Easter

Fifty Shades of Grey

Grazia Australia RIP

Someone's Family

Pics on a wall. Gosford NSW.

Taxi Ride (After Martinis)

Footy Season

Pic courtesy of Ray Brookman

I am excited. Yeah. 

I have had a really great 3 or 4 months and only this past week I worked out why - no Rugby. 

My partner is amped for the season ahead. Don’t get me wrong; I love the athleticism, I respect the skill, the team playing and the competition, as well as witnessing the male physical form at its peak. I can appreciate the game and love watching it live. There is just something about watching the footy on TV that makes me glaze over. I don’t know what it is. I try to sit and watch a game here and there with my man. Just to support him - as he did me when Pregnant In Heels, Mob Wives and The Amanda’s dominated the screen. However, 5 minutes into play, I vague out. What is that?

I know that our nation is driven by a Sports-minded majority. I come from a creative background, and have mostly been surrounded by creative people. Having said this I am also a body in motion in that I exercise regularly or else I go crazy, I have always worked out with trainers and pursued physical activity, from Yoga to Pilates, to Gyrotonics to Martial Arts. I am in awe of the Human Body and it's ability to transform when pushed to it's limit. Our Health fascinates me. But before I met my partner, I was never exposed to so much Sport. Ever. Unabashed Alpha-Male, beer drinking, personality-changing Sport. My God. I guess I should be thankful that the Cricket Season is coming to an end. For me anything longer than a one-day match feels like I am watching paint dry. During the summer, if we are not watching cricket on Television, we are listening to it on the radio in the car. Rural car radio reception is not always the best. Cricket on crackly car radio makes me want to top myself.

Go the Eels.

Group Emails

Pics courtesy of a group email "Weird and Wild Photos" - source unknown

Terrorist Negotiations

"You know, this whole camouflage thing, for me, doesn’t work really well....Because if you go in the jungle, I can’t see you. You know, it’s like wearing stripes and plaid. For me, I want to do something different. You go in the jungle, make a statement. If you’re going to fight, clash. You know what I mean? "

Robin Williams, Good Morning Vietnam

Having a toddler is pure psychological warfare. No lie. This past week I have been reduced to tears almost every day as our boy engages me in a full-frontal battle of will.

I am a pretty straight up person. I like to confront my issues head on and am happy to talk about anything at anytime - lay your cards on the table and know where you stand. It is only now that it has become clear to me that with a toddler you can't just chew the fat and say it like it is over a glass of wine, a cup of coffee, or a bottle of milk. It is a war dance. A very lonely solo dance that I am really just mildly guessing the steps to.

I know that our Son is about to experience his first surge of testosterone. He is asserting his new found independence and is frustrated as he can't express his emotions verbally, so has to chuck a tantrum - this I get. I am fully aware that he is pissy at me because I am the one who dumps him at daycare two days a week so I can work from home. I realise that he wants to only be with fun man Dad who is at work most days and comes home when it is time to rumble before bed. The control freak in me is aware that I have to just let things go (obviously to a point). And I know not to take it personally, and should appreciate the time out that I get when he prefers his Father as a playmate. But it is heartbreaking, and I am navigating my way out of this minefield blindfolded, trying not to scar him emotionally. Dig deep. Find strength. Poker face. I would make a really bad POW. 

Country Cook Off

I have just about completed my gluten-free, dairy-free, red meat-free, fun-free cleanse. I have to confess I took a night off in the middle, just when I was starting to feel energised. It has been said that if you do anything for three days it breaks a habit. That point was about when the anger and headaches dissipated and the feel-good set in. I was no longer hungry due to the ant sized portions provided, so I messed with it by drinking wine and eating cheese. I felt no guilt, just jumped back on the wagon, and I can say that the Dietlicious program is a winner for me.

Whenever I am doing some sort of cleanse I find it really therapeutic to go through recipe books and get inspired to make new dishes for myself, my partner and our son. Drooling over the pictures of food I am missing out on sadistically helps ease the suffering. If I can't eat it then I can at least bloody well cook it. In our kitchen I came across an old folder that I made for my Mum when I was younger. I have collected all of her hand-written recipes, some her friends passed on to her, as well as ones I have put aside over the years to cook someday when I was Domestic Goddess in my grown up kitchen. I am confident in that I will never be wired to be that image of domestic bliss I had in my head, however, I am now on a mission to attempt each and every one of the dishes each week to expand my very limited culinary repertoire. Except the Pumpkin, Apple and Scallop Soup. Oh, and the Soupe Aux Broutes (Spring Cabbage Soup). I don't have the origins of most recipes so apologies ahead of time for plagiarism. Country Women's Association eat your heart out. 

Opening Doors and Windows