fudgy spiced gingerbread chocolate brownies

It's hard to improve on a good basic brownie recipe, and Nigella's recipe from Domestic Goddess is my favourite, but here is something we tried last night because we had the ingredients and it felt like a nice, festive thing to do.  We weren't disappointed.  These were VERY rich, VERY chocolatey, VERY fudgy and maybe just a bit too grown up for the kids, although it didn't stop them from scoffing them at breakfast this morning.  We used Leslie Keating's recipe and I added more fresh ginger than the recipe called for, which left a pleasant hum of warm ginger after each bite.  I also reduced the amount of sugar, just slightly, because the mound I'd poured out seemed like a lot.  We didn't miss it but I added a few white choc chunks so maybe that was why.  Next time, I'm going to add a teaspoon of orange zest.

We ate them warm with cheap vanilla ice cream, which balanced out the intensity just nicely.

#lovechristmas

important yuletide message

festive AND summery

This recipe (from this book) takes fresh but slightly under ripe peaches and steeps them in pinot noir and a little sugar.  They are left in the fridge overnight and then brought back to room temperature before serving.  We adapted the recipe slightly in that we used vanilla sugar (inspired), added a cinnamon stick (inspired) and drank/ate the peaches chilled (inspired) and we were not disappointed with the festive but summery outcome.  And by not disappointed, I mean completely delighted.

It's not really a mulled wine as we know it because the very definition of mulled means whatever you are mulling should be warmed, but it's an alternative I suppose, for those of us that love mulled wine and the festive feelings it invokes, but can't bear to drink it in the middle of an Australian summer, which is French for not-Christmassy-not-at-all.

33

It's my husband's 33rd birthday today, which means a legitimate excuse to splurge on takeaway and drink good wine mid week.  Happy birthday, my dear.

another epic straddie weekend

Sometimes, I don't do stuff because it's too much work.  This means I end up not doing stuff that could be good fun, but the idea of doing it with three kids that mightn't appreciate it means I would much rather just put my feet up and watch some imported English tv show.  I'm probably not being all that fair because actually we do a lot, a LOT of stuff, but mostly it's things like endless chores trips to the park, walks to the bakery, gardening and playing at the local water park.  Nothing too fancy.

But Straddie, it's different.  It's very hard work to pack and organise all five of us for a weekend, a military operation in fact, so much so that I insist Will takes a day off so we can go over for at least three nights otherwise it hardly feels worth it.  The list making, the food organising, the Tetris style packing of the car that takes place (secretly I think Will likes that bit), it's all exhausting before we've even buckled up and hit the road, but for Straddie, it's worth it.  Especially when the weather is as blissful as it was a couple of weeks ago.  I mean it's fine if it rains, quite beautiful in fact (I am English after all), but the days of Will and I whiling away rainy afternoons with dvds and chips and wine aren't really an option with three babies.  

So yes, good weather makes it and thankfully, the weather for our last trip was fantastic, and the weekend was made all the more special because it was Hugo's first.  It was by no means perfect but gelato every day made up for the time-outs at the beach, the occasional tantrums, the packing and sun protection that needs to happen every time we want to go to the beach... and oh yes, we even had our first triple-all-boys-at-once meltdown, in the car too, so it was in proper Dolby surround sound - no escape.  And then there was watching the kids play on the beach, chuckling to ourselves that they were only a few metres away but the sound of the surf made them so quiet; even if they were arguing over their buckets and spades, we didn't hear it.  And did I mention it was all bloody hard work?  Then I must have mentioned too, it was totally worth it.

Ah Straddie, you are a beauty.  I'm going to miss you when I finally convince myself to move back to Europe for the snowy winters.  I might even regret it because of you.

opting out

This is Max, sitting with the gifts of unused and brand new books, clothes and toys that we donated to the kindy wishing tree.  Doesn't he look pleased with himself?  He should be.  Whether he realised it or not, he spent an hour very patiently wrapping them with me, while I tried to explain that they weren't for him, or his brothers, but for children that don't have a lot of toys and books.  I think he got it eventually.

This Christmas, we have decided (like last year) to opt out of the wider gift giving.  We have been quite generous with the children and included Ollie and Max in Will's family's Secret Santa, but Hugo, Will and I have decided that we need or want for little, and that we would rather not spend money that might be better utilised elsewhere and would rather not create stress where it needn't be.  So we've opted out of Secret Santa, and further decided that there'll be no presents for anyone other than the kids and a modest gift for each other.

It's been rather nice to again not have to worry about who we are buying for and what they should receive and I felt very smug when we made the somewhat crazy decision to go to our local shopping centre two Saturdays before Christmas to return library books, to see the somewhat miserable looking shoppers, hauling around bags of stuff you know nobody wants and knowing we didn't have to do any of that.  The two cousins that the boys are playing Santa to will receive (what we think) well thought out presents, our boys will be very happy with their little collection of gifts (there will be wheels and books, enough said) and in lieu of gifts for my own family, we are making a donation that we can afford to Unicef.  

I love the gift giving, the receiving, the wrapping, the piles of gifts under the tree and I want to spoil our children, especially when they are being as sweet as they are today, but this year, and from hereon the only tradition I want for me, my husband and my children is that the festive season should be about being with each other, having chocolate for breakfast and our goodwill to those that need it.

Amen.

poo poo

Poo poo, poo poo head, mr poo poos, poo poo bum bum, poo bums, bumpoos, thank you poo poo, mummy poo poo.
And so on.

operation nappy repair

A month or so before Hugo was born, I ordered 24 BumGenius nappy refresher kits for $1 each from Nurture Nappies.  After 7 weeks of finding time here and there to remove velcro tabs, replace elastic (most tedious task, ever) and sew on new velcro tabs the other bits whatever they are called (really need a more exciting reason to get have the sewing machine out, but hey at least it's out), I have finally, finally, finally finished the not very enjoyable task of refreshing and repairing the nappies I bought when I was pregnant with Ollie over four years ago.  Finally, finally, finally, they now adorn my dear little Hugo.  And that, my friends, is a true story.

a new kind of reading

A week ago arrived the long awaited collection of Roald Dahl stories I've had my eye on for some time now.  In that time we've already ready Charlie and The Chocolate Factory and we're onto Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator.

Since they were very little, my boys (including Hugo it would seem) have loved being read to and flicking through picture books before they even knew what the words meant.  When they were babies and we could see how much they enjoyed story time, I looked forward to the day I would read (or they would read) my favourites, Roald Dahl, Rudyard Kipling, Barbara Kingsolver (alright, maybe not Babs just yet) and I almost never hesitate to buy or borrow books for them, though it is difficult to get to the library as often as we used to.

I was a little concerned that the Roald Dahl books with their lack of pictures and many many words would be too much for the kids, but in truth, they love them and there's no doubt that they (especially Oliver) are ready for this new kind of reading.

In this current stage of their obsession with machines, trucks, guns, robots etc, it's marvellous to see how keen they are to sit and read and I can feel Ollie's itch to get reading all on his own.  If he's anything like his parents, he will love reading and because of that I want to do everything I can to encourage it and not because I'm feeling a little out of my depth with all the testosterone fuelled energy about the place.

I hope, really really hope their enthusiasm for books never ever wanes. Ever.

little stitches

This morning we went as a family to visit Dr Triggs.  Ollie had his 4 year check up and Max... he had to have the stitches taken out of his head that were put in there last week when he was pushed over and donked his head on a concrete paver at kindy.  

It's not exactly something you want to write about but since this is a diary of all things I want to remember, it seemed appropriate to include it here.  For the record, Max didn't flinch when he was having either the stitches put in or taken out.  And Ollie was even braver than I could have hoped for getting his shots this morning.

Oh, and who did the pushing?  Ollie.  But by all accounts, including Max's, Max is the one who started it all.