One track mind.....

The house is quiet...well if you don't count the hum of about a million appliances and the snoring coming from the kids bedrooms the house is quiet.

My children are all rolled up cosily in bed. I've cooked dinner, fed the monsters, bathed them and forced their struggling, cold limbs into PJ's. Their hair is washed and brushed, their teeth are clean. Stories are read, they are tucked in, fears are kissed goodbye, and then....to sleep.

I then race around, rinse dishes, stack the dishwasher, wash and dry pots and pans. Clean benches, sweep the floor and fold the washing.

And all the while I hear it calling to me, softly and quietly. An oasis at the end of my day....my bed, my book and a cup of tea.

I'm nearly done and I start to slowly relax...almost there; a shower, my PJ's and then bliss.

But then, a car pulls up in the driveway, the garage door creaks open. Hubby is home....damn, damn, dammit.
  Mostly a cause for celebration, but occasionally, on nights like tonight, I crave a little alone time.

A kiss hello.  Not the usual perfunctory one however, this one lingers, and I know instantly what he's thinking. The embrace is also lengthy, it's his way of saying 'So, do you fancy a shag?'

After all these years it still amazes me that men are completely obsessed by 'it' and by 'it' I mean....Humping, Bonking, Shagging, Making Love, Getting Lucky, Doing the Deed, The Horizontal Mambo, Sex. I'm using a lot of euphemisms here - I'm a bit of a prude.

The Male's inability to multi-task means they can only focus on one thing at a time...and we all know what that one thing frequently is. But honestly, do they have to? Surely other things run through their heads? That can't be their one and only focus....can it?

Us women however are capable of about a million different thoughts at once. For instance here is an example of exactly what went on when Hubby and I had our 'little' embrace.

Me; 'I need to put the dishes away. This floor is filthy. I need to feed the dog. I wonder if the children are warm enough? Must do the groceries tomorrow. Are the doors locked? I wonder what to cook for breakfast in the morning?  Does my bum look big in this? Forgot to call Mum. Better check on the little people again.'

Him; 'S    E    X '

Me; 'I hope Miss Two's cough clears up. I wonder if she'll stay in her own bed? Should have changed the sheets. Oops, left a load of washing in the machine. I'll cook Chocolate Cake tomorrow. Hope it doesn't rain. Will the school holidays ever end? I could really do with that cup of tea.'

Him; 'S   E   X'

See what I mean?
I guess I should be flattered that he fancies me rotten. It is nice to think that his favourite activity is to roll in the hay with me. But sometimes, sometimes I would really love to crawl into bed with a fabulous, fun, riveting, fascinating, beautiful man book.
And that cup of tea of course.

WOW- Write On Wednesdays- Emma

  
 This is this week's exercise for Write On Wednesdays; Grab the 8th book from your bookshelf. Open it to page 8. Scroll down to the 8th sentence. Write this sentence at the top of your page. Set your timer for 5 minutes and write the first words that come into your head after your writing prompt.  Stop when the buzzer rings!
 The eighth book on my shelf just happened to be Jane Austen's 'Emma'. One of my favourites!
 
 Emma smiled and chatted as cheerfully as she could........
 

Frivolous chatter, insignificant chatter, chatter to cover up the awkwardness of the moment. Meaningless words to deceive those around her into thinking that she was OK...that everything was OK.

 

She really didn't expect to see him so soon after their parting. The pain was still raw and fresh. A new wound. He smiled at her briefly across the room and her face burned and smarted with the embarrassment of it all. How dare he stand there and look so handsome, so nonchalant, like he didn't have a care in the world?

 

Partaking in the useless talk of those around her to cover the rush of emotions that assailed her. Laughing at nothing in particular, and all the while his eyes burned into her, reducing her into a state of nerves and tension.

Her laughter was false, her words were idle, his presence hung over her like a shadow. And then to her horror...her complete and utter disbelief....he started to approach her. Taking slow, measured footsteps, looking for all the world like a man with a purpose. She gasped aloud, forgetting for a moment her surroundings. To her it seemed like they were the only two people in the room...in the world. She shivered, briefly experiencing a whisper of delicious apprehension........

   



Sweet Scrolls

I made these for the first time last week. They were so good that I've made them three times since then. A combination of a fluffy, melt in the mouth dough, a sweet, delicious centre and then dripping with a gooey, sticky icing. These are exactly my idea of a perfect afternoon tea snack. Just the kind of thing to curl up with at around 3pm with a good book and a hot cuppa.............Ahhhh, bliss.

Sweet Scrolls;

Dough-
1 packet of dry yeast (approx 7 grams)
1 cup of milk (warmed slightly)
4 cups of plain flour
1/4 cup of caster sugar
80 grams of butter (softened)
2 eggs (gently beaten)

Firstly combine the yeast with the warm milk in a small bowl. Leave for around 10 minutes - until the mixture goes all frothy.

Sieve the flour into a large bowl. Add sugar and combine. Make a well in the centre and add the butter, milk/yeast mixture and the eggs. Stir until you have a rough dough. Now, here's the fun part; tip the dough onto a floured surface and gently knead for 10 minutes or so - until you have a lovely smooth dough. I really enjoy this part, the whole process is something I find infinitely soothing.

Now leave your lovely ball of dough to rest and prove for a good hour or so. When you return to it, it should have nearly doubled in size.

Once your dough has expanded roll it out onto a floured surface with your rolling pin. I roll it as thinly as possible and into a rectangular shape.

Now, cut your dough into long rectangular strips.

You can now get really creative with whatever you would like in the middle of these. The first time I made a mixture of butter, golden syrup and chopped almonds. Yesterday it was a combination of cinnamon, brown sugar &butter. Today it was melted chocolate & butter. My personal opinion? The golden syrup/butter/almond version was the best.

Mix whatever combination you like the best (or create your own!) into a bowl and paint each strip with your mixture. I put it on quite sparingly as I don't want it to be overly sweet. Now, roll up each strip of dough into a spiral and then squash it between your hands. Place each little (or big - depends what size you would like these beauties!) roll onto a greased, lined baking tray.

Bake in your oven for approximately 15-20 minutes, but please check them after the first 15. It depends on your oven how quickly these cook, in mine it took 20 minutes.

Ideally they should be a lovely golden brown and should sound hollow when you tap them (like freshly baked bread!)

While they are baking, quickly make an icing to top these with. I used about 25 grams of butter mixed with 1/2 cup of icing sugar and a little warm water. Add as much or as little water as you feel you need but you should end up with a runny icing to drip over your scrolls.

Once your scrolls are cooked and have cooled slightly, drip the icing messily over the top of each one.

Best eaten straight away - with the warmth of the oven still upon them and before the little ones devour them all.

My Young Man.

There is no doubt about it, I'm a very lucky lady. Exceptionally lucky. Extremely lucky.
I have four children. Three of which I carried, gave birth to and have loved and cared for since the day they were conceived. The fourth is a different story. He's not mine. I'm not his Mumma. Sometimes I question myself, what exactly am I trying to be?

Being a Step-Mother has had it's challenges. I'm not going to paint it a rosy-coloured hue because sometimes it has been difficult. Accepting someone else's child as your own has it's ups and downs......beautiful highs.....depressing lows.

Sometimes we fight. We get angry at each other. I sometimes have trouble understanding him and he sometimes has trouble understanding me. At times I sit and wonder, Am I doing this right? Am I completely stuffing this up? Do I actually have a clue?

Where is the guide for wicked Step-Mothers? Isn't there a step by step manual somewhere that God should have handed me when I met his Father?

This morning, I had a good look at this beautiful young man I have known and loved for over seven years. He is caring and well mannered. He looks out for his younger siblings. He is eager to please. He is a good boy....No, he is an exceptional boy. His intelligence radiates. His internal beauty shines.
      His Mother & Father have defied the odds to help shape his remarkable personality together. They have been apart and yet, they have achieved this by working alongside each other, putting him first, setting aside any differences. I would really like to think that I have played a part too. I'm not his Mum. I'm not trying to be.

And I know, I know that despite the fact that he isn't 'mine', despite the fact that at times we're not always going to see eye to eye, I like to think that I have a special place in his life. He certainly has a special place in mine.

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.