Dulce et decorum est ut dico a nosey alio impetro lost

We may be approaching poppy day which is why this bit of Latin sprung to mind, but I've appropriated a spot of Wilfred Owen for my own ends I'm afraid. Roughly translated this means 'Sweet and honoured it is to tell a nosey person to get lost' and it is far, far, far more polite than the actual exchange that took place. I wouldn't want to raise a blush to innocent cheeks!

What could irk me so much to hurl such insults you may wonder. Well, wonder no more for I shall reveal all...

Any person with a small child will tell you that some days the gods simply are not on your side; nope, they are actively huddled against you, gazing down from the sky in heartless delight at your growing despair and waning sanity. They are revelling in your misfortune. Such a day happened to me last week. It all started when the pushchair broke the day before. Transporting toddler girl and my wee man to nursery the next day became an epic journey of Herculean proportions. A mere 20 minute amble turned into a 50 minute slog from hell, accompanied by suitable wails, screams and flailing limbs - and that wasn't all coming from toddler girl. Meanwhile my wee man was being patient and sweet, polar opposite of his sister who flung herself face down on the pavement, ran into gardens and to cap it all removed her clothes repeatedly.

The full force of toddler girl fury was unleashed...

It was in a state of semi undress (no cardi, no coat just a short sleeved dress) on a cold autumn morning, face contorted with wails of protest, as I attempted to safely get her across a rather busy road, that the incident happened. A lady, late fifties, clearly well to do, decided she knew better than me how to handle my children. So she opted to turn her car around and drive over to me, pull up, wind down her window and inform me that 'maybe your child would be happier if you dressed her properly, put a coat on her'. Said coat was dangling useless in my hand, repeated attempts to get the damn thing on toddler girl had ended badly; there are only so many battles you can take on in one morning. Next to me stood wee man, suitably wrapped up against the weather - clearly I knew how to do it - it was obvious toddler girl wasn't co-operating. What right did this woman have to vent  her unasked for wisdom on me? So she got the full throttle of my angst and frustration, which was phrased more delicately than I'd have liked thanks to the presence of the wee ones.  My tirade ended with 'look, she has a coat you nosey old cow'. Which I thought was quite mild in the circumstances.

People at the bus stop opposite made the unfortunate choice to gawp, and they too experienced my wrath, "anyone else care to comment on how I raise my children?" I yelled to ducking heads and averted eyes. Nope, good. Then let us continue on our way.

The good folk at their nursery were most kind on seeing my distraught face. Tea & sympathy followed - when wee man piped up "she was a nosey old cow wasn't she mummy?" tension released into smiles and the day improved dramatically. But I still bought a new pushchair on the way home!

To Bee or not to Bee

Golly it has been a while hasn't it? That's what getting a job does for you; no time left to do all things you did when you didn't have a job; well not a full time-all the time one anyway. Now I have to get up every morning I can see why I liked freelance. Still, on the plus side my bank manager can heave a sigh of relief and my purse is officially upgraded to a nice large glass of Rioja.

Job or no job, mummy duties remain. And what can be a finer (or more demanding) mummy task than creating the ubiquitous Fancy Dress Outfit. Why do these educational establishments insist on hosting events that involve dressing ones child in a costume that is near to impossible to pull together from an old tea towel and some sticky backed plastic? What happened to the Nativity being the only time when you had to transform your wee one into something marvellous? I have not one but two of these things in the space of three weeks; I ask you do they think we all have mini-costume wardrobes at our finger tips? My house isn't a storage facility for the BBC. These things take time. They take thought. They take it out of me, they do, they really do.

Now that is a bad-bee. My bee was better I swear! If only he'd worn it so I could get a photo...

These days you can pick up fancy dress outfits for a modest price and the wee ones do love a bit dress up; so it could be an investment. But filled with the desire to be a good-mummy I whipped out the needle and thread and got creative with some fabric, knicker elastic, coat hangers and fabric paint. It seemed like a good idea; cost effective even. Hmm. Me thinks it may have been a false economy. My small boy was due to sing at the Bugs Ball, so inspired I set about forging him a Bumble Bee outfit. This comprised of black tights, a long sleeved black top, deely-boppers and a handcrafted yellow and black striped bee 'shift' elasticated at neck and ankles to give that 'puff-ball' look, complete with mesh covered coat hanger wings. Honestly it was not as bad as it could have been. It could have been so much worse. Hubby declared himself dismayed on our wee man's behalf. 'He's not wearing it' he declared. 'Oh yes he is' I insisted - I'd finished this masterpiece at midnight - on a work-night too. It was not going to waste; not on my watch. That was my stance as fell wearily into bed...

As it turns out my first born, a small and growing boy did not sing as a Bee. He sang as a slug, permitting all but the bee bit of the outfit anywhere near his tiny frame. So in answer to Hamlet's eternal question, it is clearly 'not to Bee'.

Thank you Prince William and KateMiddleton for another bank holiday

Here we are at Easter Monday, day four of a bank holiday-fest with not one but two more to look forward to within the space of a week thanks to the wedding of Prince William to his 'peasant' bride Kate Middleton. How lovely of them to bestow something on the nation in celebration of their big day; will this be an annual treat? I hope not.

Call me sour-puss if you will but I could do without another day of bank holiday madness. I blame it on living in a seaside town; if the statisticians are to be believed a whopping 400,000 people have descended on Brighton this Easter to enjoy the unbelievably un-British hot weather beside the seaside. At any one point 150,000 bodies were worshipping the sunshine on our boiling shingle. Is this the place to take two wee ones seriously lacking the sense to stay put in a crowd? I think not. Especially not toddler girl who assumes a bright red shade as the weakest of the sun's rays strike her fair complexion and yet refuses to keep her hat on for more than an hour. As for applying the saving grace of factor 50 - try pinning down a raging tiger it will be easier.

Thankfully we had the wondrous National Trust to fall back on; throwing caution to wind on the cost of petrol we scuttled out of Brighton as fast as our wheels could take us and headed for Standen House. This old Arts & Crafts estate is amazing. They've built a fantastic zone for kids out of woodland; this has two cunning bonuses. The first is shade; not to be sniffed at when the temperatures soar and sun lotion is a battle best avoided. The second is a crazy, clambering, rough and ready range of amusements for small folk that can be bashed and scrambled on with wild abandon. No need to fret or worry about potential damage and it is self contained so they can't disappear into the masses and send your heart rate into the danger zone. Throw in some perfectly placed picnic table with stunning views and you have it made.

The beautiful Arts& Crafts estate of Standen House; views aplenty

But there is no need for a bank holiday to head out there; it's open every weekend for 9 months of the year. While I see that bank holidays are quite lovely really I can't help but heave a sigh a relief once they are over; entertaining wee ones is hard enough without having to fight the crowds for the fun-stuff. As for the double-dose next week; well best get the National Trust book out and start hunting for salvation.

Can you picture the Royal Wedding photo album?

Unless you have been dwelling in a cave these past few months the crazy media feeding frenzy that is ramping up for the nuptials of the century as William and Katy tie the knot can not have passed you by. While I fervently wish it would simply slide past my consciousness I am unable to avoid its approach. Which got me to wondering how would they do it if they had total freedom. An even more radical thought, what if they were footing the bill? As anyone who has ever said the immortal words 'I do' will appreciate the fact of a wedding quadruples the cost of everything involved. That bunch of roses you see for £20? Oh no, with a special wedding ribbon added they suddenly cost £80. And then there are the photos. Capturing all those smiles doesn't come cheap. It is amazing the bride and groom can smile at all with what most shebangs cost these days.

Hubby and I did it on a budget so tiny it probably doesn't even cover the cost of the confetti for our dear darling Royals. Thankfully we have creatively wonderful friends who loaned us their talent at no cost so the wedding album is bursting with great shots of the big day. A good photo is hard to beat for bringing back memories or simply just a smile. But not all days of our lives are 'big days', more's the pity as the excuse for champers would be quite brilliant. What about those days that slip past full of laughter and silliness? I've come round to the idea that it's why they invented mobile phones. There is a back catalogue to rival Annie Liebovitz of snap shots and caught moments; these show our little family in progress through this life and are worth more than gold to me. Flicking through the digitized photo albums is an instant mood enhancer.

Possibly the greatest photo collage of all time...

Another up-side to the digital photo is home printing; cheap and instant, like a Polaroid without the shaking. As the job hunting (mentioned in the last post) is something of a non-starter I decided our house needed a big mood boost; a karmic shift of sorts. What better than a huge collage of family photos? An old framed poster was the perfect size, so out went Klimt and in went the wee ones along with a carefully edited selection of mummy and daddy. Home printing allowed me to plunder the back catalogue, printing pics of all sizes to build up a massive A1 sized gathering of all that was good with life. Just looking at it makes me feel all fortunate and soft centred. We now have a new vibrant bit of 'art' for the walls and all for the cost of some paper and ink. And I have pinned down dozens and dozens of reasons to be cheerful in the face of job hunting torment and impending Royal weddings. Say cheese!

What would Angelina Jolie do?

There are those mums that tell their kids "I don't want anything for mother's day." Who are they kidding? I mean really you spend all year being on hand for cooking, cleaning, hugging and playing, listening, making and general all round providing. Isn't it nice, just for one day (okay let's make that two days as your birthday must come under the same joyous rule book) to kick back and be indulged? Call me selfish if you will but I like to wallow in the 'me-me-me' of this glorious hallmark holiday. Come on, they don't call it Mother's Day for nothing now! I will bet my last chocolate in the box that even a jet set A Lister like Angelina Jolie welcomes the chance for her brood to show some mommy-love.

From People magazine website - Angelina and her babies. All mommies need a pampering...

With the wee ones being a tad too wee to actually understand what this day is all about I have to manage my expectations a little but big tall hubby helped them deliver a day to treasure. Now when I say I want something, I mean bare minimum a card. And did they deliver? Oh yes they did. Wee boy came home with the sweetest card ever from nursery (it is good to know that he loves me because I make him smile - AND - give him chocolate) and both made gorgeous cards with a little handicraft daddy-help. You can't beat handmade when it comes to cards; all that budding creativity on show and it costs next to nothing. Indulgence can come cheap.

Not quite as secret as secret squirrel but lovely none-the-less.

 

Of course the chocolates and flowers didn't go amiss - although wee boy blew any surprise factor by announcing first thing, "Daddy has secret flowers and chocolates for you mummy." Well, not so secret now are they? Bless. But a little mummy-me-me-me-ness does not have to involve presents (welcome though they are), nope what made my day was the constant stream of hugs and kisses from wee boy and toddler girl flagged with the cry "Happy Mother's Day", and big tall hubby's willingness to take on all kid-duties from dirty nappies to bedtime stories for the day and cook me dinner into the bargain...and to do the dishes after. Now that is what I call a pampering.

Back to nature

Spring has sprung and all things fresh, new and leafy are happening. It is that exciting time of year when winter wanders off and we all remember what the sun feels like on our skin. It is a time of hope and optimism. Mother nature is saying hello and it would be plain rude to ignore her. Life in cities sometimes feels one step removed from nature but if you look close enough it is round every corner. From front gardens, window boxes and parks to allotments, roadside verges and even cemeteries there is stuff growing aplenty. Perhaps wee ones pick up on this as they seem overly blessed with energy as the days get brighter and the mornings earlier. While this is fantastic for all things veggie soaking up the goodness of the golden rays it is slightly less than wonderful for any person with a wee one. Toddler girl and wee boy are up at the crack of dawn, literally, so as that crack comes in wider and earlier so do they into our bed shouting 'hello, I've had a good sleep.' I find that hard to believe and even if they have you can pretty much bet your last pound coin mummy and daddy have not; a good sleep requiring the basic semblance of a lie in. It was once if I was out of bed after 6.30/7am at a push (obviously AC  - if we're talking BC then call it midday) it was the best lie-in I could hope for; now if it's 6am I feel blessed and very, very knackered.

In order to cash in on this unavoidable seasonal bounce I get with the garden and grow-grow-grow. Some years this works like a dream and we laugh giddy with the abundance of leeks and potatoes in our grasp. Other years it ends in all out war with the slugs and snails as crops disappear before our eyes. Last year was hit and miss. The veggie patch became pure slug territory and my poor pumpkins were massacred as were the carrots and leeks. But the tomatoes and green beans came on like Olympians and we dined on them in endless nicoise salads or minestrone soups (what else can you do with them both?)

Taking to the garden as the days get brighter has multiple benefits, not least the wee ones can 'help' with the planting. This week we planted our tomatoes, three varieties and I'm going for a double prong attack. A grow bag holds some hopeful seeds out on the patio while little pots sit on our window sills waiting for the shoots to arrive. The window sill method is usually fail safe but I'm not sure how many will make it this year; toddler girl was a little less adept at keeping hold of the seeds than required. Maybe the lawn will sprout a few plants as  more than a few seeds ended up hidden in the grass.

Tiny sprigs of spring hope; let the tomatoes grow...

We'd been busy the week before with the carrots, beans, peppers, pumpkins and onions. I don't have high expectations for them as the slugs still own the veggie patch but these tomatoes are the great bright hope of our spring planting plan. Toddler boy is a seasoned gardener now; he fondly recalls the joy of pulling the ripe veggies off the plants last autumn; this has influenced the care he's lavished on this season's seeds.

So we've had time outdoors that doesn't involve a park or the beach; always a bonus in my book. In a few months we can save on the food bills as the crops come rolling in (fingers crossed, slug pellets out) and the days have been packed with planting activity keeping the wee ones busy with no effort required - well just a little effort. Our little seedlings will continue to keep the wee ones active as we embark on the daily do we - don't we water debate. I say debate but it is more of an ongoing 'explaination' with wee boy who would like to water them at every opportunity; but to be fair when they do need watering he is right on the case with toddler girl right beside him.

So come on the sunshine; you've work to be doing!

Sew, a needle pulling thread

In case you hadn't guessed I like to cook. I love cooking, which is just as well as I do a lot of it, tonnes of the stuff. Our bread, cakes, biscuits, sweet treats, soups, sauces and meals are 99.9% of the time home cooked by my fair hand. As a consequence my wee ones enjoy time in the kitchen watching mummy go slowly mad trying to prepare four things at once and keep tiny fingers from being burnt/chopped/blended/crushed in the frenzy.

Alternatively I'm attempting to save the dish of the day from total ruination thanks to the wonderful 'help' the wee ones love to offer. Such help as adding handfuls of salt, pouring in twice as much liquid or dropping it all into the beaten egg mix; all and more has gone before my frazzled eyes as two hours of work goes into the bin. But, you know, it's my mummy-duty to encourage this cooking interest so I'm told and I always like to do what I'm told - well nearly always.

To be fair small boy is now very adept at helping and will almost do exactly what he's asked. I like this progress and to encourage it I decided it was time for him to own an apron. Toddler girl was gifted a charming pink apron which she adores mostly because it is pink. Pink is the colour of joy and happiness for her right now; she gravitates towards all things pinky like a bee to nectar. Both the wee ones like to copy grown up behaviour, so when I don my apron toddler girl must have hers. Poor small boy was feeling a tad left out.

Brighton has some fantasticly lush cook shops, and those shops that don't seem to sell anything specific just random things from joke toys to candles and in the mix is always some fascinatingly wonderful homeware that costs at least twice as much as you'd expect for the size/practicality/general existence. Off I went in search of an apron suitable for a small boy and aprons I found in said cook shops and random emporiums. Could I find one that was A) attractive and B) affordable? Could I heck. If it was cheap then it was usually branded with some hideous kids TV programme and if it was funky it was a small fortune for such a simple item.

Many choices of pattern but it comes at a price.

With no middle ground in sight and very achey feet from all that shop-browsing I admitted defeat and trudged home; it was on the slog up the hill that it hit me - I would sew him an apron. With bags of fabrics at my disposal it was the ideal sollution. That very eve I perused my fabrics and using toddler girl's apron (or apricot as she likes to call it, thankfully I speak fluent toddler) as a basic template I upgraded it for my small man. So easy, it took less than two hours to choose, cut and hand sew the whole thing. The next morning I made pancakes just to have an excuse to whip it out for him.

Should you fancy making your own I found this great web site which has stacks of apron designs you can use... Free-apron-patterns-you-can-make

Now my small boy sports a very dashing denim apron, designed especially for him. It has been lovingly hand crafted from recycled jeans and bears his name in chunky letters of other clothing related fabrics. Waste not want not as the mantra goes. When he stands still for long enough I shall post up a photo as I'm most chuffed with this needle and thread effort. It cost me nothing but time and it was time well spent. All three of us strut around the kitchen decked out in our apricots having a grand old time with whatever ingredients are called for; cooking doesn't get better than this.

Getting crafty

I blame Blue Peter. All those letter holders and Easter bunnies from toilet roll tubes and cotton wool got to me at an early and impressionable age. When it comes to make and do I'm your gal. If it involves a bit of sticking and painting all the better. Crafts have always been my bag; sometimes I actually make bags (see www.folksy.com/shops/cockahoopcreations) but I'll turn my hand to many things, collage, cork-boards, knitting, sewing and papermache-ing. Yup I'm the annoying woman in the shops who stands and declares "£20 for that? But I could make it myself." There are times when this is true but there are also those things that I really shouldn't bother trying; it'll only end in tears.

Cork-boards made from old corks and old picture frames look fantastic and make a lovely present.

Lately I've found that attempting crafty activities with the wee ones is also likely to end in tears. Usually when toddler girl has upended the glitter over wee boy's masterpiece thus rendering it useless and bin-bound, until I can convince him that a glittery dinosaur train driver (abstractly rendered as a greeny/purple splodge with yellow highlights) is actually quite brilliant and deserves as spot in 'the gallery'. I blame another childhood TV show for the creation of 'the gallery', Hart Beat (I think) the one with Morph anyways. Don't be misguided, the aforementioned gallery is actually just the wall by their beds but they like it and it saves on wallpaper.

Clearly despite watching too much TV in my youth I've come away with a creative ethic so it isn't all bad. With that in mind I do let the wee ones enjoy a bit of Mister Maker on cbeebies and quietly catch a bit of it for my own viewing pleasure.  Although these days I'm a tad more advanced in my handmade output there is something compelling about all that water based paint and pipe-cleaners.

It does save a fortune, making your own stuff. Take birthday cards; I've saved masses of images from magazines, fliers etc and I collage cards for friends and family. Sometimes it takes ages to find just the right thing but that's cool; I like that the card they get has been properly thought about and is utterly unique. And the wee ones like to experiment with card making too; we get out the card, glue and cut-outs and have some family fun. Okay I confess sometimes mummy does get a wee bit cross when small hands try and sabotage her work but on balance it is all good. Whether or not the cards recipients like it as much as we do is another thing! But they seem well received; then we do have very polite friends.

So it was a real treat to find this ladies blog (http://annwood.net/blog/) with the free templates for some of her wonderful creations. Thanks to a lovely friend for passing this on as Ann Wood is a talented woman and I fully intend to have a go at those tea-cups. They'll make perfect containers for sweet treats. How glorious is that - combining two passions, cooking and crafts to produce individual gifts that will (hopefully) look amazing while costing a fraction of a shop bought version. Yup arts and crafts are sure way to beat the recession blues and have fun trying too.

If you've got a creative talent tucked away then bring it out, dust it off and share a photo in the comments box below...

From coast to coast

Big tall hubby and I dwell on the south coast; being by the sea is wonderful. Fresh air, fresh donuts at the pier and fresh faces every summer wandering around the place all astray. Funny how when you're a tourist you forget that other people live there all the time and when you live there all the time you forget that in other places you're the annoying tourist.

With both our families up north, these days we're the tourists when we go home; especially lacking the required regional accents. Hubby never had his and mine just got lost along the way; careless I know. Nothing marks you out like a stranger in strange land than your voice. But it still feels like home and makes for the perfect get away. What more affordable holiday is there than staying with friends and family? Not to mention the brilliant babysitting service it affords. We certainly made the most of that one; not having grandparents on the doorstep usually it was a treat beyond imagining to have them to lean on for a week. It was even possible to squeeze in a cinema visit (Black Swan - amazing) which we never do at home. Why waste a rare babysitter to go sit in a darkened room for a few hours ignoring each other? We may be notching up two decades together but we can still hold a conversation - given half a chance. Let's face it with wee ones around a proper conversation is as rare as roller skates on a granny. So when we had the option of babysitters for a few days in a row suddenly going to the cinema felt like a treat. The bonus of going up north is that it cost half the price of going at home, leaving plenty of spare change for some pick and mix sweeties. Oh we know how to live we do. Plus hot fresh coffee to keep us awake for the duration; problem of going away with wee ones is the disruption to sleep schedules. When they won't sleep neither can we...

Unless a generous neighbour is away for a holiday and leaves her keys for you. As an extra holiday bonus we got to spend not one but two nights all on our ownsome. We weren't just in a different room we were in a different building. Heaven. Thank crunchie for granny who embraced her 6am wake up calls without a murmur while we slept on and on. It was as good as a hotel; without room service but hey, sleep trumps breakfast on a tray any day. We actually felt like humans after our two nights of uninterrupted sleep and extended lie-ins. Well worth travelling 500 miles for make no mistake; and in the words of the proclaimers I'd travel 500 more.

A holiday without visiting a tourist attraction is like a boiled egg without the soldiers; it just isn't right. As Madagascar is the film of choice for our wee boy, with toddler girl swiftly following it seemed sensible to make the zoo our tourist destination. 'Lets go see Alex the lion' we enthused at wee boy who wasn't that keen to get back in the car. Unfortunately Scotland in winter is not the best place to see lions, tigers and bears. While we shivered in the showery cold the animals sensibly hid indoors under straw keeping warm. Apart from the penguins; it was the perfect climate for them. Our small ones didn't mind, they were too busy roaring at each other or attempting to break into enclosures. As grown ups we would have been a tad miffed at the cost of staring at nothing for half the afternoon had it not been for another generous friend providing us with free passes for the place; hard to complain at that price! The conclusion was that the zoo is best left to summer but at least we tried. It cost nothing and we lost nothing (apart from the tips of our fingers to frost bite).

Like their cartoon cousins Penguins are renown for their swift flippers when it comes to swiping goodies.

So our first family holiday of 2011 was also our first visit to family this year. It's handy having relatives half way up the country and right at the top; we can double dip into the gene pool and save on petrol costs. It wasn't quite Land's End to John O'Groats but our little coast to coast adventure was the perfect (economical) escape.

In praise of tea

The more simple the pleasure the greater a pleasure it is. Nothing quite beats a cup of tea when it comes to the perfect 'ah' moment. And very few things are cheaper than a cuppa these days, unless you're buying it in a Parisian street cafe where you may as well buy a beer for half the price and double the fun. Perhaps appreciation of a Good Cup of Tea is a British thing? Although I'm being rude there and ignoring the glorious Chinese and Indian teas. For shame, not very multi-cultural of me at all. So I'll take that back. Many nations enjoy a good cup of tea and there is ritual and satisfaction in it the world over. Ah, balance restored.

Right there with that word I've pinpointed the joy of a cuppa, the ritual. Even the atheists amongst us need a ritual in life here and there; gives a day focus like nothing else. And if that ritual is no more complicated than dunking a tea-bag, adding a splash of milk and plopping into your favourite chair then so much the better. With biscuit or without biscuit - the choice is yours. But why stop with a biscuit?

In my recent hunt for Victoriana I stumbled across a glorious cake-stand. You know the ones that grannies brought out for Sunday brunch, 3 tiers of naughty taste-ticklers to tempt you, that's the one. A small family tradition growing up was to take afternoon tea once in a while at a splendidly grand establishment, my dad wanted me to grow up feeling comfortable in these places. Well he achieved that no problem; luxury hotel stay? Yes please. However, as budgets do not allow for a cheeky stop over at The Dorchester these days I have come up with the next best thing (almost, minus the service and chance to celebrity spot and the amazing comfort factor). I said next best didn't I?

What is this alternative - I'll tell you. Afternoon tea at home. That cake stand works like magic, worth every penny of the £1.50 it cost me. Set the table, bring out the tea service, cake stand in proud full view laden with home made goodies and a plate of little sandwich triangles with the crusts removed. Oh yes. With one friend or four friends (can't hold enough cakes for more), it is an afternoon of indulgent fun. For at least five minutes we are ladies who lunch and not harassed mummies about to pop. Perhaps I have seen one Merchant Ivory film too many but pouring tea from a tea pot into a proper tea cup & saucer feels like the ultimate in elegance and sophistication. Such a ladylike activity can't help but feel indulgent - even if it is self service.

But tea doesn't have to be all pomp and ceremony to be brilliant. Morning does not officially start until the first cup of the day has been consumed. Both toddler girl and wee boy know mummy won't be serving breakfast until that mug is empty. And it has to be a mug in the morning; that tea has hard work to do dragging me from knackered to shattered in twenty sips. 'Time for a cuppa' is a phrase guaranteed to diffuse any toddler generated craziness; it transports one to a comfort zone out of place and time. I know every out of reach landing space in every room we own for my tea-vessel thus saving small ones from a scalding. This ensures every tea-break is an oasis of 'me-time'. And there isn't a mummy (or daddy) on the planet who doesn't need a daily dose of that.

Luxurious loveliness that doesn't cost the earth

Should tea not be your cup of tea (like big tall hubby - I have failed to convert him despite years of trying) then there is always coffee. If it is hot and hits the spot then let us raise a cup and shout hurrah. Top up? Oh go on then...

The hunt for Victoriana

About three days ago I had a fantastic flash of inspiration for what I'd blog about come the weekend. Then in typical baby-mama style the idea got up and walked away before I could pin it down. Pesky thing. Sometimes I think it is amazing that I get anything done at all. I have so many balls juggling up in the air that I could go run away to join the circus. Now there is a plan, although they would probably want me to juggle chainsaws and as I value my hands, not to mention head and arms it is a plan best put to one side.

So rather than the thing I was going to talk about I'm going to whitter on about junk instead. Not just any junk but victoriana stylee-junk. See the thing with wee ones in the house is that nothing is sacred. In the three years we've had them we've lost glasses, plates, wedding presents, photo frames and teeny tiny fragments of our sanity. Sadly the sanity cannot be replaced by scouring flea markets, car boots and charity shops but the other stuff can. And it is with this mission in mind that the great victoriana hunt began. Given that we have limited funds and an in-house wrecking crew we're not after vintage wonders to make collectors green with envy. All we want is a mix'n'match hotch potch of dishes, cutlery and bits'n'bobs that fit with our victoriana theme. So if it has that funky faded gold trim on the edge, flowers or swirls and it looks like it came from 1900 then it is in the bag.

The plates that tempt us when small hands have played grab & smash

What is it with charity shops these days? Car boots and flea markets more often than not have the odd plate or dish way cheaper than charity shops and they have to buy the stuff they sell. Go figure. I know giving to charity is A Good Thing but some of them have obviously seen one too many episodes of Antiques Roadshow and a little knowledge is clearly a dangerous thing when it comes to pricing the goodies donated. This isn't Cash in the Attic folks, this is an almost ugly old plate worth tuppence so why mark it up for £3.99? I can buy a new one in Habitat for that. Pff! My favourite port of call at the moment is a guy at the open market who sells a big old mess of brick-a-brack for 50p a pop. He's always worth a rummage. Good word that, rummage, suits the action perfectly. For some reason no matter where I look there is an abundance of tiny plates and a total lack of big dinner plates. And post New Year no one has champagne flutes, maybe everyone broke theirs like we broke ours on NYE. So the hunt goes on.

This miss-match approach to dishes and associated breakables is highly recommended. If you have tiny tots you won't care if - or rather when - they smash the lot to smithereens and lose your cutlery down the drain in the garden. It is liberating this freedom from care and makes all our lives a whole heap less stressy. Not that we encourage destruction. Not one bit of it. But let's face it, it happens and better that it happens with a shrug rather than a total breakdown. And as a Brucie bonus it is fun. Dinner parties look fab with nothing matching at the table; I like to call it eclectic-chic. We might buy junk but it's funky junk with a style all its own and the re-cycle/re-use philosophy polishes our environmental halos to a Brasso shine.

Not that I don't have moments of longing. My champagne tastes came to the fore when I spotted a gorgeous plate that turned out to be part of a dinner set that turned out to be Clarence Cliff. A snip at £950. Hmm. Maybe leave that one for someone else to enjoy. So the hunt for Victoriana is still on, and given our breakage rate is likely to be ongoing. I like this. It keeps me busy and is one ball I don't mind juggling.

the gorgeous and desirable Clarice Cliff

The joy of shank's pony

When one has two wee ones the opportunity for a night out is rare indeed, especially with 99% of the family oop north. Friends are fantastic, not only do they provide babysitting services for free but we can enjoy kid-free coupledom happy in the knowledge that the wee mites are in safe hands. But friends are friends with their own lives to live so we don't like to call on them too often. So what does one do if going out is not an option? For us, staying in is the new going out. We live in dread of being one of those couples who go out to dinner and sit in silence because they've forgotten how to be together. Isn't it all too easy with demanding mini-egos tugging at your attention to blast through the day and not share more than two words with the other half? Is this acceptable? Not on your nellie. I say fight back. Reclaim life as a couple. Home based socialising is the way forwards. Happy mummy and daddy makes for happy kids. Big tall hubby and I book date nights in the diary and nothing but nothing gets in the way of pre-booked 'us' time.I've mentioned before our £10 dinner dates and they are still going strong. We've added a movie night, good film, couch potato nibbles and a glass of wine while we curl up on the sofa together. Bliss.

I don't know who writes the film descriptions for pay per view movies but I think in a past life they wrote the phone book. The most eagerly anticipated of new releases is rendered dreary and flat by the hand of these pay per view reviewers. Instead we google it to get a real idea of what it is all about; what a pain huh.

Call me a Luddite but I still prefer a trip to the video shop. Yes I know it is DVDs these days but it is still the video shop for me. Same as with Opal fruit - starburst? I think not. There is nothing to compare to browsing the shelves, checking out the box artwork and absorbing the blurb on the back. Prices are the same as pay per view so the only hassle is getting there. Now small boy is at nursery it leaves a few hours per day for me and toddler girl to get out and about. So much easier with just her as she still hasn't figured out how to unclasp her pushchair straps. Whoop. A contained toddler is a marvellous thing. I can feel my shoulders unclench at the very thought.

With toddler girl in tow I chose a film in relative ease; the only tricky bit was which film to watch. So many amazing movies and so few movie nights. In the end I let the cast list tempt me (genuinely good actors rather than phwoar factor) and went for The Brothers Bloom. A con-man caper of the highest order by the director of Brick (another stylish film noir-esque delight). It didn't disappoint. Neither did the pizza. We usually try to cook the nibbles at home but plans went awry this time as I forgot to defrost the pizzas (oops) so it was Domino's for the NHS discount; it might be movie night but thriftiness is all round here. I did bake chocolate cookies though. No tutting please, movie night is exempt from the healthy eating regime. Delicious.

Greed guilt the next day? Nope. I walked it off. Toddler girl is pretty steady on her pins these days and I'm at long last venturing forth without the pushchair. Outside with the wee ones without wheels? Can it be true? Actually I think I get more exercise with the wheels; pushing over 5 stone in weight up a big hill is no mean feat. But going on foot means freedom. No more am I a pavement pariah; pedestrian enemy number one. Nope, now I am the crazy lady shouting don't run, come back, please stand up and stop talking to the [imaginary] guinea pigs. There was one behind every gate you know; pesky critters. Now I'm pitied by my fellow pavement pounders rather than despised; I like to think of this as progress. Toddler girl thought it was the most fun ever to sit down a quarter of the way across the road. Cars? Not a worry for the wee ones when there was a mummy to wind up. I resorted to carrying a wriggly toddler girl like a sack of spuds while small boy attempted to turn his fingers into squid as my hand desperately grasped his.

These feet were made for walking and now that's what they do

These hiccups aside we made it to the video shop and back to return The Brothers Bloom in a mere fifty minutes. On my own I can get there and back in ten. Like I say, progress, it always comes at a price. At least this a price I can afford and am more than willing to pay. My pushchair days are nearly over; let's hear it for feet!

Boxing clever

This year I have come to the conclusion that Boxing Day is far superior to Christmas Day. There is less stress, less mess, no fuss and a whole lot more relaxation with all the treats left over from the day before. Apparently it is so called due to the boxes people got - some say servants got gift boxes from masters, others argue the priests opened the alms boxes to the poor and yet another suggestion is that the Romans collected money in boxes to pay for the people to have their games. I see the theme there - boxes. All good stuff.

We had lots of boxes in our house too. Empty boxes with the contents scattered in death inducing fashion all over the place. Not a single room was safe from small bits of plastic, nuggets of wood or wheeled things. Thank goodness we elected to conduct the day from the safety of the sofa or someone could have been hurt. Although we did manage a small jaunt to the beach for a pebble dash with the wee ones; nothing better for working off the mince pies. Life beside the seaside is wonderful in winter. No tourists crowding the place leaving wide stretches of beach free for the locals to enjoy. Okay it is a tad on the chilly side but the view is worth it; nothing says hope like an endless horizon. There is such promise where the sea meets the sky, perfect for the closing days of the festive season.

Not quite as we saw it Boxing Day but Brighton Beach in winter is amazing.

And it has been a funny festive season this year. Christmas had ping-ponged from our place to up north and then back down again. Our feasty preparations swirled like snow as health and weather took our plans and shook them upside down. In the end by the time it came to the big day we'd sort of lost momentum. I say 'we' but the small ones maintained full throttle until around 4pm on Christmas day when they hit melt down; almost literally given the amount of chocolate consumed. Tall hubby and I rode out the day on wine and adrenalin; we cruised on the kids craziness but after they hit the hay we found ourselves fading fast. So it was a relief to wake up on Boxing Day full of festive joy and that special Christmas buzz that makes all things merry and bright.

The real fun in Boxing Day comes from the left overs. All that mad over spending is swapped for thrifty concoctions involving beat up roasties and mashed sprouts. We opted for a goose this year and I just didn't know how it would taste the day after; some things don't work the next go round, thankfully goose isn't one of them. I dry fried it with a bit of garlic, shallots and smoked sweet paprika with a dash of cream; totally yummy with a bit of bubble and the chili roasted beetroot on the side. Tomorrow the plan is to stir fry it with some grated ginger and orange for a noodle-tastic dish of leftover delight. And then that goose will be well and truly cooked.

The goose got fat and we ate it all up!

Now that the frenzy of Christmas is past we can fully enjoy the rest of  this festive season. There are treats-a-plenty to be over-consumed and presents to be explored, TV specials to veg in front of and friends to swap xmassy stories with. And let us not forget the grandest of all grand finales - New Year's Eve. Ah yes, the Christmas spirit is flowing now...Merry Christmas one and all.

It is all in the planning

These days I don't leave the house without a detailed plan of action. Spontaneity has packed its bags and left in despair; utterly neglected. There are pluses and minuses to this situation. My inner twenty-something (and who over 30 does not have an inner twenty-something dissecting every move?) rages at the loss of life on the whimsy-side. Tall hubby and I walk past a pub with the pushchair in tow and pine for the days when we could have nipped inside and stayed till closing. To stay in a pub 'till closing these days demands military grade forward planning. And becoming sergeant major of the drinks brigade somewhat takes the fun out of it.

However there is much to be said for the boyscout motto 'be prepared'. From day trips to shopping trips; birthdays to Christmas, all are broken down into lists, tasks and detailed plans. Now the list thing is partly down to the fact that if a thought stays in my head for more than two minutes it counts as a minor miracle. Call it prolonged baby-brain or call it the  early onset of Alzheimer's but my memory ain't what it used to be. These days I can walk from the living room to the kitchen and forget why I've opened the fridge. An ideal excuse to nibble a slice of ham perhaps; alas not now the 'healthy eating plan' is in motion.

A real bonus to all this planning is the cost-saving; oh the chancellor would beam with pride if that face of his is capable of such a thing. I've slashed and bashed expenditure to get the most of...ooh everything...for the least money possible. With my trusty list pinned to the fridge by the giant letter A, I can track and chase Xmas goodies, hunting out the best deals and bargains. Inch by inch our Christmas delights accumulate into a fantastic feast that will make the 'healthy eating plan' quake in its boots. Ditto wee boys upcoming birthday party. And it is so much easier to enjoy it all when I know the bank is not broken (well it might have a slight hairline fracture).

The font of all wisdom...

This leads us nicely to the other big plus - stress reduction. With it all broken down to bite sized chunks life is so much easier to manage. Harangued by the demands of two small children the days slip past in a haze not dissimilar to the mild intoxication of the morning after the night before. There is no accounting for the time as it whizzes by - it just goes. But thanks to my new 'be prepared' philosophy Christmas is in the bag. Presents are bought (or made), stocking fillers acquired and Xmas tree goodies await a tree. I can sit and wait to see big grins on Xmas morning with time aplenty to relax and get festive.I don't share this to be smug (honest) but to spread the happy news that the loss of life on a whim comes with perks - its a yin-yang thing.

Christmas all wrapped up with time to spare

So while it is now impossible to head for the closest Italian at 8pm when we've realised too late we need to eat but can't be bothered with cooking we can whip out 'one I prepared earlier' as part of my monthly menu plan - which is almost (if you squint) spontaneous. The best of both worlds? Well it might just be...

On the flipside part deux

Just as a little addendum to yesterday's post here is the recipe for the squash/pumpkin pasta sauce. Good time of year to do it and it tastes fantastic. I got it from the 'Top 100 pasta sauces' cookbook by Diane Seed.




500g pasta
1.5kg pumpkin or squash cut into thin slices
50g butter
1 leek finely sliced
1 onion finely chopped
1 stick celery finely sliced
300ml chicken stock (may need more or less depending)
Half tsp nutmeg
150ml double cream or 125g fromage frais
70g grated Parmesan


Melt half the butter and gently soften the onion, leek and celery. Add the pumpkin/squash and cook on low heat for about 5 mins. Add enough stock to make it all moist and cover, simmer for about 20 mins. Add more stock and repeat until it is all cooked through and soft. Add salt/pepper to taste and the nutmeg then blend. Return to the pan and add the cream, Parmesan and the rest of the butter stir through and serve up.

Guess what; toddler boy is messing with the breakfast now too - not ketchup thankfully - today he announced he liked his cereal crunchy and would not be having milk. Ah such is the joy of parenting.

These bad boys are a taste sensation with pasta

A liitle off the middle

If it isn't complicated enough trying to keep two small ones and big tall hubby well fed and chirpy without bringing down the wrath of Cameron and Co. on the state of our finances we've added a little extra challenge. Keeps things fresh doesn't it? And what is this challenge? To cook while doing the downward dog? Nope. Shopping only while wearing fluffy slipper booties and a smile? Nah. Although I do love my slipper booties and see no shame in sharing them with the world. See...

Cosy winter tootsie warmers

This is something we never ever do. Ever.

Shh and I'll whisper it...diet. Well I say diet, it is more of a cutting down exercise, trimming off the fat as it were. That dreaded phrase 'portion control' is coming into my kitchen on hushed feet. What torture is this? Actually portion control is fab, saves a fortune so long as we don't snackeroo. So far so good. No, it isn't a diet. Sensible eating fits the bill nicely. If you call it a diet all you want to do is eat. Munch, crunch, chew and nibble. So it is most definitely not a diet. The D word is banned henceforth.

Now you'd think eating less would cost less but not so. 'Tis probably why only the rich and famous can afford to be thin as age advances along with the waistline. This being sensible lark takes time and effort and its toll on the coffers. Wee ones need their food and their fat. Big ones need to reign it all in while they still have the chance. So we're juggling to avoid the jiggling. Thank heavens for booze I say! Cutting down on the nightly medicinal vino (the balm of most mothers post bed time) helps boost the purchase of 'healthier options'. I'm amazed anyone can afford to be veggie, it tots up.

Let's give it a few weeks and see how it goes, once I find a recipe that actually tastes as good as a full fat version then I'll whip it up here in a flash. Hope it isn't a long wait!

Strength in numbers

Six adults, six children and one large cottage complete with heated indoor pool. It sounds like a fair deal on paper. One adult per child and six of the ankle biters to amuse each other would surely mean adult supervision could be kept to a minimum. The pre-hol dream was of lazing by the pool with a glass of vino sharing banter with like minded pals. Alas not fair reader. Take those six children and multiply the effort per child by ten and you're just hovering in the right ball park. Not that you would want to go into that ball park - 'tis chaos in there. Us poor adults were run ragged day after day as the mini-us ramped up the energy levels with the sheer excitement of seeing each other every single day combined with the unknown delight of their very own swimming pool, right in the middle of the house. A small miracle before their very wide eyes.

It took two days of constant group vigilance to end the game of 'bounce on the big bed furthest from the grown ups'. While we've all indulged in a bed bounce now and then this game had the edge and that edge came in the form of clothes flinging - all over the room. In the end we conceded vigilance was not enough and wedged the door closed with a chair. That did the trick.God love 'em.

Do not be deterred though, a group holiday has its perks. First and foremost we got to hang out with friends for a whole week, sharing the pain of tiny-tots crazy hour and the fuzzy glow of witnessing group baby hugs and toddler love-ins. Plus the grown ups sank more than a few bottles of vino, local ales and fruity ciders each evening resulting in our own group hugs - love-ins however were strictly a private affair. And we got to play Pictionary!Oh yes we know how to rock. It's a game that needs at least four semi tipsy (or ideally totally trollied) players and in an increasingly baby-centric social circle it is hard, nay almost impossible to get the right conditions to play. So what a treat it was to whip out the board and sharpen those pencils. I mock ye not. And I didn't even win.

Purse-wise a group hol is a top idea too. 'Tis way cheaper than B&B's or hotels and probably on a par with camping without the wet weather worries or hassle of pitching. Economical and social - a match made in heaven. Not to forget the built in babysitting service. Priceless.

Not having children of school age helped too, we snuck off post summer hols and shaved a fortune off the rental price. Ah bring back the 70's when you could whisk kids out of school any time you liked. If this double dip recession continues I foresee my small ones having bouts of flu around Oct time requiring a full week off school to recover. Honest headmistress, they have a temperature of 39 (this global warming business has helped enormously with the late break - in T-shirts on the beach in Oct? Oh yes).

Is a group holiday with multiple wee ones a good idea? Yes. Would I do it again? Yes. I'll just remember to wedge the door shut on the first day next time. 

The best laid plans...

I'm not a mouse or a man but my best laid plans most certainly went astray this week. The whole creating yumminess on a budget thing has been going remarkable well even if I do toot my own horn in saying it, so I guess it was time for a cock-up.

For days I'd been gathering in the ingredients for a stuffed cabbage, mentioned before in this blog, the stuffed cabbage is a delight and wonder that belies its grim institutional sounding name. Every trip into town was a recce for another component, all ingredients were located at rock bottom prices starting with the savoy cabbage and ending with some pine nuts (ooh they are pricey little nuggets at the moment - has there been some harvest failure I don't know about?)

Hubby was excited, I was salivating, toddler boy was fascinated and baby girl couldn't care less. All was well in the kitchen as the ingredients took shape into the dish. Now a stuffed cabbage does taste amazing but it is a major faff to make. The French do like their food a tad tricksy on the prep front. So tomatoes had been skinned and cored, pine nuts toasted, bacon diced, onion chopped, breadcrumbs whizzed and cabbage leaves blanched and assembled.Not to mention the crushed garlic, minced pork, blended herbs and beaten eggs. Finally I layered up the leaves with the stuffing and tied it all up into a big muslin wrapped cabbage again. This went to rest in the mixing bowl while I prepped the sauce it cooks in.

Shallots sauteed in butter while I diced potato. I was just peeling the carrots when disaster struck. Toddler boy got over curious and upended the mixing bowl, shattering it all over its contents. Unless we wanted minced insides there was no way we could eat the cabbage. Disappointed is too mild a word. Never have I wanted to eat something so much as that cabbage, nope, not even that hidden choccy bar during PMT. Toddler boy picked up on the enormity of his actions as he inserted a very heavy "sooooo" before his "sorry".

But in the spirit of the blitz (very topical me) I sliced the peeled carrots and whipped out the hummus for a little pre-dinner nibble. After a few more were added to its number the diced spuds turned into a buttery mash. The poor sauteed shallots were rescued by turning them into a white wine gravy (which nearly ended badly when the stock cube refused to co-operate and formed huge lumps throughout the sauce - thank heavens for a whisk Mrs Beeton indeed). A packet of herby sausages pulled from the freezer provided the pork fix and dinner was saved.

It wasn't stuffed cabbage though was it? Grrr...

What we should have been eating...