Monday 29 September 2008
Sunday 28 September 2008
A story about a husband, a Ginger and a disappearing batch of Madeleine cakes.
Once upon a time there was a husband and a Ginger. The husband cooked dinner every night because the Ginger was a bit useless at cooking and kept trying to poison him, but the Ginger was good at baking and didn't mind cleaning the bathroom, so it all worked out in the wash.
One day, the Ginger found a recipe for Madeleine cakes and remembered that once, many years ago, she had tried Madeleine cakes and that they were very very divine. Sadly, the Ginger did not have a Madeleine tin to bake the Madeleine cakes in, and so she kept the recipe in the hope that one day she would have the proper bake-ware to make Madeleine cakes and she would live happily ever after.
Eventually, the Ginger and Pal Sarah went shopping in Ponsonby (again) and visited the best kitchen stuff shop in all the land called Milly's and the Ginger actually remembered something for a change. The Ginger remembered that she wanted a Madeleine tin so that she could make Madeleine cakes, and so she found the tin and bought the one without the non-stick surface because a lady told her that the non-stick stuff, whatever it's called - the Ginger can't remember - is now known to have carcinogenic properties, and so the Ginger decided that she really didn't want carcinogens in her Madeleine cakes.
Sadly, when the Ginger came home from shopping she realised that she didn't have the recipe ingredients she needed to make the Madeleines, and so waited for grocery shopping day to buy them. On grocery shopping day the Ginger forgot all about the Madeleine ingredients and so had to wait for the next shopping day, but she made sure to start a new shopping list straight away so that she didn't forget.
Finally, the Ginger had her ingredients and could make Madeleine cakes. She decided to do this one Friday night when the husband was at work, and she was all by herself (except for two barky puppies (because it was inorganic rubbish collection time of the year and people were kerb crawling constantly, even at night, and the dogs kept going off their trees driving the Ginger to distraction) and a mad cat) with nothing to do.
The recipe said that the Ginger would get 24 Madeleine cakes from the batch, but she only managed 18, although they were very large and so the Ginger thought that if she had made them the proper size then she would probably have got 24. The Madeleine cakes were very yummy and the Ginger thought that her cake making was very successful and she was so happy to have found the recipe and bought the tin and remembered the ingredients.
Then something terrible happened. On Saturday, the very next day, all the Madeleine cakes disappeared. Someone must have eaten then!! What an awful thing! The Ginger wailed terribly when she realised that all the precious and yummy Madeleines were gone.
Who might have eaten all the Ginger's Madeleine cakes?
I'll give you a clue ...
Scene: The husband and the Ginger are sitting on the couch (watching Nigella's kitchen), each of them eating a Madeleine cake (you must be eating when watching cooking shows or you just get hungry) - the last two Madeleine cakes.
The husband "Madeleines are yum"
The Ginger "Madeleines are yum"
The husband "I've had four of them today" ......
Can you guess where the rest of the Madeleine's went? Bearing in mind that puppies don't have opposable thumbs and are therefore unable to open bicky tins and the mad cat was far too busy running up the curtains to think about cakes?
Cuinn is such a piggy.
One day, the Ginger found a recipe for Madeleine cakes and remembered that once, many years ago, she had tried Madeleine cakes and that they were very very divine. Sadly, the Ginger did not have a Madeleine tin to bake the Madeleine cakes in, and so she kept the recipe in the hope that one day she would have the proper bake-ware to make Madeleine cakes and she would live happily ever after.
Eventually, the Ginger and Pal Sarah went shopping in Ponsonby (again) and visited the best kitchen stuff shop in all the land called Milly's and the Ginger actually remembered something for a change. The Ginger remembered that she wanted a Madeleine tin so that she could make Madeleine cakes, and so she found the tin and bought the one without the non-stick surface because a lady told her that the non-stick stuff, whatever it's called - the Ginger can't remember - is now known to have carcinogenic properties, and so the Ginger decided that she really didn't want carcinogens in her Madeleine cakes.
Sadly, when the Ginger came home from shopping she realised that she didn't have the recipe ingredients she needed to make the Madeleines, and so waited for grocery shopping day to buy them. On grocery shopping day the Ginger forgot all about the Madeleine ingredients and so had to wait for the next shopping day, but she made sure to start a new shopping list straight away so that she didn't forget.
Finally, the Ginger had her ingredients and could make Madeleine cakes. She decided to do this one Friday night when the husband was at work, and she was all by herself (except for two barky puppies (because it was inorganic rubbish collection time of the year and people were kerb crawling constantly, even at night, and the dogs kept going off their trees driving the Ginger to distraction) and a mad cat) with nothing to do.
The recipe said that the Ginger would get 24 Madeleine cakes from the batch, but she only managed 18, although they were very large and so the Ginger thought that if she had made them the proper size then she would probably have got 24. The Madeleine cakes were very yummy and the Ginger thought that her cake making was very successful and she was so happy to have found the recipe and bought the tin and remembered the ingredients.
Then something terrible happened. On Saturday, the very next day, all the Madeleine cakes disappeared. Someone must have eaten then!! What an awful thing! The Ginger wailed terribly when she realised that all the precious and yummy Madeleines were gone.
Who might have eaten all the Ginger's Madeleine cakes?
I'll give you a clue ...
Scene: The husband and the Ginger are sitting on the couch (watching Nigella's kitchen), each of them eating a Madeleine cake (you must be eating when watching cooking shows or you just get hungry) - the last two Madeleine cakes.
The husband "Madeleines are yum"
The Ginger "Madeleines are yum"
The husband "I've had four of them today" ......
Can you guess where the rest of the Madeleine's went? Bearing in mind that puppies don't have opposable thumbs and are therefore unable to open bicky tins and the mad cat was far too busy running up the curtains to think about cakes?
Cuinn is such a piggy.
Thursday 25 September 2008
The basket was almost empty, so I'm probably not the only fool
To go with the organic brown rice salad I bought for lunch today, I also bought a slice of organic banana bread. I was sucked in by the organicyness of it all - it seemed very good for kiddly for me to be having an organicy lunch for a start, but also it just looked so mother earth I couldn't help myself. Especially when it came to the banana bread which was sitting in a basket on the counter, looking so very organic in its little bag which was tied with unbleached, natural fibre twine. I felt quite righteous and planet friendly as I trotted (there's a possibility that it probably looked more of a slow waddle to anyone I passed, but I'm pretending it was a trot) back to the office ... until I unpacked by righteous planet-friendly lunch, started loading kiddly up with brown ricey goodness, and gazed longingly at my banana bread in its cellophane, non-recyclable little bag. Ug. Woops.
It was very good banana bread though.
It was very good banana bread though.
Wednesday 24 September 2008
Today I am learning Facebook. It's messy.
(Woops ... I meant to and thought I had posted this yesterday. Duh)
Ages ago for a reason(s) I cannot for the life of me remember, I signed up for Facebook, and then never went back. Yesterday, I ventured forth. Today, I ventured forth again. Right this minute, I have a headache from the venturing forth because I just don't get it but I can't seem to stop. Or rather, I get it, but I'm trying to work out how to do stuff and that's proving complicated on the basis that my ability to process thought is a bit ... screwed (actually that's a lie. I probably shouldn't blame Cuinn for something that was well established long ago. I've always been shite at this sort of thing. I'm still amazed I manage blogger). I'm persevering though. Once upon a time I'd have run and hid, oh yes, but not now. Now, I am feeling brave. I am motivated.
I. Will. Conquer. Facebook.
Maybe.
Hopefully.
In between obsessive Facebook visits, we also had our latest obstetrician visit, and Cuinn is doing beautifully, the wiggly little lump of lard. He was only vaguely awake for the scan because we went right in the middle of his nap-time, but he was kicking back sideways and still boogying to an extent. He's packing a decent 647 grams (about 1lb, 7 oz) ... not bad at all since he's not quite 6 months yet. So he's fabulously happy and healthy, and I'm healthy (and have clearance to fly to Queenstown - yaaaay!) and we couldn't really ask for too much more.
Oh, and that not putting on weight thing? Yeeeeahhh. That's over.
Ages ago for a reason(s) I cannot for the life of me remember, I signed up for Facebook, and then never went back. Yesterday, I ventured forth. Today, I ventured forth again. Right this minute, I have a headache from the venturing forth because I just don't get it but I can't seem to stop. Or rather, I get it, but I'm trying to work out how to do stuff and that's proving complicated on the basis that my ability to process thought is a bit ... screwed (actually that's a lie. I probably shouldn't blame Cuinn for something that was well established long ago. I've always been shite at this sort of thing. I'm still amazed I manage blogger). I'm persevering though. Once upon a time I'd have run and hid, oh yes, but not now. Now, I am feeling brave. I am motivated.
I. Will. Conquer. Facebook.
Maybe.
Hopefully.
In between obsessive Facebook visits, we also had our latest obstetrician visit, and Cuinn is doing beautifully, the wiggly little lump of lard. He was only vaguely awake for the scan because we went right in the middle of his nap-time, but he was kicking back sideways and still boogying to an extent. He's packing a decent 647 grams (about 1lb, 7 oz) ... not bad at all since he's not quite 6 months yet. So he's fabulously happy and healthy, and I'm healthy (and have clearance to fly to Queenstown - yaaaay!) and we couldn't really ask for too much more.
Oh, and that not putting on weight thing? Yeeeeahhh. That's over.
Monday 22 September 2008
23 weeks - a kiddly house and a nursery
So here's the house at 23 weeks. Only 17(ish) weeks more expansion to go. Excellent. And I do mean that in the most horrified sense possible.
A truck load of nappies and crap. Or rather, a truckload of nappies for crap. Badoompsh.
Jack, wondering what kinda cool toy is going in the swingy thing (either that or he's trying to work out how to get in there himself without falling on his head). Poor puppy has no idea - it'll biff him food, but pull his tail. And ears. And yell a lot. But will make lovely stinky nappies on a regular basis.
Uncle Stu ... note the kiddly hammock.
A truck load of nappies and crap. Or rather, a truckload of nappies for crap. Badoompsh.Jack, wondering what kinda cool toy is going in the swingy thing (either that or he's trying to work out how to get in there himself without falling on his head). Poor puppy has no idea - it'll biff him food, but pull his tail. And ears. And yell a lot. But will make lovely stinky nappies on a regular basis.
We'll file that one under 'things I'm going to pretend I didn't do'
At 23 weeks, going into a normal store to try on (absolutely divine) normal pants and thinking that they may fit. They didn't. Not even close. In my defence, I was after a slouchy man-pant and therefore thought they might possibly work on the basis of the slouchy-ness. Nuh-uh to infinity. It turns out that the bump extends a lot further than you'd (or, rather, apparently I'd) think (well, it's not like I can see anything other than the top of the great mountain is it? How am I supposed to know how far it goes? I can see crumbs and, weirdly, grease spots (where do they come from??) and that's about it). And it seems hips may be an issue down the track (or, you know, right now) as well. So, tops can be done, pants cannot.
This is probably what my OB was smirking about with Al (and seriously, I'm beginning to think that I'm not really that into husband-OB male bonding just quietly) when I queried at my last visit, (pretending to be) a bit worried that I wasn't putting on any weight even though kiddly was growing quickly, and he said, very unconcerned "Plenty of time for that". Apparently "plenty of time for that" roughly translates to "Ahhh ... First time Mums ... She doesn't realise that by the next time she's in this office she's going to have blown out like a blown-out thing in every direction possible, and the only thing she'll resemble is a whale, if you exclude the waddling, because whales don't waddle and she is SO going to be waddling". And the smirk to the husband apparently means in man-speak "You've been warned. It won't be pretty. Incidentally, have I warned you about pregnancy-hormones yet? Oh, you know already? Heavens. That's advanced.".
Since I'm here, I may as well add to my quotable quotes list too. The best by a country mile thus far came courtesy of my very politically incorrect slash extremely brave hairdresser.
Hairdresser's wife/salon manager "Wow! You're getting big!"
Hairdresser "I hope that's all baby because you know you'll have to lose the weight later.".
That's why I like my hairdresser. Aside from the (me) "I want to do this with my hair" (him) "No" conversations we have on a 6-8 weekly basis. It's a wonder he doesn't have more scissor stab wounds really.
(And actually yes, I do know, because Cuinn's beloved Uncle Stu suggested to the husband that he allow a six month leeway (I think it was) for me springing magically back to my pre-pregnancy weight (and now that I think about it, it might have been pre-pregnancy weight less 5kg ..? I just recall it being a tad on the ambitious side) ... and although I can't remember what the consequence of not achieving the six-month spring-back was, from memory it was a bit tragic for me. Hopefully the husband's memory is true to form and it escapes him as well. A number of things are lucky for beloved Uncle Stu - 1) I'm pretending he was joking 2) after ten years of pal-ship I'd have missed him (maybe) if I'd killed him 3) that would have only left Uncles Rich, Dave and Vaughan to teach Cuinn highly inappropriate things at far too young an age, and although they would have covered most things, 4 Uncles giving Mummy white hair is probably better than 3. Probably. 4) Aunty Sarah might have gotten grumpy if I disposed of Uncle Stu, and not wanted to go shopping any more and that would have been REALLY terrible. So, he lived another day. Just. And yes, damn me, I do know what my pre-pregnancy weight less 5kg is. Bollocks to that. Oh, and as for teaching kiddly highly inapprropriate things, I can't really point the finger too enthusiastically because he's going to learn all about swearing this weekend from Mummy (or at least, more than he already knows, which is probably a little bit much) because I'm getting my legs waxed. Should be interesting ... )
This is probably what my OB was smirking about with Al (and seriously, I'm beginning to think that I'm not really that into husband-OB male bonding just quietly) when I queried at my last visit, (pretending to be) a bit worried that I wasn't putting on any weight even though kiddly was growing quickly, and he said, very unconcerned "Plenty of time for that". Apparently "plenty of time for that" roughly translates to "Ahhh ... First time Mums ... She doesn't realise that by the next time she's in this office she's going to have blown out like a blown-out thing in every direction possible, and the only thing she'll resemble is a whale, if you exclude the waddling, because whales don't waddle and she is SO going to be waddling". And the smirk to the husband apparently means in man-speak "You've been warned. It won't be pretty. Incidentally, have I warned you about pregnancy-hormones yet? Oh, you know already? Heavens. That's advanced.".
Since I'm here, I may as well add to my quotable quotes list too. The best by a country mile thus far came courtesy of my very politically incorrect slash extremely brave hairdresser.
Hairdresser's wife/salon manager "Wow! You're getting big!"
Hairdresser "I hope that's all baby because you know you'll have to lose the weight later.".
That's why I like my hairdresser. Aside from the (me) "I want to do this with my hair" (him) "No" conversations we have on a 6-8 weekly basis. It's a wonder he doesn't have more scissor stab wounds really.
(And actually yes, I do know, because Cuinn's beloved Uncle Stu suggested to the husband that he allow a six month leeway (I think it was) for me springing magically back to my pre-pregnancy weight (and now that I think about it, it might have been pre-pregnancy weight less 5kg ..? I just recall it being a tad on the ambitious side) ... and although I can't remember what the consequence of not achieving the six-month spring-back was, from memory it was a bit tragic for me. Hopefully the husband's memory is true to form and it escapes him as well. A number of things are lucky for beloved Uncle Stu - 1) I'm pretending he was joking 2) after ten years of pal-ship I'd have missed him (maybe) if I'd killed him 3) that would have only left Uncles Rich, Dave and Vaughan to teach Cuinn highly inappropriate things at far too young an age, and although they would have covered most things, 4 Uncles giving Mummy white hair is probably better than 3. Probably. 4) Aunty Sarah might have gotten grumpy if I disposed of Uncle Stu, and not wanted to go shopping any more and that would have been REALLY terrible. So, he lived another day. Just. And yes, damn me, I do know what my pre-pregnancy weight less 5kg is. Bollocks to that. Oh, and as for teaching kiddly highly inapprropriate things, I can't really point the finger too enthusiastically because he's going to learn all about swearing this weekend from Mummy (or at least, more than he already knows, which is probably a little bit much) because I'm getting my legs waxed. Should be interesting ... )
Sunday 21 September 2008
This space cadet thing is BAD
I never really was the sharpest tool in the shed and it never reeeally bothered me, on the basis that sometimes a bit of vagueness is kinda nice and I do get there in my own time ... sometimes ... but still, even I'm starting to find pregnancy-related cottonwool-head a bit rough on it.
Someone told me that she thinks that it's a thing that happens to insulate you a little bit from hormone-related hypersensitivity to everything. Ergo, being completely dense helps to keep you on an even keel when said keel is prone to some pret-ty impressive wobbles. Kind of like being an idiot I suppose - just smiiiiile. Interesting what you talk about with a shop-assistant through a curtain while you're stuck in a top that looks absolutely fabulous on and is unbelievably comfortable, but starts off as a massive contraption with 4 arm holes (yes, 4 ... plus a head hole. I think. Or maybe 3 arm holes and a head hole... lotsa potential for getting stuck anyway) and really would be confusing to someone that wasn't a space cadet... Who knows?
Anyway, the point is not so much the why as the what. Focus. (Although thinking about it wouldn't it be better to just not have the hyper-sensitivity instead of space cadetness to counter the hyper-sensitivity...?)
...
Huh?
Oh. Yes. Focus.
Am focusing.
...
...
What on?
!!!
Right. Me. Away with the proverbial fairies. And you wonder why I'm not blogging much? It's because I honest to goodness can NOT string a sentence together. I'm everything short of drooling, I swear. OK, there's a little bit of drooling, but not much. Nothing you'd call an issue as such. And usually just while I'm sleeping. Niiiiice.
Anyway.
Focusing.
(You're going to be so disappointed when I actually get to my point, because there's really not much to it)
The husband and I are going to Queenstown for a long weekend in roughly two weeks and I'm so looking forward to it. Food, food and more food. Somewhere I've never been. A list of cafes under my arm so I can caffeinate my way around the ... ummm ... what is Queenstown? Village? City? Hello? Google? Ug. Who cares. I'll caffeinate my way around the place. There. We've got a lake view room at the Heritage (fuh-lash) AND we'll be meeting good friends and family down there so even better.
I seriously cannot remember where I was going with this now. Heh. Although, that does bring back a memory. I was said to someone the other day that pregnancy brain is far and away worse than drug-brain, and I'd thought drug-brain was pretty horrendous. It took a rather startled look followed by her mouth opening and closing looking for an appropriate response, and there wasn't one to be found as it happens, that I realised I've got far too comfortable with the world at large knowing about our IVF experience that I forget that some people don't know. Woopsy daisy.
Oh! Books! Yes! Actually, this seems a bit anticlimactic now, and I almost wish I felt inclined to pretend that I don't remember. Ah well. I thought I'd get a book to read for lazing in my hotel room and for those moments where my hippoesque self is stuck on the couch and I need to wait for Al to rescue me, except I honestly couldn't even concentrate on reading blurbs on the backs of books to decide on a book, which is making me grumpy about the space cadet thing.
See. I told you it was anticlimactic.
Sigh.
I did have a post which was actually quite clever but somewhere between typing and saving I deleted the entire thing. Bless.
Also, just on a completely different tangent, for those of you that receive the AECT dividend, does anyone else find it amusing that every year we get the statement to say that the dividend has been paid out (which is great. I love dividends. Especially when they're paid out on the same day as Ponsonby market day. Very excellent timing, and handy too), and in the same mail delivery, every time a coconut, you get a letter from the power company saying they're putting their prices up? Love it. Still, HA!!! to them ... I got all my washing done today without using the dryer. I even washed the dogs beds. Which the dogs are really pleased about - they won't go near them now because apparently it's extremely uncool if you're beds smell nice as opposed to doggy-manky. Yeesh.
(and sorry about the complete lack of posts. I'm quite serious when I tell you that my brain has honestly stopped working. I'll post a photo this week - kiddly is getting big!)
Someone told me that she thinks that it's a thing that happens to insulate you a little bit from hormone-related hypersensitivity to everything. Ergo, being completely dense helps to keep you on an even keel when said keel is prone to some pret-ty impressive wobbles. Kind of like being an idiot I suppose - just smiiiiile. Interesting what you talk about with a shop-assistant through a curtain while you're stuck in a top that looks absolutely fabulous on and is unbelievably comfortable, but starts off as a massive contraption with 4 arm holes (yes, 4 ... plus a head hole. I think. Or maybe 3 arm holes and a head hole... lotsa potential for getting stuck anyway) and really would be confusing to someone that wasn't a space cadet... Who knows?
Anyway, the point is not so much the why as the what. Focus. (Although thinking about it wouldn't it be better to just not have the hyper-sensitivity instead of space cadetness to counter the hyper-sensitivity...?)
...
Huh?
Oh. Yes. Focus.
Am focusing.
...
...
What on?
!!!
Right. Me. Away with the proverbial fairies. And you wonder why I'm not blogging much? It's because I honest to goodness can NOT string a sentence together. I'm everything short of drooling, I swear. OK, there's a little bit of drooling, but not much. Nothing you'd call an issue as such. And usually just while I'm sleeping. Niiiiice.
Anyway.
Focusing.
(You're going to be so disappointed when I actually get to my point, because there's really not much to it)
The husband and I are going to Queenstown for a long weekend in roughly two weeks and I'm so looking forward to it. Food, food and more food. Somewhere I've never been. A list of cafes under my arm so I can caffeinate my way around the ... ummm ... what is Queenstown? Village? City? Hello? Google? Ug. Who cares. I'll caffeinate my way around the place. There. We've got a lake view room at the Heritage (fuh-lash) AND we'll be meeting good friends and family down there so even better.
I seriously cannot remember where I was going with this now. Heh. Although, that does bring back a memory. I was said to someone the other day that pregnancy brain is far and away worse than drug-brain, and I'd thought drug-brain was pretty horrendous. It took a rather startled look followed by her mouth opening and closing looking for an appropriate response, and there wasn't one to be found as it happens, that I realised I've got far too comfortable with the world at large knowing about our IVF experience that I forget that some people don't know. Woopsy daisy.
Oh! Books! Yes! Actually, this seems a bit anticlimactic now, and I almost wish I felt inclined to pretend that I don't remember. Ah well. I thought I'd get a book to read for lazing in my hotel room and for those moments where my hippoesque self is stuck on the couch and I need to wait for Al to rescue me, except I honestly couldn't even concentrate on reading blurbs on the backs of books to decide on a book, which is making me grumpy about the space cadet thing.
See. I told you it was anticlimactic.
Sigh.
I did have a post which was actually quite clever but somewhere between typing and saving I deleted the entire thing. Bless.
Also, just on a completely different tangent, for those of you that receive the AECT dividend, does anyone else find it amusing that every year we get the statement to say that the dividend has been paid out (which is great. I love dividends. Especially when they're paid out on the same day as Ponsonby market day. Very excellent timing, and handy too), and in the same mail delivery, every time a coconut, you get a letter from the power company saying they're putting their prices up? Love it. Still, HA!!! to them ... I got all my washing done today without using the dryer. I even washed the dogs beds. Which the dogs are really pleased about - they won't go near them now because apparently it's extremely uncool if you're beds smell nice as opposed to doggy-manky. Yeesh.
(and sorry about the complete lack of posts. I'm quite serious when I tell you that my brain has honestly stopped working. I'll post a photo this week - kiddly is getting big!)
Tuesday 16 September 2008
I wish I was cleverer at this computery stuff
The Breaking News bulletin at the head of the NZ Herald right this minute made me honestly laugh out loud.
"Peters' lawyer: Our story seems incorrect ... Details soon ..."
I don't think we in general need any more details just quietly. The only people that this is news to I imagine is Peters and his lawyer.
But it would have been so much cooler just to somehow upload a copy of the front page into my post.
Sad.
OK. Back to work since I can't remember what I actually opened the Herald to look at in the first place.
"Peters' lawyer: Our story seems incorrect ... Details soon ..."
I don't think we in general need any more details just quietly. The only people that this is news to I imagine is Peters and his lawyer.
But it would have been so much cooler just to somehow upload a copy of the front page into my post.
Sad.
OK. Back to work since I can't remember what I actually opened the Herald to look at in the first place.
Monday 15 September 2008
A guy, a girl, a cat, a mouse, and eventually a dog
It went a little something like ...
(Scene - Early morning, House of Walmsley)
Me finding the cat, tail twitching, in the spare room staring intently at the curtains, followed a moment or two later with the cat running up the curtains, me shaking the curtains, a mouse falling out of the curtains, all hell breaking loose as the cat tried to catch the mouse and I tried to catch the cat, the husband coming home from work in the middle of it and adding to the melee by trying to stomp on the mouse which was now in the end bedroom, but being an absolute legend and carefully lifting the bedspread out of the way first so he didn't get mousy blood and guts on it because he knew I'd kill him, the cat getting confused and trying to find the mouse in Cuinn's room (another bedroom altogether which the mouse had never even been in to the best of my knowledge), me squealing loudly (I didn't really want mousy blood and guts on the carpet either) every time I saw the mouse and the husband's great foot in close proximity, thus causing the husband to jump and the mouse to put on a burst of energy and therefore escape a squishing, the husband going and getting the cat and pointing her in the direction of the mouse, the cat flicking her tail in annoyance at being disturbed in her mouse-hunt in the other room and stalking off back to where she'd been retrieved from, the husband persevering in chasing the mouse for another ten minutes or so before calling the dogs, Jack turning up looking very curious about this new game Dad has devised, and Jess arriving about a minute later with a ball in her mouth ready to play whatever it is we're playing just so long as it involves chasing her ball, the husband pointing Jack in the direction of the mouse and Jack looking back at the husband blankly, the husband getting more insistent, lifting the bed up off the ground so Jack could get under it with the command "Where's the mouse? Get the mouse!" and BOOya! one very fast moving mouse and one streak of dog-lightening later, Jack was happily trotting outside with his new toy slash breakfast securely restrained in-gob. While Jess was still sitting in the hallway with the ball in her mouth looking hopeful.
(Scene - Early morning, House of Walmsley)
Me finding the cat, tail twitching, in the spare room staring intently at the curtains, followed a moment or two later with the cat running up the curtains, me shaking the curtains, a mouse falling out of the curtains, all hell breaking loose as the cat tried to catch the mouse and I tried to catch the cat, the husband coming home from work in the middle of it and adding to the melee by trying to stomp on the mouse which was now in the end bedroom, but being an absolute legend and carefully lifting the bedspread out of the way first so he didn't get mousy blood and guts on it because he knew I'd kill him, the cat getting confused and trying to find the mouse in Cuinn's room (another bedroom altogether which the mouse had never even been in to the best of my knowledge), me squealing loudly (I didn't really want mousy blood and guts on the carpet either) every time I saw the mouse and the husband's great foot in close proximity, thus causing the husband to jump and the mouse to put on a burst of energy and therefore escape a squishing, the husband going and getting the cat and pointing her in the direction of the mouse, the cat flicking her tail in annoyance at being disturbed in her mouse-hunt in the other room and stalking off back to where she'd been retrieved from, the husband persevering in chasing the mouse for another ten minutes or so before calling the dogs, Jack turning up looking very curious about this new game Dad has devised, and Jess arriving about a minute later with a ball in her mouth ready to play whatever it is we're playing just so long as it involves chasing her ball, the husband pointing Jack in the direction of the mouse and Jack looking back at the husband blankly, the husband getting more insistent, lifting the bed up off the ground so Jack could get under it with the command "Where's the mouse? Get the mouse!" and BOOya! one very fast moving mouse and one streak of dog-lightening later, Jack was happily trotting outside with his new toy slash breakfast securely restrained in-gob. While Jess was still sitting in the hallway with the ball in her mouth looking hopeful.
Thursday 11 September 2008
'Tis the season. Soon.
I wrote my first Christmas function date for 2008 in my diary today.
I have a few thoughts relating to the above, along the following lines ...
Christmas? Already? Seriously?
Cool! That's not far away. I wonder where we're going? I wonder what we'll be having?
Hell. That's not far away, and Cuinn is due a month later.
I wonder what we'll be having?
I hope I can fit in the restaurant.
I wonder what we'll be having?
Crap. There's always much jocularity at these things. I'm not sure about mixing my teeny bladder and jocularity now let alone in a couple of months time.
I wonder what we'll be having?
How in heavens name am I going to stay awake for a Christmas function? It'll be starting at bed time.
I wonder what we'll be having?
I'm hungry.
I have a few thoughts relating to the above, along the following lines ...
Christmas? Already? Seriously?
Cool! That's not far away. I wonder where we're going? I wonder what we'll be having?
Hell. That's not far away, and Cuinn is due a month later.
I wonder what we'll be having?
I hope I can fit in the restaurant.
I wonder what we'll be having?
Crap. There's always much jocularity at these things. I'm not sure about mixing my teeny bladder and jocularity now let alone in a couple of months time.
I wonder what we'll be having?
How in heavens name am I going to stay awake for a Christmas function? It'll be starting at bed time.
I wonder what we'll be having?
I'm hungry.
Wednesday 10 September 2008
Since I'm here (and wasting time while I stew about the weather)
Does not wanting to know counts as a valid reason for not ordering the recommended material relating to all things birth-related for antenatal classes?
I think I deserve brownie points for even booking the antenatal classes in the first place just quietly, even if I do intend to keep my eyes closed and my fingers in my ears the entire time.
I think I deserve brownie points for even booking the antenatal classes in the first place just quietly, even if I do intend to keep my eyes closed and my fingers in my ears the entire time.
A good reason to watch the news and/or pick up a newspaper occasionally
The weather reports.
It was a gorgeous start to the day when I got up this morning, and yet I looked out my office window a few minutes ago to see that what was a blue sky the last time I looked out is now several shades of black and it's bucketing down. This consequently brings to mind the two loads of washing I hung out on the line this morning before leaving for work, and the third load of towels which will now be sitting waiting in the washing machine to be hung out when I get home, all nice and clean and sopping, because it was going to be a beautiful day and I was going to get all my washing done today.
I also have to go up the road at lunchtime, wearing clothing inappropriate to the weather conditions and without a jacket because why? Yes. It was going to be a beautiful day.
Poop.
(Yes, I'm all about the big issues in this blog)
It was a gorgeous start to the day when I got up this morning, and yet I looked out my office window a few minutes ago to see that what was a blue sky the last time I looked out is now several shades of black and it's bucketing down. This consequently brings to mind the two loads of washing I hung out on the line this morning before leaving for work, and the third load of towels which will now be sitting waiting in the washing machine to be hung out when I get home, all nice and clean and sopping, because it was going to be a beautiful day and I was going to get all my washing done today.
I also have to go up the road at lunchtime, wearing clothing inappropriate to the weather conditions and without a jacket because why? Yes. It was going to be a beautiful day.
Poop.
(Yes, I'm all about the big issues in this blog)
Oh, come on now, that's just RUDE
I went to kick the husband last night, and I couldn't (don't worry, he's perfectly used to being kicked, and he always deserves it).
Seriously, could not.
I made a swing and only managed to get my leg about a foot and a half in the air. Which of course made the husband pee himself laughing, which made me make a more concerted effort, which again, failed miserably, by which time the husband is really quite out of control and I probably should have just stabbed him.
I did find that if I brace both feet, lean right back on a secure surface such as the kitchen bench to keep vaguely stable and kind of upright, and lift my leg up reeeeeally slowly, I could almost get him on the back of the thigh. If I tried really hard and we had about half an hour spare, I could definitely have at least got him in the knees. If he was to stand perfectly still to receive the kicking. And, really, he needs to give me a bit of a hand as well.
Gutted.
Children really do change your life.
Seriously, could not.
I made a swing and only managed to get my leg about a foot and a half in the air. Which of course made the husband pee himself laughing, which made me make a more concerted effort, which again, failed miserably, by which time the husband is really quite out of control and I probably should have just stabbed him.
I did find that if I brace both feet, lean right back on a secure surface such as the kitchen bench to keep vaguely stable and kind of upright, and lift my leg up reeeeeally slowly, I could almost get him on the back of the thigh. If I tried really hard and we had about half an hour spare, I could definitely have at least got him in the knees. If he was to stand perfectly still to receive the kicking. And, really, he needs to give me a bit of a hand as well.
Gutted.
Children really do change your life.
Sunday 7 September 2008
The coolest present EVER
Cuinn's first coffee cup from Uncle Andrew, Aunty Ruth and Cousin Amelia.
Wicked.
We're not going to talk about the kiddly tool kit including a METAL HAMMER from Pop and Uncle Alex. Especially not after pulling up in a street in Grey Lynn the day after receiving it and seeing, rather prophetically, a little boy of about 3 wearing his hard hat, tool belt and gloves from an identical kit beating the hell out of his front fence with his metal hammer. I have visions.
Wicked.
We're not going to talk about the kiddly tool kit including a METAL HAMMER from Pop and Uncle Alex. Especially not after pulling up in a street in Grey Lynn the day after receiving it and seeing, rather prophetically, a little boy of about 3 wearing his hard hat, tool belt and gloves from an identical kit beating the hell out of his front fence with his metal hammer. I have visions.
Tuesday 2 September 2008
Things you know you shouldn't confess, but do anyway
A funny thing happened today.
I was looking for something at work, and said search led me to the bottom drawer in my desk which I don't go into often at all. Obviously.
In there was a jacket. A brand new jacket with the tags still attached. That I'd bought, ages ago. And forgotten about. Completely.
Woopsy daisy.
The thing is, I've never done it before, but obviously in a shopping frenzy (oh, no, not that. I have shopping frenzies plenty) I'd bought this jacket on impulse (and on sale incidentally, if that makes it better even a little bit? No? No. Didn't really think so), thought it was the coolest thing out but knew that I would be roasted alive if I took it home and tried to convince the husband of said coolness, on the basis that jacket it was, practical it certainly was not, and I didn't have the money to spend in the first place, so I stuck it in my drawer on the basis that I'd take it home in a couple of weeks.
Except I didn't. I forgot all about it. Which is really embarrassing, even for me.
Plus there was the slight problem in that I was looking at it now, in my drawer, thinking I'm never going to wear that. What I actually want and need is an anorak of some description and although the jacket in my possession fell into the 'of some description' category, it was a complete waste of money. I sincerely doubt it was even waterproof.
So. Dilemma. And what is a Ginger in a dilemma to do?
Stick it on Trademe and cross everything that the evidence disappears in the most financially acceptable way possible.
And bless, it did. 10 minutes and the same amount I paid for it later, I was free of the jacket, and able to admit my folly to the husband (had to - he'd have seen the emails! or the Trademe account or goodness knows what, he seems to have ways that I haven't figured out yet).
What a day!
I did find another jacket at lunch time though which is perfect ...
I was looking for something at work, and said search led me to the bottom drawer in my desk which I don't go into often at all. Obviously.
In there was a jacket. A brand new jacket with the tags still attached. That I'd bought, ages ago. And forgotten about. Completely.
Woopsy daisy.
The thing is, I've never done it before, but obviously in a shopping frenzy (oh, no, not that. I have shopping frenzies plenty) I'd bought this jacket on impulse (and on sale incidentally, if that makes it better even a little bit? No? No. Didn't really think so), thought it was the coolest thing out but knew that I would be roasted alive if I took it home and tried to convince the husband of said coolness, on the basis that jacket it was, practical it certainly was not, and I didn't have the money to spend in the first place, so I stuck it in my drawer on the basis that I'd take it home in a couple of weeks.
Except I didn't. I forgot all about it. Which is really embarrassing, even for me.
Plus there was the slight problem in that I was looking at it now, in my drawer, thinking I'm never going to wear that. What I actually want and need is an anorak of some description and although the jacket in my possession fell into the 'of some description' category, it was a complete waste of money. I sincerely doubt it was even waterproof.
So. Dilemma. And what is a Ginger in a dilemma to do?
Stick it on Trademe and cross everything that the evidence disappears in the most financially acceptable way possible.
And bless, it did. 10 minutes and the same amount I paid for it later, I was free of the jacket, and able to admit my folly to the husband (had to - he'd have seen the emails! or the Trademe account or goodness knows what, he seems to have ways that I haven't figured out yet).
What a day!
I did find another jacket at lunch time though which is perfect ...
Monday 1 September 2008
If only I could remember how to upload a video
I heard perhaps the coolest song cover ever in the history of the world today, but I can't for the life of me remember how to get a video to where I can upload it.
Crap and Bollocks.
Ah, well.
You Tube.
Chris Cornell.
Billie Jean.
Go. Listen.
'Tis uber cool.
Crap and Bollocks.
Ah, well.
You Tube.
Chris Cornell.
Billie Jean.
Go. Listen.
'Tis uber cool.
Half way
The kiddly residence in its 20-week glory.
Here's hoping I can still fit in the camera frame at 24 weeks.
'scuse the chubby looking arms. I'm pretending they're purely a product of their stripey background.
Here's hoping I can still fit in the camera frame at 24 weeks.
'scuse the chubby looking arms. I'm pretending they're purely a product of their stripey background.
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