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.