Mother scrooge

Santa was not part of my childhood. My parents didn't like the idea of lying to their children, of actively deceiving us into believing something they knew not to be true. Their feeling was that if you did this, then once your children found out the truth, how would they ever be able to believe anything else you told them?

For Téo's second Christmas, I thought long and hard about the whole Santa thing. On the one hand, it was pretty cute when he noticed all the Santa decorations everywhere. And despite knowing that Santa wasn't real, I actually have good Santa memories - from my dad's annual work Christmas party where Santa always gave me EXACTLY what I wanted (it took an embarrassingly long time for me to realise it was mum who had put my present in his sack). Plus the idea of an annual trip up the mountains for a picture with Santa (which, ahem, we only managed twice) was also appealing.

But. But but. I just couldn't look into those big innocent eyes, and lie through my teeth. So instead I said nothing.

This strategy worked fine ... for a few months anyway until he got indoctrinated about the Easter bunny by his daycare, and came home all excited about how the little wabbit was going to hide eggs. Again it was tempting to go along with it because it was so cute, but I couldn't. He got hidden eggs, but we said nothing about who hid them.

I don't remember Santa being an issue last year, but this year - my goodness he so badly wanted to believe. I don't know who told him the story, but he knew it all - North Pole, reindeer, chimneys, the lot.

Looking into his big excited eyes as he earnestly told me all about Santa, I strongly felt that it had gone too far. That I could no longer stay silent, but had to tell the truth. So I said it was a story. A lovely story, based on a real person, but not true.

He refused to believe me. I felt mean. Right, but mean.

The next day though, he seemed to accept that Santa wasn't real without having lost any of his excitement. And that's how he stayed, hovering between belief and non-belief... exasperatedly saying I know mummy whenever I mentioned Santa was a story, but drinking up The Night Before Christmas on Christmas Eve... helping to wrap presents and knowing who gave who what, but still saying it was Santa who filled his stocking... having a great Christmas despite his scrooge of a mother.

Merry Christmas!

Here comes the sun

So last week I was feeling a bit sorry for myself. There was the inconsolable misery that was Lukan thanks to a bad cold and conjunctavitis and a new tooth all at once. There were extended wails because I said that dessert required the eating of ones dinner with a fork and not fingers. There was C not being around much - like 17 days in the past month. There was being exhausted each night after work and chores. There was the unpleasant feeling of being boring and completely housebound. There were dark thoughts about being a mother; about needing to be constantly on to soothe, to discipline, to feed, to clean, to teach, to listen; about not feeling up to this never-ending, monumentally important, monumentally tedious task.

And then today, for the first time in a couple of weeks, it was sunny. Perfect weather for my favourite day of the year, when the Earth turns towards the northern spring and summer. It even felt like there was more light this evening - a trick because of the clear skies and the fact that I finished work an hour earlier than I have been lately, but nevertheless the wintery sunset over the mountains was beautiful. And this, combined with Lukan feeling better, and Téo being so sweet and loving, and my deadlines being mostly met for the year, and C home for a while, and the sure knowledge of how incredibly lucky I am, felt like a kind of turning point for me too.

And so it goes

When I lived in Sydney, I had friends who lived in a newly developed area. On the drive there I'd pass a big field, and above the field there was always a hovering hawk. I'd look out for it as I drove past, happy each time to see it.

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There's a field next to our house, with two big walnut trees. Sometime between last winter and summer, one of them died.

The main view out my office window is of the dead tree. All summer I have kind of resented it. It was a barren grey skeleton amongst the otherwise lush greenness. It blocked my view of the hills beyond. Wouldn't it be good if we could chop it down, I mused.

Then winter came, and I am so happy to be able to gaze at this dead tree. A woodpecker hops around the trunk, pecking away for grubs. Robins and other small birds dive down from the branches to gather seeds from the weeds below then dart back up for safety. When it's clear, the trunk glows golden in the late afternoon light.

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One day on the drive to my friends' house, I saw that the field had been bulldozed, ready to build new houses. My eyes went up to look for the hawk... s/he was there, no longer hovering, instead perched on a telephone wire. Where will you hunt now? I thought sadly.

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We moved into the barn with no malice towards the local bird life. But I can't deny that this winter, the birds have less to eat because of our home. Even if I hadn't weeded the front garden, it still would have been mowed, as is the back garden which, while weedy, has no tall seeding plants. Plus a large area that for decades - maybe even a hundred years - was grasses is now paved.

The owners of the field have no immediate plans to sell, but eventually they, or their children, will - and the walnut trees will come down and houses will be built.

And like that we squeeze out the wildlife, mostly without even thinking about it.

The spirit of the season

It started snowing last night and it's been snowing all day. Not heavily by any means, but still enough to be very pretty. I've been trying to get a good picture all day, and just now snapped one that seemed OK.

I came upstairs, slotted the SD card into the computer, admired the photo...

.... and did a double-take. What's that on our driveway?

A snowman??

Yes, a snowman. I hope he stays with us a while.

Life and work

Yes I know, I have been very crap lately in providing tea break fodder. I've been very crap in most parts of my life actually, leading to a slight... ah... breakdown type situation which has caused me to reassert that I am not meant to be a machine working day and night and it's OK to also focus on my friends and family. Umm, yes, I know this is obvious... the sad thing it's not the first time I've gotten myself into this must-work beaver-like mentality, and every time I have regretted putting work above life.

Anyway, the good thing about the latest reassertion is that I said I can't possibly meet the deadline by tomorrow, and hey presto guess what? I got an extension!! It's still pretty tight but at least doable now. So, phew.

And now I am going to take my kids shopping to get some decorations for our Christmas tree. Because surely you didn't think my überwoman dreams would not include a big, brightly lit (yet still tasteful) tree???

Crazy for a bit longer

So there I was yesterday, thinking I was finally on top of this big project that's taken up most of my waking time (and a lot of what should be my sleeping time) for what seems like forever, thinking for the first time since it started that I had some spare days up my sleeve before the deadline, thinking I could maybe even take a break this weekend and you know, not work, just for something novel... and then today I was told the deadline has been moved five days forward, to Wednesday next week. Which sent me back to what has become my normal state: a mix of fatigue and barely contained panic.

Back to it then.

Still alive

My best friend from school, and Téo's fairy godmother, was visiting from the US last week.

A snowman was built:
Books were read:
Cuddles were had:
(By me too:)
And sadly today she flew back home.

Sorry to freak you out sweetheart while you are away

I was never clucky before Téo was conceived. I wanted a baby, but it was kind of an abstract wanting, not a physical need. Plus I didn't think newborns were that cute.

When Lukan's heart was just starting to beat, I went to the birthday party of a one year old. Watching a slide show of her life so far, I asked her mother if she felt clucky seeing her daugher as a newborn. Yes, she said. I don't feel anything at all, I replied. Newborns still did nothing for me, even with a very much wanted baby growing in my belly.

I've mentioned before our ambivalence towards a third child. We discussed it again last week and it's still unresolved, both of us going from wanting to not wanting and back again.

But since then, it seems like all my blog faves have announced a pregnancy. And I'm jealous. I want to post double lines here, the first shadowy images. Not to be the same as the other bloggers, but because I WANT A BABY. With each pregnancy that's been announced, my heart has ached a little more. For the first time, I am feeling a physical desire for a tiny little newborn of my own, for creating a brand new person.

I'm officially clucky.

Bad love

When I was living in Japan, and before C moved to my town, I fell in love. Even though I had known the guy for a while and hung out with him a bit - even woken up one morning platonically in his bed - the falling was swift and unexpected, catching me by surprise. He was just so cool. He did interesting things. He had interesting opinions. He had written travel articles, and a book. He was cute.

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When I was living in Japan, and before C moved to my town, someone fell in love with me. He was very uncool. He was very unattractive. We had nothing in common. Plus he was 40 years old and a virgin. I was in my 20s and, well, not. I wasn't interested in him at all, not even to be a friend.

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I was in a bad way. I was used to boys liking me more than I liked them, but this time it was the other way around. I wasn't the one in control. I was the one desperate to be liked. And I had no clue what he really thought of me. It was like the ground had been pulled from under me - I was flailing, suddenly unsure of everything. I suspected I was nowhere near cool enough for him, and this took away my sense of worth, my sense of me, my faith in what I believed. Depression, anxiety, and insecurity followed.

Falling in love was not at all pleasant.

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I made it clear to the 40 year old that it was never going to happen. He persisted - for months. He told me I was the one who could make him whole. When I kept refusing to go out with him, he quoted Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus, saying he thought I was acting like a man and retreating into a cave. If I didn't answer an email straight away, he accused me of being grumpy. He analysed everything I did and said and threw it back at me. I directly told him that I wasn't interested and that he made me feel uncomfortable. He said I'll wait until you do feel comfortable. He had no pride, and no shame. I grew to intensely dislike him.

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One time during the two weeks we were maybe together, maybe not, I called the guy to ask if he wanted to go on a hike I was going on. He declined and - just like what happens in dumb Hollywood romantic "comedies" - I got off the phone clutching my head and moaning no no no at my stupidity for having asked him along when I knew it wasn't his thing. Now what will he think of me? Did I sound too eager? Too uncool?

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That night I got a postcard from the 40 year old, babble about how he was not a good enough friend for me. It came with two tickets to a concert I didn't want to go to.

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The irony was not lost on me.

Desire over reality

I've been working a lot lately. Big big project, not enough time, a suddenly frequently absent au pair, a keyboard that stopped working and needed replacing, interviewing new nannies (none of them wanted to live with us - oh how we will miss the kitchen being cleaned after dinner!), a husband away this week and half of next week... it's all been a bit crazy.

So I've been working whenever I get a chance, and long hours whenever the au pair is here or C's grandparents can babysit.

Which means the kids are not seeing much of me. We haven't even had mornings together this week as they've been sleeping in until 8, which is when I start work.

Every day Téo asks me over and over when will you be finished your work mummy? I tell him what time, and he asks it's in how long? And has no idea what an hour, or three hours, or ten hours means. I keep saying I'll buy a clock so he can see the hands and know what I mean by the time, but I haven't had a chance.

Yesterday morning he asked again what time I'll be finished. I said 6 o'clock, and he said But I don't know what 6 o'clock means. So I thought a bit, and then said it will be when it's starting to get dark. That seemed to satisfy him, and off he went.

At 10.30am he came back into the office to tell me something, then looked outside at the blue sunny sky, and without a trace of guile said Mummy look! It's starting to be dark!

Never say never

I thought it was dumb that the heroine of The Nanny Diaries was called Nanny. So did C. It was too contrived, too obvious.

Our new nanny is called Nani.

Telling the twoosh

Tonight while getting getting ready for bed:

- Mummy, on the television at grand-papa's I saw a mean bird eating a baby penguin.

- Well, that's nature sweetheart. Some animals eat other animals to live.

- Why?

- Well it's like us, we eat animals too.

- (incredulous) We don't eat cows!

- Yes we do, we eat cows.

- Papa, do you know what mummy said? She's teasing me! She said we eat cows!

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A (slightly hammy) recreation:


And the look on his face when C told him there's horse's hooves in ice cream - was it very different from the expression of you anglophone readers when you heard me say we eat horses??

A spot of bother

Our new au pair is leaving us - for unfortunate reasons and against what she'd like to do, she has to go back to her home country. It's a sad story and I feel deeply for her.

For us it's back to the au pair search. Not nearly the same magnitude of a problem as what our au pair is facing, but still, oh joy.

We interviewed six people to replace J, our lovely summer au pair.

One didn't ask any questions at all, making it an interview with long silences once we had run out of things to say and before she needed to leave to take the train home. This didn't bode well for dinners together.

One was sugary sweet and overly polite, and also a very definite and dominating presence. This both annoyed and intimidated me, respectively.

One seemed OK except that just the week before she'd suddenly left her previous au pair job in a perfect family after an (understandable) emotional breakdown and now (inexplicably) didn't want us to speak to them ... and then let slip that her boyfriend had recently thrown her mobile phone out the window in a fit of rage at her speaking to other males. This didn't help me believe that there wouldn't soon be another crisis.

One got a face full of Téo fiddling with himself. Apart from that, she wasn't actually an au pair.*

One we didn't even get to interview because, despite C spending a lot of time charming her mother, she did a no-show twice. Twice. And then she had the nerve to be rude when C told her we'd chosen someone else!!**

The sixth, who was the first we interviewed, seemed capable and pleasant. She got the job.

Here's hoping we find someone good to replace her quickly - for both the kids and my deadlines!

* She would have minded the kids in her own home... but J spoiled us with the benefits of having an extra pair of hands around even when I wasn't working. Like at dinner time.

** Here's the whole story if you are interested:

It started when the mother (who was handling all the emails) dismissed us as being an option because other families had sent lovely welcoming emails and pictures of their kids and houses in contrast to C's short email followed by a telephone call. So C spent an evening writing a very polite email to the daughter (sent through her mother) and taking pictures of the kids and the entire floor we have to offer to an au pair. He was rewarded with a very effusive email from the mother gushing over our beautiful children and saying that we were now the favourites. So he got what he wanted... but she was never a real candidate after this as we still had no direct contact with the daughter and the mother seemed a little over the top (e.g., she told us hadn't sent any pictures of her daughter (not that we asked for any) because the ones she had were not to her daughter's advantage) . I was concerned that if we took on this girl, the mother would be on our doorstep any time her precious darling didn't like something. And then the daughter failed to show up twice for an interview, and didn't even call to tell us she wasn't coming. Pity, as I was curious to meet them both in person. (You didn't think she'd be coming to the interview alone, did you??)

A cheesy story

C loves himself some cheese fondue. Every year come September, he starts dreaming of a weekly fondue dinner.

A weekly fondue dinner is never going to happen. And I hold out as long as possible for the first one of the season.

It's not that I don't like fondue, because I do. It's yummy. So yummy that when it's there bubbling away in front of me, I can't stop dipping into it... and no matter how sternly I have told myelf beforehand to just eat a little, before I know it I've ingested a quarter of a kilo of cheese. That's a lot of cheese. And however much C insists that it's really not so many calories, it's still a lot of fat. Fat which will not in any way help my (not very strenuous) efforts to lose the last 5 kilos of pregnancy fat.

So anyway, this year I held out until last weeked.

C was very happy to hear I'd relented. He got the ingredients ready, took out the fondue pot... and ran into a problem.

The fondue pot is ceramic. Our new stove is induction.

Lucky we have a gas burner!

So the 2008/9 fondue season could start after all.

(But we're never having one a week.) (No matter how much you nag me sweetheart.)

Little engines that can

Téo got a bike for his birthday. I wasn't sure how he'd go on it.

He's never been the most agile child. It's not that he can't do things, he just doesn't always do them very gracefully. So while other kids his age would climb easily onto those rocking things at the park, Téo would awkwardly clamber and get a foot stuck somewhere. Other kids would give one powerful push on their scooter and then breezily glide along, while Téo would hesitantly push-push-push, only daring to glide for a half second at a time.

(I worry that he takes after me.) (I'm sorry sweetheart if you do.)

Even recently I had seen kids a full year younger pedal better than him. So while I wanted him to have a bike, I thought it might take a while before he got the hang of it.

Wrong. It's like he was born to ride it. And the look of capable determination on his face while he pedals - I love it. His expression, it's like a glimpse of an older Téo, the man he will be.

I love that he's so proud of himself, and that he enjoys riding so much.

It was the perfect present.

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In other news, Lukan took two steps today!

My next wish...

... is that Barack Obama is not assassinated by some nut job.

Who will it be??

For the first time ever, I want to stay up to see who's won the American presidential election. I've always wanted the Democrat to win before, but this is just me following party lines - I've never really cared about who exactly the winning and losing candidates are (well, except for George W. four years ago). But this year I do. This year I even wish I could vote myself.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not really that engaged. I haven't followed everything each presidential and vice-presidential candidate has said, I didn't watch the debates. But even so, I know that I really really do not want Sarah Palin anywhere near the Oval Office or getting any further public endorsement, and that I'd really really like Barack Obama to win.

I'd like to be more eloquent about my admiration for Obama and despair over Palin, but many others are saying it so much better. So I'll just say that it's pretty much summed up in this speech by Obama and this snippet from Palin (her anti-research remark is at 01:18) (and how is it even possible that someone so ignorant can even be part of a contest against Obama's thoughtfulness???)

Here's hoping there's good news in the morning...

Cataclysm

There you are, wandering the world, when all of a sudden you stumble across a nice place to live. A warm place, with lots of food and enough water. A calm, cosy place. Uncrowded. You settle down, meet others of your kind, reproduce.

Generations pass, and your by now large family prospers. Food remains plentiful, as does water. The climate stays stable.

One of your descendants carries a new mutation - which who knows, may lead to an entire new species with wondrous new capabilities.

And then, out of the blue, a random event wipes it all out, leaving nothing behind but a barren wasteland. Whatever possibility that descendant with the new mutation held - gone. It's all gone.

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This is what I was thinking the other day when, for the first time ever, I cleared out the gunk from Lukan's earfolds.

über Halloween

My überwoman dreams include Halloween. A big specatcular Halloween, with jack o'lanterns and decorations and costumes and cool devices to spook trick-or-treaters.

Yes, I know, this is odd. Halloween was not part of my childhood (except the year we lived in the States), and it's not a custom here either. Although, it has been getting more popular and I have liked the cute costumed kids appearing on our doorstep demanding lollies. And it was originally a Scottish/Irish celebration so my genes have some claim to the tradition.

But anyway, leaving aside the deconstruction of my wish for an über Halloween, how did I go?

Jack o'lanterns - check








Decorations - check











Costume - check











Spider cupcakes - bonus check











Lollies for trick-or-treaters - check

Cool devices to spook trick-or-treaters - not so much.

Also, Téo did not actually get to go trick-or-treating as C isn't home tonight and even in my überness I couldn't manage feeding the kids and getting them to bed on time and trick-or-treating all by myself. But he was totally freaked out by a trick-or-treating group of older ghouls, so the spirit of the evening (ha ha!) was not completely lost on him.

I got some great ideas on the spooky devices too. Cos those kids, they got it too easy, just appearing at the door and holding out their lolly bags. They're gonna hafta work for their booty next year, I tell ya. Watch this space.

What's the time rule for bins?

I don't pay that much attention to germs.

I know that I should. I know that good hygiene is a big part of not getting sick, perhaps the most important thing. But unless I or the kids have touched something really bad (i.e., poo), I often forget handwashes. Like, nearly always often. And when I remember, well, it's usually too late. The kids are already eating their dinner with dirty hands. Sometimes visibly dirty hands.

And that 3-second rule for food that's fallen on the floor? Not followed here. Unless the food looks unpalatable (stepped on, dessicated or mouldy), back it goes on the plate.

This is not a recent development. Hearing the "for the first child, we religiously sterilized everything five times a day; by the third we took the dummy out of the dog's mouth and popped it straight in the kid's mouth" thing, I figured well, why bother sterilizing with the first child then?

Because the thing is, even apart from the theory that being too hygienic is leading to different kinds of illnesses, I just can't believe that our regular standards are so bad. I did boil/dishwasher both Téo and Lukan's bottles and dummies every now and again, but overall I couldn't see that soap and hot water would not do the job. Plus once they started putting everything in their mouths, I just couldn't believe the things in my house were germier than everything they were touching, sucking on and licking outside. Things like the black rubber around bus windows, for instance. And airports.

Plus we keep our floor clean! We don't wear shoes in the house! In fact, I am more concerned about not eating fallen food directly after the floors have been cleaned, because I don't like the idea of ingesting the chemicals in the cleaning products.

But tonight I went perhaps a bit too far.

I was on my own. The kids were hanging on to me, clamouring for food. I too was starving.

I was going as fast as I could. The meat was done, the veggies were nearly ready, I just had to heat up the fajitas.

Mah-mah mah-mah* screeched Lukan. Mummy I'm huuuunnnnggrryyyy whined Téo. I want to eat chicken fajitas!

I popped the two fajitas from the open packet into the frying pan, then went back to chopping capsicum. When I turned back to the fajitas, the bottom one was smoking.

Damn.

I tossed it into the bin (Mah-mah mah-mah! I want to eeeeaaattt!), cleaned the burnt bits off the pan (Mah-mah mah-mah! Mummy I want you to hurry up!), popped the second fajita back in (Mah-mah mah-mah! I want to eat nowwwww!), and went to the cupboard to get a new packet of fajitas.

There was no new packet of fajitas.

Damn damn damn.

Téo and I shared the first fajita (Lukan likes everything but the fajita). It wasn't enough.

I admit to being a bit frazzled. Lukan was still screeching mah-mah mah-mah** every minute or so, Téo was asking for more food, I was still very very hungry. And the idea of a fajita-less chicken fajita wasn't nearly as appetizing as a fajita-ed chicken fajita.

It's not like the garbage on top is actually dirty, I reasoned. It's stuff I threw away just before throwing away the burnt fajita. Plastic mostly.

So yes, I retrieved the fajita from the bin, scraped off the burnt bits, browned the other side, and shared it with Téo.

Mmmmmmm, full tummy.

But now that tummy is feeling a little rumbly. Perhaps I should pay a bit more attention to germs.

* More more... which he repeats whenever he wants something, starting with a polite tone but escalating to a screech if the demand is not met fast enough. I.e., immediately.

** Due to his habit of flinging food onto the floor, I only put a few pieces of food on his plate at a time. As soon as the last piece goes into his mouth he starts up with the mah-mah. Not very peaceful, but way less messy.

Truth in tales?

"Growing teeth does not cause a fever, diarrhoea, colds, coughs, ear infections, or nappy rash."

This is what my trusty, sensible Baby Love says.

"Maybe he's getting a tooth?"

This is what my trustworthy, sensible mother-in-law asks whenever Lukan has a fever.

Because of Baby Love, I have always replied that I don't think so.

But after seeing a new tooth emerging on Saturday after a night of inconsolable screaming followed by a day of high fever, and remembering that two new teeth emerged the day after the last time he screamed all night (and that his first two teeth appeared after another fever, although that time he had the flu, like me), I have to say: there's something in my mother-in-law's question.

Fear

I don't remember if it was my first time, but I think it must have been. Disneyland 1982. Space Mountain, The Matterhorn, and the newly opened Big Thunder. I rode these rollercoasters, and I wanted more.

Mum rode them with us, willingly but maybe not as eagerly. Years later at the Gold Coast's Dreamworld, she admitted to closing her eyes as one of the rollercoasters there looped upsidedown. I remember being incredulous. But mum, that's the best bit!

I'm pretty sure I laughed at her.

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Ever since I turned 30, I have noticed that I am getting more cautious. It's not a conscious decision, it's more like my body baulks at doing what I previously did without a thought. I don't like it. I hate feeling vertigo, or being outright too scared of doing things I once could do.

I also don't like the idea of being a mother who's too scared to either do things with her boys, or else who's saying be careful the whole time.

(I just went looking for a picture of the mountain track where I first felt vertigo, and found the following from 2003:

The second photo makes my skin crawl. I mean, can you SEE where I'm standing??? And I remember slipping here. SLIPPING. Plus this was nothing compared to climbing onto the rocks that made up the summit.)

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When my brother and his family were here, we went to ride the Alpine Coaster, a rollercoaster-like tobogan run on the glacier of Les Diablerets. We'd been there the year before with my aunt, when I was very pregnant, and I was looking forward to finally having a go.

I was scared from the start. There I was in a flimsy sled, on a flimsy track high above nothing, sure that if I took the curves too fast I'd tip myself and Téo out.

I crawled down.

All the time, while hating feeling scared but unable to overcome it, I was thinking Is this it then? The end of riding rollercoasters? The start of my kids laughing at me? Really? So soon?

And then Téo piped up. Mummy, why don't you go as fast as papa?

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I'm sorry for laughing at you mum. I think you were extremely brave to ride the rollercoasters with us over and over if you were scared.

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I almost didn't try again. I almost gave my tickets to the others, figuring they'd be better to use them since they'd enjoy the ride.

I'm so glad I didn't. Because the second time was much better. I felt safer, I went faster. The third time I went faster still. The fourth time I flew.

It was bloody brillant.

Friday morning playlist

12.45am Screamfest (Wake the house extended mix) Lukan (1:00:00)
1.15am I don't like my bed Téo (0:05:00)
1.45am Screamfest (Inconsolable mix) Lukan (0:15:00)
2.00am Technicolour burp Lukan (0:01:30)
2.15am I still don't like my bed Téo (0:05:00)
2.30am Everybody back in bed! Emma & Cédric (0:05:00)
3.34am Screamfest (Revival mix) Lukan (0:10:00)
3.44am Heaving sobs Lukan (0:05:00)
3.49am Screamfest Lukan (0:05:00)
3.54am Heaving sobs Lukan (0:05:00)
3.59am Screamfest Lukan (0:05:00)
4.04am Heaving sobs Lukan (0:05:00)
4.10am Prelude to a snore Cédric (0:00:30)
4.11am HISSSSSSS Emma (0:00:30)
5.46am Screamfest Lukan (0:10:00)
6.15am Screamfest Lukan (0:10:00)
7.00am Screamfest Lukan (0:10:00)
7.43am Happy chirping Lukan & Téo

Getting there

This morning:

This afternoon:

Come on over everyone, we can finally seat you in (extendable) comfort! (If not yet under attractive lighting.)

Crisis of confidence II

Over the weekend I posted a post about a lack of confidence I was feeling in my parenting abilities. I deleted it because it read as though my family being here was the problem. This was absolutely not the case - it was my reaction to Téo's behaviour while they were here and ongoing failure with toilet training that was the problem. I started to fix up the post, but since I am feeling better now it was even harder to articulate properly so I just deleted it. I'm very sorry for hurting my family's feelings.

So, go look at flickr and see what a lovely time we had (when I wasn't over-reacting about Téo).

Lotsa photos

So I've just spent the past 3 evenings uploading photos to flickr (what an exciting life I lead). It would be lovely if you took a look. And there's still more to come!

Beauty

Towards the end of August, I start to get a bit apprehensive. Summer is ending. Rain, biting cold wind, grey skies, fog, stuffing kids into layers of clothes - all these lie ahead. They are not my favourite things.

But then October comes, and I am awed by autumn.

Definitley worth it no longer being summer.

Grape picking - by Chloe

Yesterday we did some grape picking and rode on a tractor.

Lukan ate lots of grapes and got to ride in the tractor instead of the trailer and he cried because he didn't like the tractor.

(A proud aunty boast: Chloe typed this by herself. She turned six last month.)

4 years

Four years already. Unbelievable.

More pirate party photos on flickr one of these days. Regular posting should start up again soon too...

Back from seeing the tower

More photos on flickr soon. Ish.

A message from Téo

Today we're going to Natalie. We have to sit in the car for a vewy vewy long time with no mucking around or fussing. We're staying in a big old farmhouse. Uncle M, Aunty J, C and Z will be there. We're going to see the tower that's bending over. Leaning over.

See you in a week!

Really not necessary

- Why did you make the bed today?

- I didn't!

- Then how come the doona is perfectly neat and straight and smooth and tucked in at the edges?

We are not bed-making people. I like a neat and tidy house, but daily doona straightening is not my thing. Plus it's a bit tricky - the doona is made to hang over the sides of a regular bed, which doesn't work with our futon.

Hence C's puzzlement over the made bed on Tuesday.

- It must have been the au pair.

J left us in mid-September to go to uni. (*sob sob*) A new au pair started this week.

I meant to tell her yesterday that she really doesn't need to make our bed, but forgot.

So last night when I went to bed, it was again made. And again I was embarrassed, not least because our sheets... well, they need washing. The odour is a little strong.

But it was even worse than that.

There, on the chest of drawers, were my dirty clothes from the day before that I'd flung on the floor and forgotten to take downstairs to the laundry. All neatly folded. Including my dirty socks and undies.

Oh the shame.

Country life

(Photo taken from the car by mum)

The grass will be greener

You know what shocked me the most when I moved to this country? The dandelions. Here I was living in a place reknowned for neatness and orderliness and doing things The Right Way - and everyone had dandelions in their lawn. Along with a heap of other weeds. Laziness and unkemptness everywhere.

I tried to get over my Australian aversion to weeds. I did. I really really tried to like dandelions. And actually, the flower is quite pretty. Plus kids love the puff.

I thought I'd done it (although I still baulked at liking dandelion salad) ... and then I got my own garden. My own, dandelion weed filled garden.

I've spent a lot of time weeding lately.

The dandelions were dealt with pretty quickly... but as I inspected the lawn, words came back to me from my father. Grass names. Couch, kikuyu, paspalum.

Hmm, paspalum. We seem to have a lot of it. I'm pretty sure dad said it wasn't a good grass to have. And it sure is ugly.

So, in the afternoons after work with the kids helping, and late into the summer nights with the swallows calling out above, and for entire weekend days as the village passed by and teased me about wanting an English garden*, I've been pulling out paspalum.

Bucket-load after bucket-load after bucket-load. (Along with bucket-loads of stones) (And with some interference)

The photo above with me in it shows the extent of my paspalum-pulling obsession - I'm not on our side of the garden. The thought of weed-free lawn on our side and paspalum-infested lawn on the other was too much to bear.

Which added urgency to the weeding, because people were starting to visit the other half of the barn, with an eye for buying. And while C's godfather seemed to be OK with me ripping up the grass, I couldn't be sure the new neighbours would appreciate it.

My obsessive side was pretty sure my shy side would win if I didn't finish before someone moved in. So I stepped up my efforts, even weeding by feel in the fading evening light.

And I did it. I pulled up the last clump of paspalum just before my family arrived for 4.5 weeks.

Our new neighbours move in 2 weeks after my family leaves. Which just might be enough time to fill in all the holes I've made in their lawn...

* Just to have in writing for C's family, who continue to tease me: I'm not aiming for a perfectly manicured English garden, just one with pretty grass and no weeds.

So here's an odd thing

Discovering YouTube was a hallelujah moment - there I was with a heap of videos of Téo, and no way to easily show them off to my friends and family on the other side of the world. And then voilà, there was a way. Thank you YouTube!

So I uploaded a heap, sent a few links, videos were watched in the next few days, and that was that.

Except that was not that. Strangers are watching these videos too. And for some reason, two in particular seem quite popular. Nowhere near the league of Charlie biting Harry, which has been viewed something like 53 million times (I'm not exaggerating) and spawned a heap of remakes and even got the stars on TV, but still, way more popular than I'd ever imagined. Or can fathom.

One is of building the train set that Téo got for his second birthday. 486 views to date. Um... why? It's a nice reminder for us, and maybe the family liked it 2 years ago, but who is watching it now? I imagine the people who find it in a search click away as soon as they realise what they're watching.

But people are definitely watching the other popular one, of my niece making shortbread. Someone gave it a five-star rating! Two people have left comments! Recently! And it's not my brother watching it over and over - it already had over 300 views before he even got around to taking a look. Again I don't get it - it's cute yes, but not interesting for people who don't know us, surely?

And all the time, my all-time favourite Téo video has only been viewed 43 times.

It's all very odd indeed.

Another cute video

(At least, I think so...)



* 38 sec: I once saw a lilac cat (but not in Scotland)

* 1 min: he usually asks why the dog is in the darktime, and I say it's because it would be hard to see a white dog on a white page. This is the first time he's checked that other colours would be OK to see a white dog.

Singalong

Just to counter the negativity of the last post:

Weary

So I'm back for a bit... but feeling very weary after two short trips as a single mum in two weeks.

On the first trip (to the Matterhorn with mum) there was whinging and screaming in the car on the way there and back, Lukan was sick and screamed every night for hours, and Téo's behaviour was less than exemplary most of the time. Things were better on the second trip (to Luzern with my brother and his family) - and the kids slept in the car for most of the way there and back, thank god - but it was still tiring. Plus there was much screaming at bedtime after we got home last night.

And C doesn't get home from a work trip until midnight tonight, so there's no chance of a break today.

We weren't so lucky with the weather on Mount Pilatus

Back from the mountains

We're back from a short trip to take mum to see the Matterhorn.

Not allowing women to advance

I've been thinking about this for a while now, but I'm not sure how it will go as a blog post.

Anyways, here goes.

The week before our holiday in Scotland, C was the the UK for work. So I flew to Edinburgh with the kids, and he met us there.

To me this was the sensible thing to do: why waste money and time (and CO2 emissions) on unnecessary plane trips when I could perfectly well manage on my own? But several of the people C met with that week said their wives would never have allowed them to do the same.

Would not have allowed them?

Would not have allowed them??

I just can't get over this.

I understand not being able to fly alone with two little kids, and also not wanting to fly alone with two little kids. I have no problem if people in this situation choose, as a couple, to instead fly together as a family, with one party coming home from somewhere else to be able to do this. But the not allowing makes it sound as if the husband is getting away with something, or breaking some principle. And I just can't see what that something or that principle would be. It seems completely irrational. And also unfair.

I couldn't help but think of these women as controlling princesses, or else as wane 19th century type women who have to take themselves off for a lie down all the time and are never expected to be able to do anything for themselves.

And this got me thinking... is this type of behaviour in some women today setting us all back? The men C met with were all professionals, probably managers. Does having a wife who doesn't allow them to do perfectly sensible things if that means the woman has to do something by herself colour their view of women as a whole? Does it make them believe that women really are less capable, or else irrational and demanding? And does this consciously or unconsciously prevent them from giving female subordinates the same chances as male subordinates?

I know that there are other factors behind women not making up 50% of top management, and not being paid as much as men on average. And while I believe in equal rights, I'm not sure women will ever make 50% representation everywhere, at every level - being the ones that bear the babes is not something that's easy to get around, or even something that necessarily should be gotten around.

But still, if there's a lot of these not allowing wives and girlfriends, it can't be a good thing for women as a whole.

What do you think?

Tables turned

There were mornings, when Téo and Lukan were little babies, where C would wake up and say all amazed Hey, did he sleep through the night? And I would look at him bleary eyed, and say No, I fed him at midnight, then 2am, then 5am. And C would be Really? I didn't hear a thing.

These days, when I hear Lukan wake up at 7am, I say to C all amazed Hey, did he sleep through the night? And he looks at me bleary eyed and says No, I gave him a bottle at 5 am. And I'm like Really? I didn't hear a thing.

Happy birthday to me!

C and Miksy: please note the 3 and stop talking as if it's already a 4.

(And thanks to Claudio and Scilla for bringing a cake round this weekend, otherwise I wouldn't have had a birthday cake at all!)

Our back door

Just quickly before I take myself to bed... C's godparents gave us an olive tree as a housewarming present, and I love the way it looks next to our back door. Makes me think of the Mediterranean every time I see it. (Although I have fears for the survival of the olive tree as well...)

Incoherence

OK so I was planning to write a post tonight about our Venus fly trap and the fact that really a better name would be "very delicate, occasional small bug trap" (only I was going to make that the punchline) because, after feeding every trap with a great big fly within about two days of buying the plant (only I was going show this with a picture of all the traps closed), I googled "overfeeding Venus fly trap" and found out that this was not a good idea.

Some people say you can give them a bug once every 2 months but others say you should never feed them ever at all because the plants need a lot of energy to digest bugs and giving them too many weakens them and is the leading cause of domestic Venus fly trap death. And even those who say you can feed them say the bug shouldn't be more than one-third the length of the trap, but the house flies we put into the traps were at least half the length of the traps.

The googling also taught me that Venus fly traps can only be given rainwater and definitely definitely not water with a lot of calcite, which is what our tap water is full of, and also that the soil must always be wet and never ever be allowed to dry out ever, and that preferably they should be in some kind of terrarium to keep the humidity up and that if you don't have a glass terrarium you should improvise with PET bottles if you want healthy plants, and that watering problems are another leading cause of domestic Venus fly trap death.

The rainwater bizzo has been a bit pesky as it's been a drought here ever since we bought the fly eating plants, so I have basically been stealing people's collected rainwater to keep them watered. But I haven't been stealing enough so their soil has dried out a couple of times. (Maybe more than a couple.)

And then the googling also taught me that the plants need a lot of light and that even a sunny windowsill is not light enough and you should put electric lights right up close to them to be sure they are getting enough light, and that lack of light is another leading cause of domestic Venus fly trap death.

I like my Venus fly trap and honestly want it to be happy, but sticking it in a PET bottle with a light 2 cm above the traps just isn't going to work for our living room decor, so, with the overfeeding and dry soil as well, I'm not sure how long it's going to last. But it has been making new traps like crazy since taking up residence on our sunny windowsill so I'm trying to think this is a good sign and that maybe it's not as delicate as google results would have me believe, and not that it's growing these traps as a stress-induced last-ditch all-or-nothing desperate attempt at survival.

Only I've been working long hours lately so I'm too tired to put it all together nicely.

I have done my usual trick of accepting too much work and not having enough time to do it, this time before my mother arrives next Friday for a week followed directly by my brother and his family for 3.5 weeks. So apologies for the light posting last week... and apologies in advance for light posting over the next few weeks.

Class, 100% class

So I'm on this email group for local expats, and ages ago someone offered free cooking books that she wanted to give away. Free? I'm in on that! I immediately claimed a whole bunch of them.

She wrote back to tell me they were mine and that I should call her to arrange a pick up. But I never did. Partly because I then got swamped with work - big projects with urgent deadlines that even make me forget about lunch. And partly because I hate using the phone.

She finally wrote to ask if I'm ever going to pick them up, because she's having a baby and she wants to clear out the room that will be the nursery. I still didn't call... until today, a week after the email.

She was in hospital, having just had the baby.

I don't see a friendship forming here.

---------------------------------------------------------

Unfortunately our unclassiness sinks lower than this.

Since Saturday Téo has been running around with no pants, in my latest attempt to finally get him toilet trained. This is working quite well, but he's constantly fiddling with himself.

Tonight we interviewed a possible babysitter (J is leaving us soon to start studying). I was sitting next to the woman - who is from our village - on the same couch, but twisted to face her. Téo climbed onto my lap, also facing her. We realised too late where his hands were and what he was doing.

Babble turning into words

Home

At around 5 this evening, C's mum passed by with one of Téo and Lukan's cousins, N, whose family moved to the village today. N (who had been with her grandparents all day) wanted to see her new house. Would we like to come to?

So off we all trooped, on a 5 minute kid-paced stroll to the new house, stopping along the way for Téo and N to splash in a fountain. C's mum, Téo and I had a snoop around the house, and N proudly showed off her new room. Then we left C's brother and his wife to finish unloading stuff from the car, and went to C's parents' house I as needed to steal some of their collected rainwater for the fly-eating plants. Téo swung with N and her brother M on a swing hung on a big walnut tree, picked raspberries with N, and kicked a ball around with M. Lukan pointed at cows and somehow wasn't hit by the ball.

And then it was getting towards dinner time so we said goodbye and meandered home.

This is exactly the life I wanted for my kids.

(If only all of you were here too!)

It's really hot here

Good thing there's a beach just 20 min away!

One year

From this:

To this:
Happy first birthday my beautiful boy!

(I'll load more photos from his party to flickr when I get the chance...)

(Oh, and photos from Scotland are now there - some stolen from Bronnie and Marcus)

The fly killers

When we were in Scotland, Téo watched my friend Bronwyn gently shoo a fly outside. In our house we squash them he said solemnly.

And squash them we certainly do. Multiple times a day. Every day since we moved to the fly-infested countryside.

C's prefered method is to whack them with a tea towel, but I've gone for the the barehanded method. I stalk them from behind, bringing my hand slowly closer and closer, then whack, I trap them, pick them up, and squash them in the bin to make absolutely sure they're dead.

At first Téo would bounce around excitedly, scaring the fly away. But now he knows to stay still. He freezes and stage whispers There's a fly mummy! Kill it!

His excitement increased after I bought these on Saturday:

Fly-eating plants!!!

We all probably enjoyed a bit too much trapping a fly, then releasing it in the Venus Fly Trap and watching the "jaws" snap shut.

It would be nice to think these plants will solve our fly problem - squashing flies is certainly effective, but it gets a bit depressing to kill five of them first thing in the morning before I've even had a cup of tea.

But I'm not that naive. I know the plants are ornamental and that we need a better solution. I actually bought some fly paper last week, but I don't know where to put it. I don't really want to watch stuck flies struggling while I'm cooking or eating. And I refuse to go the chemical route.

So for the moment we'll stick to squashing and feeding our plants... and take heart in knowing that summer is ending and so the flies will soon be gone. For a few months at least.

I can't wait to hear why he hasn't done his homework

Yesterday Téo went with J, the au pair, to pick blackberries for dessert.

- This one is too small to take home.

Pop, into his mouth it went.

- This one isn't ripe enough.

- This one is too big for Lukan.

- This one is broken.

And so on.

No blackberries made it home for dessert.

Just like their mum

When I was at preschool, I didn't like singing. So I would put my hand over my mouth to hide the fact that I wasn't singing. I never understood how the teachers could tell.

When Téo wants to do something he knows he shouldn't, he says don't look at me mummy. So I don't look, but I tell him not to do what ever it is I know he's about to do. And every time he says, kind of surprised, but you can't see me.

-------------------------------------------------------

My mum tells me that when I was about one, I suddenly refused to eat anything. She eventually realised I wanted to feed myself, so she handed over the spoon.

Last week Lukan suddenly refused to eat. I wondered if maybe he wanted to feed himself. He did.

My oh-so-exciting life

Why hello there. Sorry for not showing up for any cuppas lately - I would have preferred to be here, but the more pesky parts of my life got in the way.

Like cleaning seventy gazillion m2 of windows late into every night, ahead of our house-warming party last Saturday. And then killing seventy gazillion flies that mistakenly thought they were invited to the party as well. Combined with a baby who normally gets up early and then decided earlier would be even better - like 4.30am. And a mix of deadlines thrown in as well.

I still have a few deadlines to work through, but I promise I'll be back soon!

Will we or won't we?

Around the time Téo turned one, we started getting The Question. So when are you going to make him a little brother or sister? We were a little taken aback at how many people asked, including complete strangers. Well gee, you're right, we should get on to that immediately! If you'll just excuse us...

Lukan turns one in a couple of weeks, but we're not getting The Question this time. No, that's not quite true - a couple of people have asked if we'll try for a girl. I have quashed my sensitivity to real or imagined criticisms of the make up of our family and simply said I don't know.

Because I really don't.

Part of me is very very relieved to be over the baby stage - the total dependency of a newborn, the breastfeeding, the broken nights, the isolation, the crying. This part worries about money and long plane trips with three kids and how I'll find time to do everything I want, given that I can't manage it with just two kids. This part sighs, and thinks another two or three years is just too long to wait before we can do fun stuff as a family, like go snorkelling and ride on rollercoasters. And pregnancy was never my favourite state.

But.

Another part of me wants another child. This part can't quite believe I'll never again hold a tiny, slippery just-born baby. This part glosses over those lonely, hard first few months. This part sees the love we have for Téo and Lukan, the fun of seeing them grow, and wants more love and more fun (and ignores the increased potential for bickering and fighting). This part is also having a very hard time giving up on the other names we came up with before deciding on Lukan - like they'll be wasted if we don't use them. Because a cool name is all that having a child involves, right?

So I don't know. All I do know is that neither C nor I are willing to undergo any snipping or tying. We haven't gotten rid of the clothes Lukan's grown out of. And neither of us is insisting on contraception.

Don't get too excited by this - it took a monumental effort for us to conceive Téo, the embryo that didn't make it, and Lukan, and we are not making anywhere near this effort at the moment. Plus I think another miscarriage would end any thoughts about a third child. And the older and more independent Lukan gets, and the older I get too, the less I want to go back to the start.

But you never know.

Look what crossed our driveway today!

I'm off to google "hedgehog friendly garden"...

Singing pom pom pom

Singing was a big part of my childhood. Mum has a beautiful, beautiful soprano voice. She still sings in a choir. Dad sang in the choir too, but I remember him more for the Aussie bush songs and funny songs and melancholy songs he'd sing on long car trips and on bushwalks.

Sadly, I did not inherit any singing abilities whatsoever. From age 12 to age 35, the only time I ever sang willingly was at clubs and concerts, where the music was too loud for anyone to hear me anyway.

And then I had Téo.

From the first night I had him with me in the hospital, the only thing I could think of to try and settle him was to sing. And the only songs I knew were those that dad had sung. So that night, and many, many nights afterwards, I sang Waltzing Matilda, and Road to Gundagai, and Five Miles from Gundagai, and Kookaburra Sits in the Old Gum Tree. And then songs about old Jindabyne being flooded when the Snowy River was dammed. And then one about careless love leading to pregnancies out of wedlock, and another about calves being easily slaughtered. And finally, one about a lobster that grabs hold of a woman's pink bits and is then whacked to death by the husband, giving the wife quite a thrill.

I had never sung so much in my life. My throat hurt. I struggled to hold the tune on some. But I kept singing.

I'm still at it. My reportoire has expanded to include more traditional nursery rhymes and lullabies, but still, on long car trips, I fall back on the songs my dad sang to us. They're even less relevant to my kids than they were to me, coming from both a different time AND a different place (although a line from one song about damming the Snowy River, Give me bulldozers and tractors and hoses and diesels to ease all your troubles away, is still pretty perfect for Téo) - but it's all I can offer.

And I can't help thinking how proud dad would have been to hear Téo today:

Singing pom diddly om
pom pom pom
Never let your pom poms pom pa pom pa pom


(I know this means nothing to most of my readers, sorry. It's the chorus of the song about the lobster, which Dad was famous for. It's a bit crude, and he sent my parents' generation into hysterics singing it with the rude words replaced by "pom". Lyrics to one uncensored version (not exactly Dad's) are here.)

Button pushing

I am getting old. I find I am missing the old way of doing things once they've gone.

Take the car we hired in Scotland. It didn't have a key that you put into the ignition and turned, it had a card that you put into a slot and a big button you pushed to start and stop the engine. Very unsatisfying. It also had an automatic handbrake. Even more unsatisfying. It was more like an arcade car experience than a real car experience. What's next, no steering wheel and a joystick with buttons for left and right instead?

But at least the car had buttons. Our new stove has one of those touch thingamybobs that you press to turn the heat up and down. I only realised tonight, after several episodes of finger-jabbing frustration where I couldn't get the stove to work properly no matter how hard I poked it*, that you don't need to press or push anything, you just gently lay your finger on the touch thingy and voilà, the temperature changes. I can't say I actively miss turning a dial the way I missed turning a car key and pulling the handbrake on and off, but still, gently caressing the stove somehow doesn't feel right. Not physical enough. I'd like to press something and feel at least some movement, some sensation that I actually did something.

I'm sure there's people who still miss a choke, typewriters, eggbeaters ... probably even wringers. And I like modern conveniences, I really do. But the joy of button pushing and key turning and pressing things is innate - just look at how much kids like to do these things. So preventing us from carrying out these basic needs is actually cruelty. Cruelty, I tell you. It shouldn't be allowed. Youngsters these days, they just don't know what they've lost with these new-fangled contraptions. Everything was so much better in my young day!

Right, now I've got the diatribe, I'm ready for the nursing home.

* Just so you don't think I've been unable to work the stove ever since we moved in: it was only installed the week before we went away, and I've only used it a couple of times since then. So yes, that still makes me a slow learner, but not too embarrassingly slow.

Not brave at all

Whenever I have flown to Australia by myself with Téo, at least one of you has made a comment along the lines of You are very brave making the trip by yourself. I have always replied No, not really, Téo is very easy on the plane and anyway I wanted to see you.

After the two-hour flights to and from the UK, one by myself with both kids, I can assure you that really, I AM NOT BRAVE. If Téo had been like Lukan, I really don't know that I would have made the trip to Australia by myself so many times.

We call Lukan "little pest" and "little monster", but actually, Téo was the more abnormal one. We never even had to baby-proof our house once he got mobile - he was usually only interested in toys, and the few times he went to touch a non-toy, we just had to say uh-uh-uh, that's not a toy and he'd stop.

For the most part Lukan sees toys as pesky objects that must be swiped aside in order to get to everything else. Especially electrical items.


We have tried the uh-uh-uh, that's not a toy strategy, but all this has taught him is to say uh-uh when he touches forbidden items. And he really is a pest... in the hotel on our last night in Scotland, he dropped Téo's socks into the toilet bowl, then fished them out and played with them. Which wouldn't have been so bad, except that we hadn't flushed the toilet after using it.

Not being very interested in toys is bad enough for a long plane trip, but Lukan is also a wriggler. Ever since he was a baby, he has never once sat still in a lap. Téo is also usually very active, but there are two things that sink him into a happy, still stupor: Swampy and the television.

So a long plane trip is heaven for Téo - he is allowed to have Swampy AND watch television for hours and hours and hours. On our flight to Dallas when he was 18 months old, he didn't even want to leave his seat once.

Lukan doesn't have a Swampy and is not interested in the television.

The flights to and from the UK were not fun for him. He wanted to crawl, he wanted to touch everything, he wanted to whack everything. Then he screeched when he didn't get his way.

This was bearable for 2 hours, but for a flight that's 10 times longer? Where I won't sleep for at least 30 hours? And with 2 kids to look after? I just don't know that I'm brave enough to do it alone.

The obligatory holiday shots

On the North Sea

This is the town we are staying in this second week in Scotland:

Nothing much else to report.

The best blueberry pancakes

The blueberry pancakes I made for breakfast this morning were the best I have ever made. They even earned me a kiss from Bronnie.

So to share the love, here's the recipe:

1 cup (250g) self-raising flour
2 eggs, separated
something like 3/4 cup milk
1 tablespoon melted butter
extra butter for cooking
blueberries (fresh or frozen, but fresh is MUCH better)

Beat the eggwhites until stiff. Mix everything else separately, except for the blueberries. Add the milk slowly - the consistency should be thicker than for regular pancakes. Stir in the beaten eggwhites - be gentle, you don't want to destroy all the bubbles. The batter should end up being foamy.

Melt butter in a pan over a medium heat, dollop half a ladleful of batter into the pan, drop some blueberries on top, turn when golden on bottom. It's best not to make the pancakes too big otherwise they don't cook so well in the middle. Melt new butter in the pan for every batch.

Serve with maple syrup. And proffer your cheek for kisses!

I made double the quantites above, which fed 3 regular adults, one breastfeeding adult, one toddler, one pre-schooler, and one baby.

He looked away at the wrong moment

Highland fun