The Breakfast Club

Actually, they were about to have dinner, but they look naughty enough to all be in detention. We had a very casual, last-minute pre-Xmas barbie on Saturday evening. The kids had a great time, and I think the adults enjoyed themselves too ...

Yesterday I was feeling quite Christmassy. It was sunny much of the day, which always feel like Christmas here. Today, however, it's grey, grey, grey. At least if we were in the northern hemisphere we could hope for snow.


I think we're done. I've wrapped everything. Believe it or not, I actually finished the dresses AND the elephant. I still can't sew. Oh well.

I must turn the gravlax again then try to clean up our house. The problem with having chilli crab on Boxing Day is that there is no time on Xmas day for cleaning and preparing ...

Chocolat

As you do, in the Brave New (not anymore) World of the internet, I spent time this week - when I should have been doing Xmas things - flagellating myself by reading blogs about what OTHER people have been doing.

This, naturally, had the result of making me throw up my hands and say 'Why bother? I can't possible bake and box 13 dozen cookies while designing and completing four quilts and a range of other beautiful handmade things. Instead, I shall do nothing.'

Then on Thursday night I saw the error of my ways. I made chocolate truffle mix, fully intending to supply truffles to all the staff at school. But while the mix was cooling, I suddenly decided that it was NOT too late to make Christmas cards. I hauled out the sewing machine and a selection of supplies, told Andrew to get takeaway for dinner, and made about 30 of these.


And somewhere in the middle of this frenzy I also made peppermint bark.

But the truffle mix sat in the fridge. I (horror) bought special chocolates for special teachers here and apologised to everyone else.


On the upside, truffles (here being rolled by Phoebe in her role as Christmas Elf Supreme) make a great 'hostess gift' (how 50s is that term?). That, and my own shortbread, should see me through.

Next year, truly, I WILL be a good Christmas person. Ha ha ha.

Sans Soleil

I refer, of course, to the weather, as well as that amazing film by Chris Marker. The weather is horrid.

I think I complain every year about not feeling very much in the Christmas spirit. This year is a particularly bad one. I haven't even made Christmas cards. This probably wouldn't be so bad if I had bought some instead, but I haven't done that either.

Perhaps I can whip myself up into a Christmas frenzy by listing what I have done thus far:

1. I did finish the numbers on the kids' advent stockings, so that's something, I suppose. I was very irritated to see similar ones on the cover of a magazine last month.


2. I have started making dresses for Andrew's nieces. Their mother will probably send them (the dresses, not the children) to Vinnies by the New Year, but I don't especially care.


3. I have wrapped the presents that we've organised so far, but not with much enthusiasm or creativity. The sideboard is a temporary holding space. They will go under the tree when we get it on Monday.


4. I have made 24 personalised gingerbread people for Phoebe's class. Phoebe and her friend Sisca made the labels.


5. I have attended the street Christmas drinks. Fortunately there is no photo.

6. I have put up the Christmas lights and a rather lame wreath. They are not worth photographing.

Nup, that hasn't worked. Maybe the list of what I HAVEN'T done will shame me into action:

1. I haven't finished my Christmas shopping, despite dragging the kids into town with me on Wednesday. I thought it might be fun. It wasn't.

2. I haven't made a gingerbread house.

3. I haven't FINISHED the niece dresses. Or started the nephew elephant.

4. I haven't finished the quilts I am making for the kids.

5. And I haven't made, bought or posted ANY Christmas cards.

In my defence, I have been working. A lot. On large and boring jobs. But hey, it's finance and I still HAVE work, so I should be grateful, right?

It is true. I am the bastard lovechild of The Grinch and Scrooge.

Summer and Smoke

Last week was, personally and professionally, crap. I guess we all have weeks like that sometimes.

But today is the first day of summer, and it's appropriately hot. It's also the day we put up our Christmas lights, so I'm going to assume that greater cheer will ensue.

So that's summer. Smoke is because last night we tried out another of my birthday gifts - a food smoker. Andrew had fun with methylated spirits and sawdust, and we ate delicious hot-smoked salmon for dinner (nothing like traditional, cold-smoked salmon, that's an entirely different animal). Phoebe, fussy creature that it is, liked the salmon but only without 'the smoky brown bits on the outside'.

The other Good Thing about this time of year is cherries. They are up there on my list of favourite things to eat, and I never ever eat imported, out-of-season cherries, so it's a very special few weeks in summer when I gorge myself on them. Life may not be a bowl of cherries, but at least there ARE cherries.

Little Women

It was my birthday last week. I should have been teaching that day, but Holden was home with a stomach bug, and I had a mild dose of it myself, so I didn't go in, fearing I might infect the whole school. It wasn't the most exciting of days, but I was well enough by the evening to go out for dinner with spouse (thank goodness for THAT), which is always a Good Thing.

One of my presents was tickets for myself, Phoebe and my mother-in-law to go and see Little Women (the musical). I'm finding it hard to imagine Jo singing. Phoebe is going to LURV it.

I had 'drinks' for my birthday on Sunday afternoon, which was really just an excuse to cook things, mostly inspired by a recipe I found for salt cod empanadillas. Let me say that despite the 24-hour soaking of salt cod ('What is that hideous stuff, mum?') and the uncooperatively stretchy sherry and olive oil dough, they were DELICIOUS. I wish I had photographed them, but obviously I wasn't fast enough. The nibbles also included potato and roast capsicum tortilla, albondigas, tomatoes stuffed with paella and chorizo&prawns with smoked paprika mayonnaise, followed by mini tarts filled with dulche de leche and topped with sherry-spiked whipped cream.

Now I'm hungry again.

High Art

On Friday night I went to the opening of the Balmain Art and Craft Show, a school fundraiser that has somehow assumed a life of its own and become a 'must attend' for those who live in Balmain (and those who wish they did, thus my attendance). It's where I found last year's birthday painting, so I was very keen to get along this year.

Unfortunately, as is often the case when one gets excited about a party, it wasn't really that thrilling. I got stuck with a parent who had quite possibly already had her quota of free beverages and wanted to chew my ear about school, and so while a couple of my friends went off to look at the indigenous art, I stood there looking sympathetic (and wishing I hadn't worn such high heels). Sigh.

But I did get a little something for Andrew. I have a brilliant and highly sophisticated way of buying art, guaranteed to make me rich - if I can imagine looking at it every day and being happy about that, then I think I should buy it. So rich in a metaphysical rather than a financial sense, I guess ...

The Darjeeling Limited

I am a hardened tea drinker, which is slightly odd as both my parents despise(d) tea. Perhaps I am a throwback. Anyway, it appears that my small people are following in my footsteps. Most mornings, as Andrew and I are busily trying to get people breakfasted, bags and lunches packed and lists checked, one or both of them will say 'Can I please have a cup of tea?'. Occasionally I wonder if eight is too young to start drinking tea - is it a slippery slope to caffeine addiction? Or is it just nice to have a warm drink sometimes?

Sometimes I use tea as a work avoidance tactic, as in 'I think I'll just go and get myself a cup of tea' when I'm really just wanting to get away from a particularly horrible job. This is where I am right now. It's Sunday afternoon, and I want to garden/sort laundry/clean my filthy house/talk to my funny children/make lists for Christmas/eat oysters with my spouse. Instead I am trapped in the studio, trying to write a stinking insurance partnership agreement that has to be delivered before 7am tomorrow. Best I grab a cup of tea.