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."
Monday, September 14, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
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".
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".
Friday, July 17, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, July 3, 2009
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.
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.
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