Book Ends

Tonight I finished The Secret River by Kate Grenville, a gift from Mr. Kym Kelly. Shortlisted for the Booker Prize, well written, suspensful and historical... it was BRILLIANT. And at the risk of turning a well-worn cliche, it's a book all Australians should read. Plus a good portion of it is set in the Borough, my neck of the London woods, with Bermondsey Street getting a mention. What more could you want from a book?

I also saw how Foie Gras is 'made' and don't think I will ever touch it's deliciousness again. Horrendus.

Fred continues with his daily marvels, a few pearlers coming out today. But you'll have to wait a week for his half-year birthday to hear them.

We're off to the Mosel Valley near Frankfurt next weekend to catch up with Dave's Parents Ginny and Andy which I am most looking forward. No doubt my school girl German will help us should any of the enquire if I play chess or what my favourite musical group is.

Must go. Eastenders is on.

Supersize Me

So I found myself in a Borders bookstpre the other day (imagine that! ME in a bookstore!) and is Fred bleating away for his all important feed, I took refuge in the second floor Starbucks. TO legitimise my presence I bought myself a coffee. At the counter, deperately tryign to smother Fred's indignant screeching I absentmindedly ordered a 'Medium' latte. I didn't look up, I shoved the money across and a dummy into the Little Man's mouth and walked to the counter to retrieve my coffee. What was placed in front of me was enough coffee to keep greater London awake for 48 hours. The thing must have 15cm tall. THIS was a medium?! WHen did this happen? How can someone drink so much coffee in one sitting. THe lesson (beyind 'Avoid Starbucks') was order small. In an age of gluttony, where value is perceived in volume and it's subsequent wastage, order small.

And as an aside for Goergia and Pete... this evening with the Jamiesons we cracked the Cranium casing and played the game for the FIRST TIME. Great game, inspired purchase.

Living the Life

It’s no secret that I dribble over DVDs the same way other women do shoes. And since the advent of Dave, although my purchasing of them has not slowed, the watching of them definitely has. And one thing I have probably not watched for well over 2 years is anything resembling a ‘Special Feature’. Until this week. I’ve found myself feeling a bit under the weather and therefore with no motivation to use my spare time cleaning or cooking. And as daytime television is an absolute waste of time, even with over 100 channels (besides the midday daily episodes of House and Scrubs) I found myself twiddling my thumbs. Yesterday I found myself putting the special Features disc of Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Mans Chest (having watched the film last week in preparation for the third part of the trilogy this Thursday at Scream Screen). And it was brilliant. With 20 minute bits and pieces on whatever took my fancy throughout the past 2 days, it was just a perfect little escape from day to day drudgery (not to mention confirming my thoughts that Johnny Depp is the most amazing thing ever). I am now feeling enthused about a future of watching the special features of many of my other DVDs. Life in the fast lane, I know, I know.

And on an aside, this looks good.

This picture is an example of living vicariously through your child. Grover WILL be the favourite toy, oh yes, he will. I'm going to sew him a little cape.

Food Glorious Food

With Freds increasing ability to amuse himself for small periods of time, I have found myself cooking a fair bit. This shouldn’t insinuate that I haven’t been cooking for the past 2 years (I. Do. It. Every. Night. Without. Fail. Even. The. Day. After. Having. A. Baby) but, rather that I am finally starting to cook in the way I had thought would be possible when I packed up my desk last November imagining a quiet life of simple pleasures with my beautiful, sleeping baby (Mwa ha ha. Oh so naive).

So rather than finding myself at a Sainsburys at 8pm on a school night, mentally running through the contents of my cupboards and cool boxes, calculating what will take the least time to cook and remain edible/vaguely healthy - I now stroll with my stroller to the supermarket, list in hand. I’ve poured through my rather large collection of cooking books, marking out future dishes, and now make it a ‘thing’ to cook from those dog-eared pages at least every two days. Now, by most peoples standards I am not cooking anything too revolutionary. But for as I have survived my tenure as our houses lead chef with a simple knowledge of how to cook vegetables, pasta and meat so they are edible, and with about 10 staple dishes on rotation (thai green curry, chilli con carne etc. – you know the stuff) - is is extraordinary for me. And whilst I marvel at those people able to simple throw things into a pan and make magic, I’m a bit of a stickler for a recipe (does that surprise any of you? Thought not.) Because I figure that they know what they are talking about. I couldn’t even begin to tell you all the dishes that Dave ‘the luckiest man in the world’ has eaten this past month, but I have to say – they were all pretty spectacular. I’ve sashayed from blueberry muffins to roasted chicken in milk to wild mushroom soup. And last week I made my first Indian curry – everyones favourite – Butter Chicken. Which was SINsational. Dave, who normally abhors a creamy curry, has requested it again this week and who am I to complain.

And whilst we are doing a food post, it’s probably a good place ot mention that for Dave’s 38th Birthday last Wednesday we went with Chris and Edwina Jamieson to The Fat Duck. (ahem – a 3 Michelin star restaurant that is consistently named as one of the top few restaurants in the world). And it was literally beyond words. We all agreed it was probably the most amazing culinary experience of our lives. I will put a proper post on all that including photos soon).

Hope all is well with everyone, keep sending emails and the like. And eat well – Food is one of life’s great daily pleasures.

Happy Birthday Heather!

Back in London, there was a birthday cake (masterfully decorated by Emily and Phoebe) waiting for me. I ran out of steam blowing the candles out, luckily two little girls were on hand to help out....

Fred: Month 5

Dear Fred,

This week we discovered that we share a mutual love of Paul Simon, particularly his Graceland years. Tonight’s bath was too fun what with me calling you Betty and you calling me Al. And then you ate your feet, oh my god did you eat your feet!

But I get ahead of myself here.

Months 4 and 5 have been eventful to say the least. You found your voice, you discovered your inner grumpy, you laughed and smiled and you traveled half way around the world and back again. And that is just the surface – I’m not really too sure where to start or how to make this flow and seeing as I just don’t have the time to worry about either too much, I’m just going to jump on in there.

These past few months we have met ‘Fred: The Grumpy Little Sod’. Sure, you smile and laugh when it suits you, but it is pretty apparent that you are quite a serious little boy, sullen, but ever-curious. You sit there taking it all in, you move yourself around to see whatever noise or light-movement is taking your fancy. You glare at me as I leave the room to make a cup of tea and continue to stare at the spot you last saw me until I come back. You like a good yell, a shrill high-pitched scream which resonates with such ferocity it physically assaults anyone in the room.

‘Oh Dear! Oh Dear! Darling Freddy – Whatever is it? Are you OK?’
‘Of course I am NOT Stupid Woman! I need to be held. NO. Not like that. Tighter. TIGHTER! OK. Like that. I am mildly happy now.’

But when the sun shines on your day (which unfortunately is at about 7am) and you find yourself in a favourable mood, you are an absolute delight. Smiles, squeals, giggles, full-blown laughter. Wide-eyes, waving arms, bubble-blowing dribble. Hugs. Yes, HUGS. I though the heavens were going to explode the day you smiled and that it could not possibly get greater than that. But Hugs, sweet little Fred hugs, when you wrap your mini arms firmly around my shoulders and neck and pull me in with all you might and nuzzle your head in my chest, under my chin, so I can smell your sweet hair and feel your little heart beat… pure bliss. And most remarkable about this is that as long as I am willing to hold you, I have hugs on tap. Hugs which can fix anything. And if we are not hugging and having a nice moment together, we are lying face-to-face, only inches apart and you are exploring my face. Touching it, stroking it, grabbing it, and yes, sometimes punching it. You coo away, so delighted that your new found hands (more on that later) are able to actually touch your slave. And like all things you manage to grab in your hands these days, you try to put my face in your mouth. Something you find so exciting that you ignore the logistical problems. And I quite happily submit to being slobbered and sucked on. Although after you deposited a litre of spit in my left nostril, the nose is definitely off-bounds.

Your hands, of yes, your long little fingers from which nothing is safe. Your aim is appalling, and your dad stares on worriedly asking me what my hand-eye co-ordination is and whether that explains it. But you are persistent and normally get what you want. The play station which you lie under is your bitch as you swat, kick, and pull at everything that dares to move. Your dummy? That’s a good one. Pull it out. Scream. I put it back in. Pull it out. Scream. I put it back in. Today when we enacted this tried and true game you actually smiled as I picked it off the rug and went to put it back in. And not in a ‘It’s that Slave Woman!! Yay!’ way but a ‘Tee hee’ way. I’m onto you Fred. You’re a cunning little fella.

And with your growing deftness in hand use, so too has the ability for you to shove your feet in your mouth grown. Now, you’ve always been quite aware of your feet and legs, from splashing them about in the bath to thumping them up and down as I carry you in the sling, but it has been a relatively recent development that you have been able to suck on them. I remember the day you figured out that you could do that – you hands had long been permanently attached to your mouth – but the expression on your face when you realised that you could shove not one, but TWO extra appendages in your mouth was priceless. It was halfway between sock and anger as your eyes asked me why the hell I hadn’t pointed this out to you earlier. So at any given opportunity, one will find you furiously lunging your vacuum-of-a-mouth at both feet, rolling about like an up-turned turtle. This in turn has led to you rolling over. Turtle-back Fred frequently found himself on his tummy and after a few calculations, you realised that this was something that could be done... ON DEMAND. Which has bought about the advent of ‘Rolling Fred’. Changing you nappy? Nope – Let’s Roll. Putting your clothes on? Hmmm... Perhaps A Roll is called for. Going to Sleep? Hell No Woman – Watch me Roll. Rather than being excited by this baby milestone, I find myself dreading the fact that crawling (which you give a red hot go to every time you are on your tummy) and walking are not too far in the future. I find myself wondering whether it is cruel to hope that you might continue to develop mentally but remain my little huggy, stationary, jelly bean.

You met your extended family this past month and we can safely say that they agree with us that you are a little legend. You bravely went from only two people in your life to being passed around to pretty much every person in Adelaide. And whilst you fell in love a fair few times (pretty much always with a female, you sly dog) you fell more in love with your dad and I. Whilst I obviously benefit from being the constant face in your face, you dad has reached new heights of coolness these past few weeks. He simply has to walk into the room and you dissolve into rather unpleasant (yet happy) shrieks and dribbling so profuse I worry that you might shrivel up from dehydration. Yes – your dad is one fun man to be around.
























So summer is almost upon us, and with my new picnic rug, many opportunities await. We are due to start solids sometime in the next month and no doubt you will take to that with your usual aplomb. By my estimation, you are a pretty easy baby, and if we can look beyond an inability to settle yourself (largely due to the complacency/weakness of your parents), there is very little to moan about.

I will leave you with today’s discovery: A mutual appreciation of musicals. As I folded and hung today’s washing, we played all my musical CDs. I sang along and you beamed and dribbled away in wonder. And we can safely say that Aladdin is by far and away your favourite. Your dad breathed a sight of relief with this as the other contenders were My Fair Lady, The Sound of Music and Hair. I did, however, neglect to point out to him that you were particularly enamoured with the female vocals on A Whole New World, but some things are best left unsaid. Next Month? Well…. No doubt I it will involve buying all the great animated films from Toy Story to Tarzan…. *sigh* It’s tough spending time with you, my darling Fred.

UPDATE: I somehow have forgotten to mention Baby Einstein. Which really should have teed off this entry and been written in capitals, italics, bold with an underlined. It has revolutionised our world. Baby Einstein is the shit.

an explanation on why this blog has gone a bit quiet...