Don't judge a book by it's cover

My heart holds graves fears for a little 6 year old girl that has disappeared off the face of the earth some months ago. I feel for the parents. My son once vanished for more than 3 hours from a shopping centre.

I had taken my eye's of him for no more than 10 seconds. As night time fell, and the centre voided of its occupants except for centre management, the search police, 2 detectives and 2 DOC investigators drilling me about my parenting skills, we all held graves fears as to the were abouts of my beautiful 2 yr old son. He was eventually found in a tight sleeping ball, totally unaware of the chaos, heartache and panic he had caused. 23 years later I still get goose bumps thinking about it.

Splashed across the papers, the parents hardly sent their daughter to her first year of school, giving the general public an impression that neglect ruled their household, therefore unworthy to be parents at all. We don't know the circumstances as to why the little girl barely attended school. Let's not judge a book by it's cover and with newspapers, we all know that headlines that bleed, lead.

When young Ritch started kindergarten, he only went to school 2 days a week out of the mandatory 5. I was in the last year of my degree, living in a small country community that was barren of the essentials suburbia has to offer, like child care.  I had to leave for Uni much earlier than his school bus arrived, and I would be home much later than he would be in the afternoon. Leaving a 5 year old alone in the most haunted house in the district or possible the state wasn't a friendly option.
Originally I organised a neighbour to take him along with her daughters that attended the same small school, also look after him after school. After 2 weeks, one afternoon I found him waiting at the front gate for me. The neighbour wanted to go shopping so she sent him home. He had to walk along a lonely country road for more than a kilometre, too terrified to be in the house alone, he waited at the gate. I wasn't very happy.

Forcibly moved to this location due to a marriage breakdown, I had 2 choices to make, quit Uni and let Ritch go to school everyday or take Ritch with me. Most people would have chosen the first option, I decided on the later. Speaking with his school, I took work sheets with us so he could still continue his school work. He attended all aspects of University life with me. No one protested as he seemed to fit right in.
The first day he wanted to carry my art folder, but it was bigger than him, so he tried to carry my 2 very heavy tool boxes that contained all the art supplies. "Mum, he says there has to be an easier way!". The next morning he darted to our shed and pulled out the market trolley and a hockey strap, throwing them both in the car. This is what he used to pull the around the boxes around between classes. Why didn't I think of that?
During most classes he did all his school assigned work, but in art history, he listened intently to the lecturers. By the end of the year he was a walking encyclopedia, for most of the year he was a great study mate.
As his teacher from school said to me unburdening my heart "Not all education is begotten had school. The best education is from home, the heart and the child's social environment"

Included in the Workday Recovery Kit is cooking dinner when you don't really want to.

I am at my desk concentrating hard on a diabolical task. This particular card game has got me gasumped, the computer is cheating surely, it has to be.
"Whats for dinner mum?" calls out a voice from the other extreme of the house.
Not answering and still concentrating, when the question is called out again but much, much louder. Darn! the kids don't fall for the selective deafness trick anymore!
Sigh.
"Food! and if your lucky, it'll be edible" Not taking my eyes of the screen.
It's 6pm, and the daily family maintenance of providing a suitable meal for hungry mouths seems unavoidable. The trouble is I am not hungry, well not anymore. Half an hour a go, I stumbled through the door after a horrendously busy day of running the business, whilst trying in earnest not to have to speak to a particular person, made a quick 2 slices of toast with Tahini, which was my breakfast, lunch and dinner in one mouthful.
"Cheesy Awesomeness Mum!" calls out young master Ritch and the rest of the troupe agree.
"Nooooooooooooooooooooo, No, No and No some more OK!!". The kids all call out yes, yes and some more yes!!.
The no and yes thing swings back and forth a few more times and I still haven't won a single game in the meantime.
The next office chair I get will definitely not have wheels. I protest loudly, as Ritch grabs the back of my chair and starts driving me into the kitchen backwards.
"No, I don't want to! you can't make me do it, I don't want to........" my crying plea's fall on deaf ears, as Ritch starts piling up the ingredients onto my lap. He turns the oven on, still dragging his protesting mum around in her wheely chair. He opens the fridge throwing more items on the growing mountain on my lap.
"Due to the lack of interest on my behalf, I have cancelled dinner this evening!". They don't fall for that one either
I just have to do it don't I?,
Cooking the 'Cheesy Awesomeness' gets underway with the close monitoring of the 2 youngest members of the family, just in case I decide to escape.
They're lucky this time, it was brilliantly edible.

There are times that I wish that things I don't want to do turn out that way, like some work days. Like today's workday, which had me spinning around faster than a child's spinning top, except without the colours.  I have come to rely on Dom, our 'gopher', wonderfully adept at handling everything, including filtering of incoming phone calls. Though I still sack him nearly every week, he just laughs.

There's a company that headhunted me for a design project over a year ago which got off to a fantastic start. With a team of 4 people from this company, another was added for some reason, having been transferred from another department. The original 4 left the company within 2 weeks, when this new member was added. Unfortunately I inherited her as the project was almost completed. After a few phone conversations with this person, I too throw the towel in and resigned from the project.

She rang again today, as she has done regularly for the last 10 months, and it's never a pleasant outcome.
As Dom whispered who it was, I dove under my desk, shaking my head furiously, grabbing my fortunately large handbag to cover my screams of denial, frustration, anguish, and turmoil. With the most politest of professional voices he calmly tells the person "She won't be taking your phone call today or any other day! promptly hanging up. Phew........
My bag starts to ring..........................
Throwing the bag in his direction, he then throws it to Zjarie, our sales manager, like a hot potato, who can't find anyone else close enough, hurls the bag into the nearby fabric bin. They both back away from the bin, I stay cowering under my desk till it finally stops.
Dom quickly runs down to the production area before I reach him, because he was the one that gave her  my private mobile number. Hoping to punch him in the arm, I call out he's sacked instead as he escapes out of my reach. A couple of minutes later our production manger punches him in the arm, because he had been holding onto an order he forgot to let the team know about. I catch up to him and punch the other arm to even it up and yet again remind him he is sacked.
"Yeah, yeah I know", he goes back to his desk and picks up where he left off, playfully nursing fictitious injuries on both his arms.
2 hours later, after several phone calls from this person that I didn't take, I have just have to do it don't I? I take a very, very deep breath and accept the call from this person, remind her yet again that I have resigned, no amount of increase of financial incentive will sway me either. (It has quadrupled in value)
.
It always goes the same way, she will pipe up and ask "Why did you ring me" I'll answer that she had called me, then she will blurt out quite contritely "Why on earth would I ring you and how did you get this number, whats your name again, why have you got that name, it doesn't make sense, I mean what is it?" she demands
Replying to that with a sigh "You rang me about about the project that I resigned from remember? Please refrain from calling again"
She will start going on about how important she is, she needs me to finish the project as the original team members have now apparently all moved to Siberia and are unlocatable. While making demands of me on the phone in which I have no opportunity to interupt, she constantly orders her staff around in the most bizarre of fashions, like not to move from their desk, or to only cross the left leg over the right leg, never the other way around.
Last week I heard her admonish a staff member with "Why is that book on the left hand side of your desk, I want it on the right hand side of your desk and why are you fiddling with your hair. I don't like you fiddling with your hair while I am talking to you, please move the book now. More to the right, down a bit, a little bit more, that will do, why are you playing with that book?",
Or she will demand a staff member to move a phone cord so it sits in a particular fashion.
I take a deeper breath and remind her yet again that I have indeed resigned and that there is no point in contacting me again. She will inform me not to get off track and how is it relevant to the project.
I quit, that's more than relevant.
Yes she says, "I have heard it all before, now it's very important that I get this email before 9 am". Then she will say that I have taken up enough of her time and that I should in future call her at a more suitable time.
Dom hands me a bottle of water with 3 panadol and a coffee chaser.  With a wink he says "I can assume that I will be booking you a flight to Siberia sometime very soon?".

I have to wonder whose cat did I run over in a previous life.

breastfeeding and going back to work?.

When I had my third child, I initially had plans of staying home as long as possible. Late in the pregnancy, my husband and I split so that plan had to went down the gurgler. When 'Zip' as she is affectionately called was 4 months old, I had to return to work to cover the mortgage and everything else as adults with family have to be responsible for.
Zip was born very prematurely, so I knew that breastfeeding was of the utmost importance for her health, well being and development. I also had a plan to breastfeed till self weaning stepped in. I am a very big fan of breastfeeding, but not to the point of being a Nazi about it.
I spent my lunch times in the ladies toilet cubicle hand expressing with a sandwich and photograph of my baby girl perched on my lap. It was the only discreet place at work. There were only 2 cubicles, and I wanted to put a sign on the other cubicle door saying "Milk extraction in process, please refrain from No 2's for the time being".
Once finished I would place the bottle of life sustaining liquid gold in the staff fridge, always anxious I would forget and go home without it. I never thought it would be emptied by an unsuspecting very young, very tall male employee. I caught him just has he had emptied the contents down the sink. I wanted to kick him in the shins, the only place I could reach, but I called him an ignoramus of mega proportions instead.

With no back up supplies in storage, the debate raged on as to give up breastfeeding all together, now that she was six months old. In most people mind set, it's either one or the other and never the both to meet. My mother, dearly as I loved her, must have forgotten to stand in the diplomacy line, or they had ran out, when the traits were being handed out, was far more cutting, "Give up that stupid idea of breastfeeding, it's not like you're trying to win a medal" Ouch.
It was my father who came up with the ingenious idea of formula feeding through the day and breastfeeding morning and night. That way he said, you would have a proper lunch time and not look so frayed every afternoon. He had a point, I was looking a bit rough around the edges lately.

It was drilled into us at the hospital and at the baby health clinics by the lactation consultants, aka the "Breastfeeding Police" that as soon as you substitute formula for breastfeeding, it normally sparks the demise of breastfeeding in general, along with the breakdown of the baby's health, mental development, success in life, will also lead to the social degeneration of mankind and possibly the destruction of the Earth.
For each new mum, leaving the hospital, was handed the fate of the world right there with her swollen breasts and newborn babe in arms. Hence secret societies, hidden in closets all around the world, of formula feeders. Whispers can be heard of mum's wanting to offload the terrible guilt of "I gave my baby formula the other day".
Yet at the same time they would tell you that the breasts produce milk to fit in with the demand. During growth spurts when the baby suckles more often than normal, it's the cue for the breasts to produce more. So why not the other way.
For the next 18 months that's exactly what I did, breastfed her morning and night, which I enjoyed so much and my parents who lovingly looked after my trio of delight, gave Zip formula during the day. Just after her second birthday, right on Christmas morning, she didn't want 'mummy milk' any more, but a hug, a kiss and presents instead.

It can be done, to combine work and breastfeeding so it doesn't take its toll on the most precious of family commodities; Mum.

A case of Mumnesia, frozen catalogues, a missing kettle and the lost, lost car.

“Inside every small business is someone slowly going crazy” These remarkable words from the genius of Joseph Hoeller, can’t be any truer than it is now.

Picking up a wad of junk mail that had spilled out from the letterbox onto the sidewalk, I had meant to toss them all into the recycling bin in the kitchen. Instead, I walked past the kitchen straight into the laundry where our deep freezer lives in between the washing machine and laundry tub. Opening one of the drawers that had some packets of meat, I placed the wad of catalogues on top of the steak and left the laundry.

3 days later, young master Ritch walks out of the laundry, trying to prise off the now frozen catalogues from the steak.

Life can be very entertaining living with a mum stricken at most times with a severe case of Mumnesia.

I think it was a couple of weekends ago when we had some glorious sunshine, I took a reprieve from Motherhood in general, deciding a good book and a cup of tea was in order. Ritch had some friends over, Drue was entertaining his swag of friends in the pool gazebo, Zip was busy making garments and Little Miss Mischief was playing next door with her “best friend forever” Bailey. I wasn’t needed as a mum for at least a little while.

 My destination was the ‘readers nook’ in the garden.  Finishing with making the tea, I put the kettle in the fridge, having to rearrange the contents a bit to fit the kettle and the milk went in the cupboard. It all seemed so normal. Stepping outside, I had to shake of a feeling something was a tad amiss with my world.

The reader’s nook as I call it, is located down the side of the house. A sunken paved area occupied by an L-shaped outdoor lounge, flanked by a cascading garden of ferns & orchids held back by a high retaining wall. Filtered light from above sneaks through large overhanging trees that seems to dance and sway with the breeze, a tranquil oasis of cool serenity. Seated on the lounge it gives one a snail’s view of the rest of the garden, a vision of beauty on a sunny, spring day. It is also the location where you will find me in the company of a really good book and an even better cup of tea.

By the time I had read 2 chapters of an epic Raymond Fiest novel, Zip sauntered around the corner with arms folded and a cheeky smirk, from inside the house I could hear Ritch and his mates in bellowing laughter. Within seconds, the slam of the screen door could be heard with continual laughter as Ritch and all of his mates staggered around the corner behind Zip, still in a state of hysteria.

“I wanted to make a cup of tea, but no, I couldn’t find the kettle!” she said sternly, the boys still cackling themselves from behind. “So I get juice from the fridge instead, there I find the kettle, IN THE FRIDGE!” I hide my cup in my book and give her a 'might not have been me' look. The older boys walk over to join in. Tim laughs, “My mum does that all the time!”

I silently start counting the seconds down in which Ritch will begin to remind them all of the time I lost my car for 3 days. 5 and half seconds later, I cringe behind the cover of my book, now pulled up high to cover my face. “That was soooooo hilarious, even my mum hasn’t done anything that bad” Ritch’s mate Shaun laughs out. 2 little girl’s faces peer over the fence “what are you all laughing about?” Ritch who is still trying to stand up straight from laughter “Do you remember the time Mum lost the car for 3 days?”

“Oh, yeah that was so funny!” Little Miss Mischief laughs back. I cringe to the depths of an all time low as I overhear Little Miss Mischief retelling the tale to Bailey.

Eye’s closed I have a vision of the distant future. I’m 92 and in a nursing home, the kids along with the grandkids are all still laughing about the time I lost the car for 3 days.

I am so never going to live that one down.

Even the simplest thing can be made complicated

Why is it in life that most people feel comforted by complications? if it's not complicated then there's something wrong, it doesn't feel right. We then go on the pursuit to make sure the answer is right, we workaround, we double check, but we are still confounded.


The simplest answer to any infuriating problem doesn't require the brains of Einstein or the muscles of Hercules.You simply need to know what to do.




There you go, problem solved!!

The best Sticky Date Pudding ever!

There are 2 things I can do really well
One is clear the house of the entire occupants within in 5 minutes flat. All I need to say is "I feel like cooking that Brussels Sprouts dish that I love tonight!". Within 5 minutes I find myself totally alone as cars that are carrying my precious family members are zooming off in different directions out of our street faster than any formula one race.
The legendary Brussels Sprouts dish was only ever made once. For the next two hours I can enjoy the stereo blaring with MY choice of music, likes of De Phazz, Hunters & Collectors, Paris Wells or Elysian Fields to name a few.

The second is Sticky Date Pudding, which usually increases the occupants two fold. Since it's been my fault that we have had 9 straight days of rain, the Pudding was the only compensation to save me from a lynch mob.
Here is how you make it

INGREDIENTS
1 &1/2 cups of chopped pitted dates
1 & 1/4 cups of water
1tsp of BiCarb Soda
60g of butter at room temperature
3/4 cup caster sugar
2 eggs
1 & 1/4 cup self raising flour

SAUCE
3/4 cup cream
3/4 cup firmly packed brown sugar
100g butter chopped.

Preheat oven to 180C (Lower temp for fan forced ovens)
Grease a 20cm square or round cake pan

Heat the dates and water in a medium saucepan till it just boils, take of the heat and add the bicarb soda. Stir and leave to the side.
Cream the butter and caster sugar together till light and fluffy with an electric mixer
Add one egg at a time beating well each time.
Fold through the flour
With the electric mixer give the date mixture a whiz, then add to the rest of the ingredients, folding through.
Add to cake pan and cook for around 35-40 mins.
Skewer cake, if it comes out clean it's done.
Leave to cool, while making the sauce.

On gentle heat, cook all the sauce ingredients till the sugar is dissolved and the sauce looks smooth and creamy.
Place portions in shallow bowls and smother with the sauce.
For extra decadence, spoon some ice cream on the pudding before smothering with the sauce.
Enjoy!!
(We do!)

2 days later and the simple things hadn't gone to plan

 2 days after delivering the pieces (explained in Deadlines & Demonised Mannequins) all was not yet finished.
It might have been an almost private place to have a meltdown, but there were no passersby, so it was private enough. Camouflaged by a darkened car park, all I could do was stretch across to the passenger seat and hold oldest daughter, Zip, with a very tight hug. Now was not the time to protest about the gear stick digging into my rib cage or the cramp in the leg. Little Miss Mischief sat quietly in her car seat at the back of the car, wondering if she should say anything at all.
I also wondered how many people have had meltdowns in car parks previously and no one was any the wiser as they hurried past occupied cars to the shops.
I was going to offer some mum-wise words, but I wanted to live another day, so I felt it wise to keep those words in my head for the moment.
Zip had it planned it to a tee. A haircut & colour, new shoes, a 'Club Slut White Dress' (her words) to rip apart and restructure to fit in with the theme of the White Ivy Party and take me to a cafe to for a well deserved Chai Latte and a Blueberry Muffin. I didn't know how she was going to fit it all in but she knew exactly which shops that would have these items, and with precious little time to waste before returning home to do this, that and everything else that she needed to do, I wondered if she was going to stop and take a breath at all.
The first hiccup was the hair dressers, they were booked out sold for the next few days, so we tried the 14 other hairdressers in the shopping complex, same story. Zip did have a plan B; me.
She'd forgo the cut if I colour her hair while she was making the alterations needed to a dress she couldn't find as of yet. According to her plan the problem was solved, but I did feel a sense of frustration fraying her normally composed, well grounded, sensible demeanour; it was the way her eyelashes fluttered. The rest of the world got to know about it via Facebook Mobile.

Shop after shop we visited, leaving each time empty handed, Zip's pace quickened each time and the eyelashes started to blink at supersonic speed, the text messages came in even faster. She became so fast at navigating the crowds that both Little Miss Mischief and I lost sight of her.

Life has a curly way of not going according to plan.

Sensibly, we went back to the car to wait Zip's phone call, even tribes in the deep heart of the Amazon, not yet discovered, knew she would call sooner or later in distress . Stopping en route for a Michel's Patisserie Chai for me and a blueberry muffin each for my girls, we didn't have to wait too long. In the meantime, while LMM's mouth was occupied by the muffin, I could concentrate on the error of running life and or a business in a too 'Tight Ship' mode. For every great plan to be successful, it must have a true, tried and tested back up plan. The secret is the back up plan, a plan that might not even be used, but that's the secret anyway.

By the time she hurried back to the car in crisis mode, and I feared for anyone who might have innocently gotten in the way, she was a mess. She was in the car, head buried in her hands before I could utter a single syllable. She howled about not being able to find a single thing, no new hairdo, on her day off she wanted things to be nice and go according to plan. Everything perfect for the big event tonight.

I raised my eyebrows at calling it a day off. Since when do days off become a chore infested, headache inducing, tear evoking exercise? Since when do days off start at having to get up at 4am?

4am, Zip was up to make another costume that the organiser wanted for another presenter that had come on board. She had arrived home at midnight from the meeting, spent another hour preparing the pieces before allowing herself a small shred of sleep. She had been grinding herself with work, 24/7 for the last 4 months non stop on various projects, commissions and monumental events. Tonight's White Ivy Party was the finale, showcasing her very complicated achievements along with other emerging designers.

With facebook to the rescue, comments came with suggestions to an array of places, one being located 20 minutes down the road. Off we drove while Zip rummaged through the glove box for the stash of tissues I usually kept. I bit my lip for a long moment in anxiety, because I couldn't remember replenishing the tissues. We found the shop, Zip found 3 dresses instantly that she liked, when I found one further inside towards the changing rooms. It didn't fit the short, slutty, white, ready to be ripped apart bill, but it was white and very pretty. Zip's beautiful eye's popped open in delight when I showed her. It fitted like a glove, and she felt some embellishments was all that was needed, like LED lights. The fiery red blotchiness that had just previously occupied her normally ravishing face instantly disintegrated.



She leaped down the pathway towards her little red vroom vroom car, when she stopped, turned and ran back, grabbing me in an embrace that nearly sent me flying backwards. "Thanks Mum, I looove you sooo much" swaying me side to side. "Tomorrow I really am buying you a blueberry muffin and a mega big Chai after Ebony comes in for her fitting".
I know tomorrow morning she will come in after partying all night long at this event, have a shower, then attend to a friends dress fitting, work several more hours on the design before upholding on her promise.


I walked inside and made a very tough decision. I rang Jeana from Jeana's Country Spa. "Hey Jeanna darling, could you book Zip in please for an hour long relaxation facial and a new hair style around 11am Tuesday"
It was a hard, tough love moment but someone has to teach the girl what a day off really is.

The photo's in this blog compliments of 'Featherhead' are off Zip's amazing work. The headpieces are from Featherhead's Philomena Kwok, also a totally amazing designer. Congrats on hugely successful venture!!!
Also thanks to Rebecca, Karen, Dom (staff from Bubba Moe) who as always, go above the call of duty to make things possbile.