19
Dec
2010
Getting even more traditional – could yum cha be the key?
possibly my favourite tradition. I know, I'm shallow like that.
I saw this great post the other day on a website. It was all about the traditions this mother is starting with her family. Some of them were a bit ummm full on (compulsory family hikes are not really going to cut it in our family) but some of them got me thinking about what we’re doing in our house. I’ve covered some of these in earlier posts but for those of you who don’t immediately memorise and take notes (what is WRONG with you people? Don’t you know this stuff is gold?), here are some ideas we are planning on taking up in our little family. (OK, not so little our family as we currently stand at four and are soon to be five but DON’T REMIND ME, I HAVE THE FEAR.)
- Sunday family roasts – as per last week’s post, I am loving this new tradition. Granted, following the first week’s massive success, we can only go backwards from there (witness tonight’s event where daughter refused to eat anything but individual peas. One at a time. Very slowly. Until you wanted to throw each and every pea at the wall), but I am still loving it. Perhaps in warmer times it will become Sunday barbeque night. I love any excuse to break out the tomato sauce.
12
Dec
2010
New family tradition and a shameful confession
I have a shameful confession to make. Although I am boastful and annoyingly proud of my children’s eating regime, we *whispers* never eat as a family. I KNOW. HORRIFYING. I bang on and on about their table manners, I make them eat copious amounts of vegies, I supervise their eating at their little table, I am smug about their love of plain yoghurt.
But it’s not at the big table. It’s not with me and the Captain eating beside them (well, except for obvious shameful stealing of anything that looks good and doesn’t involve broccoli).
It suddenly struck me when we were discussing Christmas lunch – this will be the first year that son will be allowed to sit at the table with us all rather than banished to naptime in his cot – we never ever eat together as a family. Well, except for yum cha/dim sum, where getting food in as fast as you can, drinking juith with a bendy straw and spilling food at the table, is all positively encouraged. Not something I think aunt and uncle will appreciate at carefully laid Christmas feast table.
5
Dec
2010
Saying goodbye – and trying not to get caught looking shifty
There are a lot of goodbyes when you’re an expat. When you’re a young thing backpacking and travelling, it seems there is always
someone new arriving in town – ready to replace the last ones out. But as I drift towards my mid-30s (until I reach 38 I am in my MID THIRTIES so bugger off the lot of you), circles seem to shrink and getting replacements becomes trickier.
We said goodbye last week to two of the core members of our gang. I’m feeling very melancholy about it. I know their time was up. They arrived in this wonderful city single (ish) and fancy free 12 years ago and left married, with two children, home owners and undoubtedly with a dog in their future. (I predict a golden retriever and another child, but no-one has ever accused me of being Nostradamus so don’t hold me to it.) The leaving was painful – selfishly, I think those of left behind in the minus three degree slush are feeling it more than those of us headed to a couple of months off to play beach cricket. Slackers.
28
Nov
2010
In which I give you a warning and make an announcement
Sometimes I blame my husband – he said his next wife would do it if I wouldn’t – but mostly I blame my daughter.
There is a point at about nine months when your child, if lucky, is sleeping, eating, crawling, happy and content. Easy to get around, they sit happily in a pram for ages at a time, allowing you to shop, have coffees, shop… so you decide this parenting thing is a lark, may as well have another one.
And so you get pregnant.
And then she wakes up and you discover it was all part of an evil plan to lull you into a false sense of security and propagate the human race.
See, angelic daughter has decided she hates the pram. And the car. Not a huge fan of her cot either while we’re at it. And as for crawling round gently prodding her toys – she’d rather rip wine bottles out of the wine rack, pull appliances off the bench using the 1cm of cord you left dangling, launch herself out of her high chair, scale the stairs at 60kms an hour whenever your back is turned, and my personal favourite of which I never tire – empty out every drawer and cupboard she can lay her hands on. Especially neatly organised Christmas wrapping drawer, ensuring every single roll of ribbon is festively strewn around the living room and red tissue paper is poking suspiciously out of her mouth.
21
Nov
2010
Not a good week in the mothering stakes
with any luck, I won't end up in these
We had gastro round here last week. Or more precisely – I had gastro. Everyone else had a touch (clearly a touch was almost death’s door for husband) and got through with a day or so of feeling unwell. I, however, spent the better part of nine days lying prostrate wherever the moment took me – on the sofa, on my bed, on the bedroom floor, on the front step (much to the confusion of both the 90 year old next door neighbour and the Italian parking attendant).
9
Nov
2010
It starts with pirates.
A while ago the lovely Gigi from mumsrock asked me to write a piece for her cool site. Obviously I told her that if she paid me a large fee, gave me the copyright and licensing fees then I might be able to manage something. Or maybe I just said ‘sure, when would you like it?’ I can’t quite remember. Anyway, the piece is up at the mumsrock site now, and here it is below for your reading pleasure…..
I’ve got pirates on my fridge. No, not some weird Johnny Depp type apparition – fridge magnet pirates. I used to have a study. The place where I used to sit and write witty and informative pieces on the state of the world. It now houses a cardboard box car, a wheely ladybird, several sacks of leftover sandpit sand and three hundred and seventy two pieces of puzzle waiting to be sorted. Possibly three hundred and seventy three. I am the Queen of Minimalism. I can’t bear nick-nacks and I’ve only just come around to having my fruit bowl on display. That’s been something of a breakthrough. So it has come as possibly the worst shock of motherhood (just before the horror of ugly nappy bags and the indignity of the electric breast pump) to find out that the main aim of the little buggers blighters is to TAKE OVER YOUR HOUSE.
24
Oct
2010
My fab new job
See, if I was more talented with one of these, I wouldn't be in this situation
I got a great new job this week. Three days a week, 10am-4pm, well paid, in a brand new and exciting area. It’s only a few tube stops away, which is handy, and you get as much sick leave as you need in the first few months when your child is bound to come down with every illness in the book after starting at nursery. I’ve got a team of four so it’s good to be managing people again, and there is lots of opportunity for career progression into embarrassingly well paid senior roles. Oh, and because my extended family lives overseas, I will be able to take a month long break next year and all school holidays can be taken as additional unpaid leave.
Oh no, wait.
Are you KIDDING me?
21
Oct
2010
Unsolicited Advice and how to stop yourself. A Petit Suisse Case Study.
I didn’t really know what to write about today so I thought I’d just cover what I realise is some old ground but allows me to take the opportunity to get things off my chest.
Unsolicited advice – something I get A LOT of. Let me just point out to those who like to give unsolicited advice, that it is different to solicited advice, which is where someone actually requests that you make a recommendation based on your specific experience, knowledge or qualification to give it. An important part to notice here is the qualification part. For example, if you’re not a doctor, people probably won’t ask you for medical advice. If you think about it, you may note that this is not a limitation you’ve imposed upon yourself with unsolicited advice. That’s where a large part of the problem often lies for the recipient.
Here’s something else you may not have realised, advice givers; Just because there is a problem, doesn’t mean the person is looking for suggested solutions. I know. It’s a challenging concept. And I feel for you. I do. You want to help. There is a problem, you think you have a solution, ‘why not offer it?’ you ask.
17
Oct
2010
HERDING CATS. OR HOW TO THROW A KID’S PARTY – PART 3. THE GAMES.
probably not for a 2 year old's party.
OK, this will be my last one on parties I promise. Anyway, I’ve done the planning of the party and the all-important party cake, but I think it is necessary to cover the final essential bits of the party – namely the games. Oh, and I forgot the food – ok, maybe this is the second last.
Firstly, can I highly recommend you find a really dodgy game that involves something slightly humiliating for the compere to do? Say running around a garden holding up signs whilst wearing a train driver’s uniform trying to corral a large number of three year olds in a straight line behind them? And ensure that any husband who might not have been of huge assistance with arranging party becomes the aforementioned compere? Just a suggestion.
In other tips:
1. If they’re under 3, don’t bother, just load ‘em up on cake and watch them run round the garden hopped up on chocolate and juice.
10
Oct
2010
KATE’S GENIUS CHILD-REARING INVENTIONS #3
this is surely the next step
Here is part three of my genius inventions. I have been approached to write a book about them so you’ll have to excuse me while I slip into a red carpet outfit and go outside to pave my front step with gold. It will be a very small book. Maybe a pamphlet. OK, my mate said he’d photocopy them but I am sure gold comes soon after that. Anyway, I give you…..
Toddler Art
You know people say they want to bottle it? I don’t want to bottle it, I want to frame it. I think Son’s temper tantrums belong in a gallery. Specifically, one of those wanky modern art galleries where you’re not sure but you think the man standing by the wall might be part of the art, and you’re pretty sure that’s not an air-conditioning unit but a multi-million dollar ‘piece’. Yes, my Son’s temper tantrums could be art installation in themselves. I shall call yesterday’s installation ‘Boy Screams For An Hour After Being Denied Plain Yoghurt Following Multiple Sticking Fingers in Yoghurt Infractions’. It will reflect man’s inhumanity to man, denying a child his basic human rights and the impact that denial has on the world at large (sore ears, guilt, a few guffaws).
