Tour de France

My husband doesn't watch T.V. - Tour De France being his one and only exception, when he sits up half the night for three weeks, transfixed by two hundred guys on bicycles.  On the odd occasion I watch the beginning with him, hoping to poke him in the ribs as they show off some stunning chateaux.  I'll be honest - I also enjoy the culinary segment presented by Gabriel Gate'.

Well the other day, Gabriel Gate' dished up a recipe for leg of lamb, Normandy style.  With sheep grazing in the foreground, and Mt St Michel in the background, who could resist?

So I told my daughter that tonight Gabriel Gate' was coming to cook dinner.  "Gabriel who?", she asked.  So I explained.  She gazed at me.  So I dug out my best French accent, and tried to impersonate the famous chef.  Aha ... now she understood.  Except that she forgot his name.

So, all afternoon she kept asking "So, when is Master Chef coming?"

When we finally made it into the kitchen, I impersonated Gabriel again, just to set the scene.  By now she memorised his surname - well, sort of.  So, every time I turned my back it was "Hey, Gateaux!"

And if I turned around and spoke normally I was heavily reprimanded that "you are not Mama any more, you are Gateaux, speak like Gateaux!"

As the dinner preparations went on, and our conversation continued - me speaking with ze sexy French accent, and flirting like a true Frenchman, while the little girl batted her lashes, blushed, smiled and encouraged me to go on, we eventually moved onto first name basis.  Except my female form must have cast an influence, and so it became "Hey Gabriella!".

Eventually, dinner was served.  Given how much play acting and French talking oozed over it anything could have been forgiven, but it was not only edible, but delicious!  I was allowed to become Mama again as long as Gabriel made the odd appearance.

Charlie

On Saturday, while I was unpacking the float and Sabina was merrily dancing around me, my husband came over with a little box.  Inside was a tiny baby mouse, still alive.  It's eyes were still closed and it had just enough hair to stop looking pink.  He'd found it in the old compost bin.  (As opposed to the "current" compost bin, which is where all our food scraps go.)

Sabina was fascinated.  I wondered whether the little fella could be hand fed.  So we went back to the house, got a pipette out and tried feeding him with cows milk.  Sure enough, the little fella was keen to drink, and while he probably bathed in most of it, I was pretty confident that he'd had a good drink.

Then we put him to bed in a box, with a hot water bottle.  He shivered for a couple of minutes, then settled down and went to sleep.  Sabina was ecstatic.

When Papa came in she ran over to him and said "Charlie has had a feed and now he's sleeping in his bed.  Do you want to see?"

Papa gazed at me with concern.  "You've named him?"

I gathered that the baby mouse was intended as an interesting farm exhibit, rather than a new pet.  Hmmm ...

As I had no idea how often and how much a little 5 day old mouse needs to be fed, I fed Charlie whenever I had some spare time.  But in the evening I warned Sabina "I am not getting up in the middle of the night to feed him.  He might not make it.  Ok?"  She nodded.  But Charlie made it.  He was a bit cold in the morning, but he made it.  And he had a good feed for breakfast.

For the next couple of blissful days we fed Charlie as often as we could, and he seemed to be thriving.  Sabina had a go at feeding him, and it was wonderful to see just how gentle, careful and patient she was with him.  We stroked him, and massaged him, just the way his mother would.  He grew stronger, and more vocal, and sometimes wriggled with great force in our palm.  He was happiest when held in a gently closed fist.  And he loved having his stomach massaged - he would lie still on his back, with his feet curled up.  Sometimes he had a mind of his own, and it was obvious that one day, Charlie was going to be fast.  Very fast.

We probably spent hours with Charlie.  But they were all blissful hours.  Hours that we looked forward to.  All other tasks got done in half the time, so that we'd have more time with Charlie.  Charlie became our family time, our time out, our escape from the real world.

Then it was time for me to go to work.  While I was very tempted to take Charlie with me into work, and I could even potentially justify that while feeding Charlie for the umpteenth time I was actually thinking up the latest and greatest architecture, it was going to break some serious security rules.  So, Charlie, together with Sabina (who happened to have the day off school), went to my Mum's.

Now my Mum has a huge affinity for all things living.  Everything thrives in her hands and under her care.  But somehow, Charlie didn't survive the day.  All I can say is that my Mum was more interested in the well being of her granddaughter than her granddaughter's baby mouse, and she didn't have enough energy for both.

The little guy got a proper burial in our backyard, and we decorated his resting place with petals.  This certainly gave Sabina a positive way to move forward, and soon she had wiped away the tears and was gratefully hugging her guinea pigs.  But I must admit, that the little guy has left a gaping hole in my day.  Lets just say that the massive enthusiasm to get up in the morning is gone.

I am grateful for the experience; Charlie will be missed.

Captain Hook

Recently we took a holiday at the sea side.  The weather was foul - it poured most of the time we were there, despite being the end of summer.  On one of those pouring days, we nevertheless went down to the beach to see if we could manage a swim.

There was only one other car in the car park, and while my husband and I were busy getting things out of the boot, the couple from the other car were, so it seems, doing likewise.

Slowly, I became aware of Sabina.  She was holding, no wait, more like gently gripping my elbow, while intensely eying off the other car.  There was this edgy feeling coming from my daughter that something wasn't quite right.  I glanced across at the other car.  Indeed, the man was missing half his right arm.  From the elbow to the wrist he had a nice enough looking prosthesis, which ended with ... a hook.

I pretended not to notice anything, and kept myself busy with grabbing towels, boogie boards and other what nots for the beach.  Sabina stepped in closer and closer, ever so gently molding into me, until there was barely enough room for our clothes.  When the man finally moved away, and went for a walk with his partner, Sabina dared to ask.

"Mama, was that ... was that ...", she stumbled.

"Who?  Captain Hook?", I said casually.

Here eyes widened with a stunned, fearful look as she nodded.

"Of course that was Captain Hook!" I responded boldly.

"But Mama, where is his ship?!", the little girl found her voice again.

"Well, no one, not even the pirates, can sail in foul whether like this.  So they've probably dropped anchor somewhere just out of sight, and the pirates have come ashore", I explained as though this was common knowledge.

"But Mama, why didn't he take me and hold me for ransom?", asked Sabina.

"Pirates aren't silly you know.  I was here, and Papa was here, and the life savers are here, and even the Police are here.  He can't exactly grab you and get away with it, can he?  You're very lucky, you know.  You're probably the only child that has seen Captain Hook and got away with it."

On and on it went.  For the next two days.  Captain Hook this and Captain Hook that.  We got a lot of mileage out of Captain Hook.  And I believe that Sabina, now back at school, is still getting plenty of mileage out of Captain Hook.

Run Guinea Pig! RUN!!!

My daughter received a DVD of "White Tuft, the little beaver" for Christmas.  The DVD is fantastic, filmed in the Canadian forest, with no visible human intervention whatsoever.  That's right, a real river, with real beavers, wolves, owls, lynxes, you name it.

Living in Australia, my daughter had never heard of beavers before.  So the start of the movie was littered with questions.  What are these animals?  What do they do?  Where do they live?  What do they eat?  And of course, what are they called again?

Then the part came in the movie, when White Tuft, the little beaver is being chased by wolves.  Earlier on, we were told that White Tuft's father was taken by wolves.  So the danger was obvious.

And, what are they called again?

At first Sabina tried to run off the couch in fear for the little beaver.  But, curiousity drew her back to the screen.  Yet, she couldn't watch the little fellow being followed by these wolves.  So in the end, she just screamed "Run guinea pig!  RUN!!!"

(Come to think of it, there are many similarities between the beaver and the guinea pig.)

Chipped tooth

I have chipped a tooth.  About a quarter of one of my molars has come off.  It's a big chunk.  As big as one of my daughter's milk teeth.

There is no doubt that chemo has been a major contributor to this occurrence.  I feel totally depressed.  Not "tears" kind of depressed.  Just depressed.  For a while I feel like I'm in a bubble, removed from the outside world.  The sounds have gone dull, and life is moving in slow motion.

I tell my daughter about the chipped tooth.  She looks in my mouth and exclaims "oh mama!"  I don't even have to point her to the tooth in question.  It's that big.

"Mama, do you have the chipped bit?", she asks.

"Yes."  I show her the chip, and she examines it with great interest and care.

"Well mama, you can put the chip next to your bed, and the tooth fairy will come and take it, and give you a dollar for it."

I give her a doubtful look.

"The dentist bill to get this fixed is going to be much more than a dollar", I whinge.

"Mama, but that's always a dollar more", says Sabina with enthusiasm.  "A dollar, is always a dollar."

Tooth fairy runs out of time

I went up to my daughter's bedroom to wake her up.  I opened the door, and slowly crept in.  The sight of the slightly bloody tissue made my stomach sink.  Oh no!  My daughter had obviously lost a tooth last night, after we had bid her goodnight.  And of course ... the tooth was still there, waiting for the tooth fairy that never came.  We (as parents) were about to be in big trouble.

I quickly averted my gaze, as my daughter stirred awake.  Immediately, she looked at her bedside table.  She saw the tooth still lying there.

"Mama!  Look!", she screamed with disappointment.

"Oh sweetness, what's that?  Did you lose a tooth last night?"

She nodded.

"Mama!  But the tooth fairy didn't come!  I stayed awake waiting for her to take the tooth, and she never came.  And then I got bored and fell asleep.  I really wanted to see the tooth fairy!  Oh mama!"

(Oh dear!)

"Well, you know, I'm thinking, maybe the tooth fairy ran out of time.  I suppose she's got a lot of teeth to pick up, and because you lost your tooth so late in the evening, she just couldn't fit you in any more.  I think you should leave the tooth just there, and maybe the tooth fairy will come tonight", I responded, hoping it will be good enough.

Part of me wanted to scream "there is no tooth fairy, get over it kid!  You're seven now.  Reality check!  Hello!"  But I just smiled, holding that thought to myself.

"Mama, I really wanted to see the tooth fairy", the little girl said sadly as she got out of bed and headed down for breakfast.

xxx

That night, after my daughter fell asleep, the tooth fairy picked up the tooth and left a dollar.  The little girl was all smiles again the next morning, still believing in the tooth fairy.

Famous Five

When I was young, about 10 or 11, I read the Famous Five series by Enid Blyton.  I loved it.  I loved the books so much, that I spent my own hard earned pocket money on the books.  Then I kept the books, hoping one day to read them to my children.  That time has arrived!

After reading two of the Harry Potter books to Sabina, I decided she was a bit too young to continue with the rest, and we needed to veer off at a tangent.  I reached for the first Famous Five book, and coaxed Sabina through the first chapter.  "Mama, it's boring!".

I must admit, after Harry Potter, the first chapter of the series left a lot to be desired.  In fact the first entire book was littered with the overuse of certain words, as well as some strange sentence grammar.  Not incorrect, per se.  We just don't seem to "talk" or write like that these days.

By the second chapter she was hooked.

We finished the first book, and there were squeals of delight when Sabina discovered that we also own the second book in the series.

By the end of the second book, she had managed to defiantly hide her cousin in a "secret passage" to stop her from going home.  She was hoping that the grandparents and other cousin would happily leave without the hidden girl, and they would be able to continue playing together.

Go West ... ern

Our pony club declared that they were having a "Western Day".  The kids were going to experience everything Western - Western riding, videos of Western horses, etc.  Of course, we were encouraged to dress up too.

I have no idea what possessed me.  A Western shirt and a bandana would have done just fine.  But no.  For some reason, I, not my lovely daughter attending Pony Club, but I ... I got all carried away and decided that I had to make some chaps for Sabina.  Initially I had visions of brown leathery chaps, but imagination very quickly took me towards pink chaps with tassles.  (I LOVE tassles.)  For two days I was like a whirlwind possessed (or should that be tornado possessed?).

Two days - that's how long it took to buy the material (and tassles), surf the internet only to find that free patterns for chaps are hard to come by (but x-rated sites are not!  sheesh!), create a pattern out of paper ("Mama, I'm not going to wear those, they will rip"), cut the material (oh, do be careful, there's no going back), and then stitch it all together (they fit, yay!).

The final product was a hit, but it took me a week to recover from my whirlwind effort.

Harry Potter and the Family Wizards

My reading of the Harry Potter books to my daughter, has not only started a trend. It has started a cult-like following. It all started when my daughter arrived at the table one lunchtime and announced "Mama, I hope I will be in Griffindor".

We are not ones to gape for long, and I replied "I'm sure you will be. After all, I was in Griffindor".

Sabina took my response in her stride, as though it was obvious that I had gone to wizarding school, and turned to Papa.

"Papa, what house where you in, when you went to Hogwarts?"

"Ravenclaw", replied Papa.

Jokes aside though, when you start digging deeper, how do you explain the picture of my mum with a black cat sitting on her shoulder? And why do we have wizard's robes and hats hanging in the upstairs bedroom?

It also doesn't help that we have a guinea pig named Ginny, and a horse name Lilly.

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

So, I have successfully read "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone" to Sabina. But, where did I get the book from? Well, I borrowed it from a trusted friend. Of course, she happened to have the whole set of books in a box, so she lent me the entire box.

Having enjoyed the first book, I quickly moved onto the second book. I ... moved onto the second book - not the entire family. I didn't want to start a trend, so I read the second book in secret. But, of course, inadvertently, at some point, I left it visible. Well, eyes started sparking, and mouths started watering, when the remainder of the family saw the second book lying around, my bookmark clearly somewhat through the book.

One pleading look from Sabina, and I was roped into reading the second book out aloud. We've had an absolutely brilliant time reading the second book as a family. There has been much discussion about every chapter, what happened yesterday, what clues have Harry, Ron and Hermione missed. We also have a good laugh at George and Fred's antics. (Sabina runs down the corridor screaming "Watch out! Heir of Slytherin coming through".)

My favourite moment was when Sabina actually worked out some of the clues, before they were given away in the story.

So ... it appears ... that I have started a trend after all.

Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

An innocent post on my own blog about Harry Potter has led to a series of chain events, which have culminated in me reading the book to my 6 year old daughter. While reading the book, I especially focussed on the quality of reading, rather than getting through an entire chapter in one sitting. Having watched the movies, I imitated the voices of all the various characters - getting pretty close with most of them, except for Hagrid.

Sabina loved the book from the first sentence. She was totally mesmerised by the story, and plagued me to read not just in the evening, but during our afternoon siesta as well! Towards the end of the book, when Harry, Ron and Hermoine go down the trapdoor guarded by the three headed dog, Sabina was on the edge of the bed, screaming at me "No mama! They can't go down there!", and "Oh mama, what are they doing?", and "No stop! Don't go down there! Oh mama." I could hardly get a word in edgewise.

I would also like to note, that my husband was an avid listener as well. Whenever he missed an official reading session, he would catchup in his own time. (An unusual activity for him, as he is mainly an avid map-reader.)

We all thoroughly enjoyed the book, and found it a fantastic family activity.

Roast Chicken

"Remember Aussie Sundays, when the chook was worth the wait ..."

Yes, that's right, I've taken to roasting chicken. It's become our regular Saturday night dinner. Why is it that when you cook the different bits of chook separately they come out average? But when you roast the whole bird it comes out juicy, tasty and with crispy skin? Finger licking delicious! We fight over every bit - the wings, the drumsticks, the thighs, the breasts and the wishing bone.

It's also a fantastic family meal, as we argue over the different bits, and trade with crispy skin. The interaction is fantastic, and the kids just put it away.

I pulled a very simple recipe off the internet one day. It goes something like this.

Ingredients
1 chook
1 lemon
salt
oil

Method

1. Preheat oven to 250 deg C.
2. Wash chicken and pat dry with a paper towel.
3. Cut lemon in half, and squeeze some of the juice over the chicken, and some inside the chicken.
4. Sprinkle salt inside the chicken.
5. Put the lemon back together again, and stuff the chicken with the lemon. Tie the legs to hold lemon in place.
6. Sprinkle salt on the chicken.
7. Pour oil on chicken.
8. Rub salt and oil into the chicken.
9. Place chicken in deep, ovenproof dish, uncovered. Chest up. Use bottom shelf in oven.
10. Roast at 250 deg C for 30 minutes.
11. Reduce oven to 180 deg C and roast (uncovered). Roasting time depends on weight of chicken - allow 1 hour of total roasting time for each 1kg of chicken. So if your chicken weighs 1.5kg then you would roast 30 minutes on 250 deg C, and then a further 1 hour on 180 deg C, for a total roasting time of 1.5 hours.

Timing
The best part about roasting chicken is the timing. Here is how it works.

• Sabina and I go for a horse ride, and return tired.
• I leave the little girl with the ponies (she is now old enough for this) and I rush back to the house, preheat the oven, get the chook sorted, and put it in the oven.
• I then rush back to Sabina, crackers and dip in hand.
• Sabina snacks while I unsaddle the ponies.
• I zip back, turn down the oven.
• Then, together, we put the ponies away.
• Then we head back to the house.  I now have one happy child, who has now regained enough energy to play, or help set the table, while I get some veggies ready.

Caveats
Almost forgot. And then we got the electricity bill.

Take a number

Sabina has been really sick yesterday.  She is better today, but still sitting in bed.  And drawing.  And she needs a sharpener for her pencil.  Well, we've just arrived at the farm and I am busy busy busy.  Busy lighting fire, busy unpacking the car, busy putting food in the fridge.  Busy.

"Mama, I need a sharpener", she pleads.

"Oh Sabina, take a number", I say jokingly.  She thinks about this for a moment, then says "so, what number am I?"

For a split second, I am stumped.

"Number 2", I recover.

But wait, it gets better.  A few minutes later, she needs something else.

"Mama, you need to colour in the spider.  What number am I this time?", she asks.

"Number 4", I respond.

"Ok, and who is number 3?", she quizzes.

"My coffee!"

At this point, I'm laughing, and add "Sabina, that's going straight to the blog".

"To where?", she looks at me puzzled.

"To the blog", I straighten up.

"Oh, is that where the santonym went?"

Gone paddling

Last night Sabina and I drove up to the farm. Peter arrived some time later, and by that time, Sabina was asleep. This morning, she woke up all excited and asked "where is Papa?". Gone. Gone paddling.

The little girl was undisturbed by this, and went off, merrily to play with her toys. Half an hour later she emerged with her soft toys stuffed into the guinea pig tunnel. "Look Mama", she said, "they're paddling".

Synonyms

"... and that makes them a bit rattled", I said.

"Mama is that a cinnamon to angry?", responded Sabina.

"A what?", I asked, paying attention.

"A ... a ... well you know, a cinnamon", she repeated.

"Well, you're on the right track, but it's not 'cinamon'", I laughed.

"A sen ... a sentiment?", she a asked.

I gazed.

"A san ... a sant..."

"No!  It's not a santa either!  How about a 'synonym'?", I asked.  The little girl's eyes sparkled.

"Yes Mama!  A cinnamon!"

Palomino

Ever since Sabina read the "Silver Brumby" she has, first of all noticed, and secondly fallen in love with, palomino horses.  The palomino has a golden body, with a silver mane and tail.  They are beautiful horses.

Now, palomino reverberates in her play, and in her life.  When we drive in the car along country roads, she spots palomino horses in paddocks miles away.  The other day, she saw a labrador being walked through town - "oh Mama, look!  A palomino dog!".  Cissy is her favourite guinea pig, because part of her coat is gold and white, and that makes her edge towards a palomino.

Finally, one day Sabina ran into the bathroom, then ran out again, smiling.  She looked at me, then said "Mama, I'm also a palomino!".

Kids and puddles

There is something about puddles that makes them absolutely irresistible to kids.  Even if it's just wading through them in your gumboots to see how deep they are.

 But even better if you can take your schleich horses along for a bit of a wade!

Thowra and the foal were also lucky enough to snack on an apple.

While Boon Boon chose to go for a drink.

Good thinking

Now, remember that brand new schleich horse Sabina was playing with in the man made creek yesterday? Well she's got a couple of others, but, it's not enough!! So she's been begging me for more schleich horses. I'm a tough mum, and said "no".

Today, I was away for the entire morning at Adult Riding Club. When I returned, Sabina's play room was spotlessly clean. I marvelled at the cleanliness, realising that either Sabina or Papa are behind this, and in either case praise is a good idea.

"Mama", Sabina spoke up first. "I cleaned the playroom!", she said excited. "Papa helped", she added, realising that Papa was listening in the kitchen. "But", she continued, "he didn't want to help at first. It was too hard for me to clean it all up. So I told him he must help me, and he did. And now it's beautiful." She danced across the room.

I gazed over at Papa. He nodded.

"Well Sabina, I am very impressed", I said. "You realised the problem was too big for you to handle, you asked for help, and when you were refused help, you didn't give up. Well done. That, my dear, is called thinking."

The little girl was beaming.

"I think you can have a reward for that - a schleich horse", I smiled.

The hands went up in the air. "Yay!", cheered Sabina, jumping up and down on the spot.

"Do you know why you're getting the horse?", I asked. I've got to be sure the right message is sinking in.

"Because the job was too big, and I asked for help, and when Papa said no, I didn't give up", she re-iterated perfectly.

"That's right", I said, triumphant that the right lesson had sunken in.

"Mama", Sabina gazed at me, "it's such a big achievement, that perhaps I deserve two horses?"

"No! Don't push your luck!", I laughed. "But, Sabina, I love the way you think!"

Expecting Harry

While on chemo, and recovering from it, I have been forcing myself to rest by watching videos. Amongst these, a friend lent me two of the Harry Potter DVDs.

My daughter came home from school, and noticed the DVDs lying on the coffee table. "Mama, what are these?", she asked immediately.

"Oh that?", I peered at her over the rim of my glasses, in a manner similar to that of Dumbledorf. "That's Harry Potter."

A twinkle lit up in Sabina's eyes. "Mama, I've ... I've heard about him at school", Sabina stumbled over her words. But she may as well have said "Mama, I've been expecting him".

Taming Thowra

Once upon a time, when I was young, I was sent on a horse camp and fell in love with horses. My pleadings for a pony fell on deaf ears, but my parents were more than happy to drive me to the local library. There, I found "The Silver Brumby" books (see also here) and immersed myself in them. In my imagination I gallopped breathlessly with Thowra and Storm up the Ramshead range, and together with them I jumped down rocky outcrops.

So last year, when I spotted "The Silver Brumby" in a second hand bookshop, I bought it for my daughter, thinking that when she's about 10, she too might enjoy reading it. Well, that timeframe was shortened when a friend lent us the first series of "The Silver Brumby" cartoon. Sabina immediately fell in love with Thowra and Storm and watched the cartoon over and over again.

Then we watched the movie together, and then Papa read her the book. Sabina fell further in love with Thowra, with Bel Bel and with Golden. She would run around the playground, holding her arms out pretending that she was Thowra, rearing and striking out. Sometimes she would gallop around on Golden, and when we loaded the ponies into the float, her pretend Golden would always go on first.

In her playroom she added new horses, and they all jumped across "the ravine".

And finally, whenever we went out for a walk, Sabina would pretend we were brumby hunting. One time, I actually rode out with her, and we had to get off our ponies to herd the pretend brumbies, into the pretend corral. Of course, her brumby hunts were never fruitless. At the very least, she would come back with two brumbies. Then we had to spend time taming them, lunging them, getting them used to the saddle. Remember, we're talking pretend brumbies here.

In her brumby hunts, Sabina caught all sorts of brumbies, Bel Bel herself included. But for a long, long time Thowra eluded her. Although we did catch glimpses of him every now and then. Eventually, she gave in to temptation, and achieved a fete that no stockman in the book could. Finally, Sabina caught Thowra. And ... yes ... she tamed him, and rode him.

In the process, she became fascinated with the palomino colour. So when we started discussing a new pony, she desperately wanted a palomino. Luckily, when she met her new pony, a chestnut with a flaxen mane, she felt happy enough, as long as she could call her "Bel Bel".