Boxing Day

EARLIER in the week I was walking around the supermarket in a trance, looking for inspiration for a dish to take to yet another festive gathering.
Spotted by a friend, I admitted I had run out of ideas. ``Me, too," she confessed.
We workshopped the dilemma in the biscuit aisle. She reached for the Marie biscuits to make some golf balls. I opted for a Chocolate Ripple cake. Problem solved.
If only all the anxiety wrapped up with Christmas could be so easily resolved.
Roll on Boxing Day, I thought to myself as the week progressed.
True, Christmas is a magical time of year.
But after weeks of emotional kinder and creche farewells, carol singing and social gatherings, not to mention trying to pick a little something for everyone from the Lollipop man to the choirmaster, my brain's in overdrive.
Then there's Christmas Day with its simmering tensions. Omissions that would be overlooked 364 days of the year take on mammoth proportions.
People arriving late and holding up the proceedings. Strained relations and overtired kids. And that's before the champagne corks start popping.
While Boxing Day might owe its origins to a time when servants got a day off, armed with boxes of goodies courtesy of their rich bosses, there'll be little respite for most of us.
I might be on holiday for the next few weeks but there's going to be days when I feel like I have knocked off work to carry bricks.
There are five whole weeks of school holidays stretching before us and no plans for an extended break.
While it's great not to be running against the clock all day and ferrying kids to out-of-school activities, I love packing school lunches.
I am not around so I don't hear them whinging about what's on offer. If they are hungry enough they will eat it.
But during the holidays, feeding the kids healthy food is one of the greatest challenges.
After weeks of sausage sizzles we've had our fill of snags. While there has been plenty of lovely seasonal fruit, nary a vegetable has passed their lips. Unless you count tomato sauce, that is, and it's technically a fruit.
Those without children, will say we should enjoy them while they are happy to be seen within a metre of us.
But many of us noughties parents have created a rod for our own backs. We get out and about with our kids too much. They can't play on the streets like we did.
Most mornings we are met with a chorus of ``what are we going to do today?''
It doesn't have to cost a lot of money, but it means we are on the go the whole time.
The upside is that they are not sitting in front of a computer or a TV all holidays.
Us multi-tasking Mums, who claim to have pulled off the whole Christmas extravaganza without any assistance from our husbands, will be looking for a break to chew on our burnt chops.
The menfolk will be desperate to get to the MCG today for the Boxing Day Test.
My husband spent the first three days of the school holidays child wrangling, taking them to movies, the pool and Christmas shopping. Only a man could think you could get anything done at a crowded shopping centre with three kids in tow. But that's another story.
In a moment of weakness I suggested he might like to go to the cricket.
He was hesitant because he knows that for the duration of the holidays, whenever things go pear-shaped, I will be reminding him that he went to the cricket while I finished off the Christmas visits.
Many of us, employing the skills of a high level diplomat so we didn't have to traipse around the country to see all our family and friends yesterday, will be piling into the car and heading off to sit down in front of another heaving Christmas spread. Another round of turkey, pork, pud and trifle to keep the family peace, but what about my waistline?
While the doorbuster Boxing Day sales of recent years have been scaled back, there will be some of us who feel we didn't give our credit card a good enough workout in the lead-up to Christmas. Too many bargains is never enough. And it doesn't matter that the present cupboard is already bulging.
Then there will be tears. The faulty toys that don't work and have to be brought back and snaking return queues that will make Mum and Dad feel like crying.
Worse still will be the recognition that you have to fork out $15 in batteries to get the $10 Tinkerbell walkie talkies given to the five-year-old to work.
Then there are hours spent wrestling with the instructions for a toy that have apparently been written by a nuclear scientist.
Having painfully constructed a scale-model replica of the Statue of Liberty, you find the torch is missing.
Or, as a friend learned, the money gifted to her in a card was thrown out with the wrapping paper. At least that's what her famously tight-wad aunt claimed must have happened.
Then there are the plain bad taste presents. Best not to even give them a home. Box them up and send them off to the op shop.
A friend reminded me of the set of awful towels she received which included a lovely note - to the intended recipient who had then given them to her.
Re-gifting is great if its going to a charity or a school fundraiser.
By tomorrow we'll have put a big dent in the turkey, ham and pudding leftovers. But then we'll turn out attention to New Year's Eve.
Oh, and another dish to think about preparing.
And then there's the New Year's resolutions.
Learning to say ``no'' might be a good one.
``No'' to a second slice of Chocolate Ripple cake. ``No'' to another glass of wine.
And, importantly, NOwhere when the kids ask where they are going today.

It's all down hill from here ....

Claire Heaney
THE other night as I lay in bed I felt old age creeping up on me.
As I was ruminating about the advance of middle age, my husband rolled over and began to snore.
Yeah, I know all that stuff about age just being a number but there's been a whole heap of little things that have all added up to make me feel, well, old.
Like deciding how we would mark my husband's looming half century when he insisted there was to be no party.
The kids and I hatched a plan to spend his birthday at Australia Zoo, on the Sunshine Coast, last week.
While some 50-year-olds might be quaffing Penfolds Grange, I figured with three kids aged 5, 8 and 10, he can do that for his 70th.
Luckily, Terri Irwin was having a bash for young Bob's 6th birthday which meant, among other things, free entry for kids and a chance for all of us to get in touch with our inner-child.
That organised, I headed to the letterbox to find there was a letter addressed to him from Australian Pensioners' Insurance Agency inviting him to ring and get a quote now that he was approaching that magic age.
Then, I was doing some online quotes for travel insurance for a holiday next year. When all travellers were 49 years or under the quote was $344. But when I adjusted it to reflect my husband's new age the quote jumped to $463.
Along the way, there have been the Facebook updates from a friend who has just returned from Bangkok where she underwent a face and neck lift.
We had a farewell lunch for her, feeling a bit queasy as she outlined her chosen path to eternal youth.
Weeks after the cut-price procedure she sent me a picture with the caption ``still cooking''. Given I can't even chop up meat, her entertaining but vivid descriptions scared the heck out of me.
I was talking to another friend about it and she did remind me that at a certain age a woman has to decide whether she is going to save her face or her body.
Sadly, as I caught sight of myself under what I regard as extremely unforgiving lights at a public toilet I was pretty sure I was losing the battle on that front. Then the next day at my all too infrequent fitness sessions my niggling hammy started playing up so I had to adjourn for coffee and cake.
When my youngest turned five last week I had mixed emotions. At 45 I feel far too old to have a little one about to start school. But, I am reminding myself that there are some upsides.
These kids will keep me young. And, I don't care if I never eat at a top notch restaurant or drink a bottle of wine that costs more than $15 again.
And while my dressing style is on the conservative side, I am not wearing the Osti-style dresses my mum was getting around in at my age.
But, just quietly, I have been talked into an information session outlining the benefits of non-invasive skin product, promising to iron out some of those emerging lines.
In the meantime, my husband's too busy playing with his new toy, an iPod, and organising golf lessons he's been putting off for 18 years that I know of.
So, just maybe, life does begin at 50.

Gone camping

LIKE most children mine have their failings.
But consumerism, so pervasive among kids, is not one of them.
They don't own all the electronic gadgetry because, among other things, it would drive me crazy trying to police the use of it.
So, when they ask for something I don't dismiss it out of hand. That was until the eldest, 10, started making noises about a tent.
I'm no snob but camping has not figured in my repertoire and it's not something I want to add now.
People insist if you camped as a kid you have fond memories.
Soon all three kids, at the instruction of the eldest, began a chorus of "can we get a tent for Christmas?".
It was ringing in my ears as I ducked into Kathmandu and did the sums. This tent could pay for itself in a few nights.
The sub-plot was that they could go with their Dad. Afterall, he's the one with the fond childhood memories.
The eldest asked if ``Santa'' brought a tent would it be set up in the loungeroom.
This troubled me. It was too big for inside and probably even our courtyard. There could be tears on Christmas morning when they found Santa had left a canvas bag weighing 24 kg.
Then I heard Big4 was offering a free night of camping. The most convenient was in the Western Suburbs.
My plan was for my husband and I to set it up for the kids as a surprise while they were at school and creche. He knew better than to resist. In any case, he was working that afternoon so wouldn't be there for the animal hour.
The day arrived last Friday and we took the tent from its hiding place and made our way to Braybrook. A dust storm came through and we hung on to the tent for dear life. An English couple, happily ensconced in their van, took pity on us as did a nice bloke from New South Wales down for the Pearl Jam concert.
``It's usually a good idea to have a practice run at home,'' he advised.
Three-quarters through, we realised the porch would hang half way across the road, so we left it dangling.
We raced home and grabbed some basic gear and I picked the kids up, telling them I had some jobs to do.
As we rounded the corner, the children were excited. Then came the big moment. ``Awesome'' they declared as they bumped around as if they were on a jumping castle.
After dinner at a nearby pokies pub, I picked up a slab to give to my Good Samaritans.
"Big night," a Grey Nomad asked as he stepped from his well-appointed caravan. I explained our adventure.
"You usually do a practice run at home," he said.
After a swim everyone was asleep at 9pm. Then my husband turned up at midnight looking for a key for the loo. His usual ride home was confused when he said he was off to Braybrook not Richmond. ``Have you split from your missus, Mate?" he asked.
Too early we found ourselves breakfasting at McDonalds early on Saturday.
The two eldest were wearing their school uniforms because in the rush a change of clothes was forgotten.
"It's OK, no one knows us,'' I promised.
Back home, they were buzzing, hoping we may be able to leave Melbourne for our next trip.
It's reinforced my view that they do not need gadgets to have fun. But, I'm making no commitments. I am too consumed with trying to get the tent back into the bag.

Overdressed

THIS supermumwannabe has finally run up the white flag.
It's hard to say what particular event in the past week tipped me over the edge.
It may have been the row with the four-year-old last Friday morning about what outfit she would wear to creche for dress-up day.
The kids donated a gold coin to pay for the randy resident rabbits to get ``fixed up'' because they were getting too cranky.
The previous day she had settled on a particular Angelina Ballerina outfit, wisely eschewing the one that had busted seams.
But come 7.40am, as we prepared to take the second child and his friend to the before-school chess session, she had changed her mind.
So, in between wiping sleep from eyes and sponging toothpaste marks off tops, I was doing a shoddy job of mending the dress.
At bedtime the night before the eldest child, who had four weeks to research and answer four simple questions and type them up, realised she had left her draft at school.
That meant after chess drop off we had to pick up the notes and head to the cafe so she could type up her homework on the laptop and put it on a memory stick and print it out at school.
But the seeds were sown earlier in the week when Special Friends Day was staged. The two school aged children were happy to have their Dad go along which was a bonus because that meant we, read me, did not have to hit the phones trying to rope ``special'' people in.
The kids dressed up as book characters with an emphasis on animals.
My son was happy to go as knockabout cat Old Tom from the Leigh Hobbs' series. At the weekend I headed to the Op Shop to buy an orange flannelette sheet for the body. The plan was to sew up some loose fitting pants and top but I ran out of time what with other weekend commitments. We cut a hole in the sheet and draped it around him, fashioned some ears and added the requisite scars and bung eye. He carried a plastic fishbone. My daughter was going as a creature from Where the Wild Things Are. I bought orange wool and wrapped it around cardboard to create tassels that were sown into a pantyhose gusset (minus the legs) to make a wig. She had a furry coat to complete the effect. Sure, it was all simple and unsophisticated but it still took hours.
The next day was another prep transition session for the four-year-old at 2.30pm. I was at work but because my husband was starting work at 4pm he took her.
Then on Thursday, the kids galloped from their classroom with more great news.
The Melbourne Cup was going to make a pitstop at our school and they should dress up in jockey colors!
So, at 3am the next morning during a restless night I found myself thinking about jockey colours and how best we could execute this. All very simply, mind you.
In, fact for the next couple of days I mulled over how this could be done simply. But there was some respite because I then turned my attention to a low-key Halloween celebration on the Saturday night. While people decry it as crass American commercialism, we like to think of it as an Irish festival. My son turned his Old Tom outfit into a pumpkin turban, my older daughter pinned a Batman cape to her black t-shirt and donned a witches hat. The pesky youngest suitably put on a vampire outfit because I often feel she is sucking the lifeblood out of me.
I delivered some goodies to the pre-arranged stop off points for ``trick or treat''. Then we headed off and luckily for us a friend of a friend happened to be related to Olympic medallist Steve Hooker. He answered the door and there was much excitement.
But come Sunday it was back to jockey colors.
I reached for the formguide and the decision was quick. The kids would go as Allez Wonder's jockey. It meant I had to draw a yellow shamrock, cut it out, back it with some cardboard and pin it to their red school tops.
The morning, despite the fact that more than half the school was AWOL on a long weekend, was fantastic.
When my children related the week's activities to their interstate grandmother she was horrified.
``I can't believe all these things, it is just too much,'' she said.
The children had omitted to tell her about their dad doing fruit duty at kinder, a working bee for creche and the myriad of other excursion and incursion forms, raffle selling rosters and the like that all had to be dealt with in that same week.
I know daughters-in-law aren't supposed to agree with their mothers-in-law, but I do on this one.
I don't know what the answer is. Having less children. Ignore all the dress up days and then your kids feel sad and left out. Attend community run creches/kinders but refuse to help out.
Discourage schools from all these extras so they can focus on the basics.
In the meantime, we're bracing for a another few big weeks. The four-year-old gets her Buddy for next year, her older sister becomes a Buddy and then there's Christmas choir practice, excursions to Healesville and Werribee zoos ...
Thankfully, the only one dressing up this week is me - on Oaks Day.

New York, New York

Edited version of Cheapskates Guide to New York.
First in a series of travel Cheapskates Guides.

Sunday Herald Sun, Edition 7 - Escape
SUN 18 OCT 2009, Page 012
Budget New York
Apple essence

Claire Heaney finds you don't have to spend a fortune to enjoy the Big Apple
YOU'VE snared a bargain flight to the US. But that doesn't mean you have money to burn.
And anyone who has visited the Big Apple knows that's exactly what you can do very quickly. But here are some canny suggestions to make your greenbacks go further.

THE American Museum of Natural History, opposite Central Park, provides for admission by donation. It's hard to know how much to give but some New Yorkers suggested $US10 an adult. The foyer, with its huge dinosaur skeleton, features in the first Night At the Museum movie. The subway goes straight to the front door.

Central Park
The park takes up 6per cent of Manhattan so it's wise to build plenty of time into your itinerary. You can spend a whole day there and you might only cover half of it. There are plenty of playgrounds for the littlies, the literary walk, Belvedere Castle, the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir to walk or jog around (prams and strollers are not allowed). Then there's the Imagine memorial to the late Beatle John Lennon.
If you want to spend money there are horse and cart rides, bike hire, remote control yacht hire, the zoo and so on. In summer the pool is free.
www.centralpark.com

Bronx Zoo
THE zoo, an easy subway ride, provides entrance by donation, or pay-what-you-wish, on a Wednesday. It means that you are not shelling out the full admission price ($US27 for adults and $US21 for kids). Because it is mid-week it tends to be a lot quieter. But once you get in, other rides, such as the Lady Bug, have to be paid for.
Like many other attractions that rely on corporate donations it is feeling the pinch. The day after our visit the New York Post ran a story saying that to cut costs they had to ``sack'' some of the animals. The World of Darkness, a nocturnal display my seven-year-old couldn't stop talking about, is among the first to go. Bear that in mind when you are coming up with your donation. www.bronxzoo.com

The subway
WE entered the New York Subway with some trepidation, fearing it might not be safe. But once we negotiated the purchase of tickets (the monosyllabic replies and looks to our inquiries from the station attendant left us thinking we must have been the dumbest tourists ever to set foot in the country) the subway is a bargain. We bought a seven-day Metro card for $US25 each. We did not find the subway very stroller friendly and one occasion we had to help a woman using a walking frame. For the able-bodied it's the best ticket in town.
www.mta.info

Staten Island Ferry
YOU can't beat the free Staten Island Ferry for a no-frills Manhattan cruise with million-dollar views.
On the day we headed down to Battery Park to do our Statue of Liberty trip we arrived so late we decided to opt for the freebie trip, leaving the tour of Liberty and Ellis islands to a day we could get there early enough to beat the crowds.
The free ferry leaves on the half hour and provides a lovely introduction to the grand old lady. Once at Staten Island you must get off and return on a later ferry. You can spend time checking out the few attractions or if it is a nice day have a picnic.

Statue of Liberty
ENTRY to the Statue of Liberty and nearby Ellis Island, which was a migration checkpoint, is free.
You have to buy a ferry ticket which costs $US12.
Given that you can spend hours exploring Liberty and Ellis islands it's a bargain.

City Pass
CITY Passes, which package up attractions in more than 10 major US cities, are a great buy. The New York offering has all the sights you want to see and when you have a City Pass voucher you are treated as an A-lister, jumping many of the queues. The booklets generally provide a 40 per cent reduction on individual entry prices. They can be bought online or at attractions.
www.citypass.com

Take a walk
SLIP on your comfy shoes. Walking around New York is one of the best ways to take it all in. Yes, the subway is great to get from A to B but there is so much to see in between. The day we headed down from Times Square to Battery Park to see the Statue of Liberty we got off at a station we thought was the best option. When I asked a local if I was going the right way she said I really needed to get on another train because it was too far. But the walk was short and we saw so many things. For instance, the Woolworths tower which at one time in the 1920s was the tallest building in Manhattan. It is suggested that Frank Woolworth built the tower because he wanted to outdo a rival bank tower because the manager had refused him a loan. A visit to Ground Zero, now a construction site, is illuminating for first-time visitors to New York. Along Broadway there is a Trinity Church where first President George Washington worshipped, along a side street is financial district Wall Street and across the road at Federal Hall where Washington was sworn in as president. Further along at Battery Park there are monuments but one of the most poignant is the misshapen world sculpture that once stood in front of the World Trade Centre. It has an eternal flame burning next to it.

Terrific toy shops
TOYS R Us, in Times Square, has its very own ferris wheel. That costs $US4 to have a ride but there are plenty of other free things to do. There is a terrific Jurassic Park dinosaur, a huge Barbie display and massive Lego displays such as King Kong climbing the Empire State Building.
At FAO Schwarz, at the corner of 49th St and 5th Ave, there is a Barbie corner in which you can design your own Barbie on a computer screen, the famous huge keyboard you can run along, larger-than-life Lego Harry Potter statues, a fantastic little bookroom offering storytime activities and a craft area offering hands-on fun.

Brooklyn Bridge
TAKE a free stroll along the Brooklyn Bridge. Leave the subway at the City Hall station, metres from the entrance. Once across the bridge, having taken in its great views and ambience, there are a few lovely parks near the Fulton Ferry Landing in which to picnic.

Broadway shows
YOU'RE in Broadway so you want to see a show. Right? But, depending on our exchange rate, theatre tickets can be a killer. It is worth checking out the TKTS Ticket Booths around Times Square. Tickets for Broadway and Off Broadway are up to 50 per cent off the going rate. But, before you get your hopes up, it is near-impossible to snare cheapies to the hit productions because they don't get discounted. You can buy tickets from about 3pm but the queue starts forming much earlier.
www.tdf.org/TKTS

Feed yourself
Self-catering, where possible, is the best way to keep your costs down in the Big Apple. Sure, you only live once, but eating out can see you paying off the holiday for a long time ahead. There are plenty of great supermarkets offering quality food and we noted that shopping at a supermarket in the Bronx for a Bronx Zoo picnic was heaps cheaper than Downtown.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Caption: LIGHT UP: Brooklyn Bridge and Manhattan.
Broadway theatre.
Illus: Photo
IllusBy: Peter Morgan, Reuters; and traffic on Broadway, Tina Fineberg, AP
Column: Escape
Section: ESCAPE

The sleepover ... as it appeared in the Herald Sun

Teens must face up to pillow talk
THE other night at tennis, as we watched the kids hit the ball from end to end, we thrashed out some big questions.
Just how much should government schools levy for voluntary fees?

And was the new healthy school lunch sending the wrong message by selling

bottled water when the kids should be drinking tap water?

Then Tom's mum changed tack. She had taken a phone call from her sister, who was both perplexed and amused.

The previous weekend Tom's cousin, 19, had emerged from his room. It was late because, as any mum of a teenager will tell you, they do love to sleep in.

He made breakfast, went back into his room and then re-emerged.

His mum was about to put some clothes away in his room.

He intercepted her, insisting he would put them away. That was when she knew

something was up.

Then he 'fessed up. There was a girl in his bedroom and she was too embarrassed to leave while his parents were there.

Could they just nick out for a little while so she could escape? They complied and she beat a hasty retreat. They weren't sure what to make of the episode and last I heard they were nutting outa policy.

All of us, with children hurtling towards puberty, laughed nervously.

What would we do once the sleepovers turned from same-sex Hannah Montana dance fests and Harry Potter movie marathons to feature the opposite sex? There were so many moral and practical issues.

One of us said there was no way she would allow it. Another hoped her children would be in share houses by then and what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

Another theory was that if they were in an established relationship then the partner was welcome. No one-night stands allowed.

Yet another mate took the view that she was happy for somebody, anybody, to be enjoying sex under her roof.

That night there were only mums doing the tennis run, but it would have been interesting to hear the views of fathers.

Would anyone have been good enough for their girls? And if it was a son, would they be pleased he was sowing his wild oats?

So when I ran into a bloke I know, I asked him what the policy was at his house.

"They are going to get up to hanky-panky so I would prefer they did it at home rather than in some park," he suggested.

With four successful children in their late 20s and early 30s, another friend related the story of walking to the tram stop one morning with her 19-year-old's boyfriend.

"A few years earlier, if anyone had told me I'd be walking to the tram stop with my daughter's boyfriend, after he had stayed the night, I would not have believed them," she said.

"But I figured she had got through high school and was settled into uni so it wasn't the worst thing that could happen to her."

It's probably preferable that they are tucked up in bed rather than having their heads kicked in at a fast-food outlet or out of their treeon drugs.

I've decided when and if my kids ask for grown-up sleepovers, I'll tell them to ask their father.

Baysidemama: A return from the wilderness

Baysidemama: A return from the wilderness

Edited version as appeared in the Herald Sun of the earlier post!!! Bloody sub editors!!! oops I'm married to one.

Clare Heaney From: Herald Sun September 15, 2009 9:53PM
I RECKON over the past decade or so I've made plenty of sacrifices in the name of motherhood.

Think sleepless nights, stinky bottoms, goo-stained clothes, career and social life bypasses . . . I could go on, but you get the picture.

And while I have continued to complain bitterly about these incursions on my health, mental state and general wellbeing, I usually like to focus on the bigger picture.

One of these three kids is going to look after me when I'm old.

But, this week, after much soul-searching, I made the supreme sacrifice.

I bought my son a Geelong football jumper.

I'm sure I spent less time choosing names for my kids and picking their school than I have over the past few days considering whether I should "let" Patrick barrack for the Cats, much less actively encourage it.

Start of sidebar. Skip to end of sidebar.
End of sidebar. Return to start of sidebar.
You see, our home is a Richmond household, continuing a family tradition. I took it for granted that my kids would follow the Tiges.

My late Mum was Jack Captain Blood Dyer's cousin. Growing up, we often looked at Mum's blue photo album, with its pictures of Dyer serving ice creams at his Tigers Milk Bar in Richmond, his wedding photo from St Ignatius and a shot of him shaping up in a boxing pose.

Among the pages was a dog-eared program for his testimonial, which my Mum attended.

From time to time, Dad would come home with The Truth, so Mum could read Jack's famous column, Dyer'ere. Or that's what he said.

At one time, I was part of a small team that published a fan magazine about Richmond called Roar. Pregnant and with babies in pouches, we sold the magazine outside the 'G.

It was non-profit (to us), but we made a sizeable donation to the Punt Rd renovation.

So, when my middle child finally spat the dummy and said he hated the Tigers because they were duds, I felt really sad.

"But they've got the best theme song," I offered. "They never win, so we never hear it," he countered.

Last year, he trudged off unhappily to the school Footy Day in a Tigers jumper. After the drubbing against the Swans in Round 19, when we actually broke tradition and left at three-quarter time, he insisted he barracked for the Cats, like his Dad.

In another sign, last week he refused to wear his Tigers raincoat.

It was at this point that I concluded forcing your child to barrack for your team, no matter what, isn't a good idea.

I felt like a traitor as I handed over the $60 for the Cats jumper - the cheapest I could find.

"You can get a number on the back of that, it's just $20," the shop assistant suggested.

"Are you kidding?" I said. Cameron Mooney may be his favourite player but I wasn't going to pay a cent more.

He clearly wasn't picking up the note of sadness attached to the reluctant purchase.

And, yes, the size 12 is a tad big. But I figured if I was going to be forced to buy this jumper, Patrick was going to wear it today and the next four Footy Days of his primary school years.

Me? Well, my only consolation is that he doesn't want to barrack for the Pies.

The Ultimate Sacrifice

I RECKON over the past decade or so I've made plenty of sacrifices in the name of motherhood.
Think sleepless nights, stinky bottoms, goo-stained clothes, career and social life bypasses ... I could go on but you get the picture.
And while I have continued to complain bitterly about these incursions on my health, mental state and general well being, I generally like to look at the bigger picture.
One of these three kids is going to look after me when I'm old. (although the eldest appears to have taken an unhealthy interest in the nearby Sir Eric Pearce Hostel and how old you need to be to get a bed)
But, yesterday I made the supreme sacrifice.
I bought my son a Geelong football jumper.
Have you any idea how hard that was?
You see I regard our home as a Richmond household, continuing a family tradition.
My late mum was Captain Blood Jack Dyer's cousin. Although we lived in Ballarat and I never attended a footy match in Melbourne until I shifted here 20 years ago, the Tigers were part of our family's folklore.
My mum had stayed with an aunt in Richmond when she came to Melbourne to train in Flinders Lane as a tailoress. Growing up we often looked at her blue photo album with its pictures of Dyer serving ice creams at his Tiger Milk Bar in Richmond's Church St, his wedding photo from St Ignatius and a shot of him in boxing pose. Tucked among the pages was a dog-eared program for his testimonial which my Mum attended.
His sister, Irene, often visited us in Ballarat and we knew her as Cookie.
From time to time Dad would come home with The Truth so Mum could read Jack's famous Dyer'ere column. Or, that's what he said.
My dad followed South Melbourne but happily supported his family's Tiger ties. After Tiger Kevin Sheedy turned up at our school, St Columba's, my brother wrote him a letter.
Sheeds replied, wishing the family all the best ``even the old Swan''.
In 1989 when I arrived at the Herald Sun, after two years at the Geelong Advertiser, I kept getting sent to Geelong for assignments.
I remember being sent to Geelong to go from pub to pub to capture the ``colour'' of the 1992 Grand Final. It was a pretty sombre day, with the Cats well beaten by West Coast.
At one time, with my crazy colleague and friend, Cheryl, we were part of a small team that published a fanzine about Richmond called Roar. Pregnant and with babies in pouches we sold the magazine at the front of the ``G''.
It was non-profit (to us) but we made a sizeable donation to the Punt Rd renovation.
So, when my middle child, Patrick, finally spat the dummy and said he hated the Tigers because they were duds, I was disappointed to say the least.
"But they have got the best theme song," I offered.
``They never win enough to hear it,'' he countered.
He did have a point.
This time last year, he trotted off unhappily to the school Footy Day in a Tigers jumper. He kept saying all year, especially after the drubbing against the Swans in Round 19, when we actually broke tradition and left at three quarter time, that he hated the Tigers.
He wanted to barrack for the Cats, like his dad.
Last week he refused to wear his Tigers raincoat, declaring he would sooner get wet.
It was at this point that I decided maybe forcing your child to barrack for your team, no matter what, isn't good parenting.
And he could very well be the one deciding which nursing home I am going into.
So, there I was over the weekend trying to sort out clobber for this week's Footy Day.
The cheapest option, apart from $22 scarves and beanies, was a $60 jumper.
``You can get a number on the back of that ... it's just $20,'' the shop assistant suggested.
"Are you kidding?" I said. He clearly wasn't getting the sentiment.
I figured if I was going to be forced to buy this jumper, Patrick was going to wear it for the next five footy days for the rest of his primary school years.
And, yes, the size 12 is a tad big. But, he didn't seem to care as he paraded it around the house. I caught a glimpse of his father who looked quite self satisfied.
Me, well, I am just glad he doesn't want to barrack for the Pies.
As my colleague, Harry, says: "That's the trouble with you. You're related to Jack Dyer and they all hated Collingwood so much they couldn't even stand watching black and white TV."

Slumber party for two

The other night at tennis, as we watched the kids hit the ball from end to end, we thrashed out some big questions.
Just how much should schools levy for voluntary fees?
And should the newly introduced healthy school lunch service be allowed to sell bottled water when the kids should be drinking tap water?
Then Tom's mum changed tack. She had taken a phone call from her sister who was a mixture of perplexed and amused.
The previous weekend Tom's cousin, 19, had emerged from his room. It was late because they do love a sleep in.
He busied himself making breakfast, went back into his room and then re-emerged.
As is her usual practice, his Mum was about to venture in to put some clothes away. He quickly grabbed them insisiting he would put them away. It was this act that made his Mum feel very uncomfortable.
Then he fessed up.
The night before he had hastily organised a sleepover, for want of a better description. There was a girl in his bedroom and she was too embarrassed to come out and meet them, much less sit down for Sunday brunch.
Could the pair of them just go out for a little while to let her escape? They complied and she beat a hasty retreat. They weren't sure what to make of the episode.
Neither were we. All of us with pre-pubescent children laughed nervously.
What would we do once the sleepovers turned from same sex Hannah Montana dance fests and Harry Potter movie marathons to feature the opposite sex?
One of us said there was no way she would allow her children to bring back girlfriends and boyfriends to sleep overnight. Another hoped her children would be in share houses by then and what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.
Another theory was that if they were in an established relationship then the partner was welcome.
Then the next day I caught up with an older friend of mine. With four seemingly successful and well adjusted children, aged in their late 20s and early 30s, I asked her what her experience had been.
She related the story of one morning walking to the tram stop with her 19-year-olds boyfriend.
"A few years earlier if anyone had told me I would be walking to the tram stop with my daughter's boyfriend, after he had stayed the night, I would not have believed them," she said.
"But I figured she had got through high school and was settled into uni so it wasn't the worst thing that could happen to her."
I'm a bit undecided but it might be preferable that they were tucked up in bed rather than having their heads kicked in at a fast food outlet or out of their tree on party drugs.
But when the times comes I've already got my stand worked out.
I'll tell them to "ask your father".

Mapping it out

They say men are from Mars and women are from Venus. But I doubt many blokes would be able to find their way to the red planet unless they had a woman directing them.
In recent times that age old chestnut has become very apparent to me. What turns a mild mannered husband and father into a snarling mess once he gets behind the wheel in unknown territory?
This year, thanks to the Global Financial Crisis and the requirement to clear accumulated leave, has seen us undertaking a good deal of travel.
There has been a road trip from Melbourne to Coffs Harbour, a six week trip to the United States and another road trip from Melbourne to Canberra.
They have not been without highs and lows but what counts among the lows has been the inability of our driver, when lost, to stop.
How hard is it to stop the car and (a) consult a map or (b) ask for directions before you become hopelessly lost?
I know, from a quick scan of the Internet, that I am not the first and won't be the last person to ponder this question.
In New York, a city of millions of people, do you think the man of the house would stop to regroup while we got our bearings? Do you think he would go up to someone and ask for help? No way.
I was always cast as the damsel in distress to lead us out of the wilderness.
Over the years academics and relationship experts have explored his weird phenonemon. I read something that said men do not like to stop and ask directions because they don't want to surrender control. I think a few divorces would be avoided if they just fessed up that they had no idea where the bloody hell there were.
In our recent travels to Canberra we drove around the London Circuit - a circular road as the name suggests - a number of times before the driver furiously declared we were lost and why wasn't I directing him.
I probably should not have threatened to cause physical harm with the road map.
But I have found a way to get around the problem for our next holiday. I have booked a fully escorted tour and he won't have to look at a map. Then, we'll have to find something else to fight about.

Happy Holidays

Well, isn't it great to start returning to a routine? Two days into the third term and we are still struggling with our night-time routine after two weeks of holidays. And our obsession with MasterChef hasn't helped one little bit. I can't complain too much as I am as sucked in by it as the two older kids are. So, finally they head to bed. It is hard to believe half the year is over. It is also hard to believe my little baby is about to start prep transition next Wednesday. Time certainly does fly.

We had the best holidays. Did lots of things around town and then headed to Canberra for about six days. Canberra, you might ask. Well, it was great. I had been there a number of times for work but never really got to look around. (Usually was nursing a post-Budget hangover) It was terrific to play the tourist. A bit chilly in July but as we were on the move it was overlooked.

There is so much FREE stuff to do in Canberra. (Isn't FREE just the best word in the English language?)

The National Museum of Australia provided plenty of things to entertain the kids; ditto for the War Memorial. As it was holidays in ACT there were extra kids' activities. The High Court was interesting as was the National Gallery of Australia.

I especially enjoyed seeing the Blue Poles by Jackson Pollock. As a youngster I remember the controversy when Gough Whitlam bought it. I recalled the brouhaha to my kids about it and mentioned that it was now worth heaps more than he paid for it. I promised to Google the details. I haven't done that yet. It is just a great get out clause. "Yes, we'll Google that" ... and we rarely do but it is the perfect distraction.

Also tickled pink to see a Monet. Just love his bright and mostly uplifting work. One of the highlights of my life is seeing Monet's house, in Giverny, near Paris. We hope to return during a trip next year to see it in Spring. We saw it in Autum last time.

But I digress. Back to Canberra. The Parliament House roof provides terrific views right across to the War Memorial. But the highlight, and for me, arguably Canberra's best kept secret was Old Parliament House or as they call it Provisional Parliament House. It was really interesting to see Bob Hawke's office as it was when he was PM. To see where Gough Whitlam stood on the steps of Parliament after he was sacked by John Kerr (I remember this day vividly as I was in Grade 5 and my mum was very upset about Gough getting sacked).

And one of the big hits was Questacon which is like a super dooper Scienceworks. The cost of family entry was $49 but money well spent. We saved a few other attractions for a return visit on the way to Coffs Harbour to see relatives at a later date.

Back to Melbourne, and the Pompeii exhibition at the Melbourne Museum was both fascinating and spooky. Highly recommend it.

What a load of croq!

That MasterChef program taking Australian homes by storm has a lot to answer for. Miss 10 was very taken with the croquembouche (you know, that French profiterole Xmas tree type arrangement that was all the go as wedding cakes between the mudcake and cupcake fad). She begged me to make her one for her Hannah Montana movie and afternoon tea extravaganza. I said "No" But then I started to think it might be a fun, well maybe fun is not the word. Challenging, maybe.
And let's face it, we have well and truly worked our way through the Australian Women's Weekly party cake book.
And maybe, just maybe ... spending the time trying to conjure it up might just be more interesting than sitting through 102 minutes of Miley Cyrus as Hannah Montana.
Hours of thought went into the croquembouche. A visit to a cooking shop had me scratching my head. The woman behind the counter said the cones cost $200 and if you wanted to hire them you would have to pay $80. She directed me to the other side of town.
I mentioned I had a back up plan. Cover a polystyrene Christmas shape with foil and then using long toothpicks fasten the profiteroles. She took the wind out of my sail, suggesting the hot toffee would melt the polystyrene. Undeterred, I decided that would be my best course of action.
And, then I turned my attention to the profiteroles. There was no way with work commitments I was going to get time to actually make the choux pastry balls. I went to the Safeway supermarket in nearby Camberwell and asked if I could buy them without the chocolate icing. I was told this was not possible but decided I would not give up. A few days later I rang and spoke to the manager who happily took an order for 32 icing-less profiteroles. I collected them on the morning and excitedly drove home. The worst case scenario was that the profiteroles had cost me $16. Once everyone was safely at the cinema I returned home (my husband was the happy soul who chaperoned during the movie) and undertook the croquembouche project. Affixing the profiteroles was easy enough. Making the toffee was a little tricky. How much cooking was too much? Finally, I decided it was ok and started the swirling process. At some point I decided it finished. And, even if I do say so myself, it looked great.
The kids returned home and were excited. I knew I was a MasterCheat but in their eyes I was a a MasterChef.
Party pies, cocktails franks and sausage rolls dispensed with, we decided to move on to the croq. Alas, the kids did not really like it.
Some did not like the toffee, others did not like the custard. I can't say I was too surprised. After a decade of attending and hosting birthday parties I have come to one conclusion when it comes to party cakes. The simpler the better. Some of the bigger hits I have had have been Sara Lee chocolate slab cakes and Dairy Bell ice cream cakes. The elaborate, creamed and iced numbers usually don't get eaten. I've seen parents blow $50 to $100 on these and invariably the kids are so full of other party food they barely have a mouthful.
Next year it will be a $4 Coles Mudcake. Just remind me of that when Miss 10 starts asking for some other fancy cake.

Croquembouche

Growling Grass Frogs

I thought my days of baking cupcakes to take to creche, kinder or school to celebrate a birthday were over. It appears not. Despite all the talk about eating healthily, food allergies and cutting out the rubbish my then soon to be 10 year old declared that last year, when she turned 9, she was the only kid in the class who didn't bring cakes or lollies.
How could I live it down if I was the only mother who didn't make an effort.
I dismissed this feeling of guilt but all too soon this lapsed Catholic, Virgo perfectionist in me rolled over.
Three dozen cupcakes coming up.
Pretty soon my big girl would be too old for such things. I am always complaining about them growing up too early, why not keep them young and feeling extra special for just that little bit longer?
I knew it would be a pain. On the Tuesday night after work I baked three dozen of the little blighters. Then I had a brain wave. She had been doing a subject about sustainability in which she had to pick an endangered species. She chose the Growling Grass Frog. The poor little thing seems to come under fire every time there is a major construction project. I suggested we turn the cupcakes into frogs. Gee I am a victim. So, there I was at close to midnight putting a sickly green frosting on the cakes andpositioning little white marshmallow and choc bits for eyes. Then you have to make a little slit for the mouth and position a pink Smartie for the tongue.
In the morning we made little signs, sticky taped them to toothpicks and put them into some cakes. The signs read "Save the Growling Grass Frog" "Don't let us croak" "Hop to it" and similar messages. They looked higgledy piggedly but Miss 10 was so excited. Me, well, I was thinking never again ... until the next time.