Meh.

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

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

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

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

:)

Over Christmas Already

Spent the day at Mumndads.

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

I however, do.

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

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

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

Also dodgy neighbours down the road...

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

:)

Perfect Sunday

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

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

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

Spent the afternoon in the vege garden.

Beans and calendula...

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

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

:)

Broken teacup - Broken heart

Yesterday a teacup was broken at our house.

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

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

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

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

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

Rotten little bugger.

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

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

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

Suggestions welcome.

Sigh.

Last Gasp

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

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

Was a degustation meal and I had...

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

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

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

THEN

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

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

THEN

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

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

Nice.

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

:)

Wherefore art thou...

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

Wonders never cease.

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

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

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

:)

Cannot. Stop. Sneezing.

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

sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Odd. So very very odd.

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

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

:)

Parenting Girls

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

:)

NaBloWriMo

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

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


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

YAY Jess.

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

Shouting at the Neighbours

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

What. The. F*ck?

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

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

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

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

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

Yup.  That helped.

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

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

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

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

Me.

Shouting at someone. 

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

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

But now I'm really wondering.