Bear necessities

Interesting priorities emerge as packing for an overseas holiday for a family of five

draws closer.

Mr Boozle is reaching for his bike riding gear as his first priority,

practically salivating at the thought

of tearing wildly down mountainsides in the vicinity of the Grand Canyon.

(Yes, we have travel insurance...

though I reckon there is a clause which prevents middle aged men hurting themselves

doing stupid things from making a claim)

Eldest of the Boozle offspring is working out which books will

give him the most hours of reading time

and how many we can put on an e-reader.

Middle Boozle child has been persuaded that his rock collection

is perhaps not needed,

which is more than I can say for the littlest,

who is, at this point in time, insisting on packing her maracas.

(As you do when you are five apparently)

My first packing priority,

even before knitting,

(Yes, let me repeat that:

Even. Before. Knitting)

is Jean Sibelius.

JS is a little bear that I bought from a Finnish kiosk in 1987

when I was an exchange student.

He is my travelling buddy.

My other travelling companions may fluctuate

but he is consistently by my side

(well, in my luggage)

He is a great companion.

Not too big, not too small.

Doesn't snore or fart or have toilet emergencies.

Doesn't complain about being snuck into hand luggage 

rather than getting his own seat.

Doesn't whinge or demand lollies or constantly ask

"Are we there yet?

He has climbed the Eiffel Tower and walked up to the Colosseum.

He has seen St Paul's cathedral and the gondolas in Venice.

He has seen Barcelona and the Norwegian Fjords.

Indeed, he has backpacked around Greece

and Combi-vanned around Europe.

He has been to numerous family visits home,

sewing weekends,

hospital visits,

school reunions.

You name it.

And, as a true cliche, he gets his photo taken whenever he comes across a famous land mark.

He has been photographed with the Leaning Tower of Pisa and Big Ben.

Amongst our (still yet to be sorted) 2001 overseas photos,

he was with us every step of the way.

So Jean Sibelius is my first priority.

He is out and waiting patiently.

Now, onto my knitting...

Meat for non-vegetarians

I wouldn't make a good vegetarian.

I am a butcher's daughter and I don't like mushrooms. 

Not a good start.

If you don't like meat recipes, look away now.

This is seriously good.

I used to make it a lot when hubby and I were D.I.N.K.S,

before we lost our enjoyment and passion for cooking

as seems to happen when you are needing to feed 3 children

and try to get at least 2 out of 3 of them to eat what you are cooking.

I am a have-to-have-precise-amounts of ingredients kind of gal

If you are too,
tough cheddar.

You will have to forgive me as this is a throw-in-to-taste recipe.

BEST EVER THAI BRAISED LAMB SHANKS

Season Frenched (or not) lamb shanks with salt and pepper

then seal in a hot pan and remove.

(I don't use salt at this point as the later sauces 

cover any salt cravings)

Cook in a large pan:

chopped onions

chopped garlic

julienned ginger

whole chilli, sliced in half

chopped coriander roots

Stem of lemon grass, edge chopped

Add oyster sauce and ketjap manis

(lots)

(and then some more)

Return shanks to pot.

Add chicken stock and kaffir lime leaves.

Cover and cook an hour till tender

(I cook for hours.

I have tried this in a slow cooker and it doesn't work as well.

Best on the stove top)

Serve with rice (or even mashed spuds)

I serve with a side dish of stir fried healthy things 

like snow peas, capsicum, bok choy, baby corn etc.

Sorry that you can't photograph taste.

Lamb shanks are not the most photogenic food in the world.
They have a face only a mother shank could love

but man, they taste mighty fine.

Enjoy!

Green.

Unpicking seams and re-sewing a green op shop dress so that it fits.

Knitting more hats.

(Rikke hat- Sarah Young. Rav'd here)

Finally finishing a green skirt cut out months ago.

(Nicole Mallalieu's A Line skirt.

Fabulous pattern)

Sewing granny squares instead of crocheting them for a change.

(Ottobre women's tee 303)

Wearing my hat-that-looks-suspiciously-like-a-snail-having-a-snooze-on-my-head.

Cos everyone needs a hat that looks like a snail, right?

(Slouchy beehive hat- Flora Cheung- Rav'd here.)

Making clothes for holidays in the American desert.

(Hot Pattern's Cool, Calm and Cowl necked top)

Knitting a green jumper with lush, lime-ish yarn

that is beautiful to wear.

(Chandail cardigan- Triona Murphy. Rav'd here.)

I like green. 

This week..16th August, 2012...Oh, who am I kidding?

This month...the past 4 weeks...

...My children are being overly gracious and very forth coming
with their "thank you"s for taxi driving them,
letting them go to the school disco
and even for their dinner.
All that whinging about not being appreciated
seems to have finally paid off.

...We can attest that yes, indeed, live in Australia
and kangaroos will hop down the city streets.
Well, at least, koalas might climb (and pee in) your gum tree.



Little Winifred tunic-
Sarah Ronchetti

...Doing Zumba with a chair somehow makes me feel like I am pole dancing

...I am wondering if you can get banned from entering California if you arrive
with tan-free legs.

(mirror.co.uk)

...My oldest asked "Who won the Olympic Games?"
It is so good to see the end of that stupid Olympic Medal tally
where nothing counts but how many gold have been won.
How can society and the media dare make these athletes who are the best in their countries and the world
feel like a failure because they haven't won an Olympic medal,
let alone a gold one?

...I went on my annual interstate road trip

complete with op shopping, loads of wine and chocolate,

late nights and the company of gorgeous like-minded crafters.

(creativequiltkits.com)

...I am bemused that a fabric line called "Down Under" (Mint Blosssom Studio) has prints of  Kiwis

and, according to one review,  "spiny ant-eaters" on it.

(uncrate.com)

...the more that I think about my family in a 30 foot RV travelling around the Grand Canyon,
the more I worry that we will end up channelling the Griswolds from a National Lampoon's Vacation movie.



Liesl cardigan-
Ysolda Teague

...I finally beat my nemesis in the knitting pattern world
but I never want to make it again.




Funky Pants- Crafty Mamas

...I have been sewing. Lots.

...School bullies suck
and I want to take my beautiful boy,
smother him with hugs
and turn back time
so that he (and I) don't have to face the crap that comes with growing up
out there in the big, wide world just yet.

50 Shades of Reality

(pinterest.com)

As you may know from a previous post,

I have been reading the 50 Shades trilogy.

I am now wading (a good description I think) my way through the last (and definitely the least) book.

I can honestly say that I have realised a few things about myself from reading the books.

I have learnt that I never want to be so wealthy and self-absorbed
that I would expect my housekeeper to clean my sex toys or bondage room.

I don't find the thought of someone feeding me wine via their mouth
after they have been eating cold dolmades
at all titillating.

I have realised that my favourite tie of my hubby's is the one that I bought him years ago
and is still his favourite,
even though he has never used it to tie me to the bedhead.

Someone, somewhere, may be enjoying multiple orgasms multiples time a day
just from having their nipples tweaked
(I should be so lucky)
but really, as a mum of 3 kids and with a hubby working full-time,
I can't see it happening here any time soon.
Christian and Ana Grey may be able to fit repeated frequent sex romps
in to their busy, billion dollar empire
but I know that I can't.
I doubt I could even if I was 20 years younger and child-free.
Even a quiet night in front of the telly or a game of pool for them
ends up horizontally.

As much as I love and adore Mr Boozle,
he is never, ever going near my pink bits with a razor.
Ever.

(And I am sure that as much as Mr Boozle loves and adores me,
he would never, ever want to go near my pink bits with a razor either.
Ever.)

(mimosanthemorning.com)

But the thing that I have realised most is that
reading books with so much full-on sex in them is not necessarily a good thing.

It is like repeated exposure to violence.

You get desensitized.

Apparently repeated and frequent exposure to hot, graphic, perfect sex

has the same effect.

At the end of a reading session,

the last thing that I want is nookie.

Not what Mr Boozle was hoping for when he found out that I was reading them, I might say.

(welovedhere.com)

Such is (my current) life

This evening just past,

as I washed cat's vomit from my child's hair,

I was thinking about how this time 10 years ago, I was still a practicing veterinarian.

On any given evening at about this time,

I might have been taking radiographs of a cat hit by a car

or having a lengthy discussion about all things "new puppy" with new pet owners

or even doing an emergency Caesarian on a pregnant dog or cat having difficulties.

Maybe I would be calling real adult people on the phone 

to have a real adult conversation about their pet.

Sorry?

Yes. That's what I said.

Washing cat's vomit from my child's hair.

Let me explain.

My daughter, prone to not finishing her cups of milk at dinner-time,

had left it on the bench

where, no surprise, Wally (the cat) helped himself.

My daughter has been told a gazillion times not to do this.

This would be one reason why.

My oldest son, prone to being over enthusiastic when playing with the cat,

was flipping the cat around the room Olympic diving style

attempting a two and a half back somersaults with two and a half twists

when, somewhere between the twist and the pike, no surprise, Wally threw up.

My son has been told a gazillion times not to do this.

This would be one reason why.

Neither of them at first realised 

why my daughter's face, hair and toys were wet.

To her credit, my daughter did not have an utter meltdown
of epic proportions,
mainly because she did not quite realise the horror

of being covered in cat vomit.

(She was simply overcome with relief that it wasn't cat's wee.

Personally I'd prefer cat wee on my head than cat's curdled milky vomit

but I'm not going to burst her bubble.

At least, not until she is celebrating her 18th birthday.)

So, yes, this evening just past,

 as I washed cat vomit from my daughter's hair

 (and giggled. A lot. Because it was actually hil-aaaaar-i-ous

and because it wasn't my hair) 

and as my son washed cat vomit off his sister's toys,

I reflected on how my life had changed in the past 10 years.

I also realised that I quite enjoy those life lessons that kids learn without us parents

having to lift a finger.

If Wally could talk,

he'd probably call it karma.

Then there is my OCD...

OK So the procrastinator who hates deadlines

also had a tendency towards OCD at sporadic intervals.

Bag challenge finished on the very first day.

The Two Zip Hipster by Dog Under the Desk 

A well written little pattern.

Perfect for quickly approaching overseas holidays

and a good size for carrying all those things that you need to keep close

on such holidays.

Look, Cam. I actually did it this time.

Booyah!

The sins of the parents

(www.donaldtrumphair.com)

My boys now choose to get a buzz cut each and every time

they go to the hairdressers.

I am a little uncomfortable with this.

I think that it stems back to growing up in a small country town

with the Brown family.

The Brown family men consisted of Mr Brown and his 3 sons

 All had crew cuts, seemingly getting their first buzz cut somewhere
between the delivery room and going home from hospital.

You could always pick out the Brown boys.

My boys love it because it is low maintenance.

I love it because getting their hair done in the morning is one less thing to nag them about.

Plus I figure that those dreaded head lice beasties are more reticent

to infest heads with no foliage to hide under.

My daughter doesn't chose to get a buzz cut.

Needless to say that I am happy with that decision.

However, like all little girls,

she wants gloriously long tresses without the daily maintenance 

required to stop such tresses becoming gloriously long dreadlocks.

(and I am sure one day I will find out just how much those beasties love such gloriously long tresses.

Touch wood. 3 weeks into her school life, we are nit-free.

Only another 13 years to go...)

We are still growing out my daughter's fringe,

18 months after that debacle,

and quite frankly, as a mum to 2 boys with cranial stubble,

I am not yet up to creating a neatly presented and sweet hairstyle 

in the middle of the pre-second-coffee mad house that is a school morning

and repeating this 5 mornings a week.

At the moment she thinks lop-sided pigtails are cute

and my possibly weird, combed-over creations "beautiful"

(bless the innocence -and trust- of a 5 year old)

but I am telling you that I am going to need a steep learning curve

 if she wants something presentable other than a pony tail every day of her future school life.

I still have horrific visions of one particular year of school photos

where my mother managed to send me off to school

with those sticky-up bits that you wake up with.

I don't think that I actually had a mullet

(though it was the 70s so anything is possible)

but in that photo, I certainly looked like I did.

(I was honestly going to be brave enough to post a copy of said photo

but I don't actually have one.

I suspect my mother is keeping it for future blackmailing purposes)

So I am somewhat (somewhat? Not somewhat. Try very bloody) relieved to find out that this year's school photos are happening while we are away on an extended family holiday.

Quite frankly, on that day, I turn into a pageant mother

It is no mean feat to get 2 young children to their respective photo shoots

(somehow always at the end of the school day)

with clean uniforms, decent hair and no Vegemite on their faces or uniform.

I will own up to licking my hand to wet down a wayward piece of hair

on the way to school one year.

It is a far greater pressure than the one I place on myself to get the nice photo with Santa each year.

Imagine me trying to do it with 3 kids,

one of whom  has dicky -growing -out -fringe stuff happening

and often has her school skirt half stuck in her stockings.

...cute at home; not so cute in print.

I blame my mother and that school photo for the obsession I have about this.

We all swear that there are things that were done to us

that we will never do to our children.

We will never hit them with a wooden spoon.

We will never force them to play football or eat brussel sprouts.

(We will never lick a hand to pat down wayward hair)

I know that when we actually become parents, we end up doing half of them anyway

but let me state for the record:

I will never send my children to school photo day with anything but a decent (and hopefully fabulous but I will settle for decent)  hair-do.

If I can offer them a  future embarrassment-free album of school photographs,

I have achieved some level of success as parent.

But when they get their driver's license photo,

they are on their own.

Unless they have a sticky-up bit of wayward hair...