Conehead Children

Please tell me my children are not the only children in the world who would think up this idea? Me thinks not, but I'm not sure.

We are having some work done at out place - aka putting in some decks and patio areas. Don't ask me why they need cones to do that but there you have it. They left them there overnight and of course my children see them as instant entertainment.

Here is the ex-ballerina doing some conehead ballet.

I tried to tell them that when I was at school (Macleans College), this was called the Dunce's Hat, and our principal (the name for them now is Head, so I believe), would make us run around the school wearing it as a hat on our heads to let everyone know in the school, and everyone driving by, that we had done something particularly dumb.
But I don't think the kids believed me.

Red Shoes for Alice

There's pretty much only three children's clothing stores to buy from in New Zealand. That is, for the middle class. Pumpkin Patch, JK and Farmers. I want my kids to be well dressed, respectable, cute and pretty, but I can't afford $80 onesies, and $90 designer dresses, and you can forget about the $150 leather shoes. As for the cheaper clothing, it's really a false economy when the $12 cotton tops start looking old and out of shape after the first wash, or the sleeves are longer than their arms, but the bodice length is too short.

Anyway, yesterday I had a chance to go and do some shopping. By. Myself. Because my husband took the day off from work. I had a lot of errands to run, and also had a $20 voucher to spend at Pumpkin Patch.

I had to get some jeans for my boy - don't get me started on the quality of jeans. But as I wandered down to the boys section of the store I happened to pass these adorable, little, red, Mary Jane shoes. The price tag on them could have been $150 and I would have ignored it. They are so sweet! They were the last pair in Alice's size, and they were on sale. I was totally sucked in by colour and cutesiness and marketing. I wanted them. I needed them.
I really did!

I love them because they're Mary Jane's, and they are red. Happiness.

The Cutest Thing I've Made

I think this is the cutest thing I've ever made! And the idea came out of my own head.
I have a bit of a thing for tape measures, and last week I picked up my first retractable one from a local sewing store. But the plastic cover was kind of ugly - so I made a new one. It only took about an hour and I'm pretty pleased with it. Felt is so much fun to work with, and I can see all sorts of possibilities for other designs for this. The kids love pushing her nose to make the tape go back in. I probably should put a button or something there, or she's going to get worn out.
I'm thinking about putting it up on my etsy/felt site, but I have no idea what to charge for it.
The tape measure is $9.95 to buy at the store without the felt cover. Any suggestions?

Why Don't I Fit In With Homeschoolers?

We've just come back from our first swimming lesson.
It was with a local homeschooling group.
I do not do well with homeschooling groups.
Actually, I question my sanity when I am with homeschooling groups.
I question a whole lot of things when I am with homeschooling groups.

I am ranting - yes I know. I am about to make huge generalisations here - yes, I know that too.

I think I am a friendly person. I don't have any trouble saying hello to a stranger, and striking up a conversation. But when I am with homeschooling people I suddenly feel like a fish out of water. If my child has a temper tantrum (and my baby did today because she wanted to walk into the pool and I wouldn't let her), I suddenly have a million eyes looking at me, and because I've been around homeschooling people for a very long time, I know exactly what they are thinking.

I had to take one of my children to the toilet, and when we came back our seat was taken. Ok. No big deal. We'll just move down here a bit where there's a space. Good. We only took up half of the little bench. Along comes homeschooling mother number 1 with her to-the-ankles-skirt, and her hair tied up in a very tight bun on her head. She said, "Could you move down to the other end of the bench. This is where we are sitting." Ok. Wasn't aware there were names on the seats. Wasn't aware that we were still in primary school, either! I had no idea the seats were owned by you! Then she sits down and starts talking to homeschooling mother #2 all about her anaesthetic that she recently had, and every single little detail about it, and how she slowly opened her eyes, and what she saw, and what she thought and....... give me a break.
And what about the poor swimming teacher, who was late in starting because she was waiting for the other 6 children enrolled in the homeschooling swim class to turn up. They never did. The class of 3 went ahead without them.
And what did I think of the two young homeschooling boys who were in the lobby throwing their wet swimming bags at each other and running around unsupervised? Well, I know what the receptionist thought - and it probably wasn't nice.

These are not the sort of people I want to be socialising with. My children either.

I'm a snob. I think. I'm certainly a snob when I'm with homeschoolers of a certain type. All the nice homeschoolers that I know, and are friendly with, do not like homeschooling groups. What does that mean? What does that say about me, and them?

It is sad, but I actually prefer my non-christian, go-to-school, never-in-their-wildest-dreams-would-they-ever-have-considered-homeschooling friends.

I am disillusioned with New Zealand homeschooling. I am disillusioned with New Zealand homeschooling families. I let my kids watch cartoons. I let my daughter wear shorts and jeans. I even let her do ballet and play netball. And oh my goodness me - she has a bathing suit on! My son watches MacGyver! He even plays tennis! And my other son plays Soccer! Sometimes we don't go to church on Sunday. Sometimes we even eat sugar. And most of the time we just have plain jam sandwiches for lunch and not muffins or soup.

We are seriously thinking of putting our children into our little local country school. The kids I know who go there are nice. They are normal. They are polite. They have nice friends. Their mothers are friendly. That's what I want for me and my children.
My daughter might wear a bathing suit and like Barbie, and my baby might have the odd temper tantrum, and my sons might like guns and cartoons and sports, but I know for sure that they are polite. They love God, they know the difference between right and wrong (they know it - doesn't mean they'll always choose it). They respect adults. They obey their teachers. They are friendly and smart and interesting. 6 years of homeschooling might have helped them to become like this, but I am not convinced that it is the best thing for them for the next 6 years.
We'll see.
But school is looking more and more attractive.

A Strange Entertainment

Graveyards are funny places. They sort of give you a dose of reality - that in spite of what you would like to believe, your life on Earth is a finite one. But aside from these thoughts, they are fascinating places to wander through. The entertainment value alone is enough to make me want to visit every graveyard I pass.
But I usually don't.
On Sunday, when we were at the little, old country churchyard, we spent quite a bit of time reading the epitaphs on the tombstones. Incredibly, most of them have been well looked after - only a few lay crumbled or broken.  Some had old wrought-iron gates around them. Why, I wonder? I've always wondered what the purpose was in doing that.

We thought it interesting how God-fearing the messages on the headstones are - such a different generation to the one we are living in. But some of them made us laugh out loud! Actually, we roared with laughter over this one. Who wanted it put there, I wonder? The deceased, or the ones left behind? Could be an interesting story in that! Perhaps a tale of a life well-spent, or a life ill-spent.

I rather liked this one.

This one breaks my heart though.

There were so many of these - young children, young adults. What a perilous time it must have been - before good hygiene and antibiotics were common. What heartbreak for the families. It makes you feel that it's a miracle anyone survived!

Some of the other verses were:

"Blessed are the pure in heart"
"So Loved, So Mourned"
"Safe in the arms of Jesus" (for a child)
"With Christ which is far better" (for two young siblings who died within 8 years of each other).
"Speak Lord, for thy servant heareth"
"The day thou gavest Lord, is ended"
"Christ has gathered to His own,
to the place where He has gone,
where their hearts and treasures lie,
where their lives are hid on high." (Rather nice I thought).

"Had He asked us well we know we should cry,
O spare this blow, yes with streaming tears,
Should pray, Lord we love her, let her stay." (Quite sad).

Now that I've thoroughly depressed you, I will leave you with two more. One I thought was rather sweet, and one that gives hope.
First - what a blessed woman this lady was - look at how she has been loved - but so young to die, too.

And this final epitaph on a headstone:

"In sure and certain hope of a resurrection to eternal life."

Yes, I like graveyards. I like how they make me think. I like how they make me appreciate and value life. I like how they link me to the past. I like imagining who the people were, and what they were like and what sort of lives they lived. But they are sad places too, and now I promise that I will not write any more blog posts on graveyards. Except that there is the whole burial/cremation argument that my husband and I periodically have. He is from a family who cremates. I am from a family who bury. I prefer burial. I'm even sure it's biblical (that's what I tell him, anyway)! I will mortgage my house several times over to prevent any of my immediate family being cremated. I will contest the will, if I have to. Haha! But I promised, didn't I.
No more posts on that subject.

At least, not for awhile.

Old Bones, Old Loves, Old Tragedies

A little jaunt to the other side of the city yesterday, saw us hunting up the graves of long-dead relatives.

One thing about researching genealogy is that it's very addictive. Once you start, it's hard to stop.

Pretty little, quiet country churchyard on a warm, still Sunday afternoon.

After learning that some of my ancestors were convicts sent to Australia for burglary (the Old Bailey now have online records), or whalers or sealers (not exactly a clean profession, and certainly not politically correct in these modern times, but essential to survival 200 years ago), and hearing stories passed down of sons who went into professions not exactly desired by their fathers, (my great-grandfather owned a tobacconists shop in Christchurch, and my other great grandfather went mining - and didn't find his fortune - after leaving his family business in Auckland), I have been very happy to discover my Great great grandparents in the little country settlement of Kilinchy.

Farmers. Good, honest, respectable farmers - part of that great band of early settlers. The ones who struggled and toiled, to make our country what it is today.

Robert Weavers - an immigrant from England married Sarah Jane Fielder - who immigrated to New Zealand on the immigrant ship Glentanner in 1857 with her carpenter father and mother and two siblings.
She was 10 years old.

Somehow I feel a connection with these people. They lived here, they married here, they gave birth here and raised their family here. They experienced tragedy and sadness and no doubt, great joy as well, and they died here.
I wish it were possible to go back into time and meet them and to see them as they went about their daily business. I want to meet my Great Aunt Emma, the sister of my great grandfather, who died suddenly at age 24 after a short illness. I mean, look at the date of her death! What a dreadful time that must have been for her family. I found a newspaper clipping of her obituary, which said she was a favourite and so loved by the community for her sweet nature and kindness. It is nice to know I have someone like that in my ancestry.

I'd like to meet Great Uncle Henry, and find out what happened to him.

I'd like to know why my Great Grandfather George (the eldest son) gave up the family farm and went to the city to own and run a tobacconists shop. What's with that? Did my Great great grandparents like the girl he married - Martha, whom my Grandmother told me I take after, in looks and personality.

I'd like to find the old family farm, which I have heard rumoured to still be around somewhere. So many questions. So many mysteries. I want to know these people. I want to know the intimate details of their existance.
The hunt is endless sport.

Sunday's Share

The reason I chose this photo today is because I like it, and because it means I'm slowly learning how to use my new camera - thanks to free books checked out from the library.

.

"Education is a progressive discovery of our own ignorance". Will Durant

Ballooning

Great excitement this morning - a hot air balloon landed in the paddock across the road. It came very close to our house, and we thought for a moment it was going to land at our place. I ran outside in the chilly morning air in jeans and a tanktop - what a laugh the people in the basket might have had if they'd  noticed, so I quickly ran back in for my merino top - and had the camera clicking like crazy. It's slightly overcast today, so the pictures are not as bright as they could be.

Close enough to see faces.

Chilly morning shows on the face of Teddy.

This is my favourite one of the hot air balloon. Robin thinks it looks like a conductor in an auditorium.

Camouflage

Yesterday we met up with a friend and took the kids through Willowbank - a native New Zealand wildlife park. Because it is school holidays, it was very busy and there were bus loads of tourists coming through as well, but we still managed to make our way leisurely around and finish with a picnic lunch.

Look at this adorable mother duck and her babies. They are so well camouflaged in the water. How many can you spot?

The children had a close encounter with this little Wallaby.

And this Capuchan monkey has been a very naughty monkey just recently when he got out and explored Christchurch City.

I personally loved the Swans, although there were warnings not to touch them as they bite!

And I love Keas (native mountain parrot). They are so cheeky and so friendly and oh, so very beautiful! But Alice was terrified of them, so we couldn't hang around too long.

And this photo with the white Heron is not upside down.

Breastfeeding Forever

I just tried to wean Alice off her morning breastfeed. Big mistake. Boy, I didn't realise my sweet little, precious, soft-voiced baby girl had such a strong will and temper!
First of all, the warm, milky Milo (a bit like hot chocolate but not as sweet) I made her got thrown to the floor in disgust. Try again. And again. And yet again. It hit the floor that many times.

Ok - maybe she wants her food first. (yeah, right)! So I mix up the porridge with some yummy fruit pulp, and try a spoonful. That flew through the air faster than a concord. Try again. I get both hands waving frantically in front of her face. There's no way a tiny spoonful of porridge is going to make it anywhere near that mouth. Then the tears start - loud and copious! Try again. Another splodge of porridge on the floor.

I have guests arriving for an early morning visit any minute. I give up. Ok, little girl, you win this time.
So she gets her breastfeed. And guess what happens?
The sun comes out. The rain dries up, and all is right with the world again.

Do you think that by 5 years old she might not protest if I drop her morning feed? I've never had a baby so attached to breastfeeding. They were all weaned by a year old, and Alice is nearly 15 months. I'm down to two feeds a day, but right now I feel like that will go on and on until she's 20!

100 Days

Did you know that today is the one hundredth day of the year! Isn't that hard to swallow!
I know this because I bought myself a diary last year, determined that for the first time in my life (after many, many failed attempts), I would keep a daily journal of the year.
I was all inspired when I saw the book at one of my favourite home-office stores, kikki-k - fairly new to New Zealand, but really hot at the moment. I love the clean, fresh Swedish style of their products.

Their blank diary, in my favourite red, is simply titled; 365. Each day has the number of that day in bold red print in the top corner. And today I reached 100 without missing any days of writing in there.

So, can you believe it - 100 days have passed since New Year's Day. Last night as I lay in bed, I enjoyed reading through some of my entries. Some days were boring, some days were interesting and fun. Some days were too busy, and some days were sad.
I love to look through the rest of the book at the fresh, clean pages and I can't help but wonder what will be written on them. Already the year has bought us many changes, uncertainty, sadness, but many little pleasures and joys and excitements.

It would be nice if all the days could be as pleasant as Day 5, but I know they can't, that they probably won't, and that I probably wouldn't really want them to be anyway; but somehow I can't help but wish that I could go back there.

Baby Magnet

I like to collect magnets from all over the world. This is a little-known fact about me, unless you visit my house. Then you will see that I like magnets, because my fridge is covered in them. I did not intend to put them on my fridge - you know - it's not quite the trendy, fashion statement thing to do, but my children discovered my box of magnets one day, and at about the same time they discovered that the fridge was magnetic. Put them together and what does that make? It makes this. . .

I once belonged to a wonderful forum, postcrossing, when I had more time on my hands than I knew what to do with, and that is where I got my collection from.

I have also discovered that the magnet fridge is a baby magnet too. Alice loves to pull magnets off, chew on them, and put them back on. It keeps her happy and occupied for minutes at a time, and then she's off on to something else.

I have my favourites among my magnets. My number one favourite is this one from Chicago - I lived there once. I miss it.

And I love this one because it is hard to come by, and it's on the top of my wish list of places to visit before I die.

Here is a little collage of some of my other favourite magnets. I have a penfriend in Iran who sent me some food magnets - she said she couldn't find any touristy magnets anywhere and had to settle for those. I love them! When I tried to send her some from NZ, they were stolen out of the package at the Iranian post office. She received an empty package. This has happened to me before. It actually amazes me that New Zealand is perceived as an exotic country. How can that be? We're so ordinary! 

I also like collecting State numberplate magnets from the USA. This Maui, Hawaii numberplate one was the first magnet I received.

From top left: Sevilla, Spain; Bulgaria; Hawaii; Efes, Turkey; Iran; Slovenia; Key West; Rhodes, Greece; Slovakia; Australia; Norway.

The Allure of the Quince

There is something very alluring and mysterious about the Quince. It is supposedly one of the oldest-known fruits in the world, and is steeped in folk-lore and legend as the fruit of the gods of Greek and Arabian mythology.

The tree itself is beautiful when full of fruit in late summer. The yellowy, golden pear-shaped fruit is set off gloriously against the dark green leaf of a mature tree. The Quince is one of my favourite fruits, and the tree is one of my favourite trees. The fruit is very aromatic and has filled my house with a beuatiful smell these last few days.


I have a baby tree growing in my orchard, but it will be a few years yet before I see any of those beautiful yellow bells hanging from my branches, so I have found a local grower who sells them from her home, and just now was about that time where I should go knocking on their door for a fresh supply.


I have two jars left over from last year, and I used one of them to serve my brother-in-law and sister-in-law last week. They liked them so much that I had to get 5kgs to mail up to the North Island.


Today I bottled the first batch. For a variation I put a Star of Anise in the syrup to give it flavour. The house now smells divinely spicy. I saved the left-over syrup to pour over a bowl of icecream tonight. Recipe below photo.

The recipe to bottle Quince is very simple. Here is mine:


1.5kg sugar
2 litres water
8 (2-3kg) large Quince
1/2 cup lemon juice
4-6 cups water
Optional: 4-5 whole cloves, 1 strip orange rind or 1 whole star anise


Make syrup by bringing water and sugar to boil, and stir until sugar dissolves.
Prepare a bowl with lemon juice and water (make it a large bowl).
Choose ripe and blemish-free quince. Wash to remove the brown fuzz that is sometimes on the skin.
Peel the Quince and slice into quarters, removing the core and any blemishes, and drop into the lemon water to prevent browning.
Drain and add to the syrup and if desired, add the above spices/cloves of your choice. Simmer gently on a low heat for approximately 45 minutes to 1 hour, or until the fruit is soft and has started to turn a pale pink.
Bottle into sterilised jars. Remove any airbubbles and use the overflow method to seal.

The Finer Things of Life

One of the things I love about having family and friends to stay, is that you usually make the effort to go to places that you normally wouldn't go to in everyday life, and do things that you normally wouldn't do in everyday life.

Even though I live less than 20 minutes away from celebrity chef, Jo Seagar;  I have only visited her most excellent cafe three times.

The first time I enjoyed coffee with my niece while we tried not to feel guilty about not buying food.
The second time was with my cousin for coffee, and we were put in the bar area, when we really wanted to play ladies in the cafe area. And we tried not to feel guilty about not buying food.

The third time, last week - was with my brother and sister in law (my husband's oldest brother), who were staying with us from the North Island and this time we did it in style. A table for 7 is not easily come by at a moment's notice, but one was found, and we were seated, and my most excellent brother-in-law ordered these delectable treats for us to enjoy with our most excellent coffee.

If you have an observant eye, you might have noticed the plastic food behind the tiered plate in the form of a very orange, stiff-looking pizza... or is it a quiche? My younger children played 'restaurants' while we waited for our food, and dodged waitresses as they ran/skipped/walked from the back of the cafe where we were sitting, to the front, where the plastic food was placed for the use of all children.


We played along and enjoyed the food and the coffee.

The children's eyes almost popped out when they were served these drinks. It's more chocolate than I ever allow them to have at one sitting. Does that make me mean?

My eldest son and his uncle. The two H R's.

Going to Jo's and having such a nice family time with such nice food and coffee and chats and laughs and happy memories has inspired me to get out my own tiered cake plate - one that I treasure because it belonged to my late mother-in-law who I never got to meet. I love having these things that belonged to her - I should use them more often.

Autumn Harvest

With the turning back of our clocks the weather has taken a plunge. 
Summer is gone. 
Autumn is upon us in all its vibrancy and colour as a last hurrah of the fading summer.