Monday, January 20, 2014

Old. Oldy old old old.

I'm not 'Old'. What is old, anyway? I certainly prefer being this age to my teens or my early twenties. With the exception of my husband*, no one tells me what to do anymore.

*He pretty much only 'tells me what to do' in the form of 'I believe that's TOO MUCH SUGAR on your cereal' and 'Please sweep the floor after you sew'. He's a good sort.

I've noticed a few things creeping into my life lately.

I like to sew.

Sewing is cool. Sewing is THE coolest thing I do. Because it's so cool it's ice cold. I really love it, I'm great at it and it gives my creative brain a chance to flex some muscle more than hanging out with my two tiny dictators all day. Sewing has had a hip resurgence recently, as evidenced in the fabulous documentary that was on ABC recently featuring Pip Lincolne  - the name of said doco escapes me entirely. But yes, I like to sew. Sewing Mummy BFF comes over to sew once or twice a week and the first thing we do is boil the kettle. (See 'Decaf' below)

My Cousin's Pants.

I have a drop dead gorgeous spunkrat of a cousin (also: I'm pretty sure spunkrat isn't a cool word anyone) who sews her own garments and works at David Jones and looks generally awesome. She posted a pic of her mates and herself getting ready for their Christmas party and my first thought was 'Oh dear, she's forgotten to put her pants on.' For approximately three seconds I truly thought that. Then I realised she was wearing a very short fabulous outfit and I was old. 

Early Eating.

It's 5.50pm and we've finished dinner. I'm thinking about doing to washing up before the kids have a bath because then I can go to bed early.

Early Everything.

Early waking, early morning walks with my sewing Mummy buddy BFF, early lunch (11.30am is lunch, okay?) early dinner. Early dishes, early bed. Rarely early sleep because I've done all that shit early so I can stay awake half the night being alone without a small person touching me. Then, early morning. I no longer do gigs because they were mostly at night in pubs and there is no way in hell I could fathom going on stage at 9.30pm, let alone being awake later than 11pm. Old.

AM Cup of Tea.

Awaken. Boil kettle. Make strong cup of black tea. Drink in bed. Then we may exit the bedroom and begin the day. Not before then. So help you trying to have a conversation with me before this has happened. I literally don't make sense.
Mr S: 'So baby I'll be late home tonight. Can you please book the car in for a service it's making a noise and hang on Millie I'm talking to Mummy....'

I Am Not A Hipster

I don't know that I ever was. However, now I definitely notice Hipsters and I immediately feel old. My wardrobe consists of a few staple shirts with a few staple pants/skirts. There's a high chance that someone will wipe their lunch or spill their water on me, so there's minimal point in dressing up in the daylight hours. 

Is That A Gray Hair?

Mr S gives me no sympathy for this one. It's not, by the way.

I Still Use a Landline Phone

It's cordless, granted, but it is still a landline phone. And I use it to ring people, not my mobile phone.


I don't really swear anymore. Unless I'm gardening and I injure myself and I think I'm out of hearing range. Or the cat is licking my fingers whilst I'm typing. FFS Lucy.


I get my groceries delivered. It's glorious. This isn't something I ever imagined I'd get excited about.

Let's Catch Up

With a cup of tea ok? Unless it's after 1 or 2pm, otherwise I'd better have a decaf. I won't sleep otherwise.

Decaf Tea

See above.

Let's Catch Up #2

I'd love to! What time does A sleep? Ok, well, P sleeps here. M is due for a sleep around here... That leaves a narrow window between 11.45 and 12.30pm. LET'S ROCK AND ROLL. I MIGHT EVEN HAVE A COFFEE.


All Old Mummies joke about Wine O'Clock. I had Rekorderlig O'Clock after I put the monkeys to bed tonight and wondered if I drank a whole thing would I start feeling better? The reality is that drinking is a) expensive and b) far too much effort when you c) have to get up at Crap O'Clock the next morning. Let's have a quiet (decaf) cuppa and do some sewing ok? I need to be home by 9.30pm to be in bed by 10pm.


I never imagined that I'd spend entire phone conversations with my sister talking about the vegetables we like eating the most and the best ways to cook them.

Huffy Puffy Pram Patrol

Sewing Mummy BFF and I do our Huffy Puffy Pram Patrol of our town and surrounds on a regular basis. Keeps us in the fresh morning air, our jeans looser and our sanity... well, saner. We are not the Lycra Brigade who also do a Pram Patrol of our town, but we walk, talk and continually feed our children healthy snacks to guarantee silence.


I have a giddy feeling when my budget is balanced and I'm ahead on the mortgage. Did you know that I'll pay that sucker off ten years early for paying an extra $20/week? GLORIOUS. My head whizzes excitedly around spreadsheets with formulas. Unsurprisingly I freak out at the thought of getting bills and I usually pay well in advance. I could never spend my wages (non existant now I'm a Stay At Home Mum In Yoga Pants) and then worry about paying the phone bill the next week. Never ever. I never have any money but I never get bills.
I'm a total fangirl for YNAB and within a week of using it I found an exorbitant amount of money that had been just rushing out the door for no apparent reason. YNAB got us on track. I talk about it a lot. I LOVE IT. Sewing Mummy BFF loves it too and we do our Huffy Puffy Pram Patrol whilst talking mortgages and YNAB. At 8am. Old. Old old old old.

That was quite an extensive list. It proves one thing.

I am old enough to make sensible lists and expand upon the points of a list. Shit.

Friday, January 17, 2014

Amy vs The Super Foods

I began seeing various posts around the blogosphere on "Super Foods" a few years back. I was either pregnant or breastfeeding so I put it in the 'WHATEVER' basket and picked up my family sized block of chocolate again.

However, now I am neither pregnant nor breastfeeding more than once per day I'm curious. It started with buying some quinoa. How the blazes do you cook it so it doesn't taste like bitter sand? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

The quinoa went back into the cupboard (and to Pinterest) and I began using polenta and couscous more regularly than pasta. Baby steps. Baby steps.

I began to hack our daily bread by adding linseeds to the white bread mix. Then linseeds and a ground mix of sunflower seeds and pepita. Then linseeds, ground pepita sunflower mix, wheat bran and some wholemeal flour. Then linseeds, ground pepita sunflower mix, wheat bran and wholemeal flour to wholemeal bread mix. And by golly, that bread is DELICIOUS.

Then chia seeds entered my life. Mr S commented on the insane cost of said seeds and I vowed to make them worthwhile! I added some to the bread mix. Delicious!

Mr S is embarking on a hike to Federation Peak and I began to wonder what I could bake for the crew to keep their energy levels up. Mr S says 'SUGAR. CHOCOLATE. ALL THE SUGARY CHOCOLATE.' which there will be, but I thought something different, too.


THIS RECIPE! But with a few modifications. I added a tablespoon of cacao, a dribble of malt rice syrup, a dash of vanilla and a tablespoon of brown sugar, because it tasted like dirt otherwise. I omitted the garlic and onion.

I turned the oven on to 200oC, prepared the mix, wondered at the extraordinary cooking time (3 hours?!) decided they were deranged. I tried an hour, flipped and cut, then prepared for another half hour.

This happened.

Ah, crap.

I ran through all obvious mistakes in my head, ruling them out one by one. Obivously. I am a GREAT baker. The recipe was wrong. WRONG WRONG WRONG.

Then it dawned on me.

200oF. AKA 93oC.

I present to you a very expensive batch of compost. Ah, crap.


Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...