Green Eggs and Ham

Actually boiled eggs and no ham. As we didn't host Christmas, and failed to steal leftovers from lunch, yesterday we had to pack a very meagre picnic before heading off to watch the start of the Sydney to Hobart race.

Christmas was exactly as you would expect - loud, chaotic and fun. Holden is permanently glued to his new mobile phone, and Phoebe is trying valiantly to tell the time on her new watch. I have watched part of my The Cook and The Chef DVD (at the same time as failing to cook anything at all). Andrew is reading Into the Wild and hoping to see the movie soon.

This food hiatus all ends tomorrow, however, when we host our famous Chilli Crab lunch. I will spend tomorrow morning doing icky things with crabs, and then spend the afternoon eating them messily.

A Christmas Carol

There has been controversy raging around our Christmas tree this year. First, I suggested to Holden that we might get an artifical tree. Outrage! (Holden likes things to STAY THE SAME. ALWAYS. AND FOREVER.)

So then I decorated the (live) tree the way I wanted. Lights, gold baubles and clear glass balls. Andrew accused it of looking like a RETAIL tree. He said it wasn't ugly enough to belong in a house with children. Now it has two red felt stockings on.

Then I also decided that I was tired of pretty wrapping paper being ripped and going in the bin. I have wrapped everything (bar one or two things wrapped in cheery leftovers) in brown kraft paper, and used pretty ribbon ... (which I can recycle). OTHER PEOPLE (ie not Andrew) think it looks nice.

The gravlax is doing its thing in the fridge, the final batch of cranberry cookies for the neighbours is baking (it's not because I'm nice, it's because I like to make them feel guilty about complaining about children having fun on the street), and I've edited 200 pages of a book. I think that counts as a productive weekend.

An Angel at My Table

It's a long story. And a big table. I like to eat, and I like to cook, and for years we've had the same little table that really only sits four comfortably. It's a lovely table - Scandinavian, from the 60s - and Andrew bought it for me spontaneously one day when we lived in Bondi, and it's the only dining table the kids have ever known. But dinner parties are squishy in our house, and homework is beginning to sprawl, so the time had come. I dithered and pondered and weighed up options (all very unlike me) and went here and there, and also somewhere else. Finally, I ordered my French Oak dining table, made from 200-year old timber, in October. I was told 6-8 weeks till delivery. I spend the first 6 of them worrying about 1. spending so much money 2. so many air miles 3. everything. So by the time it eventually arrived, on Wednesday, I was almost bored with the whole idea.

But I really love my table. It is pre-loved in every sense, so I will never care if anyone spills, burns, smears or tips anything on it. It extends to seat 12. Wow. If only we had more than four chairs.

I would take a photo, but it is covered in stuff. That's the other thing, it's a really excellent size for wrapping Christmas presents on.

Gone with the Wind

Reason for the blog title? Well, for reasons known only to himself (actually, probably the article in the SMH today about some sequel to the book), Andrew got out the DVD today. 'Have you seen it?' he says to me. HAVE I SEEN IT? Lordy, the only video me and my dear flattie John used to watch more was probably ABBA: The Movie. Happy Darlinghurst days indeed. It was fun being 20. I think.

And now back to our regular middle-aged suburban screenings. This week's line-up featured: Mummy Finds Work Kriss Kringle a Dispiriting Experience; Holden and Mum Cry at His Last Day at Orange Grove Public School; Phoebe is a Complete Star in OGPS Idol; and An Angel at My Table. Correct, the last is in fact a REAL MOVIE. Well spotted. You'll have to read the next post to find out what that's about ...

Hol's last day was a very teary experience. In the morning, as we were having quality time with a pillow fight, I said something about Holden having been at his school for five years. 'That's half my life, Mum', he said. I might have had a sniffle at that. When it came to the actual farewell, I couldn't even take a decent photo, and Holden almost refused to do the 'Tunnel of Friendship' (strange but sweet ritual).




Flippancy aside, I do hope that we're doing the right thing. That's the hard bit (not the only one) about being a parent - you do what you think is the best thing, but there's no going back if you get it wrong.

Of Mice and Men

My weekend in list form.

To do (written Friday afternoon):
1. Bake shortbread for 8 teachers.
2. Make chocolate truffles for 7 teachers.
3. Make chicken liver pate for 3 teachers.
4. Package the above.
5. Cut out and sew 47 red and white felt stockings for class Christmas gifts.
6. Edit a thesis (no, not Andrew's, that's been and gone and he has now got his Masters of Politics and Public Policy).
7. Edit several chapters of a book.
8. Do my writing homework.

Actually done (written Sunday night):
1. As above.
2. As above.
3. As above.
4. Not quite.
5. As above.
6. Watch Holden play baseball (they lost by one point but it was a great game).
7. Go to the neighbourhood Christmas party on Saturday evening.
8. Have lunch with my brother on Sunday.
9. Look at a house we want to buy but probably can't afford ...

So I sense a strong theme. NO WORK. Which means it's now Monday and the week ahead looks very scary. But at least I had some fun in amongst the endless cooking and sewing.



For Phoebe's class we hung the stockings on a branch of one of our gum trees (this is Australia, after all. Hol's we just strung along a length of dowel, as I had run out of ideas/patience/appropriate receptacles ...