Brought to you by the number 33. May 29, 2010

OK. So I’m 33 tomorrow. That’s the same age as Jesus. He had done one or two more things in his life than I have, but things ended rather abruptly for him at this point, and I hopefully have a few years left, so there’s time for more stuff.

I’ve been lax with the blog, for which my apologies. Turns out I’m not the most frequent blogger.  But its quality over quantity that’s important people, so hang in there.   I’ve been busy. Busy with my family, and busy working too. I’m back working for myself, writing policy, writing presentations, writing anything really, with a little business analyst work thrown in for good measure.  You can see my work on www.policypeople.co.nz if you’re interested.

So the baby is in daycare, and loving it. That ‘baby’, who is nearly one now and quite the big boy. Everyone else is fine, if you don’t count a broken arm (master 4).  Life is busy.  It seems like time is racing by like a kid on roller skates and I’m growing up.  What makes me feel older anything is the fact that I have a SEVEN year old (nearly).   That’s crazy. I’ve been married for 12 years. That’s crazy too. 33, 1, 4, 7, 12. I should buy a lotto ticket, but I bet I don’t.  Lately I’ve been ‘winning’ $12 by not buying one as I walk by. It’s a guaranteed win – try it.

So I’m 33 in 3 hours. It’s quite grown up, and old and all, but thankfully I still have some living to do. In my world, every day is an adventure and a challenge, with something to be achieved in it. I like trying new things, and making up challenges.  I ‘ran’ a half marathon to see if I could. I cram a lot into each day. I love doing the most, the best, that I can. I am pretty intolerant of people who don’t do their best, be all they can be. Not only is it boring, it’s wasteful. You only get one shot at life, and you need to grab it by the balls and make the most of it. I think I do. But there’s always more to be done, to be seen, to be realised. I often wish you could have more than one life.

If I got another shot, I would have been a doctor.  I’d be a GP, and I’d have loved it. Trouble is, I never did sciences at school, so I never ended up pointed in that direction. But my god I would have loved medicine.   And yes, I have looked at starting now. But it’s 13 years to get right through, and while I would still have some working life, the investment doesn’t stack up. And there’s those kids I have who need raising. And I make a good living from my work now. So meantime I watch Greys, and House, and chat with my awesome GP about interesting medical stuff, and live vicariously through my clever sister, who is an A and E nurse. She’s pretty cool.

What would you do if you got another shot? And what holds you back from doing that now?

See you on the stairs.  I’ll be the one who is 33.

Cath

Forever and always February 9, 2010

“What are you always thinking about?”
asked the little white rabbit.
“I’m just thinking about my wish,” replied the little black rabbit.
“What is your wish?” asked the little white rabbit.
“I just wish that I could be with you forever and always,”
replied the little black rabbit.
The little white rabbit opened her eyes very wide
and thought very hard.
“Why don’t you wish a little harder?”
asked the little white rabbit.

The rabbits’ wedding was in our childhood library. It was a sweet little story. I’m not sure I thought much about it as a small person, and certainly didn’t think it was a comment on interracial marriage, as some have. Garth Williams wrote this book in 1958. It’s the story of a white rabbit and a black rabbit who play together and are great friends. As the story goes along, the black rabbit is sad, and worries about what might happen if one day he could not be with the white rabbit. As you can see from text I’ve cut in, he eventually asks his friend to marry him, so they can be together “forever and always.” If I was getting married now, I might even use this as a reading – who knew it was so delightful?

Anyhow, I’ve been thinking a bit about marriage lately. I am qualified to speak a little about this, having been married for maybe 11 years. I have also helped deliver pre-marriage courses, which, for the record, are more valuable than gold. I was talking to a friend recently about marriage. He had noticed that there was a lot of attention and energy spent on parenting, child raising, parent education etc. There are TV shows (thanks Nigel Latta) books, classes, and more, all aimed to help you birth, parent, and educate your children. My friend commented that there seem to be more resources going into parenting than there are into marriages. And what is more important for a kid, he wondered, than two happy parents?

Too true. People get married often in the first flush of new love, when all looks rosy in the world. Everyone talks about the wedding, the reception, the dress, the flowers. All of which is wonderful. But there is little thought given to the marriage that follows the wedding day, and I don’t see a lot of resource being thrown at people planning to spend their lives together.  When marriages get into trouble, the courts provide three free counselling sessions, to assist couples who have children to determine what happens next. What about some help at the other end of the journey, where it could be much more valuable, and indeed preventative?

I am one of a rare breed of people who comes from a family where the parents are still married. To each other, not to two new people! I am married, joyfully so. Increasingly, marriages and relationships don’t last. I think there are a whole bunch of reasons why this is. Way up there at the top of the list I’d put because couples don’t talk to each other. There seems to be a fear about what the other partner might think about this or that thought or feeling. Or perhaps that days get busy with work and social life, and eventually with children, and then more children, and suddenly there has developed a void between you that seems uncrossable. So, for the sake of your marriage, talk. Build little rituals into your day where you share information.

My (amazing) husband and I talk about our favourite things at days end. We lie in bed, and ask the other what our favourite thing of that day was. It might have been laughing with the baby, or sitting on the ferry in the sun, or some other small joy. By sharing this little thing, we get a window into the other person’s day, some shared understanding. And because this is a habit of ours, the repeated question each evening is a little bridge to more communication. It isn’t much, and it shouldn’t be. This is more important than evenings out in fancy restaurants, or flowers that just die anyway (though I will suffer those if I must! )

There is much, much more I could say. Perhaps enough to fill a book?  I’m not an advocate of staying in marriages that aren’t working for the sake of ‘marriage’. But I am an advocate of learning how to love over the course of a lifetime. In a great marriage, that love runs more deeply and is more fulfilling as the years go by.  Great marriages have positive effect on children, on other couples, and on communities too.

Somehow a good marriage enhances not just those two people, but those around them as their love for each other is reflected in what they do in the world. It’s as if the energy you gain from being well loved can then be passed on, in greater quantity and to good effect. I bet you can think of a couple who have a great relationship, and it shows on the faces of their kids, in their work, in the volunteering they do, in the advice and help that they give to you. They look to do more, learn more, understand more.  I hope that when my time here is done, someone will think of us as a couple like this.

See you on the stairs,

Cath

We’re all going on a summer holiday…. January 19, 2010

OK, so it’s been forever and a day since I last blogged. My apologies. My poor excuse is that I live in New Zealand, and as any New Zealander knows, nothing happens in this country AT ALL from Christmas eve right through the first three weeks of January. Nothing. The reason for that is that we are all off at a beach somewhere, camping, or staying in a bach, playing cards, swimming, fishing, and drinking wine. Which is pretty much a summary of our Christmas holidays. Christmas day was awesome… There was backyard cricket:

a sunken pavlova (see the Night before Christmas post), and quite a bit of afternoon dozing on the couch.

After Christmas, our nuclear family took off to the beach. Omapere, to be exact.  Omapere is in the Hokianga harbour, on New Zealand’s west coast, for international readers. It’s about an hour and a half past Dargaville.

On the way there, we got stuck in a uniquely NZ traffic jam….

Are we moooooving yet? (Sorry.)

Our bach looked across the harbour to the giant sand dunes. Northland Maori tell the story of how these sand dune mountains were created. It is said that a great forest of Kauri trees once covered the entrance to the harbour. Kupe, the polynesian explorer, landed here, on his journey from Hawaiki. He was so happy there, he stayed until he was an old man. In his old age, he wanted to return to Hawaiki. One of his sons was so angry at being left behind, that he lit a fire which burned down the whole forest. Apparently you can still find charred remains of Kauri trees under the sand….

Whatever the reason the dunes are there, masters 6 and 3 had an awesome day with their Dad sliding down them on what passes for a toboggan. I stayed home  - master 0 not being quite up to board riding just yet – and watched them as tiny dots through binoculars.

It was idyllic. Just the sort of place you could sit and watch the sunset, and (lucky us) watch Orca whales cruising by as they chased sting rays for a summer snack.

.

.

Out the other window, we had a view of this:

Does the happiness of small boys know no bounds??  They delighted in watching the engine go in and out of the shed, get washed, and see volunteer firepersons come and go. I even think it was worth the completely predictable new years eve call out at 3am where the siren sounded and woke every single one of us up. Still, we could watch out the windows, and the volunteer firefighters waved as they ran into the station to get their fireperson gear on and go save the world from an actual fire, we found out later, down the road a bit in Rawene.

The boys played in rock pools, at the beach, went fishing (master 6 caught a snapper!) and otherwise had the sort of holiday small boys love. I largely hung out at the bach with the baby, who was a bundle of loveliness as usual. It was waaaaay too hot to be taking him outside for much of the day, so we were a bit home bound, but we made bread, did the usual laundry and dinner routine, but also had a bit of time for napping and reading, so that was OK.

So we came home, the more to holiday here. Busy husband was at home right up until yesterday, and did an amazing job taking the big kids hither and yon and hither again in their quest for world domination. And just when we had completely exhausted him, he got to go back to work. Where there is air conditioning. And quiet time. I’m sure he is loving it.

So we have two more weeks of school holidays to get through before relative order is restored with the arrival of school and daycare. And until then we have holiday swimming and holiday tennis and holiday cooking to do. In fact, the reason I came on to write the blog was to write about the cooking, but that will have to wait for the next one, as this one has turned into quite the holiday piece.

In some ways, one could say that I’m on one loooong holiday now – I quit my job the other day. OK, so I was on maternity leave in any case, but I did have a reasonably clear plan to return to work. I had enrolled master 0 in daycare and everything. But after a lot of thought, I chose to give this particular job up.  Largely this is because the cost of full time childcare for two, and before & after school care for 1, would eat up too much of my salary for me to be happy to work. I will miss it, specifically I will miss the worky challenges and coffee and the people and the peace. But I hope I can get some work done as I have done before, as a self-employed sort, creating policies and other documentation for businesses. Watch this space. (And, for the record, being at home with 3 children is no kind of holiday, in case you were wondering.)

Enough for now. I hope your summer holidays have been as long and as relaxed as mine. And that those of you in the freezing northern hemisphere are full of hot chocolates and warm jackets and white fluffy snow, and such.

See you on the stairs

Cath

O Holy Night December 24, 2009

Well, now it actually is the night before Christmas. Well, at least the day before. The sun is shining – it’s so hot that you can’t go outside. Our house is unnaturally quiet as masters 6 and 3 have gone to terrorise their grandparents, OVERNIGHT, and won’t be back for one more blessed hour. This has meant that I have wrapped all the gifts, been to get the fresh fruit, and been to the supermarket, and am generally entirely ready for the big day tomorrow. As usual, Santa has completely over-bought for the children, and the lounge was a sea of gifts and wrapping paper – just wrapping it all up.

I have a pavlova in the oven from this recipe, and it looks as though it just might work out. I’ve never made a pavlova before, but this was truly so ridiculously easy I will never buy one again. It will be topped with cream and strawberries though, not that healthy yoghurt stuff! It is Christmas after all. The Christmas cake is all made too, and has been sitting quietly in it’s tin sipping brandy for a couple of weeks (shame I can’t say the same) and the mince pies I made have mostly been eaten… perhaps I can summon up a few more this afternoon.  The last thing I have to do is pick the vegetables from the garden to bring to the Christmas table. (Cue sigh of happiness.)

Tomorrow we will be off to the family homestead, and after mass will begin feasting on:

…

Warm chelsea buns, and scones with jam and cream

…

then for lunch…

Chickens (3) Pumpkin, red onion and feta salad, with sugars nap peas from the garden, roast vegetable salad, green and yellow beans from the garden as well as freshly shelled peas.

…

And for afterwards…

Christmas pudding, perhaps brandy butter…?

Pavlova, perhaps even small meringues?

Christmas Cake

I know I know, no turkey or ham, but really this year with all of us facing some fiscal challenge or other, chickens seemed just as good, and far less expensive than the turkeys and hams for sale. And what’s it all about other than spending time with family in any case?

So the halls are decked, not with holly but with summery things, in this southern hemisphere Christmas.  Wishing you all a peaceful Christmas, and a new year full of hope and challenge.

See you on the stairs,

Cath

PS – If you are super lucky I’ll post a Christmas photo or two.

PPS – The pavlova sunk.

The grinch who stole christmas December 19, 2009

It is nearly Christmas. And it is forever since I lasted blogged, for which my apologies. But sometimes being the mother of three, the wife of one, and chief cook and bottle washer takes up more time than it should, and allows little to no time for lying about in tropical resorts, drinking martinis, or blogging. Sad but true.

So now Master 6 and 3 are on holidays, better to use up all my time and energy. Yesterday was day 1, and at 8.23am, Master 6 proclaimed he was bored. This did not go down well, and resulted in some bedroom time – for him, not me. For the record, this is the same six year old who has woken at 4.47am the last two days running, in some kind of twisted ‘I’m excited that it is holidays so I wake up early so I don’t miss out on anything’ horror story. The less said about that the better.

So yesterday I was wondering what to do with the little terrors in the afternoon, and chanced upon the plan that they would help me clean up the house. They are young enough to think this is a fun game, mostly. We worked for a good couple of hours, and now I have some parts of the house that are clean, like the kitchen cupboard fronts, and UNDER the couches, which really really weren’t clean before. I think this will be one of the main holiday activities moving forward.

We also did fun stuff like go see Santa for a picture. I bribed them into wearing smart shirts for the occasion. Master 3 had an abolute paddy about this, which made the preparation that little bit more pleasent. When we got there, Santa asked if they had been good, the usual carry on, and they lied through their teeth and said they had been.  Then asked for gifts which of course are brand new requests not featured on the Santa lists they wrote earlier and which ‘Santa’ has not purchased. Sighsighsigh.

Then it was home to do bedtime routines, and all the joy that that entails, and stories, during which I was constantly interrupted to the point I really couldn’t be bothered reading ‘the witch who was wasn’t’ any more.  Then I spent a festive evening cleaning up the garden toys, unstacking the dishwasher, and folding laundry. Husband was out at a christmas party. Sighsighsigh.

So after being woken up AGAIN at 4.47am, my mood is not super festive. Today is supposed to involve gift shopping at festive markets, and Christmas baking, but really all I want to do is go to some kind of local hotel and sleep for a long time.  Or do research online about boarding schools. Or tropical island escapes, where I would go ALONE.

Are you my mother? December 3, 2009

We all know the story of the little bird who woke up in the nest looking for his mother. He searches for her, asking all the creatures he meets, from cats to dogs to boats to ‘snorts’ (diggers) if they are his mother. Having no experience of mothers, he doesn’t know what he is looking for.

Becoming a mother is a bit like this. For all that has been written about it, painted about it, and talked about it, each time a person goes from individual to mother it is unchartered territory. As you carve out your role as best you can, you might look to your own mother, to your peers around you, to what media may tell you for answers, but in the end how you shape your mothering is up to you.

There are thousands of books which will tell you how to be a mother. I don’t intend to add to the litany. If I have any advice for you in your mothering it is – Trust your gut. Allow yourself the space to listen to yourself. Regularly assess your choices. Do what makes you happy. A happy mother is a far far better one than one who feels trapped.

I have been prompted to think about these things by reading Deborah Hill Cone’s latest on mothers. I was disappointed, if I’m really honest. I’ve always enjoyed DHC’s writing. DHC has written a reflection on her own current experience of becoming a solo mother: she says that all she sees around her are picture perfect families with stay at home mothers. I think that’s a bit like when you are thinking about becoming pregnant, and all you see around you is pregnant people. Your own experience colours your vision. I happen to live in the same suburb as Deborah. I know it’s a white suburban oasis. I know. But don’t expect me to beat myself up about it. I don’t happen to be a millionaire, I don’t happen to own a house here, and I haven’t stayed home with the babies over the last 6 years they’ve been around. Up to now, I’ve been working.

I’ve been a mother who works largely because I wanted to. I enjoy my job, I enjoy the work I produce, I get a kick out of getting things done. For me, that has meant getting out of the house and away from the folding of the towels. I have always said that for me, this has been the right choice. I have been a happier mother because I work.

However, in recent past, we had master 0, bundle of cuteness that he is. So for the time being, I’m at home, living the home life. I’m still not folding the towels – well, not today. I got masters 3 and 6 attacking the laundry mountain, and they did a great job. Note to self, that’s a good daily activity for them.

Anyway, being at home is good. Good, because family life has become less stressful. Weekends are not longer taken up with all the housework, shopping and cooking. I can focus on planning our household expenditure, meals, vege garden. I can spend time with my son on his homework. Does this make me a 1950′s housewife? Perhaps. Is that a bad thing? I don’t think so.

As I see it, while I am at home, I have turned my attention and energy from work to home. Working in the home, is for the time being, my job. I should do it well. It helps our household function. I’d like to think that if my husband was in a similar position, he would do it well. The hours I spend working for my family, at home, are valued in this house. If for one moment anyone forgets they should be valued, I remind them. It doesn’t mean I iron the busy husbands shirts (I don’t) or keep a perfect house. (I really don’t.) Nor does it mean my kids are home with me all day every day. (They aren’t.) But it does mean the childcare and household buck stops with me, for now.

Next year will hold other challenges. I know I will return to work at some point. I like it. But I’ve learned a bit from this year about having one parent around the home. It’s good. And I don’t think people who choose this as a full time occupation should be sneezed at, DHC. Many people make huge sacrifices to keep one partner, male or female, in the home. Weighing up working in an interesting job with the regular drudgery of making dinner is hardly fair. It isn’t about picture perfect families, or perfect 1950s marriages with 1950s division of labour, it’s about people making choices that work for them.

So what kind of mother am I, for the record?  I think I’m a snort. I’m the one that makes the most noise. I’m the tough one. Yet, for now anyway, I’m the one that brings the baby back to the nest. I might not look like a mother, or act like one half of the time, but my baby birds know what sort of mother I am. Theirs.

See you on the stairs,

Cath

“He kneaded and punched it and pounded and pulled… till it looked ok.” November 28, 2009

In our family we have a game where we quote from a children’s story, and then the others have to guess where the quote comes from. I’ve given it away here of course, with the picture from Sendak’s Night Kitchen – but perhaps I should play it with you lot, and you can try to guess the quote too. Family members excluded, and try not to google.

Anyway, like Mickey, I’ve been baking. Today I’ve made chocolate chip cookies, using Sophie Gray’s wonderful recipe, and then two birthday cakes. Two, because they are supposed to be gluten free, and egg and dairy free, and unsurprisingly, the first one was less than perfect. (Understatement.)  To be fair, I took the egg out. The second one, from here, looks like it is much better.

I won’t bore you with why I’m taking all the good stuff out of the baking today – suffice to say that the charming sister, whose birthday it is, is wheat free, and I am  free of dairy and eggs for the time being. So the baking has been adventurous. Baking is a regular feature around here, mainly because it helps keep hungry tummies at bay, and lunchboxes full. My kids are ALWAYS hungry. Master 3 in particular could happily eat all the live-long day if I let him. My life is one long cooking fiesta, what with the dinners and the lunches and the baking and the meal plans. This is not fun, but it is required.

So this afternoon Master 6 is off at a birthday party, and Master 3 has been down in the village with his dad, while Master 0 has slept. It has been a good time to bake.  In a little while we are off to celebrate the sisterly birthday at the homestead. I bought her this. There will be loud crazy chaos, and that’s just my kids. Then I’m staying on with the young folk for a little while, and having a glass of wine, or two. I plan on staying at least long enough for the husband to get the big kids asleep before I return home. Missing out on kid-bedtime is my very favourite thing.

Then tomorrow will be full of  more things. There is an end of term mass and subsequent picnic thing for Master 6′s school – families are required to attend. I pretty much hate attending stuff on Sunday afternoons at 4.30pm, but there you are. Not to mention the making of picnic food. Sigh. But then I’m a killjoy. Luckily I am off out in the morning to have cups of tea with a friend, which makes life all the more pleasant. We will sit about and coo at the baby and laugh at the world. Perfect.

See you on the stairs,

Cath

Oh yes, the quote. Here’s an easy one: “Some stories are true, and some aren’t.” I trust you not to google.

 

“Peter was not very well during the evening…” November 26, 2009

I am sorry to say that Peter was not very well during the evening.

His mother put him to bed, and made some camomile tea; and she gave a dose of it to Peter!

‘One table-spoonful to be taken at bed-time.’

I am sick. I have a horrid cold in the head, which is terrible. It is terrible because it is keeping me up at night, and sleep is a finite resource around here at the moment, what with the small baby and all. But worse, it is gloriously sunny and warm outside. The summer cold is just so wrong, on so many levels. Masters 0 and 3 are similarly affected, so I have pulled in the big guns and asked busy husband to stay home today. This makes it all alright. He is currently out at the supermarket, and I am sneakily writing a blog post while he is out, as he has directed me to bed.

Drippy nose aside, I watered the garden this morning, as it is so hot things will die if I don’t. And what did I spy but sweet tiny baby beans growing on the dwarf beans, and, oh frabjous day, 2 green tomatoes sprung up out of nowhere. They are quite big already and I can’t believe I didn’t see them before now. Probably hiding. Anyway, I am delighted. Not to go on about the garden, but last night we ate the first courgette off the plant, in some treasure soup. (See below.) I wonder if garden-types are like reformed smokers, always going on about their virtuous choices? I fear they are.

Not much more today, dear readers, as I must go hide under the blankets, like Peter. More tomorrow, perhaps. And I promise not to mention the garden,

See you on the stairs,

Cath

Treasure Soup

A little oil.

1 onion

2 cloves garlic

2 rashers of bacon, or maybe a little ham, cut into small pieces

2 carrots, sliced

1 courgette, sliced

whatever other veges are around, perhaps celery or a leek, a red pepper – whatever is in your vege bin….

1 tin canellinni beans, or butter beans, or similar….

1 tin chopped tomatoes

About 4 cups chicken stock – if using stock cubes use 3 cubes to 4 cups of water. Or 5 cups. Whatever.

1 cup dried pasta – whatever you have.

Perhaps some herbs – basil, oregano, parsley – whatever is in the garden.

Salt and Pepper.

Chop onion, crush garlic, chop bacon. Warm up some oil in a large saucepan, and saute them.

Add chopped/sliced veges. Cook, stirring, for 3 or 4 minutes.

Add tin of beans, drained and rinsed. Add tin of tomatoes.

Add chicken stock, or water and stock cubes, dissolved.

Add about a cup, or a little more, of whatever dried pasta you have around. If you need to add an extra cup of water, do. Add herbs and season. Simmer, covered for 15-20 minutes until the pasta is cooked. Serve with bread.

Call it treasure soup, and tell the kids they are fishing for treasures. They will love it.

“…she did not want it to be a quite dead garden.” November 23, 2009

The sun was shining inside the four walls and the high arch of blue sky over this particular piece of Misselthwaite seemed even more brilliant and soft than it was over the moor. The robin flew down from his tree-top and hopped about or flew after her from one bush to another. He chirped a good deal and had a very busy air, as if he were showing her things. Everything was strange and silent and she seemed to be hundreds of miles away from any one, but somehow she did not feel lonely at all. All that troubled her was her wish that she knew whether all the roses were dead, or if perhaps some of them had lived and might put out leaves and buds as the weather got warmer. She did not want it to be a quite dead garden. If it were a quite alive garden, how wonderful it would be, and what thousands of roses would grow on every side!

The Secret Garden

I liked The Secret Garden a lot as a child… something about a secret place where nobody could find you I think.  After I started the first post with a poem, I wondered what might be a good match with this post… it might be a trend, it might not be. We shall see.

I told you it wouldn’t be long before I starting talking about gardens.  In the last few months I have been working on a garden of my very own. I had thought about it for a long time, but never really found the time, what with the work and the children. But when I had our latest baby – Master 0 – I was home more often, and finally made it happen. So now the grass up the back of the section has turned into a small garden. I started with a little broccoli patch, and we enjoyed it so much I planted a little more. And a little more. So now there is…

Beans, green and beans yellow dwarf, tomato plants, lettuces, courgettes, corn, a passionfruit vine, celery, pumpkin, spring onions, and potatoes. Agria, ’cause that’s my favourite. Not to mention strawberries, sweet peas, and sundry herbs. And we’re loving it.  The kids have helped, a bit, though Master 3 doesn’t like to get his hands dirty, and Master 6 has a tendancy to step on seedlings.

What I like most about the garden is wandering about in it, checking on things, in the early morning. It’s very quiet out there in the dawn, provided the children don’t find me. One of the things about having three sons is that it can get pretty loud at our house, and I like a bit of peace every now and then. In the early morning you can see the beginnings of corn inside the sheaves, the new courgette flowers in their bright yellow, and the strawberries that are ready to eat. Of course I eat them, and there is nothing better than a stolen strawberry in the morning quiet.

Other things you notice in the garden though, I have discovered, is what has been stolen by other things – caterpillars, snails, and worse, birds.  Just lately, the birds have been eating the lettuce. Who knew birds ate lettuce?  Not me. But then I don’t know much about gardening. They have had 2 from 5 lettuces so far. I don’t mind sharing a bit, but I’d rather they left my new seedlings alone… not sure how to stop them, short of a lot of bird netting, or setting a small child as a guard, which would be more cost effective!

We did other planting at the weekend, at our daycare, who were planting a new garden of their own. It was a great few hours spent building a garden which our children will help look after, not to get too touchy feely about it. The kids shovelled dirt, planted, and then watered the plants, themselves, and anything else within reach of the hose. I got to talk to other cool parents  - not something you normally get time for in the drop off/pick up rush. The sun shone, and it was all very pleasant.

So there you go. A garden post.

See you on the stairs,

Cath.

PS – for the record, I very nearly quoted Moving Molly at the beginning, for as we all know, she had a secret garden-next-door, that was “a jungle for cats.”  Molly would go there to play, and give the plants a drink. Not to mention the 1970s illustrations with retro cool kids clothes.

Halfway down the stairs November 21, 2009

Halfway down the stairs
is a stair
where i sit.
there isn’t any
other stair
quite like
it.
I’m not at the bottom,
I’m not at the top;
so this is the stair
where
I always
stop.

 

 

Welcome to my new blog. I wondered what to call this – should it be called ‘the complete crazy life of Cath?” “The good life?” “Sure to rise? – how one woman baked her way through 3 children and their maddening ways?” “How to raise a family and have a life in three easy steps?”

None of these were quite right. This blog is for my thoughts on my life, an extension of my facebook self, somewhere where I can chat with the universe about what matters.  So often in my life I find myself halfway through things – halfway there, halfway down, halfway up. I often want to get to the end of something, to achieve something, to finish. But I find my life is not always like that, so I’ve decided to celebrate the halfway. So with a grateful nod to Mr Milne, Halfway down the stairs it is. And what better thing than to start with a children’s poem and a delightful little drawing.

You might know me from facebook, from my column in Kiwi Parent, or even from real life! However you’ve come here, I’m glad you came. I hope you come back – let me know what you’d like to hear about.

By way of an introduction, I am mother to 3 mostly lovely sons, ages 6 and under. One is quite new. We live in Auckland, New Zealand. I am not currently working, though hope to do so again.

Meanwhile, I’ve been filling my latest maternity leave window with:

1 baby

1 vegetable garden (my first proper one, and I may go on about it quite a bit)

Countless baked goods

Quite a lot of coffee

Budgeting learnings (1 salary not 2 at the moment)

1,000,000 loads of washing

and my facebook addiction.

I can now add to this list – 1 blog.

 

See you on the stairs…

Cath

 

Halfway up the stairs
Isn’t up
And it isn’t down.
It isn’t in the nursery,
It isn’t in town.
And all sorts of funny thoughts
Run round my head.
It isn’t really
Anywhere!
It’s somewhere else
Instead!

AA Milne.