Love In A Modern World

It is definitely sign o’ the times when Slaveboy and I are literally kicking each other about whose turn it is to do the sex talk. We both don’t want to do it and this time, I suppose I have …

Out Of The Mouth of Babes

Today’s words have been to, bed and see.

This Is Our 2011

And I am ready to lay it to rest. This year has been bittersweet, seeing us giddy and nauseous from the roller coaster ride that 2010 had presented us. Steeling our bellies, and struggling to regain equilibrium and initiate some …

Dare I Mention It?

The Seventh Wonder, I am ashamed to admit, does not get to go out very often. It’s a carried on habit of mine, from when she was really ill and us still recovering from the experiences we had. It was only last week that she acquired her first ever winter coat.  

Rules of Engagement in A Large Family

Wonderwoman in Control Pants

I’m actually hoping to go out tonight with my friend, Caroline The MILF. And the MILF is probably going to have to wheel me to wherever we are going. To be frank, SniffSnorters, I am feeling bruised to the core. You’ve probably read about my weekly roller derby escapades and needless to say, this injury was acquired at said session.

All Time Favourite Children’s Books

This came in the post for me today. I’ve been coveting this book for months now and it was finally at a price that I could justify buying. I came across this book when the children did their 10 week long art workshop at Aspex Gallery a couple of years ago where they were introduced to paper-cutting. My experience at the gallery has spurned my interest in visually heavy books with minimal written words. Being the sort of person who favours the written word, I find books which use images intriguing because I have to use other ways of reading. I’m studying lines, and light and lack of words. This has led me to wonderful graphic books like below.

10 Things To Remember If You Choose To Home Ed

Quintessentially English: Teacakes

Whilst this post will be about English Teacakes, my mind is pondering my Malayness. My brother, his wife and their two adult children have just returned from their second trip to London in under five days, the first trip saw them underestimating just how long Oxford Street is and despite its cult status, how tricky it is to find the right design of *Prada handbag (my sister-in-law has arrived here armed with a wad of cash and printouts of the desired handbags for visual aid).

Sweets For My Sweet

What is it about being a girl and wanting to bake a cake for your loved ones? Or is it just me and the upbringing I’ve had that’s created this yearn to feed people food? My 15 year old daughter asked me to show her how to make a ruffle cake similar to the one above which I had made for my Mum’s birthday two days ago. It was going to be her boyfriend’s birthday and she had said she would make him a cake.

And before some of you start foaming at the mouth and declaring I’ve set the feminist movement back by a few decades by encouraging this, I’d like to declare that I think baking is a feminist act. End of.

Dear Superdrugs Lady

I forgive you for being rude to my children two Christmasses ago. You couldn’t help lacking the social awareness to realise that you simply do not snatch things from out of people’s hands even if they are children who wouldn’t know how to complain.

Postcard From The Edge

Oh, how they marvelled at the pinkness of the skin and the ginger tinge in her hair.

Eleanor, Gee, I Think You’re Swell

This is the song I’ve been humming all day long because I’ve been making mini cupcakes for a long time midwifery sister with the same name. It’s her birthday party this Sunday and I am sad to miss it, even more so now that I seem to be quite useless with keeping in touch with my midwifery colleagues.
I would post photos of the cupcakes but it’s gone one in the morning and I’ve just crawled into bed. This post will not have a recipe attached to it but I promise to make up for this pretty pronto. I’ve just left Slaveboy downstairs eating toasts, posh piccalilli (he prefers Tesco’s own but seeing that we don’t shop there, it would’ve been impossible for us to have any) and Stilton that has been lurking around since before Christmas in the fridge. So guess which boy won’t get a goodnight kiss later?

Five Days & Counting

Just a short one for this morning as I sit here with my cup of Lady Grey (in a Doctor Who mug), fielding virtual digs from my real life friend, Spiker. The oven is almost spotless and I have rough hands to prove it. Percy the Pirate has arrived to continue his work and Slaveboy is finishing off the last of the teacakes I made with Dan Lepard’s recipe (separate post on this to follow shortly).

Invasion of the Familial Kind

It is less than a week to go before my family arrives to visit us from Malaysia. The wheels are in motion to welcome them. Percy the Pirate has been at work sanding and glossing our downstair windows and he is about to give our front door its first repaint in a very long time – think in term of decades rather than mere years. The children have been clearing out the laundry room and for the first time in months, we can actually see daylight in the back hall. The laundry room has actually been mopped twice today, three times in the last two days. Some nasty noxious chemicals are currently eradicating my oven of the greasy residue it has acquired in the six months we have had it. I have rid the iMac screen of layers of fingerprints, food spills and sneeze splatters. That in itself took half an hour. We are halfway through digging up the weeds in the borders. Friends will be round tomorrow with their caravan that will house my brother and his wife for two weeks and my sister-in-law is at hand with freshly laundered beddings.

7th Wonder Is ONE

On this coming Wednesday, that is.

Ditching The Mummy Mask, also Lebkuchen Carrot Cake

Honestly, this is how I felt this morning. Just not as pretty. The 7th Wonder seems determined to remind me how challenging she was once as a youngling by only staying asleep for as long as I am awake. And in close enough vicinity that she is still able to twiddle my nipple. Oh, the joy of breastfeeding.