Who Gets To Read It First?

 The kids and I are fighting.
Over a book.
I told them I better read it first, just to make sure that it's ok for little kids.
"We've seen the movie, Mum. It's ok. And I'm not little."
Now I'm having to hide it.

What is this book?
It is The City of Ember written by Jeanne DuPrau.

I am not one for Science Fiction. At all. I hate it. Usually. But they say that there is always an exception to the rule. This is it.
The City of Ember has gripped us. We saw it on dvd at the weekend - just a random movie that I grabbed off the children's shelf at the library last week when I was in a hurry. Quickly scanned the blurb on the back. Sounded ok - rated PG. Give it a go.

Did I already say we love it?

The City of Ember is actually a city. A post-apocalyptic city, buried miles under the surface of the earth. It was built to save the human race from destruction. It was built to last 200 years. Now, that time is up.
Everything is running out. The food, the clothes, the lights, the generator. The city is beginning to crumble and corruption is rife. It is up to teenagers, Lina and Doon, to find the way out and to piece together the clues left by the creators of the city in a small forgotten steel box - before darkness encloses them all forever. The citizens of Ember know nothing outside their little electric-run city, lighted by hundreds of lamps. They don't know about Earth. They don't know about the sea and the sky and the wind and rain and the moon.
And they don't know about the Sun.
All they know is Ember. And outside Ember is darkness.
The secrets of the Earth were enclosed in the little box and sealed for 200 years.

The movie was very well done - exciting. I would not recommend it for any children under the age of 8 years. Even then my 8 year old wanted to fastforward the scary bits - which were a man being taken to jail and a mutated mole with an octopus-like head who is very hungry (that was the only bit in the movie that I thought was dumb), and Lina and Doon being chased by the 'policemen' of a corrupt mayor.
But my 10 year old liked those parts.

The book itself is very good and grips you from the first page. It's also the first in a series of 4. Without giving too much away the rest of the series follows the fortunes of Lina and Doon and some of the other people from Ember.

It's also on audio book .

Mother's Little Helper

I am not a good cow.
I first realized this after my first baby was born.
When he began to lose weight he had to go onto the bottle at 7 weeks old, supplemented by breast milk.
He was weaned at 9 months.
It was a disappointment.
I come from a long line of good milkers.
I felt like the black sheep among the women in my family.
By george, my grandmother had so much milk she was asked to be a wet nurse during the war years!

So when my second baby was expected I paid money to go to a lactation consultant.
It helped a bit. I managed to exclusively breast feed for the first 3 months.
Then I had to introduce formula.
She was weaned at 10 months.

When my third baby came along, I felt more confident, but resigned to the fact that it wouldn't last.
It didn't.
He was weaned at 10 months too and supplemented with formula since 3 months old.

I did ask myself why I couldn't enjoy this stage of my life and my babies? Why, when it seemed to come so naturally to so many other women, couldn't it come naturally for me? For me, the poor milk cow, breastfeeding was a chore. It was uncomfortable for me, and long - in that the poor babies had to really work hard to get the milk down.

Then I gave birth to my fourth baby. I was expecting the same thing to happen.
But it didn't.
It was completely different. The exact opposite of what I had become accustomed to.
Why?
Several reasons really.
First off, I had a great - and I mean a great obstetrician. Joy Dixon (of Christchurch) who is expensive, but worth it. And a wonderful midwife, Marg Tappin.
When Alice was born, I told them about my difficulty with milk.
The whole issue was solved when they said to me,
"Get yourself some Complan".

Well, I thought it probably wouldn't help, but I'd try it anyway. So every morning for breakfast since the day after Alice was born, I have a glass of this:

To cut a long story short, here I am with my 18 month old toddler, and I'm amazed and very, very grateful to still be breastfeeding twice a day, and now I'm wondering when it's going to stop (as you might remember me blogging about here).

What's more - some of my girlfriends have seen it in my kitchen, or heard me talking about it, and they themselves have said how much they rely on it after a baby is born.

How come I didn't know about it with baby #1, 2 and 3?
Well, at least #4 has had the benefit of it.

It's mother's little helper for me, that's for sure!

Compiling My Book List

It seems that it is a popular idea in the blogging world at the moment to do a book list.
I've often thought of doing one myself but never have - but since I have been reading other people's interesting book lists, I thought that I might sit down and compile one for myself.
The trouble with me is that I'm not very disciplined - I think I'd have trouble systematically making my way through a list. I'm not really a list person, but I do admire people who are. My husband is always suggesting I write lists and I always give him a withering look.
The other thing is that I love to read children's books, and I love to read old favourites. I sort of think of books as friends and I like to re-visit with them from time to time.
And I have a strange quirk to my character where I have gone completely off romantic fiction.
I hate it.
There - I've said it. It's out. 
I prefer real-life stories, thrillers, crime (not too gory though), and children's books, and books that teach you how to do things.

But I'm going to compile a little list - hoping that I stick to it  - and write my reviews of them.

There are a few books that I have on hand that I want to read. Here they are:





By the Shores of Silver Lake by Laura Ingalls Wilder - after a break of probably 20 years or so, I am making my way through the Little House series again, and I have to tell you that I can't put them down. They are beautiful, wonderful books. I read them now with different eyes than I did when I was a child. I finish one, and I can't wait for the next one. Sliver Lake finds the Ingalls family moving from Plum Creek to De Smet in Dakota Territory. Things haven't worked out in Kansas. The wheat crops were poor and Mary has become blind through illness. Jack has died and Laura and her Pa are yearning for new adventures.

The Soapmaker's Companion by Susan Miller Cavitch - as recommended by Rhonda Jean of the Australian  Down to Earth blog. This was my Christmas present two years ago! And it was my 2009 New Year's Resolution to make my own soap. I'm a little bit scared of the lye and am waiting for a day when I have no children around to try it out. Anyone want to look after 4 lively kids for the day?

Life Assured by Nicholas Rhea - this author is a recent discovery and I am hooked. His genre is a little bit of Miss Read and a little bit of James Herriot. Set in North Yorkshire in the 1960/70's, Matthew and Evelyn are looking for ways to keep his insurance business alive after breaking his leg. He can't drive his car to get out and meet his clients, so Evelyn takes on this side of the business while Matthew works with the new local vicar to start a community magazine. What I love about this series is the characterisation and the stories weaved around them. A very, very pleasurable indulgent read that will take you to another world.

A Long Slow Affair of the Heart by Bruce Ansley - I picked this book on a whim one day and was hooked by its description. Bruce Ansley is a New Zealander and he and his wife live their dream of buying a little boat and sailing it down the French canals. Hey! That's our dream too!

On Top of the World by Tom Barbash - this book completely changed my outlook on the world. I want to read it again. It is the story of Howard Lutnick and the Cantor Fitzgerald firm who lost most of their friends and employees in the 9/11 attacks when the building collapsed. It is a sad book; poignant, sobering but a triumph of the human spirit as well. I loved it.

Little Italy by Laura Zavan - I am getting tired of cooking the same old things, so I have a few cookbooks that I want to read. And a wish for many days of experimental cooking. This book has beautiful photography and an interesting insight into Italian cuisine.

The River Cottage Cookbook by Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall - I love this man! He talks like the Queen, has a down-to-earth philosophy with expensive taste. I want to read all his books. And I especially want to try out his pumpkin soup - a pumpkin with the top taken off, seeds scooped out, filled up with cheese, cream and nutmeg and roasted in the oven until soft. Doesn't that sound delectable? We've been watching his autumn series on tv and he has even convinced me that shooting bunnies is not a bad thing, though I don't know if I could actually do it.

So that's it for now. Of course, there are tons of others - old favourites like Dickens and Agatha Christie and Jane Austen and John Grisham and Miss Read and LM Montgomery. They will keep coming back into my life and I love them. They are comfortable, reassuring and unchanging.

Poor Mummy

Yesterday was busy. We had to rush out the door at 11am and we wouldn't be back until the end of the day. At 10.45 am I suddenly realised that I'd forgotten about lunch for the children. I usually give it to them early on this day, as they have an art class at midday.
I needed a quick idea that wouldn't make us late for class.
Burger King.
Which I happen to hate. But it's on the way.

After they were settled with their portable lunches in the car, and we began the second half of our 45 minute car trip there was a lull in the conversation. I started to tell them how when I was little growing up in Blenheim we only had a KFC takeaway store. No Macdonalds. No Burger King. No Subway. Just KFC.
And that it was such a huge treat that we would generally only have it once a year. Once. A. Year. You kids don't know how lucky you are!
 
Hugh's mouth dropped open.
"Only once a year?"

Meredith said, "I know we are lucky."

There was not a sound from Teddy.

We drove along. It was quiet again. Then a couple of minutes later a little voice from the back says,
"Poor Mummy."

Boats Are People Too

One of our favourite things to do in Picton is go for a walk through the marina.
Anyone who has known boats all their life knows that boats are alive. They have names. They have personalities. They have idiosyncracies. Each one is individual. 

On Sunday morning as we walked among the moored boats in the sunshine, we'd lean over the railings and pretend that we owned them. We all love boats. It's in our blood. We can't help it. Our dream is to one day own a boat - a bit like how other people own dogs and cats and goldfish. We want a pet boat. We want to name it and feed it and go for rides in it. So we look and we wander and we dream and we pretend.

"Which one is your boat, Hugh?"
Like father, like son. They both chose the same boat.
Quaint. Sturdy. Old-fashioned. Well decked out. Well-built. Full of character.

Where's your boat, Meredith?
I might have guessed. Sleek. Modern. Fun. Expensive. Polished. Maintenance-free.

Do you want to see my boat? I knew it as soon as I spotted it.
Old-fashioned. Seasoned. Full of intrigue and mystery. Don't those windows just make you want to see inside? I'd love to be sitting up on the bow as she cuts through the sea.

And where is Teddy's boat? Not here. He couldn't find his boat until we walked down a pier jutting out into the harbour. And there he saw it. A beautiful little ship sitting nicely against the side, with strong ropes coiled around the post.
An old sailor came out of the cabin onto the deck.
"Hello" says Teddy.
"I like your boat alot. I really like the colour."

A little green sail boat.

Do you know how nice it is to pass the time of day with the captain of a little boat like that? A man from the same generation as my grandfather, with rough hard-working hands, a tanned, wrinkled, wise face. He keeps a tidy boat, and has the ease of friendliness and conversation that comes with that generation. A character who has lived in the Sounds for nearly 40 years. He had just sailed his little ship 6 hours around from the Sounds to visit a sick friend in hospital. And my boy finds him. Likes his boat. And strikes up a conversation.
It made our day.

Funny - when I read back over this - something strikes me. The boats that we all picked have characteristics very like the individual that marked them out for notice. Interesting.

Ghosts

Everywhere I go in Picton I see ghosts.
Ghosts of myself as a child. Ghosts of my grandparents. Ghosts of happy things experienced. Ghosts of friends and cousins and family. Ghosts of well-loved boats.
Memories of happy times and memories of people who are now dead. Memories of children who are now grown and not part of my life. Memories of family members who lived nearby, and who now do not.
As Anne Shirley says, I almost "expect to see the ghost of my childhood self meeting me" as I round the corner.

As we walked up this bridge I thought about my great aunt and the path to her house. I thought about my grandfather and his little chug-along boat slowly motoring underneath heading out to the Sounds. His little grey-haired dog asleep under the seat.

At the top of the bridge I looked down and saw the berth where Grandad used to pull his boat alongside while we all jumped on. I can see Nana there with the boxes of food. I can see my cousins and my brother and sister and my aunt and uncle and parents waiting there for Grandad. We would be heading down the Sounds for a little holiday at the bach. It's the same place. The same ramps. Nothing has changed. Only time. Grandad and Nana aren't there anymore. The boat has been sold. My parents live in a different part of New Zealand as do my siblings and cousins. My aunt and uncle are still here though. And I come back here. And I remember.

I look over and see this house. It has always been there. I love it. I'd love to live in it.

This war memorial has always been there too. One vivid memory finds me there after the Marlborough Walk from Blenheim to Picton with my cousin and her husband. The steep wide stairs always remind me of the Sound of Music movie where the children are singing as they jump from step to step.

Here's the Oxley where we used to buy icecreams before heading out to the Sounds. Of course, that big apartment is a fairly new addition.

And look at these characters. Mickey and Donald - a fixture in the park at Picton. There used to be a large black whale that we used to clamber over. He is long gone, but Mickey and Donald survive.

And here's that beautiful point out at the harbour head. It's where we used to turn in Grandad's boat to go around the point and head out to the bach. A bach with boat-access only. There is nothing more thrilling than that.

The Apartment

Just indulge me here for a minute. Let me believe that we're wealthy and swanky and own a weekend house in Picton. Scratch that - it's not a house - it's an apartment. And we just spent the weekend in it. We don't own it, but if I shut my eyes for the entire time I'm there I can imagine that it's ours and that we do own it.
But if I did that, I'd miss the views! And the views were lovely.
Straight out over the foreshore of Picton to the sparkling, glittering blue sea and Mabel Island nestled as she always is - at the mouth of the harbour.

Picton is the place where we plan to retire. One day. We love it and we miss it when we're away from it.
My family history is steeped in it, and there's just something about the place that keeps calling us back. Usually we stay with family or friends, or hire a little bach in the Sounds. This weekend we treated ourselves to something different. An apartment. On the main street of Picton. On the second floor.

It was such a beautiful place to stay, and with three bedrooms and two bathrooms, we felt very spacious, even with four children. The decor was very simple - black and white, but so tastefully done with modern furniture and no clutter that it felt very luxurious.

Our master bedroom shared the balcony with the living room and looked out over the harbour and the lights of Picton and the little boats sleeping on their moorings. We could watch the ferries coming and going.

Meredith and Alice shared a room with another luxurious queen-sized bed and just enough room for a porta-cot, and the boys had the twin room with the lovely red pillows.

When we weren't out walking through the park or up and down the jetties or visiting family and friends, we revelled in our luxury - takeaway food, store-bought coffee from the cafe downstairs and card games and Guess Who, or just sitting and admiring the view or people-watching. When my auntie visitied, my 10 year old son just loved going down in the elevator to the lobby door and pressing the green button to the side of the door to let her in.

The apartment was surprisingly child-friendly. Apart from a few little things, like the coasters, the remotes and the cords for the blinds, we didn't have to put anything up out of reach of Alice's little 18 month old fingers.

We had such a nice time. It was great just to get away from the usual routines and the usual sights out of the window and relax for a couple of days somewhere different.

We're already thinking about our next trip here - saving up to go again in the early summer for a bit longer.

Gelato, Sorbet or Italian Ice?

Hugh-Fearnley Whittingstall calls this the "real gelato, like the kind you get in the best Italian ice-cream parlours." From his River Cottage Cookbook.

I have never had gelato. I have never been to Italy. (I know.... poor me). But I wanted to try it out. So I made his recipe on Saturday night. It was .... divinely yummy, but I would call it a sorbet.

500gm raspberries
30 mls lemon juice
125 grams icing sugar (or to taste)

Pulp the raspberries through a sieve to get rid of the seeds. I found a really easy way to do this.
Put a couple of tablespoons of mashed raspberries in the sieve and then tap the sieve hard on the edge of the bowl over and over until all the pulp has disappeared and you are left with the seeds. Honestly, it takes seconds, as opposed to long, arm-killing minutes using a spoon to mash the pulp through.

Stir in the lemon juice, then whisk in the icing sugar until there are no lumps. Pour into your ice-cream machine, or lay on a tray and put in the freezer, stirring every couple of hours or so.

Any gelato eaters out there who can help me out?

Treasures

This morning I was sitting in my formal living room feeding Alice. The sun was streaming in the window, and as it is when I'm feeding in the quiet of the morning my mind has time to wander - to reflect - to plan - to think.
I was looking around that room - it is where I keep most of my precious things, because the children seldom go in there, so they're less likely to get broken.

And I suddenly started to see all the treasures that I've got there - that I've saved over the years - the things that mean something to me. Things that connect me with my past, my history, my childhood. And it's not so much the items themselves, but more the people connected to them that mean something to me.

Like these little china polar bears, for instance. Why have I kept them? Why have they survived all our moves, and nearly 20 years since I first opened the paper they were wrapped in? Because they were given to me for my 21st by my best friend's parents.

And what about this lovely hand-embroidered art that sits on my bookshelf. A dear friend, and old girlfriend of my brother's made it for me. It brings back happy times together. I don't see her now. I have no idea where she is, but her handwork sits there everyday reminding me of her.

And I love this little crystal jar that is on a dressing table. It belonged to my grandmother. She used to keep her clip-on earrings and her necklaces in it. I can still see it sitting on her old-fashioned dressing table in her little flat.

And these pretty Lladro girls were given to me by my sister for my 21st birthday. It's a tradition in our family that sisters give each other china figures for that special birthday. A tradition I hope that my girls will continue with each other.

Another very special treasure I have is this plate. My other grandmother had 6 of them comissioned for all her grand-daughters when we were little. When we went to her house, we used to admire them sitting in her glass cabinet and look forward to the day when we could own them. I don't think, as children, we realized what a sad day that would be. That owning them would mean that Nana wasn't here anymore. I'd much rather they were still sitting in her glass cabinet than on my mantlepiece.
On the back our names are inscribed and the date.

And then there's this carriage clock. Special to me because it was given to me by my very dear friend and employer in Chicago. We also have a wall clock that he gave us when we got married. I love the elegance of it and it brings back memories of a very happy time in my life.

And one more thing I'm going to show you is this little crosstitch that I made when I was in my early 20s. My family had gone for a little holiday to the old beach house that we grew up with in the Marlborough Sounds. It had been many years since we had been there and it was a little trip down memory lane. The place is boat access only so we had many lovely quiet days with no distractions, and I sat on the little steps at the top of the path, in the sun, stitching this. Looking at it again brings back those quiet days and that beautiful, magical place where I spent many happy days as a child with my brother and sister and cousins and aunty and uncle and parents and grandparents.

It's nice to have these old things around. They are a connection to the people from my past. They remind me of where I come from, what I've experienced, and how these people have shaped me into the person I am today.
If you look around your place, do you see the same treasures from your past? What do they remind you of?

A Lament for Summer

When I turned on the tap this morning to wash the soap from my hands, I expected to get water.
I did not get water.
I got ice.


Having ice wash over your hands on a chilly, very frosty morning makes me long for days like this....

And while the winter sun is bright and warm....ish, it is not the same warm as you get on a day like this, when the Lees cousins have sandcastle building competitions...

or you get to swim and kayak and suntan and talk all day long with your bff Kimmie.

And the dead of winter makes you appreciate days like this, when the sun is hot, and the sea is cool, and you can walk around in your bathing suit all day long.

and you can leave the doors open all day and meals are fresh and fruity, and easy, and the barbeque is kept busy every night,

and the children are happy and carefree and entertained.

Oh summer of my perfect happiness. Why did you leave me? Why did you have to hurry away. I despair of your return  -  yet I know that you will come back. I will rejoice yet again in the friendliness of thy countenance and the warmth of thy sunshine.

A Rare Photo of Self

These days I don't really like my photograph being taken.
One, because my original size 4 body was stolen from me a long time ago.
Two, because my skin, while still good, is not flawless.
Three, I could do with a teeth whitening session, and
Four, breastfeeding 4 babies doesn't do anything much for that youthful look.
One redeeming fact is that my hair is still thick and dark, but I still spend many hours pulling out the greys. I've managed to put off the hair colouring sessions so far. I'm terrified I'd be that small percentage that have allergic reactions to hair dyes.

So typically, you won't see too many photos of me, and I'm usually on the other end of the camera anyway. However, last week - in what must have been a relaxed time of day; either that or I was too tired to care, Teddy, my 5 year old son asked if he could take some pictures on my new, fancy, expensive camera. And I said yes. What!??

He stood at one end of the table with the camera strap around his neck and looked oh so professional as he snapped some photos of me and Alice as we sat on the other side. When I uploaded them I was surprised to find that they were quite nice ones of me. In fact, I like them so much I'll probably use them on here and Facebook and our Christmas card until I'm too old to read the small print. But I can't decide which one is better, and which one I should use as my profile pic. What is your opinion?

I think this one is my favourite (except for the shine, but I don't have photoshop).

Or this one? I think I look like my cousin Leesa in this one. Still shine, but no yellow teeth.

It Feels Like....

School Holidays!
Slow mode. Sleeping in. Stay in your jammies if you want to.
Have breakfast late in the sunshine, and Mum is not stressed out so she can cook eggs for breakfast.

Survivor Fever

We are crazy about Survivor. Crazy! And I'd just like to register a little protest here that we don't think that it's fair that they restrict applicants to Americans only (though I can see the logic in it). Otherwise we would be applying over and over again until we got accepted.

My kids play Survivor in the backyard. A warm evening outside will find the three oldest sitting around a 'fire' playing tribal council. Russell, JT, and Sandra have all been sitting in my backyard of an evening, and Russell once got very, very sulky because he got voted off.
I even got roped into making an immunity idol and a riddle to go with it. It went like this:

If you don't want to get voted off,

then this little friend you must find.

It's hidden where the birds don't fly

and the shine doesn't shine.

(Not really good poetry, but it sufficed for the kids - it was the nesting box in the hen house, in case you're wondering).

Last night was the 3 hour final of Survivor Heroes and Villains. I am aware that it finished in the USA several weeks ago, but as usual New Zealand is a little behind the times. Thanks to an online source, I was able to watch it as it went to air in the USA, otherwise I might have gone absolutely crazy, and I knew who the winner was, but I didn't breathe a word to the family. Thanks also to the thoughtless people at TV3 who screened the finale from 7.30 - 10.30 last night. I have very grumpy kids this morning.

We made buffs for the occasion.

And a shelter to shelter in.

Who was our favourite to win? Without a doubt it was Colby Donaldson. We are huge Colby fans. No matter what people say, there's at least one family in the world who still loves Colby. Don't be down Colby. Don't beat yourself up. You are great.

It seemed like everyone was giving him a hard time because he didn't 'shine' in the challenges like he used to in former Survivor shows. Everyone says he 'checked out' early in the game. But we think it's character that matters. He's honourable. He doesn't get on with cheats and liars. Those sort of people are not his friends. He doesn't like dirty play and he doesn't have an ego; so in our book, he's the truest hero of Survivor. They should give him a million dollars for that alone. Plus, we think his mum is nice.
Also, we think he'd make a great Survivor host, if Jeff Probst ever leaves.

We also love Rupert. And he's from Indianapolis. To think of all the times I have been to Indianapolis and I never met Rupert. I didn't even know he existed. We love Rupert and we love his wife. We think she looks a nice and friendly person.I once worked with under-privileged kids in Indianapolis. Why didn't I meet Rupert?

I also really like Sandra and Courtney. Sandra is smart and she's funny and she's straight up. After Colby got voted out, she was the one we wanted to win.
Courtney makes me laugh everytime she opens her mouth. I think she'd be a fun person to have around.

As to the other villains, we love Boston Rob. He's awesome. We think he's one of the best players that the show has ever seen. We love Amber and we think their baby is too cute. And I almost cried when that nasty Russell managed to get him voted out.

We loved to hate Coach. He's a fool. We loved him though. Survivor would not have been as entertaining as it was without him.

I even liked Jerri a little bit in this one, though I did not like her in Australia. But put her up next to the other villains, and she didn't seem so villainous.  

As to the most villainous of villains.
Russell.

We don't like him. Not a bit. Not one little bit. And we think it was great that he didn't get one single vote for the million dollars.And we cheered when Sandra burned his hat.

We admire Parvati. She's smart, and if we were ever in trouble, we'd want her in our corner. But we didn't want her to win.

We enjoyed this season alot. We were disappointed when so many great people got voted out early. Tom, Steph, Cirie, Rob, Randy - but we were entertained. The kids loved it. We're going to miss these people though. You grow to like them. They are our friends! Well, most of them.

We're looking forward to the next one coming up soon.

A Little Love for my Favourite Chair

I have a favourite rocking chair in my living room. I bought it for $10 second hand and I love it.
There was an old quilt on the seat of it for a long time, but the other day I decided to do something about it and make something more permanent. Maybe it was the quilting class that I'd just been to that gave me the confidence to make a chair pad without any pattern.

It only took a couple of hours to make, and I'm so pleased with the result.

 

One of the things that I learned from Leanne Beasley was that unless you are wanting to feature a special kind of fabric, there really is no need to buy new fabric, if you have a good stash collection, - which I do - this pad didn't cost my husband anything! (He especially like the pad after I told him that).