Tag Archives: marriage

An Enduring Love Story…

10 May an enduring love story

Two days before I was due to photograph the 50th wedding anniversary vow renewal of this  Groom and his Bride, I was invited into their home so we could get acquainted before the big day.

In this old school Italian family’s home, I sat at the table with the happy couple and some dear old friends of theirs who had been married for 43 years.

This here marriage novice had the most insightful discussion with these nuptial heavy weights on the secret to longevity in a union. We ate cheese and figs and drank wine and in no time I felt like I was part of the family, and it was beautiful.

The big day was touched gently by sadness, as it also marked the end of a mourning period after the loss of a dear one, but I truly believe I saw many generations of this family present, those with us and those passed, all celebrating 50 years of amore and famiglia.

LOVE & FAMILY

What else is important?

Nothing.

I’m honoured to have been able to chronicle the day, and capture just a few of the precious moments that this family had.

The biggest thing I’ll take away with me from this experience were the words of the Groom, the evening we met.

‘In life, in the home, there will be storms, but soon, the sun… she come out.’

Sage advice for a novice.

an enduring love storyan enduring love story

an enduring love story an enduring love story

an enduring love story

an enduring love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love story

an enduring love story

an enduring love story

an enduring love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love story

an enduring love story

an enduring love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love story

an enduring love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love story

an enduring love story an enduring love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love story

an enduring love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love story

an enduring love story

an enduring love story

an enduring love storyan enduring love story

an enduring love story

an enduring love story

an enduring love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love story

an enduring love storyan enduring love story

enduring love story

an enduring love storyan enduring love storyA love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love story

an enduring love storyan enduring love storyan enduring love story

 

Interview with a sex therapist….How to regain your mojo.

29 Mar

intimacy

(source)

I have a theory about sex.

My theory is that the more bonking you do, the less annoying your partner is (you really ought to be bonking your partner for best effect). Sex is the thread that binds you to each other and without it, you can become unravelled.

When I spoke with sex therapist, Isiah McKimmie, from Passionate Spirit I thought I’d hit her with my theory straight off the bat to see if I was on the money.

She agreed heartily. I decided I liked her.

Isiah went on to say that when your sex life is working well, your entire relationship can change, and therefore your entire lives can change.

I may have mentioned once or twice that my mojo has been somewhat lacking since I gave up sleep, so when the opportunity arose for me to interview a sex therapist over a cup of tea, I jumped at the chance.

Is it lingerie, sex toys, 50 Shades of Grey or oysters that I need?

Nope. It’s way more simple than that.

Although the road to a banging sex life is not a short one (Isiah offers courses to couples, as opposed to one off visits), what we discussed was certainly not rocket science.

The first thing that a therapist would look at is your relationship to yourself.

How do you feel about your body?

How satisfied are you with your life?

Do you still feel like sexy you, or are you now only a wife and a mother?

One of the most obvious things is our confidence about our body after all of the changes it undergoes throughout pregnancy and childbirth. We may not feel that we can take the time to get ourselves back into the shape we were previously. It is natural that your body changes somewhat, but if your self esteem takes a battering in the process, it may be as simple as finding time to exercise.

Taking the time away from family can often cause guilt, but it’s really essential for mental health. The time you take away from your family can actually make you a better wife and mother…. and your mojo may just be a Zumba class away.

The second major area to look at is your communication with your partner.

How do you communicate about general issues? This will certainly affect the way you can communicate about sex.

Being able to communicate freely with our partners is terribly important. Some people NEVER tell their partner that a particular thing turns them on, or more importantly, turns them off, or irritates their sensitive, pink bits.

Really?

Isiah said something so poignant to this -

If you can’t communicate well in the bedroom, you probably aren’t communicating well out of it.

Aaah. Not rocket science.

Our sex lives are so personal, and people feel a great sense of embarrassment and shame about it. This embarrassment is something we may have been taught as teens when we’re curious about stuff and wanking like chimpanzees. You’ll go blind, grow hair on your palms, or nice girls simply don’t do those things.

Sex is natural.

Our bodies are ours to explore and enjoy.

There is no shame in pleasure.

The clitoris is the only part of the human body solely for pleasure. It has no greater function than to give sweet sensation. I think it was the Universe’s consolation prize for periods.

If you’re silently turning your back on your partner thinking ‘No way, buddy, I’m exhausted and my bikini line resembles Macy Gray’s afro’, perhaps your partner only hears ‘I’m not attracted to you anymore’…..and that’s just the tip of the communication iceberg.

Also, we need to try to lighten up about it. If it’s become the elephant in the room then everyone starts getting anxious and feeling rejected.

One of the hardest things when you have little people in the house is time. I mentioned to Isiah that between training, children and general exhaustion, Mister H and I have one perfect time for rumpy. That sweet moment only occurs twice in a week, and then if the planets don’t align correctly, it can be week before that magic moment rolls around again.

I suggested that scheduling sex was incredibly unsexy.

Not as unsexy as never having sex, Isiah replied.

Mmmmmm hmmmmm. I see her point.

Also, a quickie has its place, don’t get me wrong, but if you’re only having occasional quickies it’s no wonder your mojo is lacking. Biologically, it take 20 minutes for a woman’s body to warm up.

We all know that we are slower than men and require a tad more romancing and finessing in all the right places, but being ready for the main event is not as simple as getting lubed up.

It actually takes 20 minutes for your uterus to contract and get out of the way, so the penis doesn’t bash its insistent head against your sensitive lady bits. This is particularly the case shortly after giving birth as the uterus is often sitting a little lower in the chamber.

Did you know that? I didn’t, and I thought I knew it all.

If you think you don’t have enough time in the day for langorous loving touch, try turning off the television a couple of times a week. After dinner, instead of retiring to the lounge, turn off the tv, the computers and the iphones, and spend time together.

NEWS FLASH : watching tv together is not spending quality time together.

You could start by giving each other a massage. Not a ‘nudge nudge wink wink’ massage but perhaps you could start reacquainting yourselves with a no strings attached massage, without a happy ending? Hell, if you feel like throwing a leg over then climb aboard, but if sex has become the elephant under the bed, perhaps you need to take it off the table (not the dining room table. I mean, no sex) for a bit.

If you agree that you’re not going to do it for a few weeks, it can alleviate the guilt you may feel from not wanting to. It doesn’t mean you have an affection stand-off, you do other stuff.

Fun stuff. Sexy stuff. Loving stuff.

Remember when you first got together and you’d pash like teenagers on the loungeroom floor? When was the last time you had pash rash? Or dry humped till you came in your pants?

That stuff was exciting, so maybe it’s time to strip back your sex life?

Get back to the fun stuff.

Isiah and I talked a lot about wanking, on your own, together, whatever takes your fancy. It goes to reason that after you give birth perhaps your body feels different, likes different things. If you don’t explore your own body, how can you guide someone around?

Hell, we don’t strike out across town without Google mapping first, so why not chart this territory, too?

I was shocked when Isiah told me that 30% of women have difficulty (or never) orgasm. Some of her adult clients don’t know where their clitoris is. You can bet your bottom dollar that if they don’t know that, they probably don’t know about other erogenous zones, like that crazy little spot behind their knee, their armpit or the back of their neck.

You need to take the time to explore not just your lady bits, but your whole body, and it’s way more fun if you do it with your partner.

There is more sex than ever available to us, whether it’s erotica, porn, toys, or whatever that floats your boat. There is still so much guilt associated with exploring our own sexuality, why?

Why the shame?

If you’re a bit weirded out by the idea of a sex therapist, Passionate Spirit has a subscription based website with loads of information and techniques if you think maybe you need a little helping hand getting your love life back on track.

Maybe it’s as simple as simply getting back on the horse and doing it? Reawakening your sexual self.

If not, and you feel like your relationship needs a little help getting it’s mojo back, maybe you could consider sex therapy?
If your car isn’t working properly, you take it to a mechanic, right?

At the conclusion of our fascinating chat, Isiah told me she had a spare media pass to Sexpo if I wanted it……well, I thought, maybe a little research would be good.

Stay tuned for the Sexpo wrap-up. Holy dooly. I thought nothing could surprise me.

This post is not a sponsored post. I received no payment from Passionate Spirit. I just love talking about sex.

Check out Passionate Spirit’s Facebook page if you want a little mojo in your newsfeed.

Did you find this as fascinating as I did?

Can you talk about your mojo or are you a little shy?

If you know anyone that may benefit from this post, share it with them, and let’s get that elephant out in the open!

Hooking up with FYBF at With Some Grace so everyone can read about mojo rising. Check out what everyone else is flogging.


Big Daddy’s homecoming and Oat, Date and Ginger Biscuits

24 Feb date and ginger cookies finished

ginger and date biscuits ingredientsAt the very second I type this we are T-2hrs until picking Mister H up from the airport.
It’s been a long ten days without him.

D Man is allowed to stay up late tonight and just he and I are heading off to the arrivals gate to see Big Daddy walk through. I think both chaps will get a buzz out of that….and I’m not embarrassed to say I’m looking forward to a pash. I reckon a public pash at the arrivals gate is totally acceptable behaviour.

Mister H left on Valentine’s Day and I didn’t write a Valentine’s post. I read a few spectacularly schmaltzy ones and it made me wonder if I was unsentimental, or perhaps my relationship was lacking….

You are the air I breathe and my sun and moon, just don’t quite describe my feelings for my husband but I’ve done some thinking in the last ten days.

I was 30 when we met.

I had lived a very full life and I’ve always relied on myself. I’m very independent, strong and fiery and I can get by just fine on my own. The majority of the  day-to-day ‘kid stuff’ I do anyway because he’s out of the house early and home late, so it wasn’t a biggie.

I haven’t missed not having all of the training clothes to wash, nor have I missed all of the shoes in the lounge.

What I realised was, though, is that Mister H is like the tonic in my gin. Gin is pretty good on it’s own, a complete thing, if a tad harsh, but when you add tonic?

Wow, now that’s a real marriage.

Mister H is the cheese on my pizza, the sugar in my coffee and the bubbles in my bath.

He’s the date and ginger in my oat cookie.

I have missed the kisses goodnight, and my friend coming home and chatting about our day.

I have missed the sound of he and the kid’s laughing, and I’ve missed cuddles in the kitchen…..so I made a batch of these chewy, spicy date numbers to ease us through the final days of his absence!

date and ginger biscuits licking the beater

What you will need :

  • 85g softened butter
  • 50g castor sugar
  • 60g brown sugar
  • 1 egg
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla essence
  • 1/2 cup wholemeal flour
  • 1/2 teaspoons bicarbonate of soda
  • 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
  • 1 teaspoon ground ginger
  • A pinch of salt
  • 1 cup rolled oats
  • 80g chopped dates

What you will need to do :

Preheat oven to 190C

In a large bowl cream together the butter and the sugars until nice and pale. Then add the egg and vanilla and beat until light and fluffy.

Stir  together the flour, baking soda, cinnamon, ginger and salt and gradually beat into the spread mixture bit by bit.

Finally, stir in the oats and dates.

Pop teaspoon sized balls onto baking paper and stick in the oven for 8-10 minutes until golden and delicious. Leave for a few minutes before transferring to a rack to cool completely.

Chewy, moist, sticky, spicy, sweet and yummy…..I ate 4 while they were still hot, and felt instantly better.

date and ginger cookies finished

Ironically, after I had already written this, Mister H gave me a present from his journey……

It goes perfectly with tonic.

Hendricks Gin

 

 

No one said marriage would be easy.

29 Jan

Holding hands on our wedding dayI caught up with a girlfriend recently and she was all ablush with the first glow of love.

She had met someone amazing. He inspired her, he understood her, their physical connection was electric and her whole world was turned upside down.

She thought she had met THE ONE.

Exciting stuff, right?

One minor issue stands in the way……

Not that long ago I stood on a hill, one summer afternoon, and I watched her say ‘I do’ to the man who was then The One.
She has grown disillusioned by her marriage, and disconnected from her partner.

I do not judge the situation, nor her actions, but the conversation we had that night has brought up a lot of questions for me.

I asked how things had been going in her marriage lately and as you can imagine, things hadn’t been dandy. She felt they weren’t connecting, he didn’t understand her anymore. The spark of electricity was replaced by a smoking fizzle.
They just did the day to day stuff. Work, home, food, kids, bed, and do over every day……..

‘IS THIS IT?’ she posed.

It’s a damn good question, because when you say ‘I do’ you’re vowing to be together forever and, in reality, forever is a really long time.

A long time to never have the butterflies of a new admirer.

A long time to never have another first kiss.

A long time to never feel the electric moment someone’s bare tummy touches yours.

She asked me if I was happy and I told her that I was, and that I was content….she replied ‘what the f*ck is content?’

Is content a bad thing to be?

I’m no relationship expert, as you know. This is my first long term relationship (over 12 months) so I’m really making it up as I go along, but one thing for know for absolutely certain -

MARRIAGE IS BLOODY HARD WORK.

I don’t mean hard work like Sudoku, I mean hard work like Burma Railway.

Marriage is hard because after the excitement of the first kiss and the first bare tummy rub (or other bare rubbing parts) dies down, what’s left is actually fairly unglamorous. What’s left is a roundabout of peaks and troughs that sometimes feel like you’re lost at sea, and you can only hope your boat is seaworthy.

Mortgage payments, phone bills, broken toilets, sleepless nights, finding time for yourself, arguments over housework…..this is the shit that makes relationships difficult. None of it is ground breaking stuff……but it is the toiling grit of daily mundanity that grinds you down in time.

We live in a fairly disposable society these days, so it comes as no surprise that the divorce rate is so high. You know, when the going gets tough (and other Billy Ocean songs)……

Do you not think the previous generations have felt marriage disillusion or dissatisfaction?

Of course they did. So, why is the divorce rate so high now?
Do we quit too quickly? Give up too easily and just keep on moving on to the next thing, like we do with phones and computers and shoes?

You know the secret to a successful marriage?

Wanting it bad enough to work at it.

The thing about these feelings of dissatisfaction is that you must address them head on, for the elephant in the room will become the size of Godzilla and this will only breed contempt…..and contempt will kill your relationship faster than a crying toddler kills your sex drive.

You need to stop looking at the bits that give you the shits and focus a little on what you do like about them. Maybe once you remember those bits, the faults won’t seem as massive and unconquerable. We’re not ever going to change our partners. Sure, you can train them somewhat, but you can’t change them, and trying will only cause rifts.

I think that marriage is a choice, and I know that fidelity is a choice, too.

I’m sure it’s exciting to feel all of those thrilling ‘firsts’ again, but you really need to remember why you married someone in the first place, and if you stood face to face in front of your family and friends, and pledged forever, then maybe you owe it yourselves to try to find your balance again. I think you can reconnect, but I think you really have to want to.

Because it’s hard.

It’s hard considering someone else. It’s hard being honest about your feelings all the time, and having round tables when you just feel like going to bed. You have to work out those niggles before they become relationship cancer.
And you’ll fight. Of course, you will….. But do it with respect, and sit down and listen to each other after.

Obviously, if it’s over, it over. Sometimes people drift apart and the chasm between them is too vast for the tenuous fingers of love to reconnect, and I’m never going to advocate trying to flog a dead horse.

Someone I admire said to me recently ‘No one ever said it was going to be easy’, and I had to smile.

Bastards. Could have warned us.

NB If you’re curious about what happened with my friend…..the new One, was not The One at all.

 

Do you know someone asking the big questions about their marriage? Share this with them….maybe it will help in some way.

What do you think keeps a marriage strong?

 

Hooking up with Team Ibot over at EssentiallyJess……go see what everyone else is thinking about today.

People Made of Iron

31 Oct

I’ve struggled with this triathlon journey, I’ve made no secret of it, but on Sunday morning as I got the kids ready to 6am to go and try to find Daddy on the starting line, I felt little butterflies flitting in my belly.

We had had a terrible night’s sleep with the kids and we decided if I couldn’t make the start then there were other opportunities on the course to yell from the sidelines, but I felt a sudden urgency to be there.

It was a crazy feat to undertake, a massive achievement by anyone’s standards.
A 2km swim, followed by a gruelling hill course 90km bike ride, finished with a 21 km run as a little cherry on top.

It’s only a half Iron Man, he assures me, but the idea of someone willingly doing a full one if they didn’t have some kind of wild animal chasing them simply does not compute.

I would struggle to do just one of those elements, but all?

Only crazy people, and people made of iron, think that’s a fun way to pass time.

As we weaved our way through the competitors, they all looked the same. I couldn’t see Mister H.

1500 men and women were there, all dressed in wetsuits, looking like seals that suddenly all stood upright and put on little red caps.

My heart started to race.

There was only 5 minutes before it started, what if I missed him?
What if he didn’t know we were here, supporting him, loving him from the shore?

I stood on my tippy-toes and I saw my husband’s shoulders 15 meters ahead in the crowd, right up at the start line. I pushed the Titanic double pram through the throngs, excusing myself as I went but not caring if I took out people’s ankles, although with hindsight I realise that some poor dude had to do the whole event with a dinged Achilles.
I just had to let him know we were here.

His face lit up when he saw us. He exhaled as though perhaps he’d been holding his breath.
We only had time for a quick kiss before his race began and I had a tear in my eye as I saw him submerge.

Who’da thunk, after all these months of busting his chops about it, I’d be so emotional?

We estimated it would be only 5.5hrs until he was back with us, but somehow today that seemed an eternity. In the time it took for me to take the kids for breakfast and have a play, he would have achieved a massive goal, a dream.

I was amazed at the different kinds of people who were participating. Tall, short, fat, skinny, old and young.

Craziness does not discriminate, evidently.

Along the way we’d hang at a check point in hope of seeing him and calling encouragement and it was along this fence line that I met other people like me.
Wives who lamented the loss of their partners for such a gruelling training regime, loved ones who simply hoped their kin would finish in one piece, and veterans who had competed in many events and understood what the bug was all about.

I got a new understanding of how important it was to feel your family’s support.

I felt the thrum of anticipation of your loved one mastering their focus so as to ignore the pain racking their body and getting them over that line.

I remarked to someone how impressed I was with the many different walks of life competing. Some people powered through strong and tall whilst others limped through all tortured, but of 1500 who began, almost all finished.

She asked me if, seeing these old and fat and skinny and fit people achieve this, it made me feel as though I could do it too?

And I simply answered -

No fucking way.

A short poem to my husband, whom I have called my hero three times so far. Once at the birth of each of our babies, and on this day.

MY HALF IRON MAN

I’M SO PROUD OF YOU

PLEASE

STOP TAKING PROTEIN POWDER

BEFORE YOU

KILL

SOMEONE

photo credit – Running with water image, Barry Alsop – Eyes Wide Open Images.

Hot Sex Tips from 1894

21 Oct

On the hunt for the missing mojo I thought I’d turn to a little literature to get help me get my game on.

50 Shades of Grey had nothing. The whole deal was so implausible and poorly written it was like the Bold and The Beautiful had taken steroids.

Barely raised a tickle in my knicks, so when I saw this little pink, pocket-sized beauty I thought it was sure thing…..

20121020-151126.jpg

Hell, there is even a bottle of tincture called Climax on the cover. Who wouldn’t like a hip flask of that in their handbag?

20121020-151224.jpg

But then I realised she was a tad behind the times…..

Obviously, no one ever has sex on their wedding night these days, as everybody has drunk their bodyweight in champagne and danced until 3 am……and as for the ‘first time’ bit, well, not even my Grandpa would have fallen for that, what with my six-month old sitting on my knee at the bridal table.

Brilliant!

Sex every day? Who wouldn’t want that, right?

Sex is awesome and fun and messy in a much more fun way than the rest of your day. Why wouldn’t you want to do that all the time?

Abnormal positions? Between the ancient Karma Sutra, that requires all participants to be yogis, and the accessibility of porn these days, haven’t we all seen everything before?

What exactly is an abnormal position? At the washing line? Don’t reckon I’ve seen that one.

MOUTHING EACH OTHER’S VILE BODIES?

Whoa, Mama!!  That actually sounds kinda hot…..

Alas, a mere few more pages in and I realized I’d been duped. Dear old Ruthie baby was nothing but a trumped-up prude, God rest her soul.

I don’t need that advice, Ruth. That’s what I’m trying to shake, sugar.

I was tut-tutting her uptight ways and then I realised perhaps this was closer to the bone than I dare admit.

Ummm, check.

Didn’t mean to let it side, but I’ve been a little pre-occupied.

Oh dear. If I started nagging much earlier, what then? Hypothetically speaking, of course.

Mrs Smythers recommends you talk about mundane household matters at this point. Wouldn’t that enhance sleep?

‘Honey, the bathroom tap washers really need a …………zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz’

or

‘Babes, next time you mow the lawn, could you please………snooooooooooore’

Anyway you can see that the woman is clearly not going to be giving me mojo enhancements I was looking for, but the piece de resistance was on the last page…….check it out.

It’s not about the writing, it’s about the image……

Seriously, WTF is that?

Dear Mrs Reverend Smythers, thank you for allowing me to reproduce pages of your book for my blog as I really feel that this would be highly educational for my readers. It certainly makes me feel better about myself. It reinforces that I’m neither a prude nor a good Methodist.

If anyone knows what that implement is, please, enlighten me. Any guesses?

An Anniversary and A Marriage Made in Heaven…..Strawberry Frozen Yoghurt

30 Sep strawb yoghurt 2

Tomorrow is Mister H and my second wedding anniversary.

If I had a hat, I would surely have been clinging onto it because we’ve had one hell of a ride, if you think about it. Life is really quite an adventure, huh?

International jaunts in the guise of honeymoons, a seriously grown-up mortgage, a move from the urban cool, to the suburban un-so, watching our delightful little man grow from a baby into a boy, and of course, our darling baby girl joined us and three became four.

One hell of a couple of years, indeed.

In fact, if we continued this trajectory, with this speed, our heads may well implode by our tenth anniversary, which would be a shame as I’m looking forward to making it to the tin gift, as I’ve always wanted a genuine billy can.

Mister H and I broke up for a time in our early dating period….. Or to be more precise, Mister H broke up with me.
What an idiot.

When he realised he’d made a terrible fuck up faux pas, one of his wooing techniques was to whisk me away to Port Douglas for a weekend of romance. I was making him work pretty hard for the honey, but I relented in the case of a tropical, all-expenses paid, weekend away in Far North Queensland.

One morning, we were walking along the romantic, crocodile infested, waterfront when we happened across a stunning little, white weatherboard chapel amongst the palm trees.
It had stained glass windows, and housed maybe 50 people at a push, and I fell in love…..With the chapel, not Mister H. I was still cranky as hell at him.

I’m going to get married there one day, I murmured, all glassy eyed, but not thinking him.

Just someone special.

Anyhoo, fast forward 12 months or so and he did propose to marry…. And as you may have guessed I said -

‘Sure thing, Sugar Lips, let’s get hitched’

Sorta. That’s what I wished I said. That would have been cool, huh?
What I actually said was along the lines of -

‘You’re not just saying that because I’m up the duff, are you?’

I’d pushed that chapel incident far to the reaches of my mind, so imagine my surprise when I asked my Dutch husband-to-be, with friends and family all over the world, where he would like to get married?

Port Douglas. In a little chapel.

Someone special, indeed.

Strawberry is the fruit of love and they’re damned cheap and delicious at the moment. Each tasty, little, red gem is like pure sunshine on your tongue.
I can truly see why they’re the fruit of love…..and the food of love? Ice cream, of course.

‘Tis surely a marriage made in heaven?

I wanted to make a creamy, yummy, strawberry frozen yoghurt but every time I’ve used fruit in an ice cream it’s gone icy and poo.

I realised my favorite fruit ices were often delicious swirls of fruit that actually tasted more like jam than pureed fruit, so after a couple of experiments, I came up with this.
It’s easy, it’s healthy, and it tastes like love in a bowl.
This can be made either with an ice cream machine or without….something for everyone.

Yield – about a litre

You will need -

  • 300g fresh strawberries, hulled, and chopped
  • 150g castor sugar
  • 700g good quality Greek yoghurt

Throw your strawberries and sugar into a heavy based pan over a low heat on the stove. Cook down, stirring occasionally, for 45 minutes or so until it’s quite jammy and strawberries look kind of clear and gummy.

Icecream machine -
Chuck your yoghurt into the machine and turn it on, stirring in all but 2 tablespoons of your strawberry mixture. Churn as per machine directions (about 15-20 minutes), then transfer into your freezer container. Dot your remaining strawberry mixture on the top and then swirl it through gently with a spoon.
Freeze for 3-4 hours until firm.

In freezer without machine -
Mix your yoghurt and all but 2 tablespoons of strawberry mixture in a bowl and place in the freezer. Every half an hour, remove from freezer and stir vigorously breaking up all of the ice around the edges and making it smooth again.
Repeat about 4 times until it’s almost a soft serve consistency.
Dollop your remaining strawberry mix around the top and then swirl through.
Freeze for a further 3-4 hours until firm.

This would work with almost any fruit by my guess. I can’t wait to try nectarine, and peach….oh, and mango.
I don’t generally give D Man store bought ice-cream yet, but he loves this and I have very little guilt giving it to him. There’s a bit of sugar, but whatevs…..no preservatives, no hidden nasties and sweet, sweet fruit of love.

Happily Ever After. The fairytale myth.

29 Jul

Fairtytales have a hell of a lot to answer for if you ask me.
What is up with that whole happily ever after lark? Frankly, it’s false advertising.

Cinderella? Happily ever after.
Snow White? Happily ever after.
Sleeping Beauty? She had a cracking snooze AND lived happily ever after.
Romeo and Juliet? Hmmm, forget I mentioned them, and they’re not technically a fairytale anyway.

Realistically speaking, Cinderella may be the exception to the rule. Yep, she possibly lived happily ever after because she married into royalty. She snagged a Prince so she probably had nannies, and housekeepers and still got her hair done every month or so and went for cocktails with the girls whenever she wanted.
Alright for some, I suppose, but even marrying into royalty would have its issues, for instance, she could never pick her nose in the car for fear of being snapped by the paps.

Snow White? Well, after living with 7 guys, albeit little ones, for months, she probably lived happier once she was just living with just one princely dude. Can you imagine how many pairs of shoes were all over her loungeroom prior to that? Or how many skiddies those 7 little bottoms would leave in her clean bathroom? She probably ate that poisoned apple because she was so over cleaning up after the dwarves. She definitely would have been happi-ER, but happily ever after?
There’s no such thing.

No one mentions how, after Sleeping Beauty has three kids and no sleep for two years, she’s always cranky when the Prince comes home from trotting about in his kingdom. He just wants to take off his breeches, scratch his balls and sit by the fire with the hounds but she wants him to help her with bath time and to fold the never ending washing.
It’s not easy maintaining a relationship when you have a family- there’s no two ways about it- but you don’t hear that in a fairytale.

In fact, no one ever said that relationships are hard work, full stop. It’s a well kept secret until after you’re married and the realisation of ‘forever’ sinks in.
Although in Hollywood people get married and divorced before you finish your cup of coffee, most people enter into the union meaning the word ‘forever’.
Marriage is rewarding, and stability is reassuring but it’s not all happily ever after at all, even if you do have a white picket fence.

When you join with someone, in marriage or in a committed way (bring on gay marriage, you bastards, enough of this silliness!!!), they talk about you becoming ‘one’.
You don’t become one at all. You’re still you and they’re still them. Two people trying to do the best thing for each other, and their families but also needing to what they need to do to keep the balance of themselves for their own life. That’s a frickin’ juggling act, let me tell you, and it ain’t always roses.

Relationships are constant work, and require more negotiation that the United Nations on a busy day and sweeter choreography than the Bolshoi. Libidos rise and fall, and not always at the same time as each other’s, so when the red, hot passion fades, you better be sure that you’re good friends. Spouses get depressed, have mid-life crises and even have affairs that threaten to tear the others heart out. Miscommunication or even just taking each other for granted can be very dangerous long term.

The thing with this whole marriage business is, you need to listen as much as you speak, it seems….. and sometimes you really need to listen to what’s not being said.
You need to be honest about your needs BEFORE it becomes a craw because it’s so much harder to fix once resentment has reared it’s ugly head.

When you get it right though, it’s beautiful to have that special ‘one’ at your side, supporting you and smiling with you when things get tough. It may not be happily ever after, but it can certainly be close.

The False Economy of the Snooze Button

31 Mar trisuit

This is a subject I’ve long been passionate about but it’s most definitely been brought to the forefront of my craw since Mister H has taken up triathlons and more importantly, triathlon training.

To be a triathlete requires dedication and perseverance and for some reason, ungodly hours (not to mention lycra). With an intense training regime of 4-5 mornings a week the alarm goes off long before the sparrows have even considered squeaking out a fart.
Now, there are two types of people in the alarm world. The first, the group to which I belong, set the alarm for the last possible moment that you need to get up and then, in a just rip that band-aid straight off fashion, the second you hear it – get up. Then there are ‘the others’.

The others believe that 10 minutes more sleep, multiple times, is actually a lovely start to the morning and they wake feeling like they cheated that pesky alarm. Then they’re often woken by a final alarm that sends them into a panic, they race around like headless chickens muttering that they are now running late, and the stinking alarm is somehow at fault.
Wake up! (speaking metaphorically, not literally, although literally waking up is today’s…..never mind)
Does everybody in bed, ie ME, really need to be awake every 10 minutes until you manage to haul it out into the cold, dark morning to throw yourself out into the terrifying world of pre-dawn exercise?

Of course, I understand the dilemma completely……cold, dark morning/ warm, schnuggly bed……cold, drizzly, dark, foreboding, possibly monster infested morning/ warm, schnuggly, sweet, safe bed complete with warm (if pregnant, flatulent wife)………It doesn’t take Einstein, right?
I suppose the one thing I can be grateful for is that he’s not a honking, clanking, bomp-bomping kind of alarm type of man, nor is he a ‘waking up with friends’ radio talk back kind of alarmist. No, I’m woken to the soothing sounds of ducks gently quacking in my ear. For one brief moment, as I’m pulled from dreamy depths, I can almost imagine I’m Huey, Dewy and Lewy’s long lost sister.

Which brings me to the other thing about triathletes – Lycra.
I get cycle shorts, especially for dudes. I imagine they keep the lads nice and safe from chafe (au contraire, dear reader) and that can only be a good thing, but why the skin tight, wacky coloured lycra top? They sure as hell don’t look (nor smell, in my laundry pile) breathable, so why the uniform?
Mister H recently started mentioning a ‘trisuit’. For the uninitiated this is a glorified and modest version of the ‘mankini’. When it actually arrived in the mail I insisted he put it on and show me immediately. This was not because I was interested in seeing how aerodynamic he looked, nor was it because I wanted to share his excitement for his sport. It was because I thought the sight of my man in a unitard would bring me great mirth. Out he strutted in his grey one piece and I was forced to eat my giggle, my smirk was wiped to the other side of my face….he looked kinda hot.

Perhaps I’ve turned into a triathlon wife by osmosis, or maybe my penchant for lycra was hidden all along.

Let’s go with the former.

DISCLAIMER : Mister H only did this once, and once only. By accident, apparently. Sure, babe. Sure.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,028 other followers

%d bloggers like this: