A little old lady....

On my birthday morning, amongst all the love and snuggles I received, I kept detecting a feeling of concern radiating from the lovely and sensitive Mr 5.

He kept staring at me and frowning. Worry was etched all over that wide-eyed and innocent face of his. He was distracting me from the all important tasks of opening presents and enjoying my coffee.

Finally I gave in and looked down at the little guy, who was snuggled up next to me in bed;
'What's up mate?'
'Mummy?' he asked 'How many are you?'
'I'm 32 buddy'
'Oh,' he paused momentarily before continuing 'So, you're old then'
'Well, not really buddy' I answered, slightly affronted.
'But you're getting old...you have those crinkly things' he points all over my face,
'They're called wrinkles, and I don't have that many'
'Yeah you do - they're all around your eyes and stuff'
'Oh, thanks mate, point taken'
Then the little bugger sighs. Very theatrical, very melodramatic.
'It's just too bad you're going to die soon' Is his parting statement before he rushes off to wreck havoc elsewhere.

I sit dumbstruck by the conversation I've just engaged in. I had no idea that in my early thirties I'd be entering into old age, that I'd be on death's door, but apparently, (according to the ever-knowledgeable Mr 5) it's true.

Happy Flipping Birthday to me.

Remembering.......

I remember.....

The layers of blankets are pulled up over my head. I am snuggled down, as far down the bed as I can go. My skinny legs tucked up into my stomach, my hands are over my ears, my eyes are tightly closed.

It is cold in my room, but I'm not hiding from the cold...I'm hiding from the thing...the thing in my room. I know it's there like it has been every night, hiding in the corner, waiting and watching. Waiting for me....8 years old...skinny, shy and afraid.

Although my ears are covered by my hands I can still hear every little sound as though it's amplified a hundred times. The trees moving outside, the tap dripping in the bathroom, my sister snoring softly in the bed next to mine and I fancy I can hear the thing...moving around my room, looking for me.


What will happen when it finds me, I wonder. Will it steal me away from my parents? Will it turn me into a thing just like it? My frenzied and over-active brain comes up with several different scenarios, each one more terrifying than the last.....sleep is fruitless.

Above is this weeks exercise for 'Write On Wednesday' (Oops! I'm a day late..sorry!)
The brief was to write "I remember' at the top of the page, set a timer for 5 minutes and then write....

This memory is very clear for me still. A few weeks beforehand, I had snuck out into the lounge and watched from behind the couch a movie my parents were viewing..... 'Poltergeist.' The result of my late night wanderings? Several weeks of nightmares and terrified huddling at the foot of my bed! I certainly learnt my lesson and still cannot watch a scary movie to this day!

The Frazzled Mumma.....

I've had one of those mornings....you know the ones.....the type of morning when everything that can go wrong does....the kind of morning when sanity is on a razor edge and I feel inclined to leap from this burning building before it goes crashing down to the ground.

It started off with oversleeping. I rarely oversleep. You see I have four built in alarm clocks that tend to awaken me before the sun actually rises and the world is dark, cold and immobile. This morning the alarm clocks were broken, and so resulted in me waking at quarter past 7 and then completely freaking out.

I ran around the house like a demented banshee, screaming and yelling at the still sleeping forms of my Husband and children. They didn't appreciate my wake up call and dragged their feet reluctantly.

I sculled my morning coffee and resulted in burning my tongue. This pissed me off. Coffee is something to savour, enjoy, inhale slowly and calmly. I could not appreciate it and therefore my bad mood was established.

I ruined the porridge so the children scored lumpy, claggy goop in their breakfast bowls - rather than the usual smooth and delicious offering. They moaned and complained but I silenced them with a 'look', my 'look' the 'don't mess with the frazzled Mumma look'

Lunchboxes were thrown together, I have no idea what ended up in them, possibly an arrangement of random items from the pantry. This made me even crankier than I was already....I like to take time and care with school lunches. It makes me feel like I deserve my 'good Mummy' award. It makes me feel like I'm sending them off into the big, bad world with the tools necessary to deal with whatever is thrown at them. They can beat off school bullies with a good, nutritious salad sandwich, I'm sure. But today I failed miserably....pre-packaged, plain and boring all the way....

I had to cajole them into their un-ironed uniforms, I had to bribe them to clean their teeth. I had them all lined up to brush hair when I discovered something  crawling in one of them.......Eek! Crap! Flipping Bloody Hell! Off to the shower with a head full of chemicals to kill the creepy, disgusting little bastards.

And then...into the car, strapping in the wiggly, whinging Toddler, breaking up the inevitable fight between the two eldest. I sat down, took in a couple of deep breaths and turned the key in the ignition....nothing, zero, zip...my beloved carrier of small people had died, resulting in a lot of silent cursing and slow, systematic head butting of the steering wheel.

Thank god Hubby came to the rescue, piling the monsters into his eternally reliable Falcon, a promise to come back and charge the blasted battery and off they went. Their little fair heads just discernible through the back window. For a moment I feel a tiny bit bereft at their departure and then I sigh, think of having another cuppa I can actually savour and I slowly creep back into the bomb site that is my home.

Strawberries & Sunshine

This week I'm grateful for.............

Little Miss Tornado Two has had a rough week. Temperatures, Runny nose, A nasty cough, Whinging, Whining and the yuckiest poos I have ever,ever seen.

She hasn't eaten properly in days. She has barely had the energy to play. As much as I complain about her vivacious and sparky nature, I really missed her usual exuberance.

This morning, however, she's back. Cheeky, naughty, funny. This morning she sat in the sunshine and had the first real thing to eat in days........strawberries. Sweet, juicy, yummy (expensive) strawberries. I rejoiced.

So today I'm grateful for Strawberries & Sunshine.......if only those explosion poos would stop I could write a post about that too.

To check out some other lovely grateful posts head over to Maxabella Loves.....

The Tweenager

We stare at each other across the room. Both of our eyes are narrowed in silent fury. We don't speak, we don't move, we just stare. It's a battle of wills, a fight of the mind....and she's winning. I feel myself deflating like a balloon, curling up in defeat, losing my purpose, my resolve.

Anyone think this would be a typical Mother/Daughter scene. And of course you may have made the assumption that my daughter is well into her teens. Not the case, sorry, and I'm saying sorry more to myself than anyone else. Truth be told my daughter is only 8 years old.

I'm not quite sure exactly when it happened or how it happened. It sort of crept up on me, king hit me when I wasn't looking. My beautiful, smart, funny and adoring child no longer looks at me as a pillar of perfection, she no longer regards me as all that is good and true. (Unlike Mr 5, see Wednesday's post) She sees what is really going on here; me pretending to know what I'm doing....because really I don't have a clue.

Now, I'm not saying that she's running amok. She's perfectly behaved at school, she mostly does what she is told at home. But it is all done with a mix of defiance and attitude. Her eyes roll when I tell a joke, she thinks my fairy stories are passe, and don't get me started on my random dancing and singing around the house......"Mum, you're sooooo embarrassing."

Maybe I'm a little zanier than the usual Mum? Maybe she has every reason to think I'm a touch foolish? But to be truthful every time she scowls at my antics my heart breaks just a little.

We've been through so much together. There was a time when she was all I had and I was everything to her, the centre of her little world just as she was the centre of mine.
She still is of course, my world had just grown to encompass several other little (and big) people.

My first baby is growing up, she starting to set off into the world. I'm not her biggest influence anymore. She no longer thinks I'm the most wonderful person alive. I guess I'm OK with that. I guess that it has to happen sooner or later and she may just be an early riser.
     
There are times though, when it all comes racing back, when she climbs into my lap for a cuddle and I hold her and I capture a moment when she is mine...all mine.
And I remember that time, the time when everything was black and she was the singular ray of sunshine...lighting the way.

Just Like Dad

As an exercise for "Write on Wednesdays" I had a lot of fun playing "Dialogue Detective" in and around the house. I caught many snippets of conversation amongst my children but the piece I loved the most was this endearing moment between my Husband and my five year old son......

'Daddy?'
'Yes, My boy'
'Why is your face spiky?'
'When you get to be a grown up like me your face grows hair on it'
'Spiky hair'
'Yes, spiky hair'
'But not Mum?'
'No, Mum doesn't get hair on her face'
'Mum has a soft face, Mum has a pretty face'
'Yes, Mum is soft and pretty'
'When I'm a Dad I'll have a spiky face just like you'
'Sure will mate, just like Dad'
'And I'll marry a lady soft and pretty like Mum'

Below is the same conversation but I am adding gestures, expression and scenery.

A soft light filtered from the lamp on the bedside table, filling the room with a gentle glow. On a small and heavily covered bed lay a young boy, his arms wrapped around the larger form of his Father.

The boy reached up and softly stroked his Father's cheek,
'Daddy?' he asked softly
'Yes, my boy' answered his Father
'Why is your face spiky?' the boy reached up and rubbed his Father's face vigorously.
His Dad laughed out loud, "When you get to be a grown up like me your face grows hair on it'
'Spiky hair?'
'Yes, spiky hair'
The boy regards his Father quietly and seriously for a moment.
'But not Mum?'
'No, Mum doesn't get hair on her face'
The boy pauses briefly, still rubbing his Father's face gently and thoughtfully.
He then spoke quietly...barely a whisper,
'Mum has a soft face, Mum has a pretty face'
'Yes,' smiled his Father 'Mum is soft and pretty'
The boy suddenly smiles up at his Father
'When I'm a Dad I'll have a spiky face just like you' he states proudly,
'Sure will mate, just like Dad' his Father reaches over and gently tousles the boy's hair,
'And I'll marry a lady soft and pretty like Mum' he whispers softly, with just a touch of reverence.

Lovely Lemon Drizzle Cake

This is a beautiful cake. It has a light fluffy texture that is a joy to eat and an almost delicate flavour.....it sort of dances across the palate. I love to serve this for afternoon tea with a pot of hot, heart-warming tea or even for dessert with a nice scoop of ice cream or a mound of whipped cream....mmmmm divine!
A wonderful recipe for when you have an abundance of lemons!
 Ingredients;
120grams softened butter
120 grams caster sugar
4 large eggs
30 grams poppy seeds
zest & juice of 2 lemons
250 grams self raising flour.

for the lemon syrup;
100grams caster sugar
juice of 1 lemon

for the lemon drizzle icing;
220 grams of icing sugar
zest & juice of one lemon

Pre-heat the oven to 180C.
Grease and line a spring form cake tin.

Using a hand-help beater whip together the butter and sugar until really light and fluffy. Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Fold in the poppy seeds, lemon zest and juice and then carefully fold in the flour. Spoon the mixture into a prepared cake tin and bake in the oven for 40 minutes. Check with a skewer and add an extra 5-10 minutes if you feel it needs it (depends entirely on your oven) Allow the cake to cool slightly.

Make your lemon syrup by heating the sugar & lemon juice in a saucepan until the sugar has dissolved and it had a slightly thickened syrupy consistency.
While the cake is still warm, prick little holes all over with a fork and pour over the lemon syrup - you want this to absorb into the cake.

Next, make the icing - sift the icing sugar into a bowl and add the lemon juice and zest until nice and smooth. Pour this over the cake so it "drizzles" down the sides and hence you have a Lemon Drizzle Cake!

Enjoy!