Thomas Don't Know Jack

Writing in retrospect:

This weekend we went on a women's retreat with our church. What a great time! It started on Friday night with an insane car trip up Tamborine Mountain. Insane, not because my driving company was Crazy Sister, insane because of Thomas.

Thomas is my husband's TomTom GPS navigator. I knew the quick way up the mountain, Tom on the other hand advised us to do a u-turn for most of the way. It was convinced that there were no roads to our destination and to give up. I lost my confidence in my own skills and nearly turned around, wasting about an hour of our time, but Crazy Sister convinced me to keep on going, and sure enough, we were on the right road.

That's me - cleverer than a GPS.

The accommodation was lovely. I've stayed in a campsite on the mountain which was condemned after (but not because of) my stay, and others that gave me material the write "A la carte, a la tente." Like mosquito wrigglers in the tank water.

But in our cabin, we had a fridge. It was the LOUDEST fridge I've ever heard. I don't know what was wrong with it. In the night, the hum of the fridge turned into a roar. It sounded like the fridge wanted to break loose and drive through our cabin and plough over our beds.

The fridge didn't bother me though, because I got to sleep until I woke up in the morning. Not until my dear little kids woke me up, until I woke up!

It was great.

To be continued.

The New Kitchen

Our new kitchen was finished on Monday, and I'm sorry it's taken so long to give you some pictures! Remember how it used to look?

The first thing that got a makeover was the floor:



The rest of the kitchen went in smoothly. The stone bench and the tiles took a little longer than I expected, but it was all done in pretty good time.

Now, the place looks much nicer. There is a noticeable increase in useable storage space. That picture in the upper left will be change to actually be a picture of US, not the standard picture of models pretending to be married that you get when you buy a frame.


This is my dream bench. Plenty of preparation space, drawers below, cupboards above, and a magnetic whiteboard behind it.


That's a pretty standard amount of fruit for our kitchen. We also have watermelon and pawpaw in the fridge (which, frustratingly, is still in the living room.) This picture was taken yesterday, and most of that fruit is gone today.

Our new cooktop is a dream to cook on. That's it there under the saucepan. Beside the kettle. There.

The pantry has heaps of space. Half the shelves ware moveable, so I made a small shelf at the very bottom for the dustpan & brush and some trays, and the second-bottom shelf is large for the appliances. The oven is awesome. I'm looking forward to trying new recipes in it using new functions like fan-grilling, and also some recipes I gave up on because my old oven couldn't cook them well, like sponge cakes.



We've got some baskets for the hats that live just inside the door onto the deck...


and a basket for the tea towels and washers.


It's a dream to cook in, and we're very thankful we were able to get a new kitchen. Thanks for bearing with me during the kitchen process. It was worth it!

Clever Mummy

Sonny Ma-Jiminy, who still sucks a sheet when he's in bed (or watching TV, or in the car, or hurt, tired or upset ... but that's all), continues to ask me to stop whatever I'm doing and get his sheet for him, when he's perfectly capable of doing it himself.

Suggesting that he does it himself doesn't go down very well, but I've decided that if I refuse to get it, he will learn that it's no use asking me. If he really wants it, he has to get it himself.

However, he never learns, and continues to ask me to get it for him. I continue to refuse, and he continues to throw tantrums. We've got it all worked out.

I often ask him if I stop what I'm doing and go and get his sheet, who will do my job? Who will complete the task I was doing when he interrupted me? He's thought about this dilemma and he knows that it's an issue, but still asks me to get his sheet for him.

Today, I had a win. I was picking up pieces of egg from the kitchen floor under Sonny's chair. It was a gross job, but not one that I was prepared to delay.



SMJ: Mum, can you get my sheet? (Note the absence of 'please'.)

Me: Okay, I will. You can pick up all this egg mess and I'll go and get your sheet. (Pause) OR... I pick up the mess and you get the sheet?

SMJ: You pick up the egg. (Ran off and got sheet by himself.)

Speaking your mind (for dummies)

As I pushed the double stroller along the home straight, our attention was drawn by the squeal of wheels and the erratic movement of headlights against the late afternoon sky. There was a black car accelerating from the traffic lights and heading straight for us.

I started planning what I should do. There was a [very slim] chance that the car could lose control and come straight for me and the two most precious little things ever entrusted to my care. If there was trouble, I'd wait until I knew what evasive action to take and I'd take it, wrestling the stroller in which ever direction necessary with double the body strength I naturally possess. The kids watched in interest as the car sped wildly towards us.

Then suddenly, it stopped. It had only travelled about 50m from the lights and just - stopped. I spoke to Sonny Ma-Jiminy about how dangerous the driving was, and how we prefer to drive our car. As we got closer, I realised with a mental forehead-slap that he was likely to say something disparaging about "the crazy drivers" as we got closer, so I hissed to him not to say anything.

We drew level with the black car. Two happy young men had got out, dressed in the party attire of many young Australian men: singlets, baggy shorts and thongs (pardon ME - "flip-flops"). They had walked around to the back of their car and started examining a large liquid leak from a drinks container in the boot (trunk) which had apparently been caused by the erratic driving at the traffic lights.

They decided it was a minor inconvenience and with a few smiles and jokes to each other, made a move to enter the house outside which they'd parked.

They noticed me looking with satisfaction at the leak dripping from the back of the car and onto the road as I passed. They made some good-natured remark, and I plucked up the courage to speak.

"Does it give you a smooth ride?" I enquired, obviously referring to the car.

"Oh, we don't drive it very smoothly," they laughed.

"Hm, yeah, I saw you at the lights," I said.

"Ah, yeah, no," they laughed, "Always in control though! Nothing to worry about!"

"Look, I dunno, when I saw you screaming off at the traffic lights, I was way up there and I was thinking that if you went crazy, I'd have to get the kids safely out of the way ..."

More good-natured grins and embarrassed laughter. "Oh no, we always stay in control, always very careful," they reassured me.

"Well, okay, that's good to hear. It's just that, you know, if you ever spin out of control and kill my kids, I'll just have to cut your balls off with a rusty knife. I'm sure you understand. Any other Mum will tell you the same," I replied cheerily as I smiled, waved and walked off.

Oh no, wait, I DIDN'T! Because I never think of the perfect thing to say until it's too late! That parting shot was only THOUGHT by me as I walked away with the sounds of the carefree party animals receding in the distance.

Sometimes I'm so slow I make myself mad.

When Letterboxes go BOOM!

The other night at 2:15am, I was awakened by a loud noise. But I couldn't work out what it was, and in the darkness, I decided it must have been my imagination.

But yesterday when I was out walking with Sonny Ma-Jiminy and Smoochy Girl, an elderly neighbour told me that the loud noise was the sound of her letterbox getting blown to bits by a soda bomb, the pieces landing in three or four different yards.

That made me mad. It must be scary enough as a widow with grown sons, living on your own. Nobody needs the added scare of having people wilfully destroying your property for a bit of fun.

"Ah - ah - ah - GRAPEFRUIT!"

That's the name of a post on I Am Neurotic which has got me thinking. I Am Neurotic is a website that has been keeping me smiling recently. It's a collection of neuroses that people have, and wish to share with us.

Here's the link:
http://iamneurotic.com/2008/10/20/ah-ah-ah-grapefruit/

And here's the neurosis:

When I was a kid someone told me that if you say the word “grapefruit” when you are about to sneeze that it prevents you from sneezing. For years I would say "grapefruit” and it seemed to work. Now instead of saying it I just obsessively think the word “grapefruit” when I feel like I’m going to sneeze. I still think it works.

Well, I guess it's not really a neurosis, but it's interesting.

I've never really desired to suppress my sneezes. Sneezing as loud and as long as possible makes me feel much better than trying to keep all that pent-up energy inside my head.

My Dad sneezes "eee-CHA!" My sister used to sneeze "cat-CHOW!" and she never knew why. And my husband, who has a penchant for the dramatic, sneezes "ah-CHOO-EE-OO-EE-OO-EE!" and needs to be silenced in order to stop.

I like my sneezes to be cathartic, so I just explode: "ah-PHLTBBTT!" And you'd better hope I've managed to cover my mouth in time.

Anyway, I digress. It's late here.

I was meaning to say that I got to thinking about the possibility of suppressing my sneezes by saying "Grapefruit."

The only times in my life when I've wanted to suppress a sneeze have been when I'm in the middle of an exam. This is crazy because exam rooms are full of sneezing and coughing and throat-clearing and shuffling of papers and feet. I guess I always thought that my sneeze more than anyone else's would disturb the peace and ruin everyone's concentration.

This fear might have arisen because of the memory of one day when I was in Maths 1 being taught by my dad when I sneezed so forcefully that my body violently flexed and my head whacked loudly on the metal desk, making a loud "bonggg..." noise.

But I digress again.

I come, finally and in a very circumlocutory manner, to my question.

Which is more disruptive in the middle of a senior Physics exam: A sneeze, or suddenly in the middle of the mostly-silent exam room, some random voice loudly proclaiming "Grapefruit"?

I ask you.

Sure it was cheap, but ...

About a month ago, Sonny Ma-Jiminy got a new toothbrush. He was particularly fond of it because it was red.

Tonight, I was getting it out of its little toothbrush holder when THIS happened:

It just crumbled in my hands. Seriously. I didn't DO anything to it. It just disintegrated. Something tells me that's not supposed to happen.

Kum Ba Ya and Twigs in your Bed

I'm not really into camping.

Sorry, I pronounced that wrong. I meant to pronounce it, "I hate camping."

Mr de Elba would love it if I liked camping, but I don't. In a few weeks he and five friends are going on a canoeing-camping weekend, and I am glad because perhaps this means I won't have to endure the experience myself any time soon.

Three months after Mr de E and I were married, we went on a church camp which involved tents. It was a disaster.

I have to say that the company was great, because our good friend Hippomanic Jen was with us and she reads this blog. (The company actually was great!) But not even good company could make me stop wishing I was at home in the snuggly bed that the Good Lord provided for me.

The trouble started on the first night. We all arrived at the campsite after dinnertime and had to put tents up in the dark. Jen had been promised by the pastor's wife that she could share a tent with their daughter. Unfortunately, the daughter didn't share such generous leanings and loudly refused to be a part of any such sharing arrangement.

I could feel Jen's complete mortification through the darkness - misplaced trust, accommodation rejection and the strong possibility of a night under the stars.

Of course Mr de Elba and I offered that she could share with us. Our tent was another generous loan from the pastor's wife, thankfully not rescinded.

Our dear friend had to accept our offer (what choice did she have?) despite being deeply horrified at the thought of sharing a tent with a newly-married couple. She didn't need to be horrified: we were most certainly NOT planning on "getting up to anything" in a tent - by a lake - hidden only by thin canvas - surrounded by church people. We had been on a Beach Mission two weeks after our wedding, and already had enough material to write a book entitled "The Perils of Making Love on an Air Mattress."

On the first night, the sleep was uncomfortable and patchy. On the second night it was painful and awkward, owing to the fact that Mr de Elba didn't apply sunscreen before going windsurfing that day and got sunburnt.

Often, the only saving grace on a Bad Weekend Away is the food, but when you're camping in tents, this is one of the most disappointing parts of the experience.

The plan was to have bacon and eggs cooked leisurely over a fire for Sunday morning breakfast, smoke curling up towards the branches above, the pleasant aroma of the meal wafting through the campsite.

The reality, of course, was to wake on Sunday morning and realise that the two bags of ice in the Esky had melted, and raw eggs and bacon were floating randomly through the morass.

Mr de E, Hippomanic Jen and I had cereal instead. We dragged our sorry selves home, and I (at least) silently whispered, "Let's never do that again."

I guess Mr de Elba either didn't say the same thing, or he's forgotten ...

Time for a meme

Thanks Adelaine for tagging me! I really should do more memes, I guess I just assume that you all are not that interested in my drivel about myself. But I've thought of a few things for this one.

You want to know 7 random and/or weird facts about me? Well, buckle up!

1. Although my sister can sight read about any piece of music you give her but she can't play anything from memory, I can memorise long pieces but am practially dyslexic with reading music. It might as well be Chinese.

2. Sometimes when I hug my kids, I love them so much it nearly hurts. Their small bodies feel so darn good pressed against mine, I think I'll burst. Then when I think of the "empty nest" we'll have one day, I cry a bit and I have to get busy with something or I'll keep crying all day.

3. I scream when I drive under bridges while trains go over the top. Trains are heavy, and I don't like them above me. Sure, that bridge has held for 70 years, but ... you know ...

4. Some days I fantasise about collecting up all the floor-bound objects that don't belong on the floor and throwing them out. Those particular objects would never bother me again, would they?

5. I find it very hard to drink plain milk due to "The Incident of Lesley and The Fly (1981)." I was in preschool. For morning tea one day, I realised that the usual warm plain milk that we were all served had a fly in it. It made me feel sick. I really didn't want to waste the milk, but I just had to ask the Aide, Lesley, if she would give me some more. Instead, she picked the fly out and gave the milk back to me. It turned my stomach. And now I can't bring myself to drink plain milk. Terrible, aren't I?

6. In high school, I was a percussionist. I was good at tympani and the giant concert xylophone, but I was total rubbish as a drummer. But being a drummer in a rock band is still my secret fantasy.

7. I have an irrational fear of opening roller doors. Call me crazy, but there is, isn't there, the slight but real possibility that a SNAKE has curled itself up on top of the roll of door, and as you lift it open it from the inside, the action of the rolling will tip the snake off and into your outstretched arms. Won't it? No, but it's possible, isn't it?



Would YOU like to play along too? Pretend I knew that all along and cleverly TAGGED you. Let me know you've got 7 facts up about you, and I'll come and read them!

Stuff

The second-worst part about doing lots of camps for high-school students and at-risk youth is that Mr De Elba always ends up with lots of boxes of assorted camp-related things that NEVER find their way home to their properplace after camp is finished.

The absolute worst part is ending up with loads and loads and loads of LOST PROPERTY at the end of it. Things that aren't mine clog up space that is mine, and I end up not being able to function in my own house or find any of the things I need.

Following our camp in late September, we again brought back a load of stuff that wasn't ours. Instead of waiting for Mr de Elba to find homes for all the things, I decided to do it myself.

A new blog was born.

MAXX Lost Property

Any of it yours by any chance?