Sometimes birthdays drag on in the best way

Today the postman brought me a present from an old housemate. Back in the day we shared a slum in North Carlton where pretty much everything in the house was falling apart and required maintainence. The things that didn’t require maintainence were the things that belonged at the tip, or could have been improved with explosives. The bathroom came under the “explosives” category. The oven was an exception, it belonged in a museum. In fact, on a uni excursion one day I saw one exactly the same as mine in a museum. The stove was incapable of boiling a pot of water. The landlord didn’t do anything about the dodgy fuse box until there were flames, the electrician who replaced the fuse box may have used the word “museum” too. We were broke so we possessed, between four of us, a couple of screwdrivers (from my sewing machine) and The Tool. None of us knew what it was called, but it was sturdy enough to bang stuff and you could use it as a shifter as well. Times have changed. We’ve both moved to relatively salubrious accommodation, and we have more tools, but neither of us has had a tool kit you’d call glamorous. Until now.

It’s a William Morris patterned hammer and it has a screwdriver the lives in the handle too. In proper William Morris style it’s beautiful and practical at the same time.

The only problem is convincing the kid that it really is mine. Not his.

We go together like bushwalking and beanies

I finished the Bloke’s Outdoorsy hat. I’m sure you’re relieved to know that he’s now got something suitable to wear for putting the bins out. Incidentally, I grin every week when he puts the bins out thanks to the Flight of the Concords.

We tested its outdoorsyness by taking it bushwalking two days running and the Bloke did not get a cold head. It did become apparent that I am now the only person in the family who doesn’t have a handmade beanie,* and that I currently have too much hair for my shop-bought beanie to fit properly on my big head. The beanies are pretty much the only items of clothing any of us wore that didn’t get muddy, so today is the reckoning, lots of kids tv and a heater cranked up while we dry out and wash the boots, socks, jeans and coats. And the sling. The poor ol’ hug-a-bub got muddy too. This photo was taken at the top of Mt Franklin, which is a steep but pretty easy 20 minute-ish walk with a toddler, and the kid was in a good enough mood to walk almost all of the way down again too. The “mountain climbing” day worked out so well we went bushwalking again the next day. FYI the Wombat Park is quite muddy and there are currently a lot of blokes with dirt bikes. Did I mention the mud? The kid aimed for every single puddle, which was great fun for all concerned, but I was glad we’d brought him a complete change of clothing. Unfortunately the walking trails aren’t marked, there are couple of broken signs, and we hadn’t been able to find a free map online, so we ended up walking for twice as long as we’d anticipated. We assume (based on some foggy family memories) that there is some way of walking in a circuit rather than coming back the way we came, but we weren’t prepared to take a punt on which path that would be. It was really lovely, a mixture of our old pre-kid lives and this life, and then, by coincidence, Sooz was talkin’ about the same sort of stuff.

Which had me thinking I really didn’t squeeze enough travelling into those pre-kid days, until I read the frog’s comment and remembered that trip to Italy. And New Zealand. And Ireland. And now I really want to make sure those beanies get some more work.

* I didn’t make the kid beanies, he’s been given several made by other people. The orange and green number he’s modelling there was from aunty Maureen.

* Also, it’s quite obvious that the Bloke took this photo, but he wanted me to give him a credit just to be on the safe side. Isn’t he clever? Outdoorsy and artsy.

3:46pm, Friday

Too early to start drinking? Just a small one? Internets, please advise.

Important Facts: Stay at home mother therefore no after work drinks*, sick child, sick partner, sick (but recovering) self.

* Obviously stay at home parents require Friday arvo early knock-off and drinkies, but currently the other stay at home parents wont come near me due to aforementioned illness in house.

Mitting bedroom

The lad’s linguistic skills are improving apace, and he looks rather proud of himself as he implements new and ever more complex sentences, but some mispronounciations continue. Mitting, and the related mitting bedroom, are personal favourites of mine. I had been calling my room a studio, but mitting bedroom has taken over, I quite like the idea of my knitting having a place to sleep at night.

There has been lots of mitting around here, but not of mittens. I bought mittens for the kid in the first cold snap (when summer became winter and we all wondered what the hell had happened to autumn) thinking I wouldn’t get a chance to finish handmade ones before his fingers fell off. So I made him some extra jumpers instead, a basic v-neck and Sooz’s seamless cardi (ready just in time for a big family lunch on Sunday), and a hat for the Bloke.

The pattern for the Bloke’s beanie is the Boyfriend Hat, the photos of the original Boyfriend show him modelling the hat while rugged up ready to shovel snow and so forth, but I didn’t happen to have any blokey outdoorsy Aran weight wool, so I fiddled a bit with the pattern and made the Bloke a Boyfriend Hat with much lighter Baby Cashmerino yarn. An Indoor Work and No Heavy Lifting type of hat. I will make him a blokey outdoorsy hat suitable for shovelling snow (on the off chance that we get some snow that needs shovelling) and suitable also for standing at the train station early in the morning when he’s got meetings in Melbourne, but in the meantime, he’s got a beanie that’s perfect for sitting at a desk working from home.

And so begins another birthday week

So far this birthday week (week is used here rather loosely, it’s already been a week and I haven’t actually had the birthday yet) I’ve received two presents. The first was an electric blanket from the Bloke, which observant types will notice was at least half for himself, and the second just came in the mail from my aunt.

Hilarious no? Happy birthday and welcome to Central Victorian winter.

The washup

I considered photographing the food last night but decided I’d prefer to eat it. Suffice to say, it was effing brilliant, the guests enjoyed it, and the kids, having almost totally ignored the homemade baked beans* I made for them decided to tuck into the pork too.

The pork, as recommended by Zoe, was doused in sherry, ginger and garlic and left overnight. Later I added star anise, cinnamon and a little balsamic vinegar. Then I followed the Bill Granger caramel sauce recipe, exchanging pepper for two red chillis, the red wine vinegar for more balsamic and the chicken stock for water (I didn’t want to send the Bloke to the supermarket for a third time), and served it in a jug. The slaw was grouse, fennel, wombok, green apple, celery, coriander and pea shoots with heaps of lemon juice and a bit of peanut and seasame oil. Lime wedges all round (the kids were very keen to do the squeezing). Beer was drunk, we recommend the Holgate Brewery Mt Macedon ale to go with the main, although any light ale/pale ale would be cool. The guests brought a very lemony lemon pudding, which was a brilliant accompaniment, and the whole lot was followed by some whisky. Did I mention the kids went to bed? And slept until it was time for our guests to leave? It was a good dinner.

Now all we need is a dishwasher.

*We generally don’t make separate kid meals, I just didn’t think I could get the pork cooked early enough and thought it best to avoid a hunger-induced meltdown. As always happens when I think I’m being clever, it didn’t work according to plan, there were no meltdowns though because the visiting toddler is the lad’s “bess frien” and “I share my toys wid him”. They even held hands while they had their nappies changed and got into jimmy jams, awwwww.

Shameless request for assistance: roast pork edition

I have never roasted pork. Until recently (when I discovered the local cheerful organic pigs and also the local bulk organic meat delivery that is actually affordable) I had never even purchased pork. My Mum never roasted pork, presumably she doesn’t like it, so I’ve never ever watched it done. Now I have a fridge and freezer full of beef and pork. Roughly 8kgs of meat. We eat meat roughly once a week, this is going to take some time to get through. The deal is that you order a box of meat and they give you a mixture of cuts, so the pork and beef mince were combined with some other bits and pieces to become ragu, the beef was roasted for the pond family, there are lots of small packets of quick cooking cuts and steaks, and I’ve invited some friends round tomorrow to eat roast pork.

Except I have no idea what to do with roast pork. I mean, I know how to roast meat, you stick some olive oil on and chuck it in an oven, not really that tricky, but I’d like it to taste of something. And not be overcooked and dried out, because we don’t eat meat that often and it’s important to enjoy the bits we do have not screw it up and end up chucking it out. So internet people, should I poke herbs into it? Spices? Wine?

Bragging and more bragging

A dear ol’ pal of mine has started a new blog, which I’m reading excitedly, and now that she’s settled in I feel like it’s ok to link to it. So go say hello to Lucid Ephemera, who will satisfy all your just-moved-to-England-and-want-to-eat needs.

In other bragging news, our broccoli has started to flower, and we’ve eaten home grown spinach more than once, so I’m finally starting to feel more settled in to this house and garden. In even more exciting news, the locavore cafe a few blocks away has been stocking larger quantities of local fruit and veg and extended their opening hours to seven days a week, both of which make living locally here so much easier and less car dependent.

My dividing heart

A little while ago Rachel Powers wrote a book called The Divided Heart: Art and Motherhood. I haven’t read it yet, because I’m yet to convince anyone to buy it for me, but I’ve read a few favourable reviews. Reviews from women who are grappling with the same issue: how the hell do you combine two all consuming and often mutually exlusive passions? How do mothers mark out time and space in their lives for creative work? Of course, all mothers in the western world think about paid work and childcare and mothering when so much of our paid work culture centres around childfree lifestyles, so there’s probably something there for non-artist mothers too. The thing about artist mothers is that they are likely to be doing a triple load – mothering, paid work and creative work – because creative work rarely pays the bills.

These are issues I was thinking about today when I skipped out of the car, leaving the Bloke and the Lad for a day of Boys Own Adventures (kicking leaves around the park, drinking babychinos, cooking dinner, that sort of thing) to attend my art class. This isn’t something I’ve done before, the art class that is (skipping out of the house is something I do reasonably regularly), spending money on improving my artistic skills isn’t something I’ve been able to swing for a long time. In preparation for the class, because I really really wanted to get my money’s worth out of being there with all the printing gear, I’ve been doing more drawing than usual. Trying to spend time with a few ideas and play with them after years of quickly sketching and then forgetting images all together. In the spirit of doing the art first, and the housework second, and perhaps more importantly, being honest about what that actually looks like in a real live house with a toddler, I took photos of the loungeroom that I wasn’t tidying before I started drawing. It has been tidied, and messed and tidied a bit since then, and not just by me, but for the record, sometimes it looks really messy and there’s nowhere to eat dinner.

It’s been worse too. And the table, which is out of view, was covered in painting things (the kid’s) and a ukelele. I could do a sort of illustrated version of A Room of One’s Own for the twenty-first century. My room of my own is also messy, but that’s my mess which is different and artistic and I wont hear a word against it. Not even from my Mum. She’s just jealous anyway. Ahem.

The product of all this wanton-ness? Wood engravings for the geek. Photographed, as is typical, at 11pm. The paper isn’t really yellow, it’s white.

Google calendar was designed by men

If it was designed by women you’d be able to make an “appointment” repeat every x number of days, not just “weekly” or “monthly”.