At Christmas time in our house, there are generally two turkeys. The first and obvious one, is the feathered variety whose destiny is to end up on our dinner table come Christmas Day. The other is much larger, squawks a lot, and fusses and flaps about as though being chased by a farmer with a rather large axe. That, would be me! What with cards to send, presents to buy, battling for parking spots and the Christmas crowds at shopping centres, family and other social get togethers, financial strain and the general organisation of Christmas Day, I tend to get a bit frazzled (hey they don't call me panic pants for nothing!). So to save my sanity by not adding another task to my to-do list, I decided to leave my Christmas post until after the event. Kind of a post Christmas wrap up if you will.
Now you'd think by the way I've been talking that I actually do all the cooking on Christmas Day, but noooooo sireeeee, I'll stress for a lot less! Coming from a divorced family, I could alternate Christmas Day amongst various family members (mums, step mums, sisters, step sisters, in-laws, in-law's in-laws, out-laws...the list is endless!) for years to come without having to host the day myself.
I'm feeling very proud today as our beautiful little boy turns one. We threw him a little party on the weekend and he had cake for the first time. I know, I know, there's no going back now he's had a taste of the sweet stuff, and I'll probably spend the next 15 years or so trying to get him to eat an apple rather than a chocolate bar or a biscuit, but to see him scoff his cake down (and when I say 'scoff' I mean 'SCOFF'!) like it was the most delicious thing to ever pass his lips, got me to thinking that babies do have the right idea when it comes to expressing enjoyment of food.
Ok first up apologies for the subject matter, but I figured us mums are pretty immune, having spent the first two to three years of our little one's lives up to our elbows in the stuff. You see, I just love the new commercial for Baby Love nappies...
It really hits the nail on the head or, should I say, gets to the heart of the messy matter. Afterall, which mum hasn't been caught out at the most inopportune time when their little cherub has had a poo explosion AKA 'the number 3's', or 'PE' for the sake this post (and those eating their dinner!). The PE is known for its timing which seems to work in an inverse relationship to whatever the occasion or state of mummy's mind. On the freeway with nowhere to pull over? Your little one is bound to have a PE. Stuck in a queue at the supermarket checkout? Bring on the PE. Slight hangover at 6am in the morning? Hello PE. Just about to race out the door to a party, baby in his or her best threads? PE!
But really my point is not to talk about the PE itself (heaven knows I do enough of that already as you will see) but the fact that us mums DO talk about it. A lot. It's ever been the topic of conversation and analysis in my mum's group...where did the PE occur (usually followed by some titters and nods of sympathy and understanding). What had the baby been eating just prior to the PE? And were there any casualties? Eg: car seat, mummy's skirt, sofa cushion?
If someone had told me 5 years ago that in 5 years time I'd be analysing my babies PE on an almost daily basis, I'd have told them they were crazy. But now the conversation in our household goes something like this:
Fiance, phoning during a break in his busy 12 hour day: 'Hi, how's it going?'
Nic: 'Yeah good, Jackson just did a big poo, the second one today! How was your day?'
Fiance: 'Uh huh! Oh me? Not much really, processed 20 contracts, ran some risk analysis spreadsheets, you know that kinda thing.'
Hmmm, is it any wonder that relationships change when babies come along? You know though, I could talk about something else, but the fact is I am excited about everything baby does, including his PEs... as only a mother could! Awww, cue the Baby Love ad. jingle (courtesy of one Mr Lionel Ritchie)... 'Say you, say me...'
My 11 month old son has recently mastered the art of crawling. Great for him as it opens up a whole new world of exploration. Not so great for mummy who now spends most of her time running around the house after him! If it's not placed up high, nailed down, vacuumed up (oh yes we've had a few little crumbs and other bits of unidentified object go from the floor into the mouth!) or locked up he's into it.
No I'm not waving off some tradesmen who've been working at our house. I'm talking about the other type of plumbers. You know, the rather inelegant phrase that refers to the part of your derriere that has a mind of its own and will not be contained by your jeans? Ok I'll just say it, your ahem, your butt crack. Proper name; your intergluteal cleft. Well, my 'plumbers', or 'intergluteal cleft' as the case may be, causes me a fashion nightmare. Let me explain.
A big thanks to Template Mama (template-mama-freebloggertemplates.blogspot.com) for my fabulous new blog template. Please excuse me while I play around with the design of my blog, things might look a bit messy for a while....enjoy the weekend!
A recent survey of 30 countries found that Australia has the fastest rising supermarket prices in the world. This comes as no suprise to me. I lived in London for 7 years and on a visit back to Australia one year, was shocked at how much prices had risen and how unaffordable groceries were. Even London, one of the most expensive cities in the world, has reasonably priced groceries. Worse still, fruit and veg in Australia is increasingly being imported from overseas which seems ludicrous to me in a country with plenty of sun and a perfect climate for growing fresh produce.
I recently came across a service that delivers fresh fruit and vegetables, milk, bread and even meat right to your front door. Better still it's all locally grown produce and supports Australian farmers, and the cost is competitive againt the major supermarkets. I received my first delivery of fresh fruit and veg yesterday and I'm feeling very hippyish and salt of the earth if I do say so myself. This from me, ex London city chic, lover of convenience food and frequent supporter of food stores attached to service stations. I'm not about to don the wellies, move to the country and live off the land just yet, but you never know...this girl's a changin!
Since I touched very briefly on baby brain in my last post, I thought I'd elaborate a bit more on this most mysterious of afflictions affecting mothers everywhere. Eleven months on from the birth of my beautiful little boy and the one thing (weight gain aside, that's a whole other story!) that lingers still is baby brain.
I've broken the number one cardinal rule of blogging...that of committing to post something regularly and consistently. Infact, my poor blog has been neglected since 5th October! Though I'd like to think with good reason as we've just faced the most hideous of tasks...packing, cleaning and moving house. If you've ever rented a house you well know that the estate agent will expect you to make sure the house is cleaned to within an inch of its life upon vacating the premises, even if it wasn't that clean to begin with.
It's true, I'm completely devoid of an off button! You know the one that allows you to stop after one chocolate biscuit, or switch off after just 2 glasses of wine? I think I may have been born without one and and am missing the gene responsible for controlling over-consumption of indulgent and wickedly delicious food and beverage. For that reason I don't keep much in the way of sweet stuff in the house. When I do, I have to buy his and her treats so my long suffering fiance can stash his at the back of a cupboard where I can't find them!
I love love LOVE my new slow cooker! Ok so I know they've been around since the '70's (the humble Crock Pot) and have been enjoying a resurgence in popularity for a while, but I've always been a bit slow to adopt trends so forgive my enthusiasm.
I've been responsible for a £10 million pound marketing budget. In one quarter I juggled and delivered 22 marketing direct mail packs on time. I once project managed an event that involved 70 members of staff over a period of 6 weeks, working 12 hours a day. And yet managing a home has been by far the hardest thing I've ever done.