Tag Archives: parenting

1

7 May

Kiki turns 1 364 days.

Tomorrow, will be 365, and then you are one.

I can’t believe it. Although I clearly remember the second you were born, it feels like you’ve been here all along, or maybe you’ve just always been with me in one form or another.

You’ve had a couple of colds, you’ve got a couple of teeth, you’ve taken a couple of assisted steps. In many ways, on the grand scheme of babies, you are unremarkable, but that’s only  if you’re not looking properly.

Your great grandmother, Grand Nana, wrote you a letter saying how sometimes you just know that a child is an angel straight from heaven. It sounds a little schmaltzy, but Kiki, you have a light inside you. Such a tiny person, with such a big, shining light.

You just smile at everyone and they can’t help but love you. Your flashing dimples are like a prize that you give freely.

You’ve been known to throw yourself at people for a cuddle. Sometimes you know them, sometimes you don’t. You choose them, though, and make their day.

You’re fierce, too. You defend yourself well against your big brother and I can see you’re fiery. I like that in a girl, although I’m sure by the time you’re 13 I’ll reconsider that sentence, when you’re giving me a run for my money.

My darling, at 12 months you’re trying to walk and trying to talk, and trying to be like your big brother. You love food, often squawking like a gremlin if someone has something and hasn’t offered you any. You’ll put your head down, and determinedly crawl, with the force of a wombat, over to claim some nosh. You don’t care that you only have two bottom teeth. You’ll try anything. Your Papa jokes that the only time you cry is between dinner and dessert.

You have the most amazingly soft skin, and you love to crawl naked on the couch. Up and down. Up and down. Must feel liberating or something because you don’t do it as much with your kit on. I love to cuddle you before bath time. I take your clothes off and just run my hands over your back and arms as you sit on my lap. The feel of you is intoxicating, and fills me with great, big, crazy love.

You have a husky laugh. Sometimes it surprises me because you laugh at the strangest things. I guess you get that from me. One day you, too, will be the only person laughing loudly at the cinema. It’s good to see humor where others don’t. Life is funny at inopportune moments.

kiki turns 1 You’re a very cuddly baby, and when you rest your little head into the crook of my neck, something inside me just melts. These days are going by so fast, and soon you’ll be a toddler, a child, a teen, and then grown. Sometimes it just flashes before me, and I want to hold you tight, envelope you into me and just keep you almost 1.

But then I’d miss all the fun we’re going to have. The learning about each other, and the discussions about life and the fights about freedom, and how much I don’t understand you because I could never possibly have felt like you and all of the crazy stuff that happens before you set off on your own.

I’ll just take a mental snap shot of this moment. I’ll take a gazillion photos, and write a few thousand words so I remember this year.
This has unarguably been one of the hardest years of my life to date, little one. For various reasons.

But let me assure you, that far outweighing the difficulties, this has also been the best year of my life, because you came to complete our family, and in many ways, you completed my heart.

Happy first birthday, Miss Kiki Wiggles. You are truly delicious.

kiki ah 3

Hooking up with Team Ibot over with EssentiallyJess, who is also pretty delicious, coincidently.

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Is the Circus Un-PC?

30 Apr
Disclaimer - Not a real circus elephant....this one's a famous actress.

Disclaimer – Not a real circus elephant….this one’s a famous actress.

As a little girl I really loved the circus.

Not Cirque Du Fancy Pants, Grande Chapiteau type circus, but the real McCoy, Big Top, lions and clowns and folk that date their cousins type circus.

When one was in town a while ago, a little flame of excitement sprang into my belly and I thought ‘cooooooooool’.

I imagined awesome photos for a photo blog, and having a cracking family day out with the colourful, carnival folk. I envisaged myself and D Man sitting there, breathing sighs of awe and wonder at the trapeze, tonguing fairy floss straight from the stick that leaves splinters in your tongue, and squealing with delight at the dancing horses (well, at least, that’s what I would be doing, he’d probably be picking his nose and eating it, or flicking popcorn into the hair of the lady in front)…..but when I mentioned it to a friend they said  ’no way, I don’t give my money to them. They have animals.’

Dancing horses are bad? I guess they are, aren’t they. With their spangly head dresses and scantily clad girls riding them.

Now, I’ll admit that I did think it was illegal to have lions and tigers and bears (oh, my) these days but they make the whole circus idea also got a bit more exciting. D Man LOVES lions and tigers………. now it was suuuuuuuuuuuuper cooooooooool.

Then I felt bad for not being more PC, and animal activist-esque. Is the circus no longer the done thing?

Oh no!! I love the circus. Those ponies are so clever.

Speaking of clever ponies… What about equestrian riding?

I’m sure that some of my readers would be pony lovers, so is equestrian ok? What’s the diff?

Jodhpurs and sensible headwear versus spangled g-strings and tiaras?

Miranda Kerr - splitting the difference.

Miranda Kerr – splitting the difference.

Is it bad that I want my kids to experience the wonder and magic of the Big Top… To smell the saw dust and see the Ring Master call in the clowns.
sexy ringmaster
Obviously, I don’t support emaciated bears or moth eaten lions, but I imagine if the animal is already a circus animal, it can’t be released into the National Park.

Wouldn’t the RSPCA be all over circus’, with their seriously strict codes of practice?

I guess by supporting them it encourages the practice to continue.

The ad for Stardust Circus (it even sounds like magic, doesn’t it?) says that the animals are treated like part of the family, so maybe they’re really loved. Maybe the lions are invited to Sunday roast and the monkeys all get pissed and give each other wedgies, just like real families do.

I’ve been going through the whole thing in my head. If the circus is no longer a PC past time, what about the zoo? Is the zoo out too?

I friggen’ love the zoo.

Does it depend on the level of accuracy in the enclosure – how alike their natural habitat it is, or are they all out?
I get that a flea bitten mangy lion is not a lion in his prime, more than that, it is a crime against nature, but if they are well looked after, does that make a difference?

We went to Mogo Zoo down on the South Coast. It was a small zoo, specialising in endangered species rehabilitation. They had bred some of these endangered species in captivity, thereby propagating the species. That’s a good thing, right?

As long as the animal is endangered, and in a breeding program it’s ok?

Just to recap, as long as it’s endangered,  it didn’t arrive in the country smuggled in a tube up someone’s butt (bird and reptiles, not big game), and is willing to procreate, we’re good to go.

It’s seems like there’s a hell of a lot of grey area here, no?

Anyway, I’m on the fence.

As a child, I loved the circus, as an adult, I get that it’s unethical.

Bloody hell, I hate being an adult sometimes.

What are your thoughts?

Would you go to the circus?

Blogging on Tuesday with my fellow iboters over at EssentiallyJess.

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Mad Cow and Gluten-Free Chocolate Biscuits

23 Apr gluten free, guilt free chocolate biscuit

I wasn’t planning on blogging these tasty little morsels but, after I bragged about them on Facebook on Saturday, I was asked for the recipe.

I was stuck in the house on a torrentially wet day. It was the kind of day you wonder if you should crack out the Paddle Pop sticks and start building an Ark, but my glue gun is AWOL and GluStick was never gonna cut that shit.

D Man had had a bad night with a fever and I thought an early morning dose of Panadol was a wise move.

Au contraire, mon petite chou fleurs.

His morning milk curdled and my Big Gay Salmon (official colour title) couch was the recipient of a candy-pink Linda Blair special. Of course, I felt for him, but I also felt for the BGS couch, oh, and my hair. Once it’s in your hair you’re smelling da vom-vom all damn day.

sick d manHe dozed on and off for hours, with his fever ebbing and flowing. He’d pop his head up for a few minutes, like a little blonde meer cat, then rest it back down as if it was too heavy for his neck.

It really breaks your heart when they’re poorly.

My head goes to all kinds of weird places thinking it’s some horrible exotic disease, rather than some 24 hr bug. Maybe the fever will give him brain damage or spark epilepsy, or, or, or any one of many other horrible fates…I’m a rather dramatic type.

As sad as it was to see my external heart ailing on the sofa, it was nice to have a few moments of peace.

Straight to hell, me.

I needed distraction. There was only one thing for it.

Biscuits.

Not for him. He was sick.

For me.

After a couple of abysmal false starts, I’m really enjoying experimenting with coconut flour.
It definitely has a slightly cakey consistency but I can work with that.

Coconut flour is very high fibre so needs more liquid, and you use much less of it than you would wheat four…..which is lucky because it ain’t the most economical of flours. It does last quite well, however, as you actually use about a quarter as much as normal flour. That said, you don’t cook with it like normal flour at all.

It will never make an awesome crusty sourdough (I discovered it kind of ferments in the process and goes somewhat boozy smelling and bubbly – could be my get  rich quick scheme? Boozy bread), but it can make for some interesting and healthy baked goods.

I’m learning that the fats in coconut oil and coconut flour can actually aid in weight loss. The medium chain triglycerides are digested differently than other fats. I won’t bang on about it, but if you’re interested, read about it. I’m not actually trying to lose weight, but many people would contest that coconuts are full of fat.

It’s good fat, that’s all.

These chocolate biscuits cheered me up no end. All thoughts of childhood disease were banished.  In fact, the reason there’s only one in the picture is because it’s the last one left… I needed to be sure I banished them bad thoughts good.

gluten free, guilt free chocolate biscuit

What you will need :

  • 1/4 cup butter or coconut oil
  • 1/3 cocoa powder
  • 3 eggs
  • 3 tablespoons sugar, plus 15 drops of stevia (if you’re not watching your sugar, use 1/3 cup sugar)
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt
  • 1/4 teaspoon vanilla
  • 1/4 cup coconut flour, whisk it separately in a bowl to remove lumps first.
  • a few cheeky dark chocolate chips if you’re so inclined

What you need to do:

Preheat oven to 175C

In a saucepan melt butter over low heat. Add cocoa powder and stir to combine. Remove and leave to cool.

In a bowl, combine eggs, sugar, salt, and vanilla, and stir in your cocoa mixture. Whisk your coconut flour in ensuring there are no lumps.

Leave to rest for 5 minutes, it will thicken and puff slightly as the flour absorbs the liquid.

Add choc chips now if you’re going to.

Drop teaspoon sized dollops onto baking paper on a tray and whack in the oven for 14-15 minutes. Makes about 16-18 cookies.

Store in the fridge.

Easy, ready in 20, and yummy! The recipe was courtesy of the Bruce Fife, N.D. Cooking With Coconut Flour Book.

It turns out that we do have something a little bit exotic, if you like a little farmyard with your childhood illness.

Hand, foot and mouth disease.

Just the words make me think of Mad Cows going crazy and eating each other.
Apparently, it’s super common in kids, and highly contagious.

After my blues last week, I’d filled my week this week with great, fun, nurturing outings for us, but now we are sentenced to a week of quarantine.

That should lift my spirits.

Better make some more biscuits….. think this calls for some real ones, no?

Are you a comfort eater?

Eat to live or live to eat?

 

Hooking up with the fabbo Jess, for Ibot. Head to EssentiallyJess for some more blog love.

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You’re not Wonder Woman, and that’s ok.

19 Apr

Wonder Woman bakes bread too

I had a little meltdown this week. It wasn’t really a private affair.

In fact, it was a little bit public.

Not public like pulled-my-undies-up-over-my head-and-wailed-in-a-supermarket type public, but public enough that a few of my friends rallied and came to my aid as they could sense that my frantic waving may actually be me drowning.

Public enough that some of those friends saw my tears because I felt squashed by the enormity of this playing grown-ups malarky.

After chatting and crying and laughing and drinking lots of tea, I feel like I’m back on top, but I’m left with a residual embarrassment that my friends now may not see me as a croissant baking (yes, I will milk it) super homemaker, juggling children, writing and chainsaws, all without breaking a sweat.

Now the truth is out there.

I am not Wonder Woman.

I would totally have a crack at wearing her outfit, but I would be nothing more than a pouchy-bellied, hairy-legged, mortal wearing a costume.

Why does this shame me?

It makes me wonder about women in general, I mean, what is up with us chicks, and dudes?
Dudes aren’t immune to this overwhelming sensation of being swallowed, surely.

The exhausting newborn phase, the frustrating toddler phase, the mind-bending child rearing business/juggling act while you work, keep the house, tend the garden, have nutritious dinners on the table not just once, but 7 times a week, and keep your sanity in check, day in and day out, is a damned hard slog and no one escapes without feeling like it’s all too hard sometimes.

I must once more applaud the solidarity of the sisterhood (sorry, lads. It’s not an exclusive club per se).
I cried out and my girls were there by my side.

On one sunny morning, on my back deck, 4 of my girls and I drank tea and talked about where we’re all at and suddenly I realised that this shit of mine is not unique.

I am not a rare species, so unusual that no one can perceive my plight.

I am not alone.

My friends were saying their relationships aren’t perfect and their children aren’t perfect. Other people’s lives aren’t as amazing as they may seem on the outside. One friend said she used to hear her neighbour yelling at her kids and wonder how you could speak to your darlings like that…. and now she feel like she has become that lady.

I sometimes feel like that lady.

I am not Wonder Woman.

Do you ever feel like that lady?

Probably, because you are not Wonder Woman either.

I mentioned on my FB page that I felt like I was not coping very well last week, and my online community poured love onto my page. How awesome is that?
Some people I’ve physically met, but others don’t know me in person, but they were there with advice and love.

Some great words of wisdom came from that. I want to share a few, you know, in case you ever feel like going for a long walk off a short pier -

If you start to feel like it’s all too hard, call a friend, and go for a cup of tea.

Take a walk in the sun, or dance to some music that you love.

Honour your feelings. Allow yourself to feel what you’re feeling, but be kind to yourself.

Nurture yourself.

Slow down and breathe.

Have a date night.

My personal favourite was have a whiskey. Whiskey always helps.

I just really want to impress upon you, if you’re feeling blue, you’re not alone.

Tell someone you’re struggling because there is no shame in not being Wonder Woman, and sharing the struggle brings forth wonderful women…. and wonderful men.

Flogging and flashing with some great linky link ups,  With Some Grace,  Hi, Mama G, thanks for having me!

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A Prehistoric Birthday and a Dinosaur Cake

16 Apr lighting candles on the dinosaur cake

I found out recently that children with above average intelligence are referred to as Gifted and Talented, or G&T.

I imagine you’d want to be pretty careful going around calling your kid G&T, though, as people may lick them inappropriately.

Awkward.

I’m not entirely sure what the criteria is to be classified as Gifted and Talented.
I think my kids are awesome but I don’t know if they are displaying evidence of superior intelligence.

Talent? Hells yeah. D Man recently busted out some Hammer Time and I damn near called Johnny Young…. except his reinvention flopped like Donald Trump’s coiff in the rain.

Gifted? A picture speaks a thousand words.

That's what gifted looks like, no?

That’s what gifted looks like, no?

I heard recently that children that show a deep interest in dinosaurs may possibly have superior intelligence. If that truly be the case, then my boy is a genius.

We’ve been all about primordial beings for ages.

Eons.

Not technically eons, as he’s only just turned three, but the train obsession turned into a dinosaur obsession about a year ago and it’s stuck like poo in a bear’s fur.

A day is not done until I have pierced my instep with a triceratops, or discovered a velocoraptor in my butt crack. Twelve months ago I didn’t know my sauropods from my theropods but I’ve had a crash course and I’m hoping someone may soon label me as gifted. Or at least a dino-nerd.

Or maybe they’ll stick with special.

When D Man’s third birthday loomed, it was obvious that it must be a Dinosaur Affair.

dinosaur costume

One of his favorite things in the whole wide word is a trip to see the dinosaurs at the museum, and we went on Monday to kick off his birthday week.

visiting dinosaurs at the museum

Po’face, anyone??? He’s having a great time, I swear.

We also had an archeological dig to mark the occasion. We chipped and hacked at the plaster block to reveal the Tyrannosaurus Rex bones.

archeological dig digging for dinos

You know I love a little cake challenge. You may remember my Hoot Cake from last year, so this year I knew it was all about dinosaur cake. I had never seen one, and the Women’s Weekly Birthday Cake bible didn’t have one so I was flying blind.

I was never going to try to get a gluten-free, sugar-free cake past the toddlers, so I decided I would make a big-ass lamington cake. I thought it would have less sugar because it doesn’t have icing. Does it?

Probably not.

I used 70% dark chocolate and thinned it with milk to make a ganache sort of chocolate coating rather than icing. Many lamington recipes use heaps of sugar in the chocolate icing, so I reckon we came out just on top.

But, you know, it’s a birthday cake after all.

The sponge turned out more dense than I expected, I would say it’s more like a butter cake, but it was yummy and there was only one little piece of dino left, so I reckon he was a RAWRRRRRRing success (except that momentary intake of breath when Mister H suggested it looked like an angry kangaroo.)

I based my cake recipe on this one from Eat, Little Bird, and I doubled it, but she used a KitchenAid, which I don’t have (are you reading this KitchenAid???), so I used ye olde worldy electric beater.

Such a peasant. dinosaur birthday cake

I made the method up, and winged the rest.

This is to make a birthday cake for 25 people.

What you will need :

For the cake -

  • 370g plain flour, sifted (I really did it this time)
  • 370g butter, room temperature
  • 6 eggs, room temperature (which should also weigh about 370g in shell, funnily enough)
  • 460g caster sugar (I know, I know!!)
  • 80g cornflour
  • 4 teaspoons baking powder
  • 4 teaspoons vanilla paste, or extract
  • 250ml milk

For the icing :

  • 150g 70% chocolate, broken into pieces
  • 150ml milk
  • 1 1/4 cups of dessicated coconut
  • green and red food colouring
  • a squeeze of cream cheese icing with cocoa for claws, I had some left over from cupcakes or you could cut liquorice.
  • a marshmallow for an eye
  • Tic Tacs for teeth

Preheat oven to 175C fan forced, or 180C if it’s not.

Line a deep flat cake tin or baking tray with baking paper. Mine is 3 x 9 x 2 inches.

Cream together your butter and sugar until creamy and pale. At least 5 minutes of good beating.

Add your eggs one at a time and continue beating on high for a further 5-7 minutes.  Add vanilla, and milk.

Turn beater onto medium and combine your flours and baking powder in a few batches. Try not to beat too much at this stage, but ensure it’s all combined.

Pop into your tray and stick in the oven for about 45-50 minutes, or until a skewer comes out clean. If the top browns too quickly you will need to cover it with foil.

Turn out to cool on a rack, bottom up, and then freeze overnight if you have the time. It will make the cutting part a lot easier. The flat bottom is now the top of your cake.

dinosaur cake ready to cut

Remove from freezer and divide in half through the middle. The best way to do this is run the knife around the entire edge, where you think the midpoint is, first. Then ensure that every cut around the knife is on your line.
Spread your raspberry jam on the bottom and sandwich together.

raspberry jam for lamington cakeUsing a small knife trace your shape on the top before making any bold moves. You can see how I shaped mine. When you’re happy with it, cut away!

I put foil on my serving tray and then a layer of baking paper on top as the decorating was MESSY! I removed baking paper before serving.

Rearrange shapes to suit and secure the tail with cut skewers. I did the spikes separately, as an afterthought because I had left over bits.

Screen Shot 2013-04-15 at 9.43.59 PM

Create a bain marie in a bowl over a saucepan and add your chocolate and milk and stir until melted. Leave to cool slightly. Meanwhile, put one cup of coconut into a bowl, add a few drops of green colouring and mix through with wet hands that you’ve shaken the excess water off. Do the same with the final quarter cup of coconut and the red colouring.

Take your chocolate sauce and gently spoon in on the top and push it over the edges. You will need to get your hands in there and smooth the chocolate sauce on every single little nook and cranny. It will drip on the baking paper. Spoon chocolate over your triangles and gently press the red coconut on all but the side you will stick to the cake.

chocolate on dinosaur lamington cake

Once satisfied you need to sprinkle your coconut over the entire cake. It’s tricky to get on the edges, so I pressed it and threw it!
I had left over chocolate icing from the cupcakes in the week to make the claws, but if I didn’t I would use a liquorice strap. Super easy.

Dab some Tic Tacs in your chocolate and stick them on, then cut your eye to your taste.

head close up for dinosaur cake

We had a little party, with a couple of friends. I organised all sorts of fun games, but didn’t play a single one because I was eating sausages and drinking wine.

I am officially shit at kid’s parties.

But I make up for it in cake.

Happy birthday, my darling little stinker. I love you more than life itself.

lighting candles on the dinosaur cake
birthday boy blowing the candle

Hooking up with Jess for some hot tuesday group action. Thanks for having us, as always, Miss J!

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Three

10 Apr

Three years ago, after 22 long hours, I held my son in my arms, and in that moment my entire life changed forever.

I have always wanted children and known they were in my future and I couldn’t wait to hold him, even before I was pregnant, my arms longed for him.

Even though I had this longing, I don’t know if I was fully prepared for what it actually means. I mean, you know about the serious lack of sleep heading your way, but nothing really prepares you for the endless months of sleep deprivation.
You realise that, unlike a horse or cow, a baby human is completely dependent on you for years, leaving you little space to be you anymore.
You become a new you. Most of the time it is fine, but sometimes I pine for the old me.
My spontaneity has gone. I have become kinda o.l.d.

Today was my big boy’s third birthday. I have such nostalgia today but it’s not for him. It’s for me. My life.

Maybe something has inherently happened at Terrible Twos has given way to Fucking Awful Threes, but the last few weeks I’ve felt like perhaps I’m not quite as equipped for this job as I first thought.

Yesterday I fantasised about going for a walk. On my own. And not stopping…… I imagined the whole scenario.

I’d drop the kids to the neighbours so they’d be safe until Mister H came home and by then I’d have just disappeared. I have always had a sense of the dramatic.
I used to think the missing persons people had met with foul play, but maybe some of them were just tired of picking up after everyone and being pierced with shrill syllables.

I don’t really want to disappear.

It was just a fantasy. Sometimes I fantasise I’m on The Voice too.

I just thought maybe out there on my walk I wouldn’t feel so torn in pieces. Trying to fulfil everyone’s whims is a fuller than full time job but my time card doesn’t get any extra hours.

There is a new tone in Mister Three’s repertoire that pierces my brain and I can’t reason with him. The Super Nanny would shake her head at me, but I really don’t know how to parent this new person in my house.

I love him with my whole, entire being, but he is grinding me down.

I also wasn’t prepared for what children would do to my relationship.

Three years ago my boyfriend became my baby daddy, and something changed in that. Now instead of nights dining and drinking, we play musical beds until the sun comes up and then he’s gone at dawn for the day and it’s me left. I miss my boyfriend. He’s become kinda o.l.d. too.

My friend’s husband said the problem with us girls is that we have too much time on our hands to think and internalise our feelings, and that perhaps in this time we focus too much on the negative stuff.

He makes a valid point. The hours and days of child rearing are so long, it’s easy for your thoughts to turn sour and begin picking at yourself like a crazy bird picks it’s feathers.

Maybe it is as simple as choosing happiness… and wearing earplugs so I can’t hear the whinging.

I am nostalgic, this evening. As my baby turns three.

On another note, I ate a lot of chocolate cupcakes today….. didn’t help the blues but shit they were yummy.

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Toddler Guerilla Tactics and a Sausage Roll

15 Mar Homemade sausage rolls

sausage roll ingredients Before I had children I had a very clear image of the type of parent I would be.

I would always maintain cool composure, because everyone knows children can smell fear. I would never, ever smack, nor allow junk food, and enforce a strict bedtime. My children would be clean, and my house would be tidy with just one little play area for toys.

Oh, and I would always remain fun. Naturally, I’d be the funnerest mum ever.

Fast forward almost 3 years and I can pretty much see y’all sniggering into your cup of tea.

Lego, Little People and dinosaurs are all over my floor, my kids’ faces are smeared with snot and breakfast and the piles of washing, both clean and dirty, are mammoth, and I’m sitting at my computer instead of getting onto it.

I’d like to say I’ve learned to pick my battles, but I probably haven’t. Sometimes I feel like I’m getting beaten by a little guerilla toddler.

Toddler terrorism is rife in my house, and I’m ashamed to say that I am not above bribery, and depending on the circumstance, I may even just succumb to the tyranny.

One fine example was at oh five hundred hours this morning, after I’d been up a gazillion times with a sick Kiki, and having a supremely snotty nose myself, I heard D Man saying he didn’t want to sleep anymore.

I wasn’t havin’ that.

rolling the sausage rolls

Usually, I can stealthily commando in, shove Ratty in his arms, cover him up, and be out of the room before he could say ‘I want milk’, but this morning he said -

I want the fluffy blankie.

Shit. I’d put it away. In Kiki’s room.

I said gently, No darling, it’s sleepy time now, we’ll get the fluffy blankie out of Kiki’s room in the morning. Stay in bed until it’s light outside. Night night.

I WANT THE FLUFFIE BLANKIE, shrieked my little dictator, (and I’m sure I heard a German accent – is that reference kosher? Probably not.)

A few things ran through my mind, and of course, I know I should have stood my ground, but all hell would have broken loose, everyone would have been crying and up for the day and I just wasn’t ready for that shit.

So, Mini Despot got his blankie.

And I got half and hour more sleep.

Was it worth it?

Yes.

Another one were having currently is over tomato sauce. Boy has discovered the joy of the tangy, sweet/sour condiment from the Heinz Gods, and I agree that some foods must have sauce. A pie, fish and chips, hell, even shepard’s pie, but not everything to cross the dinner table needs to be doused.

Broccoli, for instance, does not need sauce.

I put my foot down over this one, and I put it down good.

Perhaps it’s easier to stand my ground in the light of day……thankfully, these little sausage rolls a begging to be loved with sauce.

When it came to these, Boy had his way.

sausage rolls fresh from the ovenHealthy Mini Sausage Rolls

Yield : 25, depending on how big you make them

What you will need :

  • 350g pork
  • 1/2 onion, finely chopped
  • 1/2 zucchini, finely grated
  • 1/2 carrot, finely grated
  • 2 teaspoon fennel seeds
  • 1 teaspoon mustard seeds
  • 3 sheets ready rolled puff pastry
  • 1 egg yolk
  • sesame and poppy seeds
  • sauce to serve

What you need to do :

Preheat oven to 200C

Place your fennel and mustard seeds in a dry frypan over a medium heat and toast until lightly golden and fragrant. Pop into a mortar and pestle and give them a good bashing.

Lightly fry your onion until it is translucent.

Toss your pork, veges and onion and spices into a bowl and mix together thoroughly. Season well.

Cut your sheet of pastry into three equal slices and using a tablespoon to measure out your mixture, roll up your little sausage rolls until the mixture is finished.

Brush rolls with egg yolk and sprinkle with the seeds, before popping them into the oven until they are golden brown – about 20 mins.

Serve with sauce, of course.

Homemade sausage rolls

If you need inspiration for Toddler Friendly food, why not check out my ebooks?
For a measly $15 you can have two books worth of kid friendly food ideas that the whole family will love!

I’m flogging my blog with Grace today over at FYBF

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Can you over use ‘I Love You’?

10 Mar

i_love_you_in_heart_candy_postcards-rb9fa439ec6e148cc8b10f70dcf76ecf3_vgbaq_8byvr_512An Italian, an Aussie and a Serbian lady were chatting in the supermarket…….

It sounds like the beginning of a joke but it’s one of the things I love about this multi-cultural area I live in.

Kiki was trying to share her sucked, soggy, cardboard cracker with the dark haired, slightly older lady behind us and with her simply pretending to share the slobbery treat with my girl, we sparked a most thought provoking conversation.

You see, she was a mama to a couple of those mystical creatures…..teenage boys.

I asked her if they were as the legend tells – uncommunicative, monosyllabic and mysterious?

‘Not my boys. I wouldn’t let them’.

She explained that although they do spend more time in their rooms, being smelly and  probably sending themselves blind, but she ensures that every evening they talk about their day and she listens to their interests, even if she doesn’t share them, and at the end of the chat, they hug and she tells them she loves them.

And they respond in kind.

Because that’s how she grew up in her big Italian family.

The thick accented Serbian lady who was scanning my groceries was listening to our exchange and apologised for piping in before saying -

‘You don’t tell ‘I love you’, you show it.’

Interesting……… I love a check-out debate.

She went on to explain in her culture, talking about ‘the love’ is not the done thing. You just show it.

I’ve always been showered with the words, so this thought is foreign to me.

We went on to talk about how all three of us were making sure our children knew how much we loved them. How we were expressing our love differently to our family, or partner’s family, and breaking the love barrier in order to give our children something that we/they did not.

The Serbian lady said that she tries to say it because she laments not hearing it more from her mother, although she always knew that her Mother cared for her.

When Mister H and I were first dating the subject of saying ‘I love you’ came up. I don’t think we were actually saying it to each other yet, but this conversation was probably me fishing – can’t remember clearly……what I can remember was him saying that in his experience ‘I love you’ is not something said between family members, it was something for lovers.

I was shocked. Who made up that crazy rule?

I’m a super expressive person.

I fling I love yous around like high kicks at the Moulin Rouge.

I say it to my buddies when I hang up the phone….if I talk to them more than once in any given day, they’ll cop it a couple of times. It’s just something I do….not so much at the gynaecologists, but you know what I mean.

Does it cheapen it, if it’s said regularly? Can you wear it out?

I never get sick of hearing someone say I love you.

They don’t need to be gazing into my eyes and ensuring the sentiment goes straight to the very core of my being. Not every I love you is like that. They can be flippant, disposable ones too.

I. Love. You.

I love you.

Love ya.

I tell my children all the time.

When they’re being silly I say it in a robot voice. When they’re asleep I whisper it in their perfect shell ears. I tell them how special they are and that I will love them unconditionally…..they don’t even know what that means yet, but I do.

I used to say it all the time to my boyfriend, but now that he’s my husband I think perhaps I don’t say it as often. Doesn’t mean I don’t feel it, I just forget, I guess. That’s a bit shitty.
I always try to say it last thing at night, so it softly shrouds him in his sleep.

Of course, I show my family I love them all the time.

If they look hard enough they could see it in all the friggen’ folds of washing, and the wiping of their stinky butts and snotty noses. I couldn’t do that if I didn’t love them.
In all fairness, Mister H takes care of his own butt and nose, but I show him in other ways.

I think saying it, impressing it into and onto them, is important.

It’s a bloody jungle out there, and sometimes the most comforting thing in the world is when a dear one says ‘I love you’.

It can give me strength. It can give me courage.

It’s like a safe, warm place created by three simple syllables.

And, Lord knows, this crazy world, so full of harsh and ugly words, needs more safe places.

Do you say I love you regularly, or do you think is over used?

If you know anyone who would enjoy this, why don’t you show you love them by flicking it over to them…..you know you wanna.

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How To Prevent Your Toddler From Killing Your Baby.

27 Feb

baby-safe

If I had a dollar for every time I said ‘Be gentle with your sister’ I could buy myself a First Class one way ticket to somewhere peaceful where pool boys massaged my feet whilst I drank cocktails the size of my head.

One moment of relaxed vigilance and my baby could be unwittingly suffocated, choked, or just ridden off into the sunset by her exuberant big brother.

Today, I popped over to Sleeping Could Be Easy to give my friend Nina a few tips on how to keep her gorgeous toddler away from her soon-to-be newborn twins.

She said this gave her a chuckle, but also made her scared…..

She should be.

I have marvelled many times about the fact that second children are ever conceived, in light of the fact that first children really play havoc with your sex life, but something I have observed in the last 9 months, is that it’s a miracle our second children make it to their first birthdays.

It’s generally not that our first child is malicious, but more inclined to love the new baby a tad fiercely……

To read the rest of this post pop over here

Have you caught your toddler being over zealous?

If you know someone that’s got a new baby and a toddler, flick this over to them.

You may save a baby’s life!

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Ikea Olympics and Lost Children. Doping highly recommended.

19 Feb

Kiki's new bedAs many of you are aware, Mister H is away for ten days overseas and I’m playing single mummy for the duration.
I’ve called reinforcements in the form a couple of stunt husbands who are doing tag teams.

My first StuntHub arrived with Lime Pannacotta and Tuille (Who the hell makes tuille? Obviously, my stunt husband is gay) and a couple of bottles of vino collapso, and I bought some bubbly to celebrate life, because life ought to be celebrated, no?

I admit freely to being a Cadburys Alcoholic (a glass and a half every day) but I rarely have more than two glasses……there is no need to divulge exactly how much was consumed but I must confess to being a tad surprised and a little impressed (and supremely dusty) as I carried the debrit (read: evidence) to the recycle bin the following morning at dawn’s crack…..because children care not for the over hung and love to wake the crusty.

StuntHub and I had set a date to hit Ikea in the morning, as I needed another bed to sleep my second Stunt Hub, Aunty Prusty. That’s not her real name, but D Man couldn’t say Krusty, which incidentally is also not her real name, but it stuck.

A Nurofen, a plate of pancakes, and a coffee the size of my head later, I was ready to worship the Norse god of affordable homewares.

Have you ever been to Ikea on the weekend?
Ooooof….Don’t do it.

With Kiki in the sling, and D Man holding my hand, the StuntHub and I plunged into the sea of people, shuffling around the grey path with their stubby little pencils, looking at storage solutions they never knew they needed.

In Ikea every man is created equal. Whether you’re a muscular, tattooed couple with kids sporting mullets, or aging lesbians with pale purple hair, once your trolley is laden with flat packs you’ve signed on for the Ikea Olympics. You’re ducking and weaving and racing your way to the finish line, stuffing packets of napkins and meatballs under your arms as you go.

D Man was perky all morning, but shortly after diving into the tidal mass, he began to eye off the furniture, and not in a Interior-Design-Prodigy kind of way.
I’d turn my back for a moment and he’d be laying down on a couch, a bed or a pile of rugs.

This was when I realised that perhaps he didn’t feel very well.

If I was ever going to win Mother of the Year, this would be where I would have turned on my heel and gone home, but once you’re on the pathway, following the little arrows projected onto the floor, there is NO GOING BACK…..you cannot swim upstream, even if you’re clutching a salmon coloured pillow.

We fought our way around as I fought the squeezing sensation somewhere deep behind my eyeballs, loading up our flatbed trolley in a warehouse full of marital issues waiting to happen. They say a couple that can assemble Ikea together is a couple for life.

A turned back and the blink of an eye later, your worst Ikea nightmare happened…..D Man was gone.
He wasn’t in Aisle 7, nor Aisle 8, nor Aisle 6.
Shit. This was going to look very bad when Mister H came home.

‘We don’t have D Man anymore, darling, but we have a new bed!’

I started to call his name, a little cranky he’d wandered off. I walked in one direction, no D Man. I walked in the other, no D Man.
So, I really started to call his name, no longer cranky but with that sickening rising panic that tasted like bile……I was the crazy lady with messy hair and terror in her eyes, stale old wine breath and baby on her hip, screaming for her lost kid in a crowded shop.

It’s funny how you never really think ‘they’re probably hiding’, you always automatically think they’ve been abducted, by some Ikea predator.
People just looked at me. Not one person offered to help.

I would have helped.

No matter how crazy the lady looked.

My heart rate was going through the roof and I started looking for a staff member to help and then StuntHub walked into my line of vision about 20 metres away, holding a pale D Man in his arms.

He’d been lying down.

On top of some flat packs.

It was time to pay for those napkins in my armpit and take this lad home.

I discovered two things on that fateful day.

Never go to Ikea on a Sunday morning with a hangover, and you don’t need a husband if you have an Allen key.

Like Kiki’s new bed?

Hooking up with the lovely EssentiallyJess, for IBOT.

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