Picky

Do you know the adorable Charlie and Lola story where Lola refuses too eat a tomato? In fact she doesn't like lots of things, she is a "very picky eater". In the story Charlie convinces Lola to try new things by making it into a game, peas become "green drops from Greenland". 

Very sweet and bares absolutely no resemblance to anything that could happen in real life. 

I often think that Linus and Astrid could be the inspiration for Charlie and Lola. Linus is conciliatory and patient and Astrid is stubborn and prone to extreme flights of fancy; she would happily live in  "uʍop ǝpısdn" and Linus would be right there with her encouraging her and building a complicated machine to stop the blood rushing to their heads.

Astrid is a "very picky eater" and it drives me BONKERS at times. The idea that you could trick her into eating something by saying it is, "cloud fluff from the top of Mount Fuji" is beyond ludicrous.

Things are either "too crunchy" or  "too squashy", "too greeny" or "too how can I possibly be expected to eat THAT-y!". 

And how you mount a persuasive argument against someone who contends that something is "too medium-y" is beyond me!

Comedy Food

Oh look, Spaghetti Bolognaise, a staple weekly dish for many. Wait, but you're vegetarians, how can this be?. 

After my experiment at Christmas making vege Swedish "meat"balls, I made this recently with Quorn mince. We laughed and laughed with every bite, it was so preposterous. Looks and tastes so much like meat it's quite unnerving (or maybe it doesn't, it has been 18 years since I've eaten it).

As funny as it was though, I don't think I'll be doing it again. For me, vegetarian food isn't something inferior that secretly aspires to be animal meat and it felt weirdly wrong to be eating it.

Warm Fuzzies Rule

We have a friend who gets hate mail. I find this all kinds of cool, though of course it's not so pleasant for her. She's a token left-wing journalist writing an opinion column for a right-wing newspaper (you know, just to show the Murdoch press isn't biased). Unfortunately for her the readership of said newspaper has also fairly right-wing leanings, so just about anything that she writes spurns a tirade. Write a balanced article about our first female prime minister...KAPOW tirade, her personal struggles with breast feeding...BLAM tirade, the alarming sexualisation of small children by the media...KABLOOIE tirade.

She recently wrote a thoughtful article about forms of communication and their effects after getting a nasty note from a neighbour in her letter box. She merely suggested that had the neighbour first spoken with them personally about her grievances that the whole matter could have been dealt with rationally and civilly. Once pen was put to paper emotions were allowed to stew on both sides, notes were fired off in retaliation, the situation was blown out of all proportion and made all concerned feel really awful. This article unleashed the bile of many readers who saw fit to send venomous missives about how "stupid" she was. Of course you would write a mean note rather than have a friendly chat with your neighbour (yeah, I didn't say it was "quality" hate mail). Ironic really.

This got me thinking about "Warm Fuzzies" and "Cold Pricklies". We did these at a school camp to boost self esteem and encourage people to make new friends. A Warm Fuzzy is a nice little note about how you like someone's hair or some such, while a Cold Prickly is. . .you can work it out. Getting or sending a Warm Fuzzy makes you feel really, really good, while getting or sending a Cold Prickly makes you feel rather wretched.

We recently received a lovely Warm Fuzzy from our own neighbour who was moving out and wrote a little goodbye note thanking us for being good neighbours and praising our parenting! Yes, we were shocked too. Our children are the world's loudest children (a hypothesis that we have tested by going over seas and making scientific comparisons). We spend a lot of time shushing them. Obviously a glass-is-half-full-silver-lining type of woman, she said that she loved the sounds of our children "laughing and screaming" in the backyard and congratulated us for being exemplary parents and teaching our children to play.

This Warm Fuzzy made us feel wonderful, full of goodwill and pride in our children and ourselves. I crocheted a housewarming potholder for her new home and wrote an equally Fuzzy note back (so that she too could feel all warm and fluffy). Spreading the LOVE.

Then Astrid came home from her second day back at school with this Warm Fuzzy from her teacher.

"Resting nicely" (if you know Astrid you will find this as hilarious as we do). I'm so proud and Warm and Fuzzy. I'll be sending a potholder post-haste.

And I think I'll send our friend a Warm Fuzzy and tell her I like her hair.

Cleansing

It rained! 

We ran around in it like demented things. 

 You'd think it was a rare occurrence or something.

Happy Invasion Day

It's Australia Day today.

Let me tell you about it.

Australia Day is when people have barbecues, eat baby sheep (because apparently it's "un-Australian" not to), flock to the beach and temporary tattoos are given out in the local papers to be pasted on children's cheeks.

Australia Day is a manufactured day that marks the day that white people came here and dispossessed, oppressed and murdered in large numbers the Indigenous peoples that had lived here for 40,000 years. 

Seems a twisted day to "celebrate" does it not? This is why we choose not to celebrate.

Any time we have an occasion that encourages national pride a really rather ugly side of Australia comes out. It happens on ANZAC Day, during any international sporting event and Australia Day. Xenophobic Australians drape themselves and their cars in flags and drink lots of beer and generally act like meat-heads. (Aussie, Aussie, Aussie Oi Oi Oi). This is apparently patriotism.

Why is this?

I think that one of the problems is that nationalism has been usurped by people who wear T-Shirts with slogans like, "Speak English or Piss Off" and the rest of us shrink from patriotism. 

We feel the cultural cringe when a cartoonish version of ourselves is flaunted to the world. The brainless "G'Day Mate" blokes who sound like Crocodile Dundee or Steve Irwin. We are confused that sporting heroes are given more cultural recognition and status than pioneering Australian scientists, thinkers and humanitarians. We are perplexed as to why we still have a flag with the flag of another country in it's corner and why we don't have a constitution that recognises Aboriginal people and protects all of our civil rights. We feel the inappropriateness of fostering a singular national pride in a country of  immigrants and in a world where national distinctions are broken down by multi-cultural cyberspace communities based on commonality not division.  

And most of all we feel enormous sorrow and shame of our past and continued treatment of Indigenous Australians, immigrants and asylum seekers.

There are times I have felt swelled with pride at being an Australian, it's when we've been brave. When we finally had the cathartic "Sorry Day" to apologise to Aboriginal people for past wrongs. When we brought in tough legislation to control gun ownership. When we elected a woman who chooses to be single, atheist and childless as our prime minister. 

 If we one day: became a Republic, changed our flag and paid scientists more than footballers, I would happily celebrate that positive day.

The Boy's Deep

Everyone knows that seven year old boys are philosophical geniuses.

I've spent a frustrating few days cleaning out our spare (junk) room that is going to become our Incredibly Organised and Tidy Library/Study. I've been pulling things out of the cupboards that are going to be demolished, sorting paper, throwing out things (ancient power bills and bank statements,  random bits and bobs that belonged to some-thing-or-other that has long ago been lost or broken  etc) and generally feeling like I'm getting nowhere fast and making more horrible mess!

This morning I decided that we should have a big clean up of the whole house as school holidays, renovating and the "sorting" was making every room a tip and the whole thing was bringing me down.

"Where are we going to start?" I asked rhetorically looking around in dismay at the imposing MESS.

"Well, mamma, when I play a game on the computer I always start with the easiest levels and work up to the hard levels as I get better. I think we should start with the least messy room first" said Linus.

Hmm, I really would have done it the other way around but he's right. We now have three really beautifully tidy rooms and plenty of time to make inroads into the fourth and maybe fifth rooms . . .and  if we don't finish them all, who cares! We have places to feel good and relaxed in.

There's a deep life lesson for you;

Start with the easy stuff and work up to the hard stuff when your skills are better honed.

Then you can beat the mega tough big boss at the end of the level!

Just a couple of bags of flour, that's all!

Five kilograms of flour weighs quite a lot (well, it weighs 5 kilos but you know what I mean).  Especially as you carry it home walking from the shops on a hot summer day.

I want to lose two of these bags in weight! This is weight that I've put on since having Astrid (five years ago!)...It's fat that obviously likes being on me but the feeling is not reciprocated. I lose some it and then it sneaks back on.

But now I'm serious! And I'm posting it to the world so that you will keep me strong and honest. I don't want to see myself in photos any more and think, "who is that fat woman with my family that sort of looks like me but fatter?".

If I imagine how light and springy my steps will be when I don't have to lug around two of these enormous bags of flour with me every day it may give me the strength to stop eating this:

But there's no reason that you shouldn't enjoy it;

Rye and Caraway Bread

4 1/2 tsp. active dry yeast (2 packages)
300mls warm water
125ml plus 1 Tbsp. brown sugar
250ml milk
40g melted butter (cooled to lukewarm)
125ml molasses
1 tsp. salt
500ml rye flour
1 litre plain flour
2 tbls caraway seeds


Stir together yeast, warm water, and 1 Tbsp. of brown sugar in mixing bowl. Let sit until mixture is frothy, about 10 minutes.
Using a wooden spoon stir milk and melted butter into yeast mixture. Gradually add molasses, the remaining brown sugar, and 1 tsp. salt. Stir in caraway seeds, rye flour; add enough of the plain flour to make a soft but firm dough that pulls away from the sides of the bowl.
Knead dough lightly until surface is smooth; place in a lightly oiled bowl and allow to rise until doubled (about 1 hour).
Punch down the risen dough; allow to rest for 15 minutes. Then form dough into loaves and put in two loaf tins. Sprinkle tops loaves with some more caraway seeds and allow to rise until doubled, about 40 minutes.
Preheat oven to 375º. Bake about 30 minutes.

Then let your family eat it! Resist the temptation to put butter and cheese on the freshly baked, delicious smelling bread...think of the bags of flour, think of the bags of flour, think...of...the ...