, that soon, within 12 months, I'm going to spend slabs of time, HOURS in fact, working on them, fleshing them out, creating and giving them life. There, I've said it.

Ah, Monday...

2011-08-29T10:26:00.000+10:00

Monday is my second favourite day of the week, following Sunday, when we have The Man home with us. I know it will change next year, but Mondays are our jarmie day; we don't have too many plans, and take it easy.

We had a big fundraising weekend. Saturday evening was the kinder carnival, where the children had a disco, face painting, a clown, fairy floss and popcorn. You do the math... Yesterday morning, we went to a charity fun run with the Fabulous Aunty Sam and Uncle Baz, where The Man and Baz looked after the cherubs whilst Aunty Sam, her gorgeous daughter and I strolled, jogged, strolled, jogged, laughed, laughed and laughed away 5km. We stopped laughing when we got back to the car and found a parking fine... at a charity event. Nice work City of K- insert your own expletive here.

Yesterday afternoon, The Man and I shovelled two ute-loads of soil into the veggie patches ready for planting out. Unbeknownst to us, the cherubs helped:

The Man also built me a new one around the passionfruit that I hereby proclaim the rhubarb bed. I'm just awaiting some crowns from the Fabulous Aunty Sam who came to check on progress yesterday afternoon, and suggested I remove the grass from the base of my lilly pillies. I followed her advice, crawling up and down the length of our boundary, yanking out meter long runners, whilst BabyG perched on my back, cowgirl style, kicking me in the ribs when I'd been stationary too long for her liking.

Speaking of Aunty Sam, yesterday morning, she helped BabyG with her hair, and they emerged from the bathroom with a perfect pony tail. There were no yelps, there were no yells of 'nooooo', Sam didn't have a face red with exertion, and apparently she didn't need to use her knees to stop BabyG from wriggling away. Yes, she has two daughters herself, but my guess is it's been at least 15 years since she would have whipped their hair into a pony tail. Twenty-four hours later, BabyG's pony tail is still sitting pert on her head, having survived a shower and lots of rolling around on the grass and jumping on the trampoline. My pony tails barely last the walk to kinder without drooping and sagging.

Spring!

2011-08-24T12:53:00.000+10:00

Finally, Spring has sprung in the Land of Cherubs. The sun is out, so much so that I think the cherubs might need some sunscreen. We had a picnic lunch, and then while the cherubs told stories, I did a stock take of the garden. Above, starting in the top left corner and moving clockwise:

The broad beans in the kitchen garden are dripping with flowers. Soon they'll be dripping with broad beans. A couple of plants have been flattened between the cherubs and the dog, but even splayed out like a starfish the plants have still produced flowers.

The plum tree that I pruned the b'jesus out of is covered in blooms and is covered in spider webs. The girls spent 5 minutes watching the webs, willing flies to come past.

The windflowers (anemones) have turned from messy, weed-like, flimsy foliage to beautiful, fat faced flowers on small stems. It is their first season, so hopefully as they establish and the years pass, they end up knee-high.

The muscari absolutely delight BabyG, she thinks they look like tiny bells. These, too are in their first season and I have big plans for these gorgeous little bulbs to become a thick spring border in the years to come. I might have to buy some more.

This is another anemone, a white one. This lives right next door, in the same bed, with the blue-purple one.

This is a little poppy, selected by my little cherub on our last visit to the garden centre, a couple of weekends ago. I love poppies just before their flowers bloom; their little fuzzy heads are just so lovely, I want to nuzzle my chin against them like a newborn.

The blueberries are covered in flowers- this is their second year and they are yet to fruit. I bought 4 of them last year for our wedding anniversary (4 years, fruit or flowers). They share a bed with the asparagus (second year also, but where's the spears?) and the olive tree.

This bed is full of garlic and spinach. The garlic are huge this year, and I noticed some of the tips of the leaves are beginning to yellow. As they die off I'll start harvesting them. Can't wait.

The very middle bed is a very happy daffodil- one bulb sprouted 3 flowers. The flowers are massive this year, their second here with us in the silver birch grove.

We also have some beetroot in, some silverbeet and lettuce. This morning I planted out some seedlings I've been nurturing from seed in the garage- some leek, some fennel and some cavolo nero.

That's spring...

Sleepover...

2011-08-21T13:24:00.000+10:00

The Man turned the Land of Cherubs into a man-cave on Friday night. The cherubs and I were asked very nicely if we'd mind nicking off for the night to my parentals whilst The Man entertained a group of blokes with footy and a bbq. Did we mind? This is the image I had in mind:

Pick up BabyG from kinder at 3.45pm, arrive at my parentals by 4.30pm, dinner cooked by SOMEONE OTHER THAN ME by 5.30pm, bath and books by SOMEONE OTHER THAN ME by 6.30pm, cherubs tucked up in bed at 7pm, Mama with a book (Dear Fatty by Dawn French- fantastic, love love love it!) in the spa by 7.20pm.

All was on track until 7.10pm- mum was listening to BabyG's story about a witch who was 'mean, rude, jealous and selfish', I was cooling my heels on the lounge waiting to put my bathers on when a scream rang out. The Little Miss was screaming like she was seeing a roomful of demons. I raced into her room and thought for a second I'd stumbled onto the set of The Exorcist. She was covered head to toe in vomit, it was all over her bedding, all over her toys, everywhere, and she was almost hysterical. I stripped her bed, stripped her and dunked her in the bath, shampooed her to a lather, then dressed her in her outfit for the next day and wrapped a towel around her. She then wanted nothing but mama-cuddles for the next three hours. I eventually got her back to bed and snuggled up with BabyG, who spent the next 9 hours sticking her knees and elbows into me, snuggling into me, subtly pushing me to the edge of the bed every 5 minutes. So my sleepover wasn't the night in a luxury resort I'd planned for. Having said that, the Kids Club at my parentals is amazing; I highly recommend that. Nothing like being handed a cup of tea, drinking it, then being pushed back to bed while the cherubs are entertained.

This morning, I woke the family up before the birds to cheer as Sam and I ran 5kms in the Sandy Point Half along Beach Road, the same stretch I have pushed the Little Miss in the stroller many, MANY times as she's snoozed in the sunshine, and I've felt enormously blessed to live in such an amazing city, and even more blessed that my parents live right on it! Now BabyG and I are off to a tea party in celebration of a gorgeous little girl turning 5. BabyG is wearing her pettiskirt and a feather boa, and has just given me instructions to put lipstick on.

French boarding school style in the 'burbs...

2011-08-18T23:24:00.000+10:00

Earlier this week, I was chatting with my blogging buddy The Book Chook about a beautiful book I bought BabyG when she was a wee baby that I've been saving for when she gets big enough to appreciate. I've decided she's now big enough, and wanted an excuse to make a bit of a song and dance about giving it to her. The Book Chook suggested a tea party in honour of Book Week, just the cherubs and I. Tonight, ten minutes after I finished making a skirt in preparation for our little Book Week party, I read Life in a Pink Fibro, where the wonderful Allison talked about the costumes she needs to come up with for her son to celebrate Book Week at school. Me, I can't wait for that. I have a list as long as my arm of books/characters to dress my girls in, embarrassingly enough, some I already do. Fancy Nancy, anyone? Last month, I bought some lovely navy jersey fabric with no clear picture of what to use it for. I love little girls in navy- immediately I think of Madeline, a feisty, precocious little cherub skipping along in her navy uniform. Love it. I decided to use my navy jersey into a Madeline-inspired twirly skirt, using this pattern. I did a trial of the pattern a couple of months ago using scrap material. BabyG loved it, wore it to Nanny's, who promptly asked if the circus was in town. Charming. It's come up a lot nicer in a block colour. Tomorrow, I'm going to buy BabyG a basic white tshirt and embellish it somehow with some more navy. I'm thinking a little girl's version of Carrie's outfit on the balcony in Paris in the final SATC. Then next week, if the sun comes out, the cherubs and I will hold hands and skip across the lawn, singing 'bonjour, merci, bonjour, merci'. I know I don't think you'll be surprised when I say I'm going to eat my body weight in macaroons...

Slice of yuuuummmmmm....

2011-08-16T19:14:00.000+10:00

I caused quite the kerfuffle in the Land of Cherubs last night. The Man discovered the incredibly yum middle-eastern-ish caramel-ish chocolate slice I was making wouldn't be ready for 12 hours. He was under the misguided impression that the chances of any of it being left when he came home from the salt mines were not good. Oh he of little faith...

It is beautiful, this slice of divinity, and normally I could easily put away a slab of it. I didn't though; I showed remarkable restraint. The wattle blossom is heavy in the air, and with that the brutal reminder that summer is on its way. Mama hasn't been to the gym in months.

For those of you less concerned about calorie intake (bitches, all of you) here's the recipe. It's my bastardised version of something I saw on Better Homes and Gardens a few weeks ago:
Mix 3/4c plain flour, 120g butter, 1/2c brown sugar and 1/2 teaspoon of cinnamon until sandy, then press into a slice tin. Bake at 160 for 15 minutes.
In a saucepan add 50g butter, 1/4c golden syrup, 1/2 teaspoon cloves, 1 teaspoon ground cardamon and 1 cinnamon stick- melt, and then add a small tin of condensed milk. Bring it to the boil for 2 minutes, then remove cinnamon stick.
Pour saucepan contents over biscuity-base, put back into the oven for 10 minutes or until bubbly.
Melt 220g dark chocolate and 20g butter in a bowl over simmering water, then spread over the top of the caramel. Torture your husband by putting in the fridge to set overnight.

In the morning after your husband has safely left the building, cut into slices, put a load of washing on, and find your cherub in a state of ecstacy:

This afternoon, she was eating spinach straight from the garden bed- can't wait to take on that nappy...

Rush...

2011-08-15T08:24:00.000+10:00

The sky sat low over the city, my friends. Dark clouds swarmed furiously overhead, flashes of white overtaken by ruptures of black. I sank down in the leather seat, a passenger on this flight to the dark side, the dark side of the city, of nutrition. At every traffic light, Sam revved the crappola out of her v8 sex machine car, a car no respectable mother of preschool children should be riding around in. Oh, but it was thrilling, my friends.

At the entrance to the docklands carpark, we asked the parking attendant if we could have the early bird rate.
'You're a couple of hours too late,' he answered.
'But we're a couple of birds,' said Sam.
'And you're driving a holden.' We got the discount. Ah, we still got it. Actually, now that I think about it, I don't think we did.

We parked, we entered the festival. We went straight to the chocolate gallery, where we took photos and sent them to loved ones on the good side of the city, who were desperately jealous of our trip. We wandered up the aisle, and the first stall we came across was Brunetti. Always a favourite due to a certain someone taking me there whilst we were courting, they took my love one step higher by offering shot glasses of chocolate buttons. We went into a demonstration area and were instantly put under a trance, lulled into drooling idiots, with eyes rolling around our heads in ecstasy. The chocolate? No, bugger the chocolate. A gorgeous celebrity Spaniard was on stage, smiling with perfect teeth, rolling his rrrrrrs, and flicking melted chocolate around a spoon. It took all my strength to stop Sam from running onto the stage, ripping off her clothes and shouting 'run rabbits run rabbits run run run' with accompanying tongue rolls. The demonstration finished, and we were relieved. The end came just as we couldn't take anymore- but then an organiser leapt onto stage, and told the celebrity Spaniard to pick three audience members, and give them a brand spanking new kitchenaid! Was it us? No... See you later gorgeous Spaniard. We had such a connection, you and I, and you just shat all over it.

We did one more lap of the festival, I bought a hot chocolate and some chutney, and that was Chocolate Rush. A bit disappointing really. The goods for sale were basically all quite expensive, and they weren't overly generous with their freebies and tastings. We still had a taste for the exotic though, so we popped across to Meditteranean Wholesalers with 25minutes of trading left, and gave Sam a memory trip of her Italian holiday a couple of months ago. Last night, she delivered cannoli to our front door after the cherubs went to bed. God, I love that woman. Now I'm craving chocolate. Again.

There's something about...

2011-08-14T18:54:00.001+10:00

You know the movie, you know the scene, when Cameron Diaz's hair stands straight up from the 'gel'? Well after this concoction hit the hair follicles we had similar scenes in the Land of Cherubs. We made marshmallows on Saturday morning before Mama took off with Aunty Sam to the chocolate festival. Clearly I can never have enough sugar coursing through these veins...

Some feedback...

2011-08-12T11:13:00.000+10:00

Last week, I spent ~~half a lifetime~~ some time not ~~doing anything useful~~ playing with the appearance of the blog. I finally added an about me/us page I've been writing in my head for a couple of years, and worked out over many, MANY attempts how to personalise the header with a photo. BTW- Blogger, you really make things difficult. Really, you do. I'm not just saying that to be nice.

One of my fellow kinder-mums, a gorgeous woman with beautiful cherubs that should be on TV, they're that cute, gave me some lovely feedback, and helped me fix the elements on the page that were truly crap. She also proved she doesn't know me very well, or that I've become a master of disguise, in this line, about the hideous blue in my blog (now gone):

I think it makes your blog look a bit cheap and tacky and that is so not you.

Thanks Nicki xx

Chocolate....

2011-08-12T09:31:00.000+10:00

The fabulous Aunty Sam, my good friend, my neighbour, my daughter's godmother, my fellow-adventurer, and so many other things has been very busy all week. She's been sitting up late at night, smoking coming out of her sewing machine, whirr, whirr, whirr, fabric flying. She's making the pair of us special trench coats. They are full floor length, have pockets up and down each side, and wait for it, are completely lined with hidden pockets. Why? Tomorrow she is taking me to chocolate nirvana...

Yes, that's right, my parentals are coming over to watch the cherubs, whilst Sam and I go to Chocolate Rush at Docklands. Now as any stay-at-home mother of small children knows, a trip to take the rubbish bins out is pure excitement. Last Sunday, Sam and I went to the Works, a Bed Bath and Table superstore, and I was completely delirious at the thought of having a couple of hours where I could ignore the cries of 'mummmm muuuummmmeeeeee' because they wouldn't be coming from MY cherubs. Bliss. I was worried it would get too much for me, I hadn't had any time away from the cherubs in over a week, so I could easily imagine myself running through the store, shrieking, then curling up in a corner throwing breadcrumbs at myself. Didn't happen.

Can't promise that won't happen tomorrow though. Laden with chocolate, unbridled by children, there will be no stopping me!

Not good...

2011-08-08T10:35:00.000+10:00

I didn't sleep well last night, thinking about the entrance to our home. I went out this morning, gave it all a big drink of worm juice, and had a massive fit of self-indulgent sooking. The problem with the front garden is I don't really have the access to it like I do the rest of the garden. It's not fenced in, so the cherubs can't be out there with me because it's too hard to work as well as make sure they don't get bowled over by a car. I can't wander around whilst they are playing, weeding and pruning here and there like I do out the back. The result- the front garden is bad... Really bad. Basically, it looks like crap. Especially the bed alongside the driveway. The only way forward, I think, is to stick with the plumbago at the back as the canvas, neaten up the rosemary flat hedge, rip out the blue fescues, tidy up the two convolvulus left and bomb the rest of it with annuals. On a positive, the hellebores that kept me awake at night 18 months ago are super happy in their beds, and are drooping under the weight of their flowers. I think I'll go and cut them and bring them inside so I'm not such a bad tempered witch today...

Hack job...

2011-08-07T23:06:00.000+10:00

You know those days when you attack the garden, cut back, prune and thin out beds? I had one of those days today. Or a couple of hours, to be more specific. My gorgeous father-in-law gave me an electric hedge trimmer for my birthday, and I cracked it out of the box today. I cut back all the geraniums along one fence, and every other plant between that and the opposite fence. Whilst I was wielding the hedge trimmer, I was wondering why the hell I didn't get it out last week when I pruned the roses and ended up looking like Edward Scissorhands had given me a manicure. Actually, my reasoning was sound- I don't like operating any sort of equipment that can lead to dismemberment without having someone around who could drive me to hospital. BabyG's clever, but her little legs wouldn't reach the accelerator. I expected to stand back at the end of the pruning and feel proud- a job well done. My little pal from over the road came over to say hello to the girls and said it looked like someone had been rolling over the garden beds. My feeling is it looks like those couple of days when you first get a haircut and look shorn for at least a week until you settle into it- although that hasn't happened to me for years, since I have the most wonderful hairdresser known to mankind (you know who you are!). Ah, there's always next weekend.

I've lost a few plants in the bed next to the driveway, and all in the same area. That bed was originally planted out with plumbago against the fence, coastal rosemary grown as a flatish hedge at the front alongside the driveway, and convolvulus and blue fescue in between:

This was it when it was first planted out. Up until a couple of hours ago the plumbago covered the fence, and the rosemary was a tangled explosion of blue flowers extending over the driveway. As of now, it's just a tangled mess, and it will stay that way at least until next weekend when I can get a chance to get back out there and reassess things. I've lost two convolvulus and three blue fescues, and one plumbago, all in the same area. Very strange...

I repotted a plant my parentals gave me- they've had it for years and years, and I have always loved it. It looks spiky and untouchable, but it's soft like a fox's tail. Imagine my delight when I took the cherubs on a research trip to the botanic gardens, and found a huge section of it interspersed with giant topiary statues. I was so excited I sent BabyG into the middle of it for a photo:

I was so excited I forgot to look for a name plate for it, so I have no idea what it is. Anyway, this unnamed gorgeousness is now divided into two pots at my front door, underplanted with some black velvet viola and white massing lobelia. I had a bit of work getting it out of a 20 year old pot though, so I'm crossing everything I have that it transplants ok. When I finally extracted it, and smelt the soil, I could smell our old farm, where I grew up, which my parents sold 6 years ago. I'm glad I have some of it here with me...

That warm and fuzzy feeling of nostalgia didn't last long. My husband wandered past me, said 'geez you've made a mess', and went inside with the cherubs. I finished up gathering all the prunings (two council recycle bins full, as is my yard cart, and half of it is still in the garden beds), put away all the garden tools, emptied a box of recyclables into the recycling bins, put an empty beer carton in there, came inside, had a quick shower, came downstairs with an armful of towels that were on the floor of the ensuite, and found the house covered in crap from the foot of the stairs to the end of the living room. My darling husband was slumped in the couch fiddling around with his i-phone and the cherubs were watching television.
'Who's cleaning up the house?' I asked myself. Out loud.
'Of course, it must be me,' I answered myself. Out loud.
'I'll just do that after I put on my 5th load of washing for the day, and after I finish cleaning up all the toys I've been playing with then I'll start folding all the washing,' I told myself. Out loud.
No wonder Shirley Valentine talked to the wall and ran off to Greece. Although I think I'd prefer Italy.
Still, when I came out of the laundry, the troops had gone into action. Lucky...

Spruce up...

2011-08-06T18:53:00.000+10:00

I've had a little spruce up, you may notice. I've given the blog a bit of shooshing, and added an about us page that I've been writing in my head now for almost two years since I started the blog. Meanwhile my eyebrows are slowly and steadily becoming one, and I'm in desperate need of a pedicure. Oh, and the cherubs have gone with their Dad to the airport to pick up my sister-in-law from her latest adventure, and I just had a magnum sandwich for dinner. At least the blog is looking good...

Grand plans of adventures...

2011-08-04T11:01:00.000+10:00

On Sunday, The Man and I took the cherubs to the zoo, the first time in almost three years. It was the Little Miss' first visit, and she and BabyG had a wonderful time, running from exhibit to exhibit, making animal noises, whining for icy-poles. They found this wonderful treasure right in the middle of the zoo and climbed aboard:

I love gorgeous big trees built for climbing. Damn shame I'll be long dead before any of the trees here will be climbable, but there's hope for my grandchildren perhaps...

Last week, a ballet mum was lamenting she only had 6 months left with her child before she entered the big world of school. That hit a nerve. On Monday morning, I thought I'd take the cherubs to the State art gallery for the morning. BabyG wanted a jarmie day, so instead I stood at the kitchen bench and scribbled a list of adventures we could have in the next 6 months. She didn't seem too excited, and a couple of hours later started writhing on the couch, crying 'ow ow ow'... I took her to the doctors- nasty ear infection that popped out of nowhere. She's back at kinder today, but we had 3 days where she didn't get dressed, but chilled at home. She drew, she read, she wrote and she watched a lot of television. A LOT... but I didn't mind, I wanted her rested. Finally, the sun came out yesterday, so we spent some hours in the garden. I pruned my carpet roses, all 17 of them, and look like I've been attacked by a cougar. And no, not in the usual way... But the garden is looking good, and the cherubs too. Mama, not so much...

Trapped in the pages...

2011-08-03T08:21:00.000+10:00

Last night, I forgot I had small children, and sat up reading until 2.30am. As I finished the book I started at 10pm, I tried recalling when the last time I had done that- I don't remember doing it since BabyG was born. Before babies, it wasn't unusual for me to pull an all-nighter reading, then get on the train and go to work to pretend I could use my brain to write something insightful, catchy and action-based. Actually, even as a small child I remember being told to stop reading and go to bed. Mum eventually conceded defeat when I was around 14 years of age and bought me one of those little book light thingys- we lived on a farm with a generator so lights were off (literally) when mum and dad went to bed.

A few weeks ago putting BabyG to bed, we were talking about the changes in her life that starting school would bring. I told her that once she starts school, and learns to read (other than the sight words she seems to be galloping through) her bedtime routine will change. She'll still go to bed at the same time, but she will have half an hour more before her lights go off- to read all by herself! Isn't that exciting? The next night, her dad put her to bed, then came out to the living room, and I could see her light still on.
'She want me to come in too?'
'No, she says she's allowed to read in bed now.'
I found her sitting up against her pillows, turning the pages of a Beatrix Potter book, muttering 'soporific'...

Bleeding ears...

2011-07-30T09:18:00.000+10:00

Yesterday, BabyG had her very first excursion, and I had my very first experience as a parent helper...

BabyG was so excited about the excursion to the fire station in a double-decker bus- she was up at 5.30am yesterday morning. Mum arrived to watch the Little Miss at 8.30, in time for me to make BabyG's lunch. That was exciting in itself (for her); the first time she'd taken her lunchbox to kinder. As I was bustling around taking her order, Mum put her two-bobs worth in, and BabyG said to her 'worry about yourself, Nanny', then gave her a cheeky smile. I'm positive this child is really 14 sometimes. We set off on our walk to kinder, and as we turned the corner into the kinder's street, we saw the double decker bus, a bright red apparition dominating the quiet suburban street. This thing was huge... bigger than the open aired buses in London now, it was a relic from World War Two- ok, I'm exaggerating, but only slightly.

The other children arrived, and by Group (two) we boarded the bus. Our Group was on the top level for the 5 minute ride to the fire station. By 5 minutes, I mean 45- lots of screaming, laughing, shouting but strangely enough not a lot of singing. It was raucous, it was controlled chaos, and it was fun.

We arrived at the fire station, I held the hands of two small children (BabyG and her pal) and in we trudged. The fire fighters were fabulous for the children- attentive, patient, helpful. For the mums, well not so much. And there was no fireman's pole to slide down (thank god); apparently on the last kinder excursion there'd been an incident with a mum and a fire fighter so they had to get rid of it. I call it the Julie incident. Enough said...

After the children watched the ladder go up 40 stories, they squirted the fire hose, climbed through the fire truck, tried on the protective coat and then were handed a show bag. We climbed back aboard the bus and then took the long way back to kinder. The children had a wonderful experience, and so did I. I just love being part of BabyG's world, and feel incredibly blessed that I'm able to be involved to this level and witness her having these experiences first hand.

Last night, we put a very tired cherub to bed, The Man watched the footy, and I went over the road for a glass of red. Lesson here for all of us- when someone (or more specifically, Sam or Baz) offer you 'half a glass more' don't believe them. They don't do halves. And if they do, they actually mean a shot of limoncello. Slept like a log though, the cherub and I, perfect end to a lovely day...

Sisters...

2011-07-27T13:06:00.000+10:00

These two are really enjoying each other lately. They've never fought, but as the Little Miss is getting older, her language skills galloping along, they are interacting and playing with such purpose, and such joy. Wherever one is the other wants to be. Whatever one does, the other is wanting to do the same. They laugh, they squeal, and they are pure joy. The other night they wanted a shower instead of a bath. No problem. Then they wouldn't get out, and I didn't want to get soaked dragging them out, so I left them to it for another 5 minutes, and then BabyG yelled to get out. Why? Her little sister dropped a massive big poo on the shower floor. That got them out...

Bear days...

2011-07-25T15:32:00.000+10:00

Wish there were room in this cave for a mama bear...

Party fun...

2011-07-24T22:51:00.000+10:00

As you may recall, last weekend's party plans ended in tears, mostly mine. This weekend fared much, much better. Two parties, both disco themed, both divine, and my cherub had a wonderful, wonderful time. Today, we took both cherubs to the movies, a first for the Little Miss. She had a lovely time, knocking popcorn from one end of the cinema to the other, attempting a covert backwards commando crawl to get past my legs, blocking her from the aisle. We missed the last 20 minutes of the movie, my Little Miss and I, when I decided it was time to cut our losses and took I her for a walk around Chaddy. We looked at some puppies, stepped in every square, scattering groups of people trying to walk in a straight line, me muttering 'sorry, I'm so sorry', whilst the Little Miss said 'heelllllooooo' in her little sing-song voice. Who could be disgruntled by that? Quite a few, apparently... retail therapy perhaps not working the way it is supposed to.

Crybaby...

2011-07-23T07:30:00.000+10:00

I cried three times yesterday. Once was in the car when I opened the enrolment pack from BabyG's school (next year) at the lights and started speed-reading the important dates for her transition. The second time I cried was about an hour later when we came home, and I helped her take off her boots, and she gave me one of her little hugs and said 'thank you, Mummy'. This cherub does good hugs. She puts her little arms around you, puts the side of her head against your chest so she can nuzzle in closer, and she pats your shoulder blades. She's even been known to close her eyes. The third time I cried was after the cherubs went to bed, and their dad had just finished reading the enrolment pack, and said how cute she's going to look in her uniform. This was my real cry, the one when I didn't hold back, but basically threw my head back and wailed.

I'm not worried about BabyG, and how she'll cope with school. Judging by the transition questionnaire she would have been ready with it this year. She's a capable, happy, curious, inquisitive, clever little dot, and people and children seem to gravitate to her. Yes, some of the social elements worry me. I hope she doesn't have to be exposed to bullying behaviour too soon (wishful thinking, no doubt). A few weeks ago she saw some siblings have a physical fight, and as she turned to me her face was pure shock, horror and bewilderment, and I remember feeling that way at about the same age when I saw my cousins have a punch-on.

I woke up at midnight last night, and couldn't get back to sleep til after 4am, so I've spent some time thinking about this. Yes, sure, I'm aching because she's growing up, but that's not what's got my knickers in a knot six months before a milestone. She's been growing up since the second she was created.

The bottom line is I'm really going to miss her. For the past five years (I'm including my pregnancy, where basically I wallowed, rubbed my tummy, and chatted) from Monday to Saturday, 8am til 6pm, it's been just us, and then two years ago, the Little Miss. We've had some fun, that cherub and I. We've chatted, we've walked, we've played, we've tickled, we've created, we've sang, we've cooked, we've acted, we've read. And we've read and we've read. Her kinder teacher from last year sent me an email once saying BabyG 'puts her heart and soul into everything she does. Must be lovely company at home'. That's exactly it. She is so much fun to be around, this cherub of mine. She's a truly lovely soul and I've been blessed to have her attached to my side, but now it's time for her to wander off. That hurts...

I put a smidge of this emotion on Facebook, and the suggestions- have another baby! Yes, like an avalanche of hormones will help me snivelling away like a crazy person! xx

Library woes...

2011-07-21T09:12:00.000+10:00

Last post, I wrote about my book dilemma. I couldn't even write the post properly, I felt so overwhelmed. You might have noticed I gave up after two shelves. Well, I just did a quick count of the books on the shelves- 158. That doesn't include the pile I can see on the living room ottoman, the two I can see under the kitchen table, nor the pile next to my bed. We have an issue. Having said that, I have NO problem whatsoever about having so many books; I love them, I love my own books (four bookcases worth behind me). One of the top three selling points for buying my house (the one that lives down the coast now) because it had a floor to ceiling built in bookcase in the living room. Culling these books is not an option (shh... that's been done already)- but what I need is a more effective system of using them. I have considered some wall display shelving like this but am put off by the space it takes up, and given its relatively short life span, the mess it would make of the wall once it comes down. No, I need some sort of cataloguing system, and have thought about using dividers by sections, and then authors, but my girls are still preschool, so it needs to be something that they can use appropriately and effectively. I know rotation might be an answer, but as I said in my last post, that will be just one more thing to add to my to-do list. The playroom needs an overhaul, as I've said 32,450 times. Geez, I'm boring the pants off myself, these days. I think I'll have a play around Pinterest. I need an excuse to spend more time there...

Spaces for cherubs...

2011-07-18T09:08:00.000+10:00

Jackie has written a beautiful post this morning about reading spaces for children. Some absolutely gorgeous images, be warned... Perfect timing, because I've been pondering this for some time, and lately I think I've spent around 12 hours on Pintrest 'thinking' about this. We have many reading places scattered through the house, some cherub generated, some mama-initiated. I wrote last year about BabyG dragging some floor cushions to a sunny spot behind a couch to read, and lately the teepee has been seeing lots of reading action. The three of us lie in their, heads on pillows, my legs hanging out from the knees down...

One thing I've been struggling with for a while is the amount of books we have. In their rooms, on their bookcases, the cherubs have their 'good' books, the special ones. We give them a gorgeous hardcover of a classic every birthday and Christmas (eg Snugglepot and Cuddlepie, Wizard of Oz, poetry collections etc), so these are the books that are treated with a bit more reverence aka are not dragged around the house or through the garden. They get read then are put straight back on their shelf. There are another two shelves of books behind me now in the office that hold books that are for older readers. And in the playroom we have this:

Yes, a bit tangle of mess. Allow me to talk you through this nightmare. On the far left bookcase: top shelf, around 10-20 books; middle shelf, 5 or 6 lying flat; bottom shelf another 8-12. And so it goes across all bookcases. Sometimes, late at night when I can't sleep, I think about how much I've spent on books, and I feel a little faint...

Clearly, they're not being stored effectively. We tend to read the same ones. I need some sort of rotation system, but in the day to day running around that seems like one more thing to add to my already scary to-do list. Any ideas?

Supermum...

2011-07-16T22:49:00.000+10:00

Or not, you decide...

The time was 1.45pm, the costume was on, the photo shoot finished, and I checked the invite to confirm the address. Time of party- 11am to 1pm...

My heart didn't sink; it imploded. I apologised to my cherub, told her we'd missed the party because I'd got the time wrong. She burst into tears. I apologised again, and told her we'd take the gift and Mummy could apologise to Isaac and his mum, and she could wish him a happy birthday. I told her she has the worst Mummy in the world, and she says to me, 'No Mummy, you're a lovely mummy.' I shit you not. The child has just missed a party she's been looking forward to for weeks, and she's comforting me.

We walked in, the three remaining kids were happy to see her, and one gorgeous mum pulled me aside, and offered to take BabyG home with her and her little girl (a kinder pal) for a playdate to soften the blow. I start crying, she hugs me, the birthday boy's mum catches me crying and hugs me, then calls in a couple of hours later with a lolly bag and some cupcakes for my cherub. When BabyG walks in from her playdate, she hands me a bunch of jonquils that her pal's mum had bought. Seriously, how beautiful are the mothers around these parts?

The Man and I took her and the Little Miss out for pizza tonight, the first step in MANY for me of making it up to this little angel of mine. She went to bed happy, thanks to her playdate, and her beautiful, forgiving, generous nature but 9 hours later and I'm still churned up. I hate her disappointment, caused by me. I'm so pissed off with myself- I can sew a friggin' costume, but I can't double check an invite?

Down time...

2011-07-16T09:16:00.000+10:00

On Friday, my darling cousin Terri, mother of three little girls (6,4 and 2yrs), posted this on Facebook:

Last day of school holidays!!!! woooohoooo!!!!!! thank u sweet baby jesus!!

I'm not feeling that way at all. I haven't had a to-do list for 2 weeks (which is why there is no meat in the house...) and I'm loving not having to be anywhere at certain times.

In the first week of the holidays, BabyG took part in the holiday program at our swimming pool, every morning at 10.30am for half an hour. We had some playdates/catch ups organised for that first week, and this week, the second of the holidays, we've had one playdate and that's it. Nothing else. Lots of jarmie days, lots of baking, lots of visits to my parentals, lots of snuggles on the couch. There's also been lots of playing in my pantry:

BabyG has been making up poems that are fantastic:
Number one, let's have some fun
Number two, there's lots we can do
Number three, let's see what we can see... all the way to number 20, give or take a few numbers.

On Thursday night, the cherubs had a sleepover with their grandparents, and The Man had his regular boys dinner, and for 24 hours I basically planted myself to the couch and watched movies. On Friday when I picked them up, they had been to the beach collecting shells with holes and were making necklaces and mobiles.

Apart from the weather, which has truly sucked, and not made going anywhere remotely inviting, these two weeks have been wonderful to do nothing.

The sun is finally out, although there is a thick sheet of white across our whole yard. The cherubs are gagging to get out there and play in it (BabyG thinks the frost is snow), and I'm gagging to get out in my poor neglected, very very soggy garden. This afternoon, BabyG has her superhero party. I asked her what she wanted to be, and she said a super girl. I asked her what a super girl does, and she goes around saving people and wears a cape. What colour? Pink, of course. So last Friday night, a week ago, I sewed my little super girl a cape, a skirt, a headband and arm bands. I appliqued a star onto a white tshirt and presented the pile to her the next morning. She was thrilled, and so was I. Photos to come this afternoon after we get home.

Hope your weekend is fully of super things...

Comments...

2011-07-13T18:31:00.000+10:00

I'm about to descend into ~~the hell that is~~ bathtime, but wanted to send a quick post- I can't seem to comment anymore- not through Blogger, Wordpress or anything. I'm not ignoring anyone, I've been muted. My older cherub is yelling at me through the courtyard- she can see me sitting at the desk in the office from the playroom, if that makes sense, and she's asking if she's speaking Japanese while her little sister tap dances on a table...

Guest post

2011-07-11T08:52:00.000+10:00

I'm at The Book Chook today- thanks Susan!

Rising agents...

2011-07-10T21:37:00.000+10:00

It's been so cold this past couple of weeks. I've used every opportunity to bake with the cherubs. Last week, BabyG and I had a crack at making pitta bread, inspired by Dixiebelle. They were divine- that pile on the left didn't even make it to dinner but luckily I had hidden one on a high shelf in the pantry for The Man to try. It seems the dough isn't the only thing rising in the Land of Cherubs lately, our levels of loopiness are sky high. We've all been feeling a little loopy from being stuck indoors- and even the carrots in this house are deranged:

Saturday afternoon, squeaky clean cherubs...

2011-07-10T21:24:00.000+10:00

Saturday I tried a new approach to cleaning the bathroom. Actually, it wasn't so much a trial as an unexpected outcome.

It was freezing cold on Saturday (just for a change), so around half past three I ran myself a big bubble bath, stripped off and slid beneath the bubbles. To the neighbours' delight I resisted the urge to do a nudey run like the cherubs do every night before their bath. The cherubs were in and out of the bathroom chatting away to me, so relaxation was never going to be an option. Jump in, little ladies, I suggested, and gleefully they stripped off their clothes, did their obligatory nudey run around the dining table, and the three of us splashed in the tub for around half an hour. It was half an hour of bliss- we laughed, we cuddled, we sang and we gave each other shampoo hair dos. When it came time to rinse the shampoo off the Little Miss, I floated her in the bath with her head resting on my shoulder like we do at swimming lessons, and she shouted 'kick, kick, kick', and with that the entire bathroom from the ceiling to the floor was wet. We played for a little longer, I wrapped them both in fluffy towels and sent them into the living room to get dressed into their jarmies. I then used their towels and mine to dry the walls and floor- 4 towels... Fun? Hell yes...

Angels and devils...

2011-07-07T08:54:00.000+10:00

My younger daughter is spirited, she's strong-willed, and she explores with little concept of consequences. She's just turned two, so these are all traits that should be celebrated. Instead, I think I/we have unintentionally demonised her for this.

Yesterday, I visited a gorgeous friend for a playdate, and for a cuddle of her beautiful baby (and I'm still a bit miffed this new little soul wasn't covered in bleuch, and wasn't crying or redfaced from teething- she just smiled angelically at me before falling asleep in her mother's arms...grrr). The Little Miss made a beeline for the playroom, followed shortly by the other children- BabyG, and Miss S and Master S (5 and a half year old twins). I chattered away about keeping an eye on my Little Miss, and Miss S asked me why.
'Because she's a little devil' I answered.
'What's a devil?' she asked her mother and father.
'It's a demon,' said her brother.
'What's that?' said Miss S
'Well, you know how an angel does good things,' said her mother, 'well' and stopped herself.
'She's a cheeky monkey and doesn't quite know how to be gentle with your toys' I said, and felt myself cringing, flushed with shame. How could I just dump my child in such a horrid category as devil? What kind of message is this giving my Little Miss? How is her self-esteem supposed to flourish under a label like that?

Needless to say, the devil comparisom is now officially banned in the Land of Cherubs. Cheeky monkey can stay, but anything with a negative connotation is gone...

July holidays...

2011-07-05T09:31:00.000+10:00

It's day two of the July holidays. BabyG is enrolled in a swimming program- every morning for this first week of the holidays she has a swimming lesson at 10.30, all in an attempt to increase her water familiarisation and confidence, thus decreasing her fear. She also came down with a cold over the weekend, so I'm taking my feverish, pale cherub to standing shivering on the side of a swimming pool whilst it's practically sleeting outside. Yay for my parenting. Although, I'm not completely horrid as a mother. Yesterday, I took BabyG to the pantomime (Puss in Boots), and the two of us had a lovely time shouting 'ugly', 'miaowwww' and BabyG even took to the stage to dance to greased lightning. It's nothing short of genius the way those panto-types make a fairytale and pop culture merge seamlessly... Well, perhaps seamlessly is stretching it.

Last night, the Little Miss had a fever, and I felt pretty average too, so I decided to eat my body weight in a cold-beating concoction, whipped up as an attack against the bugs- a basic passata sauce (made by my in-laws on their annual tomato day) loaded with 3 cloves of garlic and 2 of aunty sam's blistering chillies. My plan was to incinerate any bugs lurking around my system. The pasta was followed up with a Donna Hay chocolate self-saucing pudding- the recipe has been whispering to me from the pantry for a couple of weeks now, getting louder and louder. Inspired by Aunty Sam, The Man has given me the go-ahead to get a treadmill, so that ordered, I listened to the pantry, and indulged, knowing in a week or less I can run it off without fear of frostbite. Now, I'm no doctor/scientist type but I think the chocolate may have overridden the chilli, because my never fail chilli pasta did nothing to stop me waking like the bride of Satan. Now I'm having an internal debate about taking BabyG to swimming lessons- yes I know she needs them, and every session helps, but the thought of the walk from the carpark to the swimming centre is enough to make me want to bunker down under a blanket on the couch. I have about 45 minutes to decide- stay in jarmies for day, or have shower and expose small children to the elements. I think we'll bake some bread instead...

Birthday loveliness...

2011-07-04T12:18:00.000+10:00

I celebrated my birthday on Saturday and the box of loveliness above perfectly reflects the day my darling cherubs, husband, parents and friends gave me...

Up, up and away!

2011-06-30T09:27:00.000+10:00

BabyG has been invited to a superhero party, by her very own superhero, the little boy she decided she wanted to marry last year. At three... Hummphhh. Anywhoo, the invitation asks for the guests to dress up as their favourite superhero. This is where I need your help. We don't really do superheroes here. We do mermaids, explorers, witches, magicians, ballerinas, and a whole troop of other characters, but not really superheroes. Every now and again, BabyG will race around saying 'whoosh, I'm a supergirl superhero' but she doesn't have any object/article of clothing (real or imaginary) attached to that. Is Dirtgirl a superhero? She's saving the planet? Then again, BabyG would never want to be Dirtgirl, not enough pink. Of course I'd like to make her costume, rather than throw some $$ at a plastic polyester offering made in a factory by people paid very poorly to work with guns poking them in the ribs when they stop for a breather. I just had a quick google to see what I could come up with- let that be a lesson for all of us. Type girls superhero costume and some scary stuff comes up... After I finish gouging my out my own eyes I might go to a fabric store and look at their pattern books. That should be less scary.

Worth it?

2011-06-27T18:23:00.000+10:00

Was it worth sewing myself into insanity? Oh yes, me think so...

Happy birthday My Little Miss...

2011-06-27T14:18:00.000+10:00

Yesterday, my Little Miss turned two. There she is, bewitched by sugar, ready to dive into that Mama-made cake.

In the morning, she woke to a house transformed, and a pile of presents in the playroom waiting for her to rip open, with her big sister's help. Also waiting for her was this:

Yes, I finally finished this teepee that I've had in pieces in my laundry for twelve months now. She was delighted with it, and ran straight in, taking her new horse collection (some beautiful schleich specimens) with her, as well as the Jessie doll her sister bought her (and not-so-secretly covets).

She had a lovely party, very small, only six other children and my two, then 47 adults, or so it seemed with all her wonderful aunts, uncles, godparents, grandparents etc etc etc. We had it at two in the afternoon so she could have a nap before running wild, and if you couldn't guess by the image above, we had a farm theme. We initially had plans to hire some baby animals/petting farm, but after the quotes came in we realised it would be cheaper to buy a horse that we could keep forever, as opposed to having some flea bitten bunnies and mangy chooks shitting in our backyard for two hours. Instead, The Man cleared the yard of Poppy-pooch landmines and the cherubs ran wild outside.

I like having themes for birthday parties, I find it helps me focus and keep the styling consistent. At the January sales I had bought quite a bit of red gingham, and used this for the table. I used hessian potato sacks from the Fabulous Aunty Sam as table runners, and italian juice bottles (drained, washed, then filled with chocolate or strawberry moo shakes) with red and white paper straws. These gorgeous little plates came from Ikea. I was originally planning on filling the tin cans (just plain old tinned fruit tins) with white daisies, but thought the red and white snapdragons would look cute, with the benefit of being able to plant them out in the kitchen garden for some colour, and of course play opportunities for the cherubs with their gorgeous flowers.

I made bunting to match, and used leftover scraps to tie bows around the lollys in the goodybags/take home treats:

I saw this somewhere, taken from somewhere else (ahh the Internet) so my apologies for not acknowledging the original source, but I think it was spanish. Also in here were bags of green play dough made by the cherubs and I, and little farm animals.

As the birthday girl is two, I kept the organised games to a minimum. We had an animal hunt- I had printed images of farm animals, laminated them and attached them to paddlepop craft sticks, and hidden them around the garden. We also had a very perplexing performance of the Farmer in the Dell, but the children loved it. I got to be the cheese. Nonno was the rat:

The timing of the party was a bit difficult foodwise- I served mini-hamburgers and sausage rolls, and while the adults enjoyed them the children just picked at them, still full from lunch. Or was it the table of barely disguised sugar they were eyeing off? Mini-hamburgers are no match for green grass orange and poppyseed cupcakes:

I also had fruit and marshmallow skewers (thanks mum), dips, cookies, jelly and a whole lot of other things that have done my head in but now I've forgotten.

We sang happy birthday whilst my younger cherub beamed away, my older cherub requested her slice of cake to have some gate as well, we farewelled a chunk of the guests, and then it was present time:

Yes, my Little Miss was a very lucky girl- it seems all of the other people in her life think she's as wonderful as we do.

Happy birthday my little angel- you are delightful and easily delighted, and bring more love and laughter into our home than you could ever imagine
xx

Quick thank you to everyone who helped me out so much- proper thank you will follow xx

Birthday letters...

2011-06-22T09:11:00.000+10:00

It's my younger daughter's birthday on Sunday, the big two. I've spent the last couple of nights reading through the blog, making notes for her birthday letter. With both cherubs, I write them a letter on their birthday, telling them about the year that's finished, the adventures they've had, the little nuances they've displayed from birthday to birthday. The blog has been indispensible for that- yes I used to keep notebooks about the funny things they did and said, but the blog is a much better resource. I go into a lot more depth (hmmmm too much perhaps?) than I ever did with photos, and when I'm feeling lazy, a photo or collage captures a moment in time that I can use for the birthday letter.

These cherubs have grown so much in twelve months, the little one in particular, has blitzed along- this time last year she wasn't walking, and now she's running, grabbing her world by the ears and planting a huge smooch upon it. Metaphorically, of course. She's also been offered to a new home on Facebook after drawing on the walls on Monday night. Washable wall paint, yeah right- great marketing there, Dulux...

She's gorgeous though, destructive urges aside, and so is her sister. Although, despite all my best efforts it seems I'll never have a lovely photo of the two of them without silliness:

Come for a stroll around my garden in June...

2011-06-20T16:58:00.000+10:00

The sun came out for more than thirty seconds this morning, so the cherubs and I went for a wander.

My new kitchen garden bed is looking very so-so:

The dog uses it for a thoroughfare and has trampled and compacted the soil. There possibly wasn't enough in the bed to begin with, so I think we need to get some more soil, give it a fork, and put in a tripod or something to stop the dog running through. The grass is coming along nicely from BabyG's seed dump, and the broadbeans are looking very robust and healthy. The passionfruit vine has almost doubled in size in a month. Our carrots, however, are like something out of Harry Potter:

They still gave the cherubs enormous pleasure to wrench out of the soil after spotting their tops peeking out from under the foliage. I haven't tasted them as yet- I think we'll make some hummus and give them a try.

Speaking of hummus, the garlic seems happy cuddling up to the silverbeet:

Although a couple of the stems seem to be losing colour so they may be ready for harvest sooner than November.

My roses are full of buds:

They are also getting more and more yellow, so after the Little Miss' birthday on Sunday I'm going to hack them back to the ground. Daffodils are sprouting already, and the dry creek bed is looking fantastic:

The two trees (one in the foreground, the other next to the strawberry and raspberry patch beside the playhouse) are native frangipanis, bought at the tree auction over Easter. I can't wait to experience their scent...

The lilly pillys are dripping in berries which the cherubs use in their 'cooking'. While the cherubs were playing, I had a look at the apple tree:

It's a gnarled, twisted mess, and serves as a lesson to all of us about helping trees establish into healthy shapes. I gave it a haircut, and as I did, I noticed it's growth look like horrible witch fingers:

It is really difficult to prune, as it's quite low, and at perfect eye height to a little one, but it needed it. I cut it back by about a third, which hopefully helps it along with its spring growth and subsequent fruiting. A couple of months ago I wrote about the freaky little apples that grew- well I'm happy to report that over the course of the season the apples turned into beautiful, large apples that the dog loved, and that we used in cupcakes. All's well...

I can't finish a post without my cherubs:

Here's their lilly pilly dip. Yes, they're in the pjs, and missing footwear... The Little Miss may or may have not scooped a little into her mouth for a taste test... germs are good, apparently, and that's why I breast fed them both...

Going to a happy place...

2011-06-13T09:06:00.002+10:00

I haven't been blogging as much lately- I know, you've noticed, you've been logging on every day in the hopes of reading my words of insight. I've been very busy, you see. I've been planning the Little Miss' second birthday party, been thinking about my dad's 60th non-party, and been doing the day to day crap that we all do. Except the washing. I started that on Wednesday and almost 5 days later it is still sitting on the line. Hopefully after the fog lifts this morning (literally and figuratively speaking) the sun will blast it into cleanliness. Sheesh...

Back to Dad's non-birthday. He's been adamant, angrily so, that he didn't want to have a party or any kind of celebration. I persevered for a little while, toned down my plans for him to just a family lunch with my in-laws, featuring a feast of calabrese morsels from these gorgeous books I bought in March, all foods he would remember his mother cooking. Hell, I even asked my butcher if he could get me a young milk fed baby goat! See this daughter's sacrifice? Can you imagine how much I'd like to be fiddling around with a baby goat to get it onto the bbq? Dad said thank you, ooh a goat, but no, definitely no celebrations.

On Wednesday, his birthday, the cherubs and I descended with a mini-version of the Italian feast I wanted for him- a hamper full of goodies we'd collected from the Mediterranean Wholesalers last Saturday (for a glimpse into that world, read this, articulated much better than I ever could). Into the hamper I snuggled a frame of his two favourite girls (no, not my mum and me), cue for tears from a loving Nonno. Chilli flakes, porcini and grand-daughters, what more could a man want?

I was quite attached to my Italian feast idea for his birthday. I'd even bought vintage Italian table linen off ebay. Very attached, so much so that I almost forgot that it wasn't my birthday and not really my call. Hmmm. The world would run so much better if I were in charge. Just sayin'. Dad must have picked up on this. He agreed to a lunch. At his house. Today, for us (aka his daughter, son, son-in-law and grandchildren). My in-laws were invited. And that's it. But hey, it's a win of sorts, Dad will get a smidge of recognition for officially becoming a fossil, and I've been able to source and cook some incredible foods.

Seven years ago, we had an accidental family holiday in Italy. We were based for 4 weeks in Pizzo, a little coastal village which is famous for its gelato, and specifically for a dessert from heaven called tartufo. These little balls of ice-cream were so good it wasn't unusual for us to have several a day. Well, I know you won't see this coming, but I'm making them for Dad for his non-birthday lunch today. Let me describe my week:

On Friday, while BabyG went on a playdate and then kinder, I made a chocolate ice-cream so good I nearly passed out. On Saturday, while the cherubs went to my mother-in-law I made a hazelnut ice-cream so good I think I actually wept while it churned in the machine. Yesterday, whilst BabyG went to the footy with her Dad and my Dad and the Little Miss was asleep I made a chocolate filling- a oozey, gooey chocolatey sauce the consistency of custard. Last night, whilst the cherubs were in the bed and The Man was over the road having a go at the neighbour's hooker (don't ask) I started bringing all these things together. First chocolate ice-cream shaped inside a round ball to make a round hollow ball. Then a layer of the hazelnut ice-cream. Two minutes after I finish this post I'll put the chocolate sauce in, then roll them in cocoa, and they're done. Bliss on a plate. Photos will come.

OK, I feel I can't leave you thinking about my husband and the neighbours and their hooker. The Fabulous Aunty Sam and Uncle Baz are back from their 5 week holiday, looking tanned, happy and fabulous as always. They brought back a hookah but I prefer my spelling. Welcome home guys, we missed you so much!

Happy Birthday Nonno...

2011-06-08T16:46:00.000+10:00

First you held my hand, now you hold theirs...

Love you Dad xx

Breadmaking...

2011-06-04T18:35:00.000+10:00

I've always wanted to have a crack at making bread, and yesterday the house was warm and cozy, we were still in our jarmies at midday, so the timing was perfect. I've thought about making a sourdough riser, but then thought against it. I have a husband, two children, a dog and a gazillion worms that I feed- do I really need to be responsible for another living thing? We made a lovely big mess, got out some frustrations kneading and belting dough and then filled the house with a wonderful scent. All was good in the world...

Except, of course, when the Little Miss discovered the rolls having their second rise near the front door (the warmest part of the house). After allowing her to poke one or two of them I carried her away. She didn't like that:

She throws such a good wobbly, this cherub of mine.

Scene of the crime...

2011-06-02T16:25:00.000+10:00

The 'burbs are not safe. Not at all. Threats are lurking behind every corner. This morning I was wandering around the garden for the first time in what seems like months, enjoying the first bulbs peeking through the soil, the grass running riot exactly where it shouldn't be, the sky was blue and the birds were singing. All good in my corner of the world... or was it?

My fig tree, only 8 or so months old, my homage to my heritage bought with my cherub's horse agistment money has been viciously attacked. My lovely fig tree, that never harmed a soul, just stood sentinel, just a twig really with a few leaves, a whole life in front of it filled with shady summers, and figs wrapped in prosciutto, dipped in honey (obviously not at the same time), has suffered:

Yes, death by whippersnipper... I don't want to point fingers, but The Man should be alert, and maybe even a little alarmed. If this doesn't survive this, I will not be happy. And everyone knows a happy wife equals a happy life. Just sayin'...

Mama hen cluckings...

2011-06-01T22:46:00.001+10:00

I've made it very clear on these very pages (electronic, not paper, obviously) that I'm a planner. I'm a list kind-of-girl. Nothing much happens in my life that hasn't been pre-empted on a planner or list. Nothing significant, anyway. Yes, sure, there are little splashes of spontaneity- today I made the cherubs popcorn. Who could have guessed craziness like that would be happening on a Wednesday?

I've also made it very clear that I don't like birds. They give me the heebies and I can't bear to look at them, let alone have anything with feathers flap anywhere near me. The only exception is of course The Book Chook, oh, and there was that one time on our honeymoon when The Man wore a feather boa, and a smile. Stop judging, we were in Vegas... Despite my bird aversion, I'm having a serious bout of what can only be described as cluckiness.

When we first started courting, my gentleman friend (aka The Man) and I talked about cherubs. I wanted two, he wanted three if the first two were the same gender. I had seen a psychic who told me I'd meet the love of my life, get married really quickly, have two girls and a boy. The Man's mother had seen a psychic who said he'd have two boys and a girl. Mine won... almost. When I was crippled with all-day morning sickness with BabyG I told him we'd only be doing this one more time. The same thing happened with the Little Miss, and after dry retching into my parentals front garden bed I swore never again, and each little fragment of that pregnancy I cherished and gave my full respect to, knowing it would be the last time. Two seconds after delivering the Little Miss, my obstetrician told me my hideously scarred uterus could handle one more pregnancy and delivery. I thought I might have hallucinated that, but she told The Man the same thing.

There are two of us, The Man and I, there are two of them, BabyG and the Little Miss; no-one can ever be left out. I have let it be said if I were younger, I'd have another two babies. Four makes sense to me, three doesn't. We built our dream home around two children, and our plans for their/our future is based on two ie education, travels, lifestyle. I was watching BabyG at her swimming lesson this morning, something she doesn't enjoy, and her bravery and tenaciousness made my heart throb. I could see my younger cherub in the swimming centre creche beating some play dough into submission, and I thought there is no more room in my heart for another soul.

So there you have it, the reproductive side of me laid out bare. I'm finished having babies. I'm done. But there is such a pang as I type this, a dull ache in my lungs, a physical pain and a huge question mark. My head says no, my heart says I don't know...

Hibernating...

2011-05-27T10:19:00.000+10:00

This week, I have barely left the house, except for the normal kinder and ballet pick ups and drop offs, and swimming with the Little Miss yesterday. Actually, I've managed to skip some of the drop offs and pick ups as well, between my parentals, The Man and my MIL. It's been lovely, cocooned inside, cooking, sewing, not cleaning. Last night, The Man went on his regular bimonthly (ish) boys dinner- although how you call a group of almost middle-aged men 'boys' I'm not sure. I sat on the couch under a blanket and watched New Moon, not for the first time, and wondered, again not for the first time, why the hell anyone would pick the pasty, cold blood sucker over the superhot wolf man? Oh yes, the ponderings of a masters graduate x2- the uni really should be using my content for their marketing materials.

Actually, I did have one little errand- I went to BabyG's school and paid her place acceptance fee. You might remember last week I was doing high-fives about her letter of offer? When I was exactly 9 months pregnant with BabyG, right smack bang on my due date, after 9 months of planning, reading, preparing, packing, repacking, spending, spending and spending, my waters broke. At that moment, a thought flashed through my head 'noooooo I'm not ready!' Same feeling hit me last week when I clicked that my cherub will be off to school...

Friday baking...

2011-05-27T09:52:00.000+10:00

My Little Bookcase

2011-05-23T17:09:00.000+10:00

Just received an email from the lovely Jackie of My Little Bookcase to tell me she has featured BabyG's fairytale party!

Thanks Jackie, looks gorgeous!

Brrrr....

2011-05-23T14:01:00.000+10:00

Baby, it's cold outside! Which means snuggles on the couch under a blankie with the cherubs, and a whole lot of nothing. Friday night saw me inhale a curry laksa, early Saturday morning saw said curry laksa giving me intense tummy cramps and explosive ... oh some things not worth sharing. I took the cherubs to my parentals, crawled into bed and slept for 5 hours. How do I love my parentals? Let me count the ways! Sunday saw me at a sewing class, having a wonderful day learning and creating. Last night saw some lovely friends come over for The Man's pizza and we watched their wedding video, and cried, and cried and cried. I saw myself give a reading and cringed, and cringed and cringed. I hereby vow never to speak out loud again. My voice sucks, sucks sucks. Today saw an extra cherub running around for a playdate, and the four of us (my two cherubs, the extra and myself) made biscuits. Now the extra cherub is home, my number two cherub is in bed having a snooze, my number one cherub is on the couch finger knitting while I'm taking this break from knitting BabyG a scarf (at her request) to update my poor neglected blog. Dinner's sorted, thanks to The Man making his wonderful soul-reviving soup de loup. All's well in the world.