change

Sometimes, things happen that force you into making change.  For someone that is so averse to change, someone that actually enjoys a routine, predictable life with well planned deviations, those events that force you out of what you know best can be difficult to deal with.  Then again, doing new things, especially unplanned new things has more often than not been nothing but positive.  Take Sunday for example.  A day as predictable as any other ended in the sweetest way when we dropped by our neighbours' place for the Backyard Sound Exchange, a gorgeous little afternoon of talented friends singing, playing instruments, chatting, drinking pear cider and sitting amongst the chickens and toddlers.  It was one of those evenings that made me realise you don't need much to be happy, to feel content, just seeing your children running around with other children, chasing chooks, hiding in the hen house, eating carrots and revelling in the party lights that lit up the garden moments before we left to come home to dinner and the grown ups were just getting started.

Then there are those events that might force you to make a change which could be for the best but feel so painful in the process.  Losing a job, dealing with illness, battling with the internal conflict that tears you between being what you want to be and what you have to be to keep your family afloat... they all bring out decisions that would otherwise stay away, decisions that are more often than not for the best, but ultimately, they are decisions that you don't want to make.

A couple of days ago, Sue, the lady that I have trusted with my sons for the last 2.5 years told me that she would be finishing up her childcare responsibilities by Christmas.  That's 8 weeks away.  To say that I am gutted is an understatement.  It's not just because we are going to have to give up personalised care for our little boys that's on our doorstep that they love, it's not just because it's so convenient for our daily commutes but it's that I feel so personally let down by someone I have considered to be part of our family since our boys started spending time with her over two years ago.   Everyone is entitled to make their own decisions in life, but that we only have a couple of months to work out what we are going to do...

Still.  Despite the lack of childcare spaces in Brisbane, and my fear of not getting into a centre that I'm 100% comfortable with, this is going to force us to make a change.  I wish we could afford for one of us to be at home with the boys, but being in the family day care environment has been good for Ollie.  More recently, we have recognised that Ollie will probably benefit from even more structure to his day, more friends to make, more variety.  He's never been a very adaptable child, so that's my main concern with making the change.  Unlike his brother who goes with the flow.  But Max is still just a little baby boy, only 18 months old, and it's been so nice for him to be at day care with his brother.  All that will now change, as we'll probably end up in a big childcare centre, one with different rooms for different ages and... it makes me sad that the little boys I love so much will be apart when they have spent every day together... every day since Max was one day old.

Change.  I guess we have to embrace it.  There's no other way.

white chocolate and raspberry cupcakes

What do you do on a Friday lunchtime when your kids are asleep?  Fold laundry?  Catch up on emails? Write another chapter of your novel?

Make raspberry and white chocolate cupcakes, of course.  Because you know everyone will thank you for it.

another invitation

Here it is, an invitation to Ollie's third birthday party.  (That's right, in less than two weeks he'll be three.)  Yet again, the invitation has been weeks in the making.  Weeks of procrastinating (not because we've been sitting around doing nothing, mind), then all the indecision over whether to do this or that, then finally deciding on a design and then agonising over colours, fonts, whether the trucks should be solid colour or whether we should use scans of fabric swatches.

In the end, I'm really happy with the simplicity of the final design:  Three (his age), trucks (his favourite thing) in red, yellow and green (he loves traffic lights too).  We also went for both solid colour and fabric swatches, and it will be pot luck as to who gets which one.  I'll email a .jpeg to a few people, but most will get a little card in the mail, because as much as I want to be green, I can't resist the sweetness of sending little invitations addressed to the little people in my son's life.  Little people that he's known since the day he was born.



I have been thinking for a while now that it might be nice to frame the little invitations that we've made for the boys' birthdays, maybe in a couple of years' time when they have a few behind them.  This lovely lady beat me to it, but her post reminded me that I want to do it, and it's the reason I've kept copies of the sweet little cards that both Will and I have laboured over.  The post also reminded me that I used the exact same design for Ollie's first birthday that she used for her daughter's first and it was her quilt that inspired me to make one just like it for Ollie and then another similar one for Max (finished, no less, a post on that soon).  Since then though, I've become less of an ideas thief and a bit more original with my creative efforts, although I still take inspiration from the many blogs I read and I still love Sharilyn's blog.

I don't know what my little boys will think of these invitations and their quilts and the parties and the other little things we make and do for them.  I wonder whether they will even notice that their mum and dad tried so hard to make their birthdays a little more special and personal, but I hope they will.  Not because I want thanks or recognition for any of it, but because I want them to know they are my everything, I would do anything for them, and by putting my all into their lives, it fulfils me.  Maybe they will be inspired to do the same for their kids because while it seems like hard work, there's nothing like feeling the way you do when you do your best.

a house in a box

Ever since I saw this post, I knew I wanted to do the same for Ollie and Max.  Ollie loves the idea of a cubby house and he loves to climb in and out of boxes, providing a little commentary as he goes.  So, when we ordered a new fridge a few months ago, we asked the delivery men to leave the box behind.  Unfortunately it meant leaving all the packaging and polystyrene behind too, and I've only just finished disposing of it... but last weekend, we managed to do what I had been looking forward to doing for ages... building a little house for the boys.





Will was the architect (of course), and I helped with the building and we even managed to fashion a little garage out of another box that came with the fridge box with proper garage doors (although that was after I took these photos).  The kids, they love it.  They chase each other around it, they sit and read in it, they open and close the door, run in and out of it, poke toys through the windows...  a hit.  I love that Ollie loves to sit in it with his beloved Tigger and Lambie, sun streaming in through the windows.  It's less nice but also very sweet that Max loves to run around it, squealing.  It's less than a week old but already looking worn, but I'm going to milk this one for all it's worth.  I'd love to make little curtains, window boxes and make a little doorbell, but it won't happen before it collapses.  In the mean time though, I'm going to let Ollie paint it this weekend if the weather's good.  Maybe even if the weather's not.

seaworld

A couple of weeks ago, I mentioned to Will that I was keen to take the boys out to Seaworld.  Of course, Will has been wanting to do this for months.  He is the Number 1 Big Kid in my life so he needed no persuasion.  Then I discovered it was the last day of a sale on VIP Passes to the Gold Coast theme parks, giving us entry three different parks to June 2012 for not much more than the cost of entry to one park.  So we did it.

I'm not a huge fan of theme parks, but Seaworld is different.  It's a little dated, but it's full of awesome sea creatures that I knew my little Octonaut wannabes would love.  And they did.  The aquarium was an amazing, cool tunnel of sharks, little fishes (why don't the sharks eat them?), stingrays, coral... we spent a while in there, the kids were mesmerised.

The highlight for me, and possibly the children was the dolphins.  The dolphin show was awesome (Max squealed, actually squealed with delight at every twist and turn) and it was the perfect opportunity to get the kids to eat their packed lunches while they were distracted (not a fan of theme park food and prices).

And beyond that, it was all that you'd expect it to be.

sandpit

Here, we have our new sand pit - now almost three weeks old.  Built by pa using a kit from Bunnings.  I fashioned a tarp cover for it (the one it came with wasn't so great) and it is very popular with our boys, who seem most comfortable when their socks are full of sand.  I bought a couple of cheap, plastic shovels, but really, all they really need (and want) is trucks, garden tools and cups.  And that's not just when they're in the sand pit.

Summer time is nearly here.

trucks, trucks everywhere

In our house, there are trucks everywhere.  Trucks live under couches, in bedrooms, under duvets, on dinner tables, under pillows, in the kennel, in the garden, in the sandpit (yes, we have a new sandpit, more on that later).  We draw trucks, make them out of Lego, colour them in, drive them around, sleep with them, eat with them, don't go anywhere without at least one for each hand.  We are crazy for trucks.  I say we, because it's infectious.  I can't go anywhere without wildly pointing out the cement truck, or the garbage truck, or the skip truck...

And it's all because of my dear first born.  Amazing what these little people open your eyes to.  Before him, trucks didn't even exist in my world.  He'll be three soon.  And so the birthday preparations begin.  It's still just over a month away, but when you take away the time spent at work, doing chores, preparing meals, looking after house and home, it really doesn't leave that long to get organised.  And God knows I could never be anything but.

Invitations, food, decorations, venue and the all important cake... yes, a truck cake.  Although he's on the fence as to whether it should be a garbage truck cake or a dump truck cake or a ladybird cake.  Don't ask me where that last one came from.

the men in my life

When I went to university at the age of 18, it was my first experience of living away from home and doing what I wanted to whenever I wanted to do it.  I went to a girls' school (two, actually) and I made some of my dearest friends there (sure I lost touch with some of them but thanks to facebook, these wonderful people are back in my life and it seems nobody knows me better).  But when I left home, naive, inexperienced, fresh faced and solitary, my world opened up.

The highlight of that time... well, there are many.  I didn't know how to cook - years of being told to go and study rather than hang out in the kitchen with my mum didn't seem like such a great thing when I was suddenly alone and devoid of any kitchen skills.  That said, I learned quickly, and now I love to cook (because I love to eat) and I became exposed to food I didn't even know existed.  Then there was discovering freedom and all the things that come with it.  The music (oh, the music), the parties, video games, the drugs, the financial irresponsibility (which thankfully is now financial responsibility), self discipline (that one comes and goes) and boys.

As someone who'd always been surrounded by girls (not only did I go to all girls' schools, but I also have two younger sisters), it was quite the thing to now be in this liberal place where everyone was the same and everyone treated everyone else with this cool, educated respect, and we were free to be and be with whoever we wanted.  It was a first for me to have platonic, respectful relationships with boys, and also romantic ones too.  I suddenly felt like I was being myself for the first time in my life, free of the expectations of my parents, and the rules that had surrounded my childhood.

I had been brought up to believe that relationships with boys were trouble and nothing else, that it wasn't possible to have a connection with a man other than my father or my future husband, that I would marry a man chosen by my parents and until that day, looking pretty, wearing make up, saying and doing what I wanted were not allowed, not possible.  Except everything I was now experiencing was the exact opposite of that.  I met guys who were into the same music, the same books, the same sense of humour as me and they weren't interested in having sex with me!  At least, I never knew it if they did.  These guys (and some gals too) became my best friends and I went from my first living experience at uni of an all girls on-campus flat to a shared house with three other boys and a girl who was never really around much.  It was then that I started to realise I was way better with boys than I am with girls.  

I met Troy, my dear friend Troy, the geezer that could drink anyone under the table and treated every event as an opportunity to enjoy himself.  Today he has boys of his own and he is someone I want my own boys to meet and look up to.  His friend Kris, the 7' giant with whom I shared a North London flat for many years.  There was Paul, the guy I was in a relationship with for almost seven years - maybe I'll write about that one day - for the most part, it was a happy time of my life, discovering what I wanted out of a relationship, and it was also a sad time of my life, discovering what I wanted wasn't going to be with him.  But through him, I met Ben, who is as dear a friend as anyone could have.  He too has boys of his own now too, shares his music with me, provides an ear when times are hard and has an imagination and ability with words that nobody else has.  His brother Toby, the geek with the video games, who was always up for a game of something and is one of the smartest boffins I know.  Seamus, the guy I was always a little wary of, didn't really know what to think of him until years into our friendship, when I realised he was a kindred spirit.  There was Neil, my funny French/Scot accountancy lecture companion who provided the inspiration to work hard and do my best and I am certain I owe a big part of where I am in my career today to him.  And Steve, who played the guitar, who liked the same music, who looked after me when I'd had a pint too many, and who made the best fried egg sandwiches.  I could go on.

There were girls too, and they too were and still are hugely influential in their own ways and I don't want to understate how important these friendships are, but it's the relationships with the boys that seem to stay with me.  With the exception of Paul (and I tried), I am still in touch with all of them to varying degrees, and it's been quite amazing seeing them go from university students, to ambitious, driven men, or fathers, or husbands, or older versions of their youthful selves or all of those things.  The experience of knowing them and seeing them become the men they are provides me with such a sense of optimism.

Since then, the trend has continued.  At work I have forged some of the best relationships with men, men who are smart, funny and loyal.  And then, of course, somehow, I got lucky and met the amazing man I was to marry, the man who somehow encompasses all the wonderful things about the other men in my life and more.  And after almost ten years together, we now have little men of our own.  Little men, who have so much to teach me about themselves, their aspirations, and little men that I hope one day will meet the big men in my life, the men that have shaped their mother and her idea of what a good man is.  And perhaps, if I am lucky, they will take note, and see what I see and become good men themselves.

boys dig flowers too

This last week or so, I've been deliberately spending as much time as possible outside, not just because it's what the boys prefer, but because spring is here, the weather is near perfect, and it's so refreshing to get out of the house.

For a while now, Ollie's been more keen to walk rather than sit in the pram, reminding us again that time is against us, and he's growing up so quickly.  He holds onto my hand (otherwise he knows the alternative is sitting in the pram and he doesn't want to do that) and walks along at his toddler pace, pointing out letterboxes and telling me to 'look at the cute little flowers', stopping now and again to pick one, and then another one for his brother, or poke his nose into someone's mailbox, telling me whether they've collected their letters or not.  It's cute, although it does take a lot longer to get anywhere and I am becoming more concerned about living on a main road.

Max, he sits comfortably in the front of the pram, with his muslin, thumb in his mouth, listening to the conversation between his mum and his brother.  I can't help but feel he loses out when Ollie is now so communicative and Max is not quite talking, but actually, I think it's good for him.  He hears constant chatter, which is more than Ollie had at that age and it feels as though any day now, his language will explode.  Speaking of 'that age', Max is the age his brother was when he came into the world.  17 months old.  It may sound crazy but it's making me think about how awesome it would be if there was another little soul in our lives... though it might be sensible to wait a little while.  Three kids under the age of three would be nuts.

So that's about all that's happening.  There's the usual too, piles of laundry, yearning for a hug from my mum, a wish for a holiday in the French countryside, bone-aching love for my husband and increasing dissatisfaction with my day job.  And is it me, or does it feel like things are about to change?

pick me up

The weekend just gone was a tough one.  At least to begin with.  It's not something I want to write about just yet, but we've had an emotionally trying fortnight which came to a head on Friday evening when we should have been eating pasta and drinking red wine.  Instead we did the opposite and after that, it could only get better.  Thankfully it did.

After a lazy Saturday in the garden, it was Fathers' Day and my plans to bake a cake were foiled somewhat, so we ended up making tiramisu, a dessert that has been on Will's mind ever since I bought the packet of savioardi biscuits months ago.  He is a coffee lover, so it makes perfect sense that he should love this dessert, which we made with fresh coffee, grand marnier and marsala.  Here in Brisbane, sourcing a good or even half decent bottle of marsala is not as easy as it sounds, so a special trip was required, after some internetting and old fashioned phone calling to find something better than the last bottle we sampled, which was awful.  (Don't buy Boronia, it tastes like flat Coke - find some proper Italian stuff and quietly disregard the air miles involved in getting it to Australia.)

Choosing the recipe is half the battle for me.  I pore over my cook books, agonise over what the internet has to offer, working out which of the gazillions of recipes on offer will be the one that will work for us.  It's the same with any new recipe I try.  I Google it, then get lost in the search results, by which time the kids are about to wake up from their day time naps and I've run out of time to get organised and try something new.  Not this time though.  I decided to go straight for what I knew should be a winner by typing in 'Food Safari tiramisu' and lo and behold, there it was.  A reasonably fuss free recipe for what looked like a pretty perfect dessert.

And the verdict?  Sensational.  The biscuits were soaked just enough, with just about enough coffee flavour and booze.  The Grand Marnier addition was an inspired one, the dessert tasted like Christmas and we used up some of that gorgeous orange liqueur that would have otherwise languished until the festive season.  We ate our first portions after two hours of chilling and that was something special, until I remembered what we had done the night before this morning, and I couldn't even wait until 10am before helping myself to a smallish portion.  The overnight stay in the fridge sent it from delicious to top quality.

And there you have it.  We succeeded in using up the savioardi biscuits we thought we never would, we made something new and untried, we managed to rustle up a treat for Fathers' Day and it just so happened to be the pick-me-up we needed after a shaky start to what ended up being a great weekend.