tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29701310725577164222024-03-05T14:33:46.345-08:00The SpongeSoaking up life.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger119125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-75715044739861794462015-08-03T02:30:00.000-07:002015-08-03T02:31:27.451-07:00Remembering<br />
Today was a dark day. No it's ok, I'm really just referring to the weather. I had the lights on in my big-windowed rooms at 1 o'clock in the afternoon. But I must say, a dark day doesn't help the mood, especially if you're tipping in that direction anyway, and a little sadness whirled around the house with the wind and crept in the cracks.<br />
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Esther spent a long time sitting quietly on the sofa at kindy this morning, while I obliviously went shopping for socks, and I got a call to say her temperature was rising and her energy levels were dropping. I flew in to pick her up, forgetting my plans for the day, and wrapped her up in my arms while little tears filled her eyes. She fluctuated over the rest of the day, mostly chirpy and chatty, eating plenty, and only crashing out at the end of the afternoon.<br />
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I was reminded again of a comment I read from a young widow once, about how good it is to be able to nurse a loved one back to health. For me, today was more of a reminder about how lucky I am that my children are so healthy and well. That hot skin and tear filled eyes are manageable and fleeting. That she can chatter to me all day and want to help with everything and I can't get anything done... and it doesn't matter, because she is here and she is well and she is so<i> full of life.</i><br />
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I have thought of others today, and been reminded more of this. I've remembered that I can fill my arms with my children every single day and wow, that is so precious. I've remembered a young mum on my mind who is watching her child begin an extraordinary battle which she is going to win, but it won't be fleeting, and many days it will feel far from manageable. I've learnt of another mum fighting her own battle while a stack of small lives depend on her.<br />
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In between listening to the chatter and the wind, I've heard over and over the sadness of the beautiful <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2kVrefwjsfU" target="_blank">California Girl</a> and the joy of the dance-inducing <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lM3NGqNCnOc" target="_blank">Love of Mine</a>. I've snatched a few moments with a book that takes me back to walking the cold streets of Prague at Christmas, and read magical words such as this, "she brought with her the faint scent of cinnamon and nutmeg, as if she had been freshly baked that morning and delivered warm and fragrant." (<i>Alyson Richman, The Lost Wife</i>)<br />
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Jeepers. I think tomorrow I'll just go to the gym and pay some bills.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And yes we baked cake today. Chocolate cake with Summer's glucose strawberry jam, Mum's sweet, buttery mock cream, and rice syrup & cocoa icing. Does all that distract you from what the heck happened to my photography skills?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzaexodIfbunTWz0GVyLsjJ587quftp97KH-gBfwd17bUwBEJF461WyblNNafq2lKwMgQvJHa4gZzoyYDYVMaRFnFyXo_tXemULlywdSblbsYkHg94m-6Q9bLboh7DI9D9jOUWOyYCrV8/s1600/IMG_8261.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzaexodIfbunTWz0GVyLsjJ587quftp97KH-gBfwd17bUwBEJF461WyblNNafq2lKwMgQvJHa4gZzoyYDYVMaRFnFyXo_tXemULlywdSblbsYkHg94m-6Q9bLboh7DI9D9jOUWOyYCrV8/s640/IMG_8261.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The wee poppet's sleeping position of choice. And sleeping companion of choice, of course. </td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-10665060228769220422015-04-12T02:43:00.000-07:002015-04-12T02:43:52.025-07:00On the edge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I remember watching a tree at the end of my mum's road at this time last year. Its leaves were turning red and starting to fall, and the thought arrived in my head, "that tree will be green again." I get a little nervous about winter. I don't like cold, I don't like rain, I don't like wind. I have a funny thing about wanting to know that my favourite people are
tucked up safe and warm with me when the weather is stormy, and it is so hard
now when they are far away or nowhere at all. While I'm happy to work on looking at the positive things, there's a heaviness and oppression about winter that doesn't do much for my state of mind and is hard to shake. <br />
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But I've seen that tree and many others for my entire life. Winter will come and it will go, spring will arrive and we will soon find ourselves basking in the heat of summer again. Perhaps it will even fly as fast as this last summer has, as fast as the last three years have. So I'm going to suck it up, enjoy the cosiness, warm up my home and put on my new coat in the rain. I've got some winter events to look forward to and might even be able to create some more. Do pop in for cake and a mug of white tea.<br />
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It would be tempting, at this point, to talk about the seasons of life, and the hope of spring that follows winter. But, like talk of clouds and silver linings, that would be too trite. Kent's death will always be winter, and a winter that I will always live with. But I've been giving a lot of thought to the idea of life not always being as hard as it has been. Trying to make this life, the one I have here and now, a happier thing, and accidentally dreaming of a different and better life in the future. I've been messing around with hope a bit, and hope has been messing around with me. But I'm awfully scared of hope, and have told it before now that it has no more place in my life. </div>
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A mind filled with hope, rather than grief, can be a better place to live, for the moment. But my goodness, being hurtled off the edge of hope's beautiful cliffs is a dreadful, dreadful thing. So what to do? Stumble around the familiar rocky valley, or risk running along those high, golden cliff tops?</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-81207795041922419152015-03-18T02:20:00.001-07:002015-03-18T18:07:29.037-07:00Dreaming<br />
I've been working very hard on living lately.<br />
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Having discovered what it is like to live in the deepest and blackest of holes, I'm pretty keen to keep as far away from it as I can. It seems to me that the best solution is to climb as far out as possible, to find instead the dizzying heights and cool breezes of the mountain tops. When you're prone to falling, you have to work hard on your climbing.<br />
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I'm very curious about the concept of goals and dreams. I had plenty when I was younger. They revolved around seeing the world and changing the world, creating a family and building a home. For some of these, I came up with some very specific and detailed plans. <br />
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Back then I could dream big and wide. Nowadays, I'm more interested in dreams that fit my life. Ones that are achievable, given the aspects of my current life. This may sound limiting, but they don't have to be any less great. They may be narrower, pushed together by the practicalities of day-to-day life, but they can still reach to the sky.<br />
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What are they? What can I dream of in these long, exhausting days? For me there are some dreams that are beyond my control. Locked away tight, they're dreams of things taken from me that I would like to have again. There are (can you believe it?) change-the-world dreams still; the old ones sit low and deep, and new ones are forming, near and high.<br />
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I've learned that the only way to tackle big dreams is to cut them in to small pieces. In a good way. To divide the pieces up, arrange them in order, and find what can be done today. What can I do right now to get this dream on the road? It feels good to start the ignition.<br />
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And then, for me, there are the small dreams. Actually, I think they are the most important, the most challenging, and perhaps the biggest after all. <br />
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How do I want to live my daily life? The one I have right now? How do I want to spend each day, each hour? These dreams for me involve things like peace, patience, gentleness, kindness (golly, I've heard this somewhere before), creativity, quiet, fun, laughter.<br />
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Maybe I can change the world one day, but right now I can be (way) more patient with my children. Maybe I can agree with lots of nifty quotes online, but today I can get on and be kinder to the people around me. I can spend time looking at inspirational images, or I can tidy up my home to bring calm and order to all who live here. I can spend my money and energy on how I dress, or I can spend it on looking after my health. <br />
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Both of my children are out of the house a lot these days, and I spend a lot of time faffing around. <a href="http://soakinguplife.blogspot.co.nz/2014/08/discipline-is-freedom.html" target="_blank">It can be hard to change gears.</a> I regularly hover on the brink of depression and unspecific anxiety. On these quiet mornings, or these miraculously-the-dishes-are-done evenings, it can take every ounce of strength I have to spend my time the way I <i>really</i> want to - within the limitations that have been given to me / that I have chosen. When you're prone to falling, you have to work hard on your climbing. <br />
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To have a sparkling bathroom instead of another wasted morning (now there's a dizzying height!). To let my children enjoy watching me paint - and give them a turn - rather than pretend I have important things to do in the kitchen (even the real ones can wait). To sit down with a pencil and paper, or a book, under the glow of an evening lamp, rather than sliding in to the blue-glow vortex of the internet.<br />
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Speaking of which...<br />
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<i>Good night</i> x. <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-514384649007998422015-02-08T16:11:00.000-08:002015-02-09T21:58:23.071-08:00Good for me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Many months ago I mentioned to Reuben that I would love to have a go at painting again. I had done art right through school and have barely picked up a paintbrush since, if at all. I suppose it came to mind when I was considering what I could do around home, for myself, when I have a bit of spare time and don't want to find myself in front of a screen. Something creative with a beginning and an end.<br />
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Some time later, when Reuben went shopping for my birthday present with Nana, he knew exactly what he wanted to find for me. A book about painting. They had to search high and low but he wouldn't settle for anything else, and they found it exactly, "How to Paint and Draw." As I said in a facebook post, <i><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">even if I never learn a thing, that book will always be so precious. And that boy!</span></span></i><br />
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<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">I was quite dutiful and</span></span><i><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"> </span></span></i><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">picked u</span></span><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">p the book for a peruse a number of times, but mentioned in the lead up to Christmas that there were other things I needed to actually paint. Well, you wouldn't believe what he arranged this time. An easel! Inspired, I suspect, by <a href="http://www.saralangdon.com/" target="_blank">my professional painting friend Sara,</a> though I was given a little table one thank goodness, anything bigger would have felt embarrassingly frivolous and professional. Paper came along with the easel, but after Christmas we did have to pop out together and pick a couple more rather essential items - brushes and paints. </span></span><br />
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<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">So for a little while there, at the incredibly awkward time of just after dinner, I was found sitting at the dining table painting, with Reuben leaning closely over my shoulder, chattering about paint colours, discussing my technique and being majorly impressed by my <i>pathetic</i> attempts. </span></span><br />
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<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">After a few embarrassing pictures, which Reuben showed off with great pride to all the grandparents, I started getting quite keen on actually doing a better job. I rolled up the sleeves a bit, took a bit too much time when the kids ought to be getting to bed, and thought a little harder about my paint strokes and blending techniques. Old habits and distant memories of the school art house floated back. </span></span><br />
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<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">Recently I found myself leaving the library with another painting book, one that lets you trace a picture and then gives you step by step instructions. Talk about <i>cheating. </i>Seriously, what would my teacher, Mr Nev, have to say? But on a dull day when we were all bored, especially me, I did pull it out and it's good inspiration. Reuben watched with his head in the way, and Esther scribbled her own version nearby. </span></span><br />
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<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">Goodness me that boy is good for me. </span></span><br />
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<i><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">For a sister post on how good the girl is for me, you may like to head over to <a href="http://www.griefprint.blogspot.co.nz/2015/02/sweet-relief.html" target="_blank">my Griefprint blog</a>. x</span></span></i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-48685445570395513502015-01-25T19:41:00.002-08:002015-03-31T14:19:11.459-07:00Love language<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Here's a banquet of beauty that has been brought to my door by people over the last couple of months who want to tell me they love me in the rough times. I like photographing flowers <i>almost</i> as much as I like having them on my table, and think a few waifs and strays in small vases are always worth looking after.<br />
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PS - I have received words of kindness too, and you know how much I love those. They haven't been photographed, but they are stored away to feast on whenever I need. A post on the kindness of others would be a long one indeed, but here is a snapshot of what it looks like. <br />
<span id="goog_1342881835"></span><span id="goog_1342881836"></span><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-3083788180222265192015-01-05T00:46:00.000-08:002015-08-03T01:12:31.942-07:00This is life<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlkjicPRkj85fZKkGAmo48CJOY0P2jcyhDAGRkoNJ63Xk4CwYT0UOTwMhDWBi_BntuqaHRW7zCivE0h5y2sDeBeoVQD8hsajr6mrMqh226UrjejurwBki0B4GbtG3cHO9xumWs0QCvvbQ/s1600/IMG_6180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlkjicPRkj85fZKkGAmo48CJOY0P2jcyhDAGRkoNJ63Xk4CwYT0UOTwMhDWBi_BntuqaHRW7zCivE0h5y2sDeBeoVQD8hsajr6mrMqh226UrjejurwBki0B4GbtG3cHO9xumWs0QCvvbQ/s1600/IMG_6180.JPG" width="200" /></a>I played the game and won the other day.<br />
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We were recently at a delightful park just up the road from our house, and, gazing at the stream in early summer, I decided we needed to do something with that stream. Get in there and get the most out of it. Out of life. So on a sunny new year day, happily joined by friends, we went paddling. <br />
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After some long sessions of splashing and picnic-ing (not quite at the same time), Reuben and I were grateful to have some time alone to head upstream together. We slipped and slided and sloshed our way hand in hand through the water, chatting in our usual way. On our way back he told me how wonderful it was to spend time just with me on this adventure. When I tucked him in to bed that night and said what a great day we had had, he said "especially that bit where it was just you and me."<br />
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Thanks Aunty Lyddie! <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-35239889672513837832014-12-27T01:02:00.003-08:002014-12-27T01:02:56.641-08:00Christmas Day 2014<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB6YILVtlUBDu0nZsr55DaKF_MRsi92lYTlO_joTvMzY9CXvDC82YEm3CeAUX7vS0qqvJZUUN3lib4oLmwnVrw8NPXeA2A4aht_4KxggQpgBQDfhyzfp33FLiHIkPyk2G5omyZYjfuvoY/s1600/IMG_5964.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB6YILVtlUBDu0nZsr55DaKF_MRsi92lYTlO_joTvMzY9CXvDC82YEm3CeAUX7vS0qqvJZUUN3lib4oLmwnVrw8NPXeA2A4aht_4KxggQpgBQDfhyzfp33FLiHIkPyk2G5omyZYjfuvoY/s1600/IMG_5964.JPG" height="133" width="200" /></a></div>
I am pleased to report, and you lovely lot will be pleased to hear, that we had a very good Christmas Day. As the cliche goes, the kids really did make it wonderful. We were a fairly small family, but that never dampens the kids' party spirit. We had a few hiccups along the way, and always a big gap at our table.<br />
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In the spirit of this blog, here some pics of the best bits of Christmas Day, reminders for me of the good things in life. I just wish I could have captured the delight Reuben had in giving presents to others - his first step when present time started was to bring me mine - and the look of pride and joy he shot across to me as Esther opened his present to her. What a lovely boy.<br />
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We took the essential post-lunch walk and went <a href="http://soakinguplife.blogspot.co.nz/2014/10/i-see-world-physical-natural-world.html" target="_blank">down the track to the park not far from home</a>. It's not really that exciting a place (well, for me) but the walk there is certainly exciting, and it's ours. The railway line runs along one edge, and I often wonder if Kent looked out the window on his many train trips and saw that park, if he knew it, and if only he knew that his family would one day be playing there.<br />
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When my mother-in-law arrived at the park, after some time she exclaimed. This was the very park where the family used to do archery, and where Kent, the young grandson of world champion archers, used to learn and play. What a lovely gift!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY5LGiYUAYDpveyDTJHhjjuNWwrevWqmA218jU9ZRFb4Le4za8C5JB59w8d52aXBqbCZhnRMlXv9LvuVG5MJI7_v2_FZC1cnbB1v9YWnKcUw-Bq4UZjrdek1Xnd-YllIdTWAHvmyI9aJQ/s1600/Starred+Photos124.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY5LGiYUAYDpveyDTJHhjjuNWwrevWqmA218jU9ZRFb4Le4za8C5JB59w8d52aXBqbCZhnRMlXv9LvuVG5MJI7_v2_FZC1cnbB1v9YWnKcUw-Bq4UZjrdek1Xnd-YllIdTWAHvmyI9aJQ/s1600/Starred+Photos124.jpg" height="210" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See that sweet face as he watches her open her new scooter?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ8ncojowR0ZMHQiNYkfj8jYw6Q7FuRvqbGzjqxUp-7VUEpEivgBBTraT3h0UhyK4cebbqC4SxhDpsmnZwyehVJ2-4-qyDX_yOQ-DwRZLXfnxH-lvnTzGvL-WK1taCplE1ye19zieVQ7w/s1600/Starred+Photos125.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ8ncojowR0ZMHQiNYkfj8jYw6Q7FuRvqbGzjqxUp-7VUEpEivgBBTraT3h0UhyK4cebbqC4SxhDpsmnZwyehVJ2-4-qyDX_yOQ-DwRZLXfnxH-lvnTzGvL-WK1taCplE1ye19zieVQ7w/s1600/Starred+Photos125.jpg" height="468" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thank you for my present Reuben!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNgfAEL7ntH6TDkzwFmD4AAAfnENOW2ENwDPi9_lltEo4-VyKDa3cwQPp6kR_rH3bnnIIIRcJMF8B9y8tqHcMhPEjSqnB_9YmiGfbXzrQOFMJAvjzHRXQ5EVMWbchiYQ8Pm1eIxuV6vIA/s1600/Starred+Photos126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNgfAEL7ntH6TDkzwFmD4AAAfnENOW2ENwDPi9_lltEo4-VyKDa3cwQPp6kR_rH3bnnIIIRcJMF8B9y8tqHcMhPEjSqnB_9YmiGfbXzrQOFMJAvjzHRXQ5EVMWbchiYQ8Pm1eIxuV6vIA/s1600/Starred+Photos126.jpg" height="470" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Esther had no great hopes for her presents, she's an undemanding little soul, so I cheekily included a present of her favourite food ever, pasta. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVTeLUbVg9fUWN7ario7v9eZIPZ3iscgjqFHzTAgDb-EPdHPbKCddzLxSCLnOwcOA1BBfY4ad43_fucoJ8griIoi8eesaFglpVv3SigACjUeKtAVG_VBmfoMqpRGvMxeluX3MIz7Wrtmo/s1600/Starred+Photos127.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVTeLUbVg9fUWN7ario7v9eZIPZ3iscgjqFHzTAgDb-EPdHPbKCddzLxSCLnOwcOA1BBfY4ad43_fucoJ8griIoi8eesaFglpVv3SigACjUeKtAVG_VBmfoMqpRGvMxeluX3MIz7Wrtmo/s1600/Starred+Photos127.jpg" height="468" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was only as I sprinkled it across the table that I remembered rosemary is for remembrance.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHFH3wOuNJEtwTSlyTBS6d6j73rNSFv-YE2nIjNbx6C46ONGtH0bN2OeUnbjcF8RxVNDaVbwuELTV7p48JX4ieqnIwox7g8UrYQ8ZFDsQwBq0UMgxdf2CEvGnzfCSti0AilZRRJwgOOrI/s1600/Starred+Photos128.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHFH3wOuNJEtwTSlyTBS6d6j73rNSFv-YE2nIjNbx6C46ONGtH0bN2OeUnbjcF8RxVNDaVbwuELTV7p48JX4ieqnIwox7g8UrYQ8ZFDsQwBq0UMgxdf2CEvGnzfCSti0AilZRRJwgOOrI/s1600/Starred+Photos128.jpg" height="428" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, no it was NOT a vegetarian meal...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Celebrating and mourning all at one table.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqvyJOqlJo7dQwsUP5SN7jrlzU3r12Eb4WAFNYx50h2gklTyRrQAao9UfhFvRbUWhvkg0PKTfofWk8V4r-VY2dj9DFD0w7k1pbqtO4aimQGW29Wtyo419-1VFZ3S5iq5Xryuz5M_3il-4/s1600/Starred+Photos135.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqvyJOqlJo7dQwsUP5SN7jrlzU3r12Eb4WAFNYx50h2gklTyRrQAao9UfhFvRbUWhvkg0PKTfofWk8V4r-VY2dj9DFD0w7k1pbqtO4aimQGW29Wtyo419-1VFZ3S5iq5Xryuz5M_3il-4/s1600/Starred+Photos135.jpg" height="470" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reuben: "I just keep running and running, my body just seems to want to." Esther: "Come on guys!"</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Check out what I found on our walk Rachel, we need to keep an eye on those and be in first!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggkWkKZzieq5lNyPdx__wFl2vnbVHnHATJV304scuETusSZx3TE_5E_BAEboZSlRzKnGQgkdgrFM7RITsraITyyxgFgM4iJsXL-PUVd12R4fGceV1s97icuiq1HBAP8y1ocFD5Zxzddjs/s1600/Starred+Photos139.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggkWkKZzieq5lNyPdx__wFl2vnbVHnHATJV304scuETusSZx3TE_5E_BAEboZSlRzKnGQgkdgrFM7RITsraITyyxgFgM4iJsXL-PUVd12R4fGceV1s97icuiq1HBAP8y1ocFD5Zxzddjs/s1600/Starred+Photos139.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A much loved cousin, and a much loved mousse cake.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The end of advent. Hope, joy, peace and love in one place. We're workin' on them.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-30853015330098494102014-12-10T00:56:00.001-08:002014-12-10T00:56:18.434-08:00A change is as good as a holiday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've been getting a bit bored with dinner lately. You know the balance of trying to keep everyone in the family happy. Finding what you all like, finding healthy meals, a good range of food, all that sort of thing. I miss cooking for someone who eats with enthusiasm (well, some nights they do) and smiles in appreciation down the table. So I decided recently it's time to shake things up a little.<br />
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It's not that radical. I've just started serving some of our meals at the table, rather than from the kitchen bench. I started it with a roast chicken, which always feels good, and the let the kids serve up their own food at the table. They did a good job of taking a bit of everything, and I loved the way they kept heading back for a bit more of what they fancied. It helps the growing boy to make sure he really has had enough, and their eyes lit up the first time as they gazed at the feast on offer. It gives a bit of a party feeling, and who doesn't like a bit of that? <br />
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Tonight, after bath, Esther asked "is it a choosing meal?" I wasn't
planning such a thing tonight, and it was an all-in-one risotto, but I
put it on my best serving plate and laid it out on the table for them to
serve themselves.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeJoIRpk_H-A9y0VLBoRJ1i4VcpwLf185rJ6fFr8IgAym4ZTkz8ygMRKmoALjvN6FOZ6eGQn7vMujfEfibqdAuE4Ezh4-NxY5S_q6erQQbPxLHuLPWfWTwn75_Pw22K_yfM9X-7HhenCo/s1600/IMG_5568.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeJoIRpk_H-A9y0VLBoRJ1i4VcpwLf185rJ6fFr8IgAym4ZTkz8ygMRKmoALjvN6FOZ6eGQn7vMujfEfibqdAuE4Ezh4-NxY5S_q6erQQbPxLHuLPWfWTwn75_Pw22K_yfM9X-7HhenCo/s1600/IMG_5568.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The perfect photo, obviously representing the perfect family occasion.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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What a disaster. Reuben was yelling as I took these photos because he had been sent to the next room for <i><insert some kind of offense</i>>. He served up before I got to the table and the rice went everywhere, and then it was *too hot.* <i>And </i>there was only one plate of food so that's not choosing at all. Oh dear.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPTyIuhi9_zvQrvmaZraZc_mUZluWqI0bGV2Bm31-x9-G-7D40VbsrE0z5i27uuclqzLTn2LLL8qtu2ubsYlA3ZC0mOY63paTck2qokEvYCuZCZsc6Ht6wltVqoH_jZHt9Z3QfSLOlZas/s1600/IMG_5567.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPTyIuhi9_zvQrvmaZraZc_mUZluWqI0bGV2Bm31-x9-G-7D40VbsrE0z5i27uuclqzLTn2LLL8qtu2ubsYlA3ZC0mOY63paTck2qokEvYCuZCZsc6Ht6wltVqoH_jZHt9Z3QfSLOlZas/s1600/IMG_5567.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If there's steam on the lens it may have been coming from the risotto, but I suspect it was from various family members. </td></tr>
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You win some, you lose some. But we'll keep experimenting. Once everyone had settled down I think they still enjoyed the opportunity to serve themselves, and to come back and choose some more. I love letting them get a little more involved, and regulate their portion sizes, and treat themselves to a little more of their favourite thing.<br />
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It won't work for everyone, and it won't always work. I can just see the rolling of eyes at the idea of making meal times even more challenging than they already are. But sometimes, if you pick your night (<i>"hey guys, are you planning on being in a good mood or a bad mood this evening?"</i>), a little change does everyone a world of good.<br />
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Wish me luck for our next attempt.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkkc4_ivpFTk9P9ZxymOaQ-VBdxB0Dq9Un6dwK6ChR4dYJNPefO5v86sOXz-DseImr6a1NeIh4ClxwLuzexEHKrae-GZQ_keyTePUjlfZtZoLa6mRBo5NwVl-FsZLzvodXSTSNLhV5sCU/s1600/IMG_5574.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkkc4_ivpFTk9P9ZxymOaQ-VBdxB0Dq9Un6dwK6ChR4dYJNPefO5v86sOXz-DseImr6a1NeIh4ClxwLuzexEHKrae-GZQ_keyTePUjlfZtZoLa6mRBo5NwVl-FsZLzvodXSTSNLhV5sCU/s1600/IMG_5574.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The peace candle. The only bit of peace blazing away bravely at our unhappy dinner table. </td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-39753716015109207712014-11-23T23:44:00.000-08:002014-11-23T23:44:19.798-08:00Foraging<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I quite like this <a href="http://soakinguplife.blogspot.co.nz/2014/10/i-see-world-physical-natural-world.html" target="_blank">flower foraging</a> idea. The kids and I are walking home through some playing grounds on the way home from school these days - well - back to the car via a long route. It feels good to just take some time and let them race across the grass and clamber up the banks.<br />
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Today they found all kinds of flowers to pick for me, some growing wildly and others escaping over fences from neighbouring properties. The days have been hard this last week and I'm trying to look for some bright spots along the way - these are definitely one of them.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-72486375291701443662014-10-26T18:45:00.002-07:002014-12-07T01:11:29.141-08:00Down the road<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I see the world, the physical, natural world, a little differently these days. I am both more and less fond of it. I think more is winning out. There is an intensity, a clarity, and an understanding of the passing of time that I had only briefly glimpsed before. <br />
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But I looked at a blossom stem on my dining table that I pulled from the side of the road and, feeling good I think, thought, "it is people who will heal me." Not nature and its beloved flowers. People. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No I didn't steal it, it was hanging over the fence behind the hospital grounds. Almost as good as blackberry picking. </td></tr>
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I love discovering new places that are near familiar places. Love that feeling of, "this was here all along?!" The home I grew up in has a marvellous view, and as a near-adult I drove through the hills of that view for the first time and could barely contain my excitement. It helped that it was utterly beautiful. But that distant image I had gazed in to every day was right here at my feet. Wonderful! Like walking in a picture.<br />
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I remember discovering the pretty hustle and bustle of Abbeville Road in London, just across the Common and round a few corners from where we had been living for a while. How beautiful. And this was here all along?! As if I thought I had seen all there was to see in London, and the rest was just houses. Or, as happens here, paddocks and bush. And water. Ha. <br />
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I have been very curious to see what is down the back of our house, and the neighbouring houses. I knew there was a railway line of course, but had heard talk of a park and could see plenty of bush. If you walk down our street and keep a careful watch, you may come across a narrow steeply sloping long-grassed path that leads down behind the houses and gives you the option of turning left or right. I turned left, and followed a path lined with lilies that took me to a large park that almost reaches to the back of our section. This was here all along?! Further along I left the park and beaten path and tiptoed through a broken fence in to a circle of long grass, surrounded by trees and shade and sun and wild flowers. Straight up the bushy bank I could glimpse the house that stands directly behind ours. So this is what's here. You can't get any better. I dreamed about sneaking down there on days when I need a break with a blanket and a book.<br />
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Another day I took the path that leads to the right, and promises real adventure. I picked my way through long grass, back gardens on my right, and bush and a slope dropping away to my left. I peeked through in to people's beautifully untidy back gardens, and swept branches and cobwebs away as I walked. I had been hoping it would lead to somewhere and I would come out at the end of my street, but I am glad to say it didn't. Well - it led to a little final patch of long grass and a pink blossoming tree and perfect quiet. I tell you, if you have someone to kiss, this is the place to bring them.<br />
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Beautiful.<br />
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World. Nature. You have something for me. I will keep drinking you as long as I live. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9pvA0ghBqarXaPD7eziKJPirf72XypUT4Ikp5QGQoTei_5LiHJQ5PlWtrLSQN6Bs5-hQKBBae-fpjOFJJcAFtkW3zCEWcNkUgDV8DXKyLLbAPOFdRZ70R1YwAtBFfjgWAtZfV-jG_UMM/s1600/IMG_4834.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9pvA0ghBqarXaPD7eziKJPirf72XypUT4Ikp5QGQoTei_5LiHJQ5PlWtrLSQN6Bs5-hQKBBae-fpjOFJJcAFtkW3zCEWcNkUgDV8DXKyLLbAPOFdRZ70R1YwAtBFfjgWAtZfV-jG_UMM/s1600/IMG_4834.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flowers foraged by Esther and me from the pathway the day before our birthday party.</td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-46240699387227198972014-10-18T00:07:00.002-07:002014-10-18T00:42:40.855-07:00Eggs in (Italian) tomatoes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I was waxing lyrical to a friend recently about the food in Italy and how fantastic it tasted. Everything. <i>Even the tinned tomatoes.</i> He suggested in his devil's advocate kind of a way that perhaps, given Italy's reputation, you couldn't help but think the food tasted good. No, I said, it really did.<br />
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So when I saw some made in Italy tinned tomatoes in my supermarket last week, with real Italian language on the tin and everything, I decided to put them to the test.<br />
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Kent and I used to make Eggs in Tomatoes a lot. I believe they are often known as ranch-style eggs, but we liked calling them Eggs in Tomatoes. A house mate in London saw us making them a few times and asked if we could please make them for her one night, and we seem to have made them for numerous people over the years. They really are very good.<br />
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So this is what I did with my Italian tomatoes. Everyone needs to give them a try...<br />
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There are only two essential ingredients, the rest are all optional.<br />
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Tip tinned tomatoes in to a pan and get them gently simmering. Shuffle a little bit of space in amongst the toms and crack a couple of eggs per person in to the almost-gap. I like to add kidney beans or cannellini beans, herbs or a shake of chilli, grated cheddar or chunks of feta (or both) and plenty of pepper. Garlic and onion in the pan before the tomatoes is also really good, and a splash of wine and tomato paste does the tomatoes a lot of good.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well, there's not a *lot* of Italian there.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJwoVFmLWXvZSbIcyhpc_37Oj33gRhyEfHM41oKM1DogOvq0sgVBRecfuJEbTQF11EvaAroCl0By2PCyliD6I_7fiGD_LBAxJT5VXqN3c0_k4wsz9kpT0nSwlx4GZ18tL6iq5TqBapaK0/s1600/IMG_4566.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJwoVFmLWXvZSbIcyhpc_37Oj33gRhyEfHM41oKM1DogOvq0sgVBRecfuJEbTQF11EvaAroCl0By2PCyliD6I_7fiGD_LBAxJT5VXqN3c0_k4wsz9kpT0nSwlx4GZ18tL6iq5TqBapaK0/s1600/IMG_4566.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
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Oh and the actual tomatoes? Do you know, I couldn't actually say if they taste better than those in the made-in-NZ aisle. But if you add a slosh of wine and some feta to pretty much anything it's going to taste good. I did try them again today naked (no, you know what I mean) and I wasn't blown away, or blown over to Italy. But then perhaps not all food, even in Italy, is created equal. Although my original point was, all, even the ordinary, Italian food tasted amazing. Perhaps they've just been out of the country for too long. Or perhaps I have. If anyone would like to arrange tickets and accommodation, and perhaps some company, I'm happy to put these questions seriously to the test. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-10805750241096233592014-09-22T15:09:00.001-07:002014-10-18T00:10:16.677-07:00A rainy Saturday and sweet pastry pies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtVu1j8-uNFEPWMjttGs0Ykr-cA6xgFK-eWYq2tuDFhGBUCUCccWIDuc7-JHrz7T5et69yTWTNgc38CGwQJ74xXjAiTp4sTbK0hJQ8Oe9u-oyXJyWhaNf8qD7KHIqwMwujVlIPYDrpiFA/s1600/IMG_4205.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtVu1j8-uNFEPWMjttGs0Ykr-cA6xgFK-eWYq2tuDFhGBUCUCccWIDuc7-JHrz7T5et69yTWTNgc38CGwQJ74xXjAiTp4sTbK0hJQ8Oe9u-oyXJyWhaNf8qD7KHIqwMwujVlIPYDrpiFA/s1600/IMG_4205.JPG" height="133" width="200" /></a></div>
Gosh I don't know what came over me. Well, OK, maybe I do. I've been eating extra carefully lately, and have started missing baking - the soothing activity of baking at least as much as the eating. So on a quiet and wet Saturday afternoon, when I couldn't not bake anymore, I decided to do something I haven't done for a while, and bake something I haven't baked before. If you follow me. <br />
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Well, I have tried before, but not with any success. I had a go at my grandmother's homemade pastry quite a few christmases ago, and it was a disaster. But I have really wanted to make it work, and something gave me the urge over the weekend to try Annabel Langbein's sweet pastry.<br />
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Saturday was a long wet day and the kids played together beautifully. They have been doing so well lately, and I credit school. We had a 4 year old boy in our house for quite a while. I don't know if you know them, but they are full of large, new doses of testosterone, and they have a bit of a reputation. People say they settle down once they turn 5, perhaps because their bodies are getting used to the changes, but I think school is a great influence. Reuben matures when he gets out and about and hangs out with different kids and different adults, and the long time at school gives him a long time to learn how to be mature. And he brings it home with him. I know he also loves playing with Esther, and as he doesn't get to do it so much anymore, he really makes the most of it. They were just magic on Saturday. I found some head space and got loads done. Amazing!<br />
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So. Pastry. It is quick and simple, and I made mine in the mixer (I'm pretty sure I tried it by hand last time which was probably the problem). I swapped sugar for glucose of course, which will make it less sweet. And I made half of the recipe below, as I like to do when I'm experimenting. We decided to make little pies in our large muffin tins, but of course you can do anything you like.<br />
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You need to bake pastry blind before you turn it in to your own specific masterpiece, so you partially bake it, weighing it down with official baking beans, or using rice if you don't have any beans. Once that's done, you add your fruit or other filling and bake again.<br />
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Below are my instructions using Annabel's recipe:<br />
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Sweet Pastry</div>
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360g butter, softened</div>
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3/4 cup glucose or sugar</div>
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1 egg</div>
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3 1/3 cups flour</div>
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pinch salt</div>
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Beat the softened butter and sugar together until creamy, then add the egg and combine. </div>
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Gently mix in the flour and salt. </div>
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Grease your pie tin or muffin tins, then roll the dough out til it is about 5mm thick. I suggest rolling it straight on to a lightly floured bench top (work surface), and be prepared to regularly dust your rolling pin with more flour. Shape the dough in to your pie tin, or use a bowl to cut rounds that will fit in to the muffin tins. </div>
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Place in to the fridge to chill for 10 minutes, and heat the oven to 160 degrees. </div>
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Line the dough with baking paper, then drop baking beans or rice on top of the baking paper, and place in the oven for 12 - 15 minutes. It will be ready when you lift the paper off and it doesn't stick (but watch also for browning edges). </div>
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In the meantime, I cooked apple and boysenberries with a drizzle of honey. Place the fruit or other filling in to the pastry cases, and bake for another 10 minutes. </div>
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(If you are making a large pie you probably want a topping. You will have used half for the base, so place the other half over your filling, and brush with milk before baking). </div>
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<i>This post is dedicated to a friend, who loves Annabel almost as much as I love my friend. And who celebrates whenever I have a good day. </i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcDSpbXlDcGalOzKbbcvhadh42tdbRDzzj3BbXcmArRVLsYQhBOnq-J1iO5SZpvQIt44tXG6nWahJrAD3_JDqOk3wCT9zmrQt0BR8_2Ow4c_q6VZh-9PkQxZUWzN-OgV8QV3ygXbOPnB4/s1600/IMG_4212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcDSpbXlDcGalOzKbbcvhadh42tdbRDzzj3BbXcmArRVLsYQhBOnq-J1iO5SZpvQIt44tXG6nWahJrAD3_JDqOk3wCT9zmrQt0BR8_2Ow4c_q6VZh-9PkQxZUWzN-OgV8QV3ygXbOPnB4/s1600/IMG_4212.JPG" height="425" width="640" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGN2c5cfMAYUiYgA2ZMtTtJ2jaxFDsqMPiXEgxNnZomJ4SQlXJKX_RP_hitdoIJ3qaWdSJ-YiUkF1E6BzFzANdkgv9WB5V8DLT3_KwU6MwaKGreEpWk24iV4mThg5CFKwZTXUcbUHAnG8/s1600/IMG_4216.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGN2c5cfMAYUiYgA2ZMtTtJ2jaxFDsqMPiXEgxNnZomJ4SQlXJKX_RP_hitdoIJ3qaWdSJ-YiUkF1E6BzFzANdkgv9WB5V8DLT3_KwU6MwaKGreEpWk24iV4mThg5CFKwZTXUcbUHAnG8/s1600/IMG_4216.JPG" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reuben's drawing of their afternoon picnic (yes, in a cupboard - see above).</td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-70159630422663178722014-09-14T01:31:00.000-07:002014-09-15T15:40:41.824-07:00Why<i>A friend has asked me if I would like to be the next in a line of bloggers who are writing posts about why they write. It's a topic that I often consider, and have briefly tried to explain before, and so I was very keen. There was a list of questions, which I'm afraid I have taken very little notice of, but essentially, here is my answer. Much of it is also based on my writing on my other blog, <a href="http://griefprint.blogspot.co.nz/" target="_blank">Griefprint</a>:</i><br />
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My head is a spacious place. A spacious palace even, if I may say so. It's filled with colour and crystal, jewels and mirrors, extravagant clothes and lush rugs. And there are dusty cellars and dark dungeons, damp cupboards and collapsing shelves. And all of it's pretty messy. And as you know, I like order. I like to know what I have and where I can find it. I like to be able to see my way through my home.<br />
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And so I write.<br />
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I write to clear my head. To define what I am thinking. To tidy up and neatly package the chaos that is spinning around in there. To bring it to a place of quiet. To wrap it up in something beautiful where it is safely collected, and also, where I can come back to it anytime. To stop chasing it round my head at all times of the day and night, and be able to grab hold of it and look at it.<br />
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I also write to connect with other people. To find and create community. To find and create support. Writing in a public place makes me write the best that I can, and sometimes it helps to hold me accountable. In writing about grief, I like to have others understand a little of what it is like, as I tend not to communicate it in any other way. And I've said before that <a href="http://griefprint.blogspot.co.nz/2012/05/in-public.html" target="_blank">each time your hearts break a little it helps to give mine a little boost. You're sharing the load. I think it is easier to have people know how it is for me.</a> And I have said that<a href="http://griefprint.blogspot.co.nz/2012/04/its-been-99-days-since-kent-died-and-i.html" target="_blank"> capturing my thoughts beautifully, accurately and satisfyingly is the holy grail of writing.</a><i> </i>For some reason, while my experience of loss and grief is only black and ugly, I have come to see my collection of writing as a very precious jewel. I'm not sure I can explain that just yet.<br />
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Writing on The Sponge has also helped me to remember to look for the beauty in life. A very worthwhile homework project. I am often distracted by the tatty and mundane things in life that are flitting around my head, but there sure is a community of us out there who can connect over the mundane. I like to create beauty too (you will agree we nailed it so well with our children I could pack up and go home now) and I love to try and find it in writing.<br />
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Thanks for reading. <br />
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<i>I was very happy to be tagged in the chain of blog writers, but slightly less comfortable about tagging someone else. If you are a blog writer and would like to feature your answers as to why you write (to post next Monday), do drop me a line, and I'll pop a link up to your blog here. </i><br />
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<i>UPDATE: And here is that link! I am looking forward to reading why Ann writes at <a href="http://mamanineedhelp.blogspot.co.nz/" target="_blank">Maman! I need help! </a> <br />I'm glad that she does. Go and check it out.</i><br />
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<i>I was asked if I would like to write this post by Michael, who writes <a href="http://www.doublelandlocked.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">A View From the Middle. </a>More than appropriate, as it was Michael who taught me that the best way to write is as yourself. </i><br />
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<i>If you ventured over to <a href="http://griefprint.blogspot.co.nz/" target="_blank">Griefprint </a>for the first time, I would love to know that you have visited. </i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-46916432901508854112014-08-20T18:43:00.000-07:002014-09-07T18:44:31.458-07:0034/52<br />
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A portrait of my children every week for a year.<br />
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Esther: Well, yes, I suppose we can have one sticking-out-tongue photo, given that we *are* in the phase.<br />
We're also stuck in a pretty long term phase at bed times at the moment. Every night for ages Esther has requested the same three songs, which is rather lovely (though they do get so stuck in my head). We do Baa Baa Black Sheep, Rockabye Baby, and her most long-term favourite, Morningtown Ride (which she calls Train Whistle Blowing). One day this will change, but it's solid as concrete right now.<br />
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Reuben: Our little guy has started school. I was determined not to get too soppy about it all, he has had 5 years at home (+ kindy) and is ready for school. And a big part of me can't wait to see what my children become as they grow older. I had a little wobble in the days leading up to school, especially around what things he will have to do and manage without me as he grows. But at the end of his first day, his teacher was so excited about his potential ("Oh. My. Goodness. *A*mazing.") that I didn't know whether to cry or skip with excitement. I'll probably be doing a lot of both in the years to come. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-36759446906758880032014-08-14T03:04:00.002-07:002014-08-14T03:04:53.771-07:00Discipline is freedomIt's a strange phenomenon, but I suspect it is fairly common and I suffer from it dreadfully. It really needs a name. It's the inability to adjust when you are hurtled from long phases of intensive parenting in to a period of (supposedly) blissful quiet. Many of us get it, and I know I am lucky to; it might be a few hours in the morning while the kids are at kindy, daytime naps or short evenings when the kids are asleep and you are not quite, an afternoon alone thanks to the grandparents, a quiet weekend day when Dad takes over, or many long days when the kids start school. Whatever it is, you are shot out like a cannonball from one world in to the other.<br />
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I find it very hard to adjust. I'm not a naturally relaxed person and I have plenty of extra struggles to exacerbate that. I find the lack of head space with kids around quite difficult to manage. And when I do get time to myself I really want to make the most of it, but <i>gosh</i> it is hard sometimes. <br />
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I read a really helpful post when I was in the midst of this struggle recently. We'd gone from tonsils-out to chicken pox to holidays and I had very little time to myself. At the end of many weeks the kids started spending more time with their grandparents and then got back to kindy. I sort of had to practice what to do with the time I had. I wanted to roll my sleeves up and just rip in to the job of being on my own, but I felt paralysed - as so often I do. <a href="http://www.kbaer.com/" target="_blank">Kate Baer </a>had just the phrase I needed: <i>too tightly wound. </i><br />
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In a post called <a href="http://www.kbaer.com/2014/07/09/when-you-are-tightly-wound/" target="_blank">When you are too tightly wound</a>, Kate writes this, and I totally get it. I'm so glad someone else has put it in to words when I'm there. And that I'm not a weirdo: <br />
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<i>It happens every night. Twelve hours of parenting has passed, the
kids are finally in bed, and I feel the weight of it all on my chest.</i><br />
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</i><i>Austin will suggest we go to bed. We need more rest! But I can not go to bed. I am too tightly wound.</i><br />
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</i><i>Anyone who has parented a human for more than five minutes has felt
the coils of the day wrapping around their insides, making the chest
tight and the stomach hungry for nachos. By 9pm, I have no words left. I
just want to sit in the dark, watch Michael Scott, and not have to
think any intelligent thoughts.</i><br />
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I really like identifying what's not working in my life and trying to resolve it. I can't do it on a big scale, but I can do it on a smaller scale, and that counts. Having really battled with feeling so tightly wound that I'm paralysed, and now helpfully having a name for it<i>, </i>I really wanted to fix the problem.<br />
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I have found over recent years that I have loads to do, but only some of it is critically important. When I have a bit of spare time I could do some cleaning or organise dinner early or play around with some bloggy/websitey dreams or sort out my photos or find homes for things that have just been unpacked or tidy the car (ugh) or dig out the sewing machine... the list goes on forever. Heck, I could even get out of the house. <br />
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When working in a job years ago that was busy and broad and flexible I learnt to not only write lists of the jobs I had to do, but <i>when</i> to do them. It meant that instead of thinking about everything all day and flitting around inefficiently, I could focus hard on my 10am job, knowing that I didn't need to worry about the 2pm job, because I would do it at 2pm. So I have tackled my home life in the same way, and pulled out the big guns: I bought a whiteboard.<br />
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Each day has a few tasks assigned to it, and written up on the board. It's pretty simple and obvious really. There's the usual housework/cleaning jobs. And I've added a few extras like "kitchen bench" - with the assumption that the business areas of my kitchen are likely to need a tidy up often, and if they're getting out of control at least I know they will get attention once a week. I wrote "washing" on a Saturday, terribly anxious that everyone understands I do washing more than once a week, but least on a Saturday I can take stock of where I'm at, think of anything that has been missed, check for items languishing in the hot cupboard etc. I've also added in a few jobs that I'd like to get done at the computer - things I'm working on that have not quite come to fruition because I can't get my act together, the dreaded job of sorting my photos on Picasa, and a day to check over my bills and budget.<br />
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I <i>love</i> it. I love knowing all of these things will get time and attention, and that I don't have to think about all of them all the time. I like being told what to do. "Well it says on the whiteboard that I have to do it, so I had better do it." I actually really, really like getting things done, I just seem to need to be freed up to do them. And to be made to do them! When I'm too tightly wound I don't have to think, I can just follow the rules.<br />
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I actually missed the first two days of whiteboard this week, because Monday was the first day of school and the rest of my life (and I had assigned too many tasks to one day, so I'll have a re-shuffle), and I missed Tuesday because I had three tradesmen in the house and was a little thrown. So I've let them go for now, and today I just focused on today's tasks. One of them was the kitchen bench, and once I'd tidied the essential area (you know the one, with random toys, scraps of paper, pens, kids medicine that is not being used anymore...) I was on a roll and tidied the whole bench to way above and beyond the call of duty. Hooray! I do rely a little too much on waiting until I'm on a roll, but it's effective. Thanks whiteboard. <br />
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I wonder if you've noticed the title of this post. I wonder if it's true for you. I've learnt the hard way that total freedom can leave me lost and aimless, but a little sensible discipline gives me focus and results. Good results, not boring results. I can keep my head and my house tidy, I can live more in the moment, I can do the things I have to do and the things I love to do. And hopefully even enjoy them and do them well.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLPc54uJkJq1OnE1vdkqq1i6P9cGXxkRsRfK2heeVuoIJPRHUUPaxUsSWYVOo7sTmO5kTOsTNeOMf2L7g6rOpHO7L8yMx5NWc43L2dI0yqeNyO0mkOK9Y9OjGtHCWSc8dXkcZ130zztpc/s1600/IMG_3783.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLPc54uJkJq1OnE1vdkqq1i6P9cGXxkRsRfK2heeVuoIJPRHUUPaxUsSWYVOo7sTmO5kTOsTNeOMf2L7g6rOpHO7L8yMx5NWc43L2dI0yqeNyO0mkOK9Y9OjGtHCWSc8dXkcZ130zztpc/s1600/IMG_3783.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My beautiful kitchen bench. If it doesn't last, no problem, my whiteboard says I'll be fixing it again next week. </td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-49448564502689396982014-08-10T01:19:00.000-07:002014-08-14T02:57:48.419-07:0033/52<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhc7kIOvEsRo5H2OJBcVlxY_8o8IWHzmwZtwaru1o7cj8oQssoeeVi4_R0IDeFwe6sS_9QgrwoKGR6Kc6Ee4H8T3oPA-8kCMEjyXPQ5lsqWjBGG1DcJwbDfsZWLsRD9DbiP5m1o9NB5rg/s1600/5th+Birthday+Week.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhc7kIOvEsRo5H2OJBcVlxY_8o8IWHzmwZtwaru1o7cj8oQssoeeVi4_R0IDeFwe6sS_9QgrwoKGR6Kc6Ee4H8T3oPA-8kCMEjyXPQ5lsqWjBGG1DcJwbDfsZWLsRD9DbiP5m1o9NB5rg/s1600/5th+Birthday+Week.jpg" height="151" width="200" /></a></div>
A portrait of my children every week for a year.<br />
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Reuben: He is 5. Five and utterly gorgeous. Funny, clever, kind, thoughtful, delightful, crazy, unique. Never could I have imagined I would be given a package so perfect. It seems we have been though everything in the last five years, and I am skipping with excitement at the next five years, and forever, of him. </div>
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Esther: It is so delightful seeing how much she loves her big brother. I love hearing her ask him for help, and knowing that she sees him as utterly dependable. She misses him when he is gone and asks for him, and forgives him quickly when he has upset her. The bond will stretch and flex one day but it will never break. They are the world to each other and the same blood runs through them.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-90314120569627473762014-07-31T01:15:00.000-07:002014-08-14T02:45:13.410-07:0032/52<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJoLAtvE3sJ-8N7xWktkZJjBUdTLR4UnP6e45sXz-rhAZjAZn14H68Oj_o76NjCuEgOVW088U1FR-3q9wmcbmvX1e2v-r77BJ3jPoSmpcor2iyi7Qw5q_YUMgVChmHYHnK9lStQOCQjhM/s1600/Starred+Photos116.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJoLAtvE3sJ-8N7xWktkZJjBUdTLR4UnP6e45sXz-rhAZjAZn14H68Oj_o76NjCuEgOVW088U1FR-3q9wmcbmvX1e2v-r77BJ3jPoSmpcor2iyi7Qw5q_YUMgVChmHYHnK9lStQOCQjhM/s1600/Starred+Photos116.jpg" height="149" width="200" /></a></div>
A portrait of my children every week for a year.<br />
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Reuben: It's been so lovely seeing this big fish in a little pond lately. Arriving at kindy as a 3 yr old he was so reluctant to hang out with other kids, and now watching him goof around with other boys and girls, and use silly words, and even be told by his teachers to settle down, is just wonderful. What a long way he has come.<br />
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Esther: It seems we have other children in our house. Well actually, Esther has them at her house. She often talks about her friends, or her girls, or her kids. And apparently she has her own house, and will regularly say "I have that at my house." Sometimes it's almost rather useful, as it is something that I have lost or need. The other day I was explaining to Reuben about something that they have in other countries, but not here in NZ. "I have another country at my house," Esther announced. I must say it didn't go down very well with Reuben. He tried <i>really</i> hard to explain why that wasn't possible, but Esther wasn't very receptive. <br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-24725761960098968092014-07-24T16:52:00.000-07:002014-07-31T16:54:43.564-07:0031/52<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUPvTvyDfjXlD0UKXXAUKornawHokGyZ_Q-TuF1RzxpRVTKXIPiLxVyc36zzICeIwiMsu6R5NleVuz9RFSstePMnVNubWee0DyhC8b16XOf7cRIL24O56QpjLg9gpIcNKbdz36VtVuPLM/s1600/Starred+Photos114.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUPvTvyDfjXlD0UKXXAUKornawHokGyZ_Q-TuF1RzxpRVTKXIPiLxVyc36zzICeIwiMsu6R5NleVuz9RFSstePMnVNubWee0DyhC8b16XOf7cRIL24O56QpjLg9gpIcNKbdz36VtVuPLM/s1600/Starred+Photos114.jpg" height="65" width="200" /></a></div>
A portrait of my children every week for a year.<br />
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Reuben: Here he is making "play clay" very early in the morning. We had a bit of a disastrous haircut that needs to be rectified, but it did make for a hilarious visit to the hairdresser. He is very opinionated about what he wants - what is where we get in to trouble - and was explaining how close he wanted his fringe to his eyebrows. He kept lifting and dropping his eyebrows, and when the hairdresser asked to keep them still, he held them up high, with his eyes popping out of his head, for <i>ages.</i> The hairdresser and I were laughing so hard that I was crying and she had to stop cutting and bend over double for a while.<br />
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Esther: This week's addition to her vocab is "absolutely," which I just love, especially as she uses it in her own way. The other day she had been looking for something and came running out to Grandad and shouted, "I absolutely found it!"<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-37788338970887224162014-07-23T18:21:00.000-07:002014-07-23T23:34:15.252-07:00Shelving it<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge7JnoFEdR2joxB96TGUJcjE8gaQIopBHSG_jOfo6OQCKR7_MajjCN10-g_a6MNSsoxdq1qv-dT-CnJb1FFgSx1KBvKfKnuAeg9PW8Q6PfhugIKQJoE0peSIVOoL3GZzkLJCEpHbDvT8o/s1600/pretty+shelves+%5E.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge7JnoFEdR2joxB96TGUJcjE8gaQIopBHSG_jOfo6OQCKR7_MajjCN10-g_a6MNSsoxdq1qv-dT-CnJb1FFgSx1KBvKfKnuAeg9PW8Q6PfhugIKQJoE0peSIVOoL3GZzkLJCEpHbDvT8o/s1600/pretty+shelves+%5E.jpg" height="133" width="200" /></a></div>
For years now I have been totally obsessed with <a href="http://www.designsponge.com/category/sneak-peeks" target="_blank">The Design Sponge's Sneak Peeks</a> - a place where you can check out the interiors of some
gorgeous homes that generally belong to arty/crafty/designer-y people. They're always lovely and outrageously tidy, but they're real and full of personality and often second hand bits and pieces, which I love.<br />
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admit I often wonder what they look like when they're really being
lived in and there are no cameras around. I always like to think there's a heap of mess pulled in to a pile somewhere just behind the camera.
I've often thought it would be fun to (tidy like crazy and) take some photos of my house looking beautiful. I've been wondering recently about sharing pics of my new home,
so many of my distant friends have been asking for photos. Despite
everything that I put out there, I'm not entirely sure about sharing my
home in such a public place and have been tossing and turning (in
daylight hours only) about it. <br />
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But I have a come up
with a solution, and think I will give you some glimpses in to my home
with some close-up pics... not as invasive as it
sounds! And if you'd like to see the big picture, pop in, friends, when you are in
town, and check it out in person.<br />
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Today, though, is less about the house, and more
about the shelves. I have been a little fixated on shelving lately, as I
have loads of shelves, new and old, and loads to put on them. Here's a
look - if you're keen - at what I have done with some of my shelves
around the house. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjat_c6xc0_daW30bL_vO6tXHeokACIxhemaHWQFku16rc56f7PHcmwcKSvPI9SsVqTz0n6kuHioCRcRpWgJ5s8TDMQSI6pGI3S0yKHee8VD5mOzThuNDZd3PtdT1CwwkRrs_PutX_UJ0/s1600/pretty+shelves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjat_c6xc0_daW30bL_vO6tXHeokACIxhemaHWQFku16rc56f7PHcmwcKSvPI9SsVqTz0n6kuHioCRcRpWgJ5s8TDMQSI6pGI3S0yKHee8VD5mOzThuNDZd3PtdT1CwwkRrs_PutX_UJ0/s1600/pretty+shelves.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
A rather busy top shelf in the family room. The kids and I fell in love the ceramic origami animals (I fall in love with anything white and ceramic). The dandelion canvas is something Kent had made as a surprise for me from a photo I took in Kew Gardens. The other is a photo of some beautiful flowers from a very thoughtful friend. The paper lampshade and glass tumblers made it safely all the way home in boxes from London. <br />
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I have lots of useful boxes for storing things on these shelves near my desk<br />
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And this pot hides the key to my lockable cabinet so <i>the kids can't find it and won't open up my cupboard </i>(ha ha ha ha ha - who was I kidding?!).<br />
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Small glass bottles, another obsession of mine. Mum found the small kina on an eastern Wairarapa beach. One of Kent's guitar picks. <br />
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These white shelves are in the lounge, and they're home to quite a few books as well as other pretty things. I took the paper covers off a number of books because they look nicer without, though I'm sure that's a big no-no.<br />
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This is a second hand mantlepiece that I bought off Trade Me for $100 and had attached to the wall. I always thought if I didn't have a fireplace I would fake a mantel! It looks like it has been there forever. I like the history and memories in things. The glass bowl on the right is from a wonderful trip to Copenhagen. The butterfly print behind it is from a little paper shop in Wimbledon, and the white vases are an Ikea purchase. Mum gave me the birch candle holders, and the lampshade on the left is attached to a wooden lamp stand that I grew up with. This is why I like having things around me!<br />
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My awesome Dad put up some shelves in the kitchen just above a bench top that gets laden with all kinds of stuff. I need to make these shelves work hard to try and keep the surface underneath tidy. The green salt timer is a very useful tool in communicating to the kids. The white bowl and cup, like many bowls in my house, hides little bits of junk - usually related to toys or household items that I can't quite identify. The straws get used often to liven up another round of water or milk.<br />
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Yes, another bowl, from another lovely friend. My well-used notebook, where I note my favourite things and ridiculous rhymes for the kids. There was a phase where we poured our milk regularly from that glass bottle, but that seems to have faded out..<br />
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Household stationery and bitsy things, and my beautiful icecream scoop. That hasn't had a work-out in a while. <br />
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These are my main bookselves in the hallway, but there are still some spots to hide stuff away. <br />
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Kent messed around with Tolkien's name years ago, and I had to keep it. <br />
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Postcards framed and with more memories attached. <br />
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Thanks for visiting! And for your Facebook encouragement to share these pics. Do sign my visitors' book by clicking one of the reaction boxes in the shaded bar just below.<br />
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And on the topic of shelves and their contents, I do have on more thing to say - DUSTING!<br />
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<span id="goog_1194372599"></span><span id="goog_1194372600"></span><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-10917517355146372992014-07-17T04:04:00.001-07:002014-07-17T04:04:42.707-07:00Be encouraged, friend. Parent. Hey lovely Mammas. What a heartfelt reaction there was to the lovely article I linked to on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/soakinguplife?fref=nf" target="_blank">my facebook page </a>called <a href="http://jonesdesigncompany.com/thoughts/it-gets-easier/" target="_blank">"It gets easier"</a> by Emily at <a href="http://jonesdesigncompany.com/" target="_blank">Jones Design Company</a>. Gosh we all need some encouragement don't we? It can be <i>hard</i> having small children, and it is hard not to get stuck in the trenches. Isn't it lovely when someone pops over the top and tells you the view is pretty good up there?<br />
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I know that as children get older they bring more challenges. Gosh I've been told that plenty of times as I've been fighting the battles of the very early years. But you know I think in the early days all we need to know is that what we're battling <i>right now</i> will get easier. Never mind all the other stuff I haven't even contemplated yet, will <i>this challenge</i> ease one day? Please?<br />
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My two are on the brink of five (Reuben) and three (Esther), and while I think we're still in the trenches of pre-school life, I know we've come a long way. Really, a long way. There are so many things I don't have to manage anymore. There are things that are easier.<br />
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If you're a parent with kids smaller than mine, I'd love to tell you what has become easier for me. And these are just the things that I have noticed along the way, and been grateful for as they have changed, as the list may get really long if I brainstorm it all (hooray!).<br />
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If you are a parent, I'd love to hear about what has become easier for you. I know there are plenty of new difficult stages, but let's try to just think about the easier things. Even if you have a 3 month old, I bet you can come up with one or two things; new skills you have mastered or little encouraging changes in your wee babe.<br />
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Here's my list, and I'm looking forward to reading yours in the comments below.<br />
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<ul>
<li>They both sleep through the night, and past 7am. </li>
<li>I don't have to spoon feed them every mouthful anymore.</li>
<li>Esther no longer throws her bowl on to the floor at the end of every meal.</li>
<li>Both children are able to communicate to me what is wrong when they are distressed in the middle of the night. </li>
<li>I don't have to heave them in and out of places in their capsule anymore.</li>
<li>Reuben keeps Esther occupied and she adores him. The intensity of that first child is, in ordinary circumstances, never to be repeated, when siblings are in the mix.</li>
<li>They climb in and out of the car on their own (and for a while there Reuben could put his own straps on - hallelujah! - but then sadly we progressed to the more difficult seat belt).</li>
<li>When feeling inclined, Reuben can help with loading and unloading the dishwasher. And they both take their bowls to the kitchen after dinner. </li>
<li>Esther whipped the cream last night while I prepared the pudding. <i>Yes! </i></li>
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And those are just a few, I'm sure. I've always really looked forward to my children talking, and have often said "surely everything is easier when they can communicate." And it is. Of course, sometimes all the talking does my head in and I want nothing but quiet! But it is wonderful and it really does make life easier.<br />
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Do take a moment to focus on the changes you are grateful for, and bring some encouragement to someone else in the next trench along. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSahpa8C3u8vTwcuAOBGs6VhuX09fzdqcHsFdVudGqKMHUvgXjQgdEXHpoZnI1p1PJO08HWPiMUA-iR4Urz2335-J3377QE289lDepSsZRuyN5yHrFil-b9QjvD4gv4VDgGZJ_KHPoZ-U/s1600/P1030952.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSahpa8C3u8vTwcuAOBGs6VhuX09fzdqcHsFdVudGqKMHUvgXjQgdEXHpoZnI1p1PJO08HWPiMUA-iR4Urz2335-J3377QE289lDepSsZRuyN5yHrFil-b9QjvD4gv4VDgGZJ_KHPoZ-U/s1600/P1030952.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">January 2012. Reuben being able to read on his own, and to his sister, will be a great day!</td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-49920795120463054372014-07-11T02:31:00.001-07:002014-07-11T02:31:09.253-07:00A day in the sun<br />
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We visited Leacroft Nurseries on yet another beautiful Wellington day. All this lovely weather is getting me thinking of my new garden, though this particular trip was for fun more than work. We found plenty of beauty, topped off with some exquisite pain...<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-23694451348986587042014-07-08T02:08:00.000-07:002014-07-11T02:09:19.679-07:0030/52<br />
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A portrait of my children every week for a year.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teaching me sign language</td></tr>
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Esther: Hm, well I almost have to take it back. The day after<a href="http://soakinguplife.blogspot.co.nz/2014/06/2852.html" target="_blank"> I wrote about what an easy-going kid she is</a>, the little monkey started giving me the run around. Saying no and being stubborn, well we've seen that before, but oh <i>my</i>, the reactions when she doesn't get her own way. She's always been good at making noises of all kinds, but the screaming is out of this world. However, we get through to the other side, and it may even be a phase that is fading already. Fingers crossed. Monkey.<br />
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Reuben: With tonsils out, chicken pox and now holidays, we've all been seeing a LOT of each other lately. I think the little guy is bored, and there's nothing like hanging round with your family all day to make you ratty. Thank goodness for Grandad, coming most days to sort out housey things and make all Reuben's builder dreams come true. <br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-15363418683628469422014-07-04T20:11:00.001-07:002014-07-04T20:11:31.066-07:00Getting to the heart of houseworkI'd love to write an awesome, insightful, uplifting post, but I'm afraid I'm going to write about housekeeping instead. Housekeeping and a heavy heart and how the heck to combine the two.<br />
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We're finally settling in to almost-normal mode after the long upheaval of moving house. Spending all my days working on paint, lino, benchtops, tapware, basins, baths, showers, curtains, rugs, chairs and tradesmen-juggling has been fun and a privilege, and also hard work. There are things about it that I will miss, but I am also looking forward, slightly nervously, to what is next. Reuben is starting school soon and Esther has started kindy, so my days will soon look very different, and I will only find more and more time to myself. The first day that I dropped both children to kindy and stepped across the threshold to my empty house, the phrase, "welcome to your new life," flashed through my mind, along with the thought that I had to get to know the new me (she sure isn't the same as the one there was 4 3/4 years ago). A little dramatic perhaps, but things are changing.<br />
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A stay-at-home mum of pre-schoolers is allowed to crave a little more time to herself, and I certainly have. But if I don't have a plan I haven't been very good at making the most of those quiet times. And I have long struggled with the dramatic swings in this way of life between having *loads* to do and then suddenly <i>nothing</i>. Obviously there's always another corner of the house that could be tidied, but there are moments that could be filled with something else. The trouble is, they are brief and unreliable, and it is hard to find something to do in those times that is satisfying, fulfilling and achievable.<br />
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I know that I need something else to do in my days now that the kids are going to be out of the house more, and I have been thinking about it without any conclusions for a long time. But after we moved in here I decided that I need to spend a bit of time just trying to get this ship in order. Work out my systems, get some good habits and routines going and know how to run the house well. The only problem with the plan is that I'm just not enjoying it.<br />
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Tidiness and organisation have generally been my thing, and in my natural state they have brought me an element of happiness and satisfaction. But at the moment I can't seem to grab hold of them. It's the daily grind stuff. Emptying the dishwasher, putting clothes away, getting a wash on. Ugh. Depression lurks very closely at my door, and on quiet child-free days when I have the whole morning to empty the dishwasher and tidy up last night's bathroom chaos (whoop-de-doo) I just want to lie down and never get up again, that same feeling I had late last year when depression broke through my door and wrestled me to the ground. <br />
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I really think, despite my idea of focusing on getting this ship nicely afloat, I need to have lots of things to do. I need to fling those dishes out of the dishwasher in a flash because I'm racing off to somewhere/something more interesting. The thing I have hated most in the various jobs I have had over the years (when it crops up) is boredom. I hate being bored. And I'm finding housework (<i>oh my gosh am I the first person to say this?</i>) *boring*.<br />
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While I wait for the fantastically exciting stuff to start happening, I'm working on a few solutions. A friend has given me some transcribing work, which has come just when I needed it. Earning a little money always seems to feel good, and being able to do that at the drop of a hat is wonderful. Stuff the dishes, I'm going to earn me some money. A short session of that tends to get my blood flowing and make me feel more able to get in to the boring stuff. It's a great solution, but only a short term one.<br />
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I have a habit of doing some jobs when I'm on the phone. I'm as bad as my mother, I never sit down when I'm on the phone (though I do for long-distance callers, I've noticed), and my hands just seem to move around of their own accord and get things tidy while I listen and chat. Call me any time! My brother suggested listening to some inspiring talks or radio interviews on an i-pod which is a brilliant idea, though I would save it for when the kids are out of the house or in bed. <br />
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I have always had the attitude that it's best to get the boring stuff done first, then you can move on and enjoy the fun activities without anything hanging over you. It seems sensible and right, and really has always worked that way for me. But I have decided I need to be open to a different way, and it seems to be working. If I return from the kindy drop off and there's still weetbix bowls to be rinsed, darn it, and the dishwasher to be emptied and pyjamas to be picked up and my heart sinks below the floor, well I'm just not going to do it. Those moments have been like dragging myself through concrete. I'll read a book in the sun or make a hot drink or pick some flowers from the garden and do the work when my heart is back in place. <br />
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There is still that perennial question of how to approach housework; do you do it all on one day, how often do you do various tasks, what are the best ways of cleaning something or other, which I won't go in to now. I am working through a few ideas and hope to even act on them at some point. I will report back only if you can bear it. Funnily enough I have really nailed some housework in the past 24 hours. I was feeling so down about it getting on top of me that I hauled out the vacuum cleaner (a job I don't mind too much) and found myself doing an amazingly thorough job, including tidying as I went. And as often happens for me, once I'd got through the pain barrier of starting, there was a snowball effect that had me cleaning and tidying more and more. That works quite well with those weekly chores, but not so much on the daily grind. Especially those dishes. Though I must remember too, there are other people in this house. Kent and I used to joke that we needed to have children one day so we could get some help with the dishes, and if Reuben can be persuaded it shouldn't be too long before he is a dream come true.<br />
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Another approach that has come about by accident has been to let myself off the hook a little. Occasionally I have looked around at all that needs to be done and told myself I don't <i>have</i> to do it. I could just do it tomorrow. I could wait until Mum comes and she will help me get it done. And as soon as I feel that little bit of freedom, I somehow find the motivation to do it anyway. I'm doing it because I choose to, not because I have to.<br />
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My final technique may be to simply remember how good it feels to have a clean and tidy house. It makes such a difference to me. A friend posted an article about fighting depression recently. One idea that stood out for me was to remember how good it feels when you do achieve something. Last night after lights out I grabbed hold, for a brief moment, of the idea that I won't let this housework thing have power over me. I will do it, and I will win. <br />
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<i>How do you feel about housework? How do you approach it?</i> <i>How do you get motivated, or do you just get on with anyway?</i> <i>It would be great to hear your ideas!</i><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-73334150222617911922014-07-01T01:27:00.001-07:002014-07-01T01:27:24.353-07:0029/52<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsn1ADoycj1BFwiggQsfFYybZ8lySpcDxeQzrh4IbiENx8q2xLBXYP84B3ZLtQZo5Q2iRyqRUPspdFfzvlk4t8mFeAFHlW1uq0QI9hSfJIA4Q3MEIs9LwEOuPsy76M555Ah8CRNDWJAYo/s1600/2014-06-24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsn1ADoycj1BFwiggQsfFYybZ8lySpcDxeQzrh4IbiENx8q2xLBXYP84B3ZLtQZo5Q2iRyqRUPspdFfzvlk4t8mFeAFHlW1uq0QI9hSfJIA4Q3MEIs9LwEOuPsy76M555Ah8CRNDWJAYo/s1600/2014-06-24.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
A portrait of my children every week for a year.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEUsHiI1-waLUvlmz6zpbilXMJZNKobCheqTOF43yz-cZUYsEqfLL4PwfYfjKS-8BlSPOc9naPlW9VifPWcln4lyj3QQSylf8qct6JFykc1Gq5E6IFsBAw21R_JydHrSySkwa52sMPN3Y/s1600/IMG_3063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEUsHiI1-waLUvlmz6zpbilXMJZNKobCheqTOF43yz-cZUYsEqfLL4PwfYfjKS-8BlSPOc9naPlW9VifPWcln4lyj3QQSylf8qct6JFykc1Gq5E6IFsBAw21R_JydHrSySkwa52sMPN3Y/s1600/IMG_3063.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje2rEcsgMHdA3nsfQOZB2KGi9JFdEiPtKbE58r4lmXz1xCxQZWs2Muz50Pa_Y6tpmuET-fzUSl8L_bMnYYDFFZqqdwf1LE-HkPx5g6RgOEkhhiiSQCnTp_j9CYoL3HbSKnk3eIE4iojQM/s1600/IMG_3070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje2rEcsgMHdA3nsfQOZB2KGi9JFdEiPtKbE58r4lmXz1xCxQZWs2Muz50Pa_Y6tpmuET-fzUSl8L_bMnYYDFFZqqdwf1LE-HkPx5g6RgOEkhhiiSQCnTp_j9CYoL3HbSKnk3eIE4iojQM/s1600/IMG_3070.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></div>
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Esther: She is such a fan of colours, and loves identifying people by their colour. Instead of saying blue, she might say "nana's favourite." My favourite colour is green, and the other day when she was dressed in pink I told her she was my favourite little girl in the whole world. "No!" she replied, 'I'm not green, I'm pink!"<br />
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Reuben: I keep finding all sorts of mysterious things around the house. A camera strap stuck to the window and wrapped around the latch. My water bottle dangling from a bungy cord at the end of Esther's cot. At the moment there is an old baby monitor blue-tacked upside down to Reuben's bedroom wall like some kind of art installation. This place is a hot-house of invention... or it's going be. <br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2970131072557716422.post-43394171204649483332014-06-21T18:23:00.000-07:002014-06-24T02:12:08.480-07:0028/52<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuaQBEBL5bGoVI8c5Ops6D1EN4FGOZFyGYYlC9gF9IBpKZnxLy42ecYkQBnTf2dM7vEpfhclDAHi17KEZjKjCgE6zsdoXhL3-c8KtxzdoQs6pCt4A0uV-7KoTIyDgR6btVoT2RT7co1Tw/s1600/2014-06-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuaQBEBL5bGoVI8c5Ops6D1EN4FGOZFyGYYlC9gF9IBpKZnxLy42ecYkQBnTf2dM7vEpfhclDAHi17KEZjKjCgE6zsdoXhL3-c8KtxzdoQs6pCt4A0uV-7KoTIyDgR6btVoT2RT7co1Tw/s1600/2014-06-10.jpg" height="66" width="200" /></a></div>
A portrait of my children every week for a year.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkyWL1hBgVifu6YHKk2SYH3cCk_ycDPhz3GAwwgl5K5vrzKNFIP38ptRN9VksFpc1NPimqBjpivPyGzG6ph2cbWG8B9joy4c0A6NaOuMMw_VGfN9ocIU_nxviksexXk2oE8pBWvYciHe0/s1600/IMG_2985.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkyWL1hBgVifu6YHKk2SYH3cCk_ycDPhz3GAwwgl5K5vrzKNFIP38ptRN9VksFpc1NPimqBjpivPyGzG6ph2cbWG8B9joy4c0A6NaOuMMw_VGfN9ocIU_nxviksexXk2oE8pBWvYciHe0/s1600/IMG_2985.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
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Esther: I've been thinking about how we are getting well and truly through the "terrible twos" and they haven't been terrible at all. I do remember one time in our last house when she was barely two, Esther having quite a yell, and I whispered to Reuben, "you watch, she's going to lie down on the floor and kick," and she did just that. But she's never done it again, and very rarely yells about anything. She can just decide not to do something, or that she wants something, and is rock-solid-stubborn about it in that 2 year old way. I find it incredibly difficult, as I am used to the ability to negotiate with Reuben, and once the tears start it's hard to stop them. But it's a rare thing and she is so often just a delight. Reuben and I can be in the trenches of a really hard day and she just sails over the top of it with such extraordinary sparkle.<br />
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Reuben: He had his tonsils out last week so we have been on a bit of a rollercoaster ride. I was so amazed at how beautifully he approached the day, interested and un-wobbly, even we arrived in the bright white theatre full of people, with him in his little red pyjamas and porridge-slopped elephant dressing gown. He woke afterwards with tears flooding down his face and a lemonade popsicle in his hand, but hauled himself out of the hole and got through the day with moments of spark and humour. I have loved the way his humour has crept through as he's peaked and troughed his way through the days of recovery. Even in the night after some terrible sessions of crying and yelling and kicking, that little spark has managed to eventually make its way out. Love love love this boy.<br />
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