I have noted of late that there seems to be a certain rule that parents are expected to follow now. It is the rule of "what if..."
Instead of common sense and the ability to understand your own child's limitations we are expected, and most comply, with this rule.
It dictates that no matter how you may see a situation you must be over-cautious and say "what if?"
When I was 12 I began babysitting for neighbourhood families. But...what if something had happened while I was alone? What if something had happened to the children? What if there had been a fire? A bear attack in deepest, darkest Scotland? An airplane crashing on the house? Actually six years on that did happen - who would have thought it? Why the "what if" people.
I earned my pocket-money and really enjoyed the experience and responsibility. But now, you can be severely punished for leaving a child under 16 in charge of a tot. Makes one wonder if the 13 year olds having babies then are not allowed to care for their own children? Out comes the cotton wool because in the land of "what if" children must be molly-coddled until the age where they are old enough to marry and fight for the country. We will throw them out into this world having never experienced time alone in the family house, life as a latch-key kid and the little thrill having your own key and entering an empty house gives a teenager.
Perhaps I am mistaken, I doubt it though. This can only lead to adults unable to care for themselves, unaware of their own aptitude for daily tasks as they hadn't learned from mistakes made earlier.
I was left alone a few times when I was young. The first time was around the age my Hobbits are at now - 9. Was it an act of cruelty by my parents? (My father was walking up to the hospital where my mother worked and I was busy drawing as usual and didn't want to go. I was left in the house, in a quiet village while he walked the mile or so - must have been about 30-40 minutes I was alone. I didn't think anything of it.)
I had friends and family members who would be left alone in the house while their parents went out of a Friday evening to the local worker's clubs. Was that cruelty, neglect?
It is something I believe strongly about as I dislike being told how to raise my own children. They aren't left alone but there will come a time where that is necessary and I do think they are more than aware of the dangerous that may or may not happen. They go out to play in the area, should I shackle them to the back step so they go no further? I don't hover over them at every opportunity yet I am perfectly attuned to where they are and who they are with and most of all I trust them. Children need a certain amount of freedom in order to grow.
If we lived our lives constantly on "what if" the stress would kill us. We wouldn't leave our beds in the morning, in fact we wouldn't go into our beds just in case, you know, all the things that can happen to you when you are asleep.
It can be a wicked world we raise our children in but even Red Riding Hood's mother allowed her to traverse the forest full of wolves...oh wait, maybe that isn't such a good example. Or maybe it is.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
The greatest achievements are the ones you have fought for
I was going to add photographic proof until I realised my name was printed in very big letters and I do not have photo-shop on this computer to erase that evidence. Plus if I did who is to say that the certificate was mine?
Anywouldyougetothepointway, today I had a boost to lift my illness-weary spirits, worn down indeed by a week of sniffing and coughing in the most miserable fashion.
My certificate arrived. And on this certificate it states that on the 31st December 2010 I was conferred "The Degree of - Bachelor of Arts (Honours) in Humanities with Creative Writing and History"
and here is the important, boast about part...
"Upper Second-class Honours"
See that. DO YOU SEE THAT? I have finally done something of which I can be utterly proud of. Of course I am proud of my boys but their achievements are gained through their own efforts with only help from me. This is mine, all mine, I did it, all those years, all that crap I had to deal with...and if I can be churlish for a moment, this is also a big up-yours to everyone who wished me bad luck.
My whole life has been about pleasing other people, about not wishing to cause offence or hurt others. I never noticed that no one was concerned with my well-being until some opportunities had passed me by, but that will make me a better mother as I understand the importance of my position in ensuring my boys are encouraged to believe it is possible. This has proved to me, it is possible.
(And if I win the money from work then I'll venture further into the arts - perhaps start painting or I could tell them I'd use it to write the book I want to...?)
As I won't show the degree certificate I'll just post a photograph depicting how I feel inside...(this is our boy, all grown up, happy dog indeed!)
Anywouldyougetothepointway, today I had a boost to lift my illness-weary spirits, worn down indeed by a week of sniffing and coughing in the most miserable fashion.
My certificate arrived. And on this certificate it states that on the 31st December 2010 I was conferred "The Degree of - Bachelor of Arts (Honours) in Humanities with Creative Writing and History"
and here is the important, boast about part...
"Upper Second-class Honours"
See that. DO YOU SEE THAT? I have finally done something of which I can be utterly proud of. Of course I am proud of my boys but their achievements are gained through their own efforts with only help from me. This is mine, all mine, I did it, all those years, all that crap I had to deal with...and if I can be churlish for a moment, this is also a big up-yours to everyone who wished me bad luck.
My whole life has been about pleasing other people, about not wishing to cause offence or hurt others. I never noticed that no one was concerned with my well-being until some opportunities had passed me by, but that will make me a better mother as I understand the importance of my position in ensuring my boys are encouraged to believe it is possible. This has proved to me, it is possible.
(And if I win the money from work then I'll venture further into the arts - perhaps start painting or I could tell them I'd use it to write the book I want to...?)
As I won't show the degree certificate I'll just post a photograph depicting how I feel inside...(this is our boy, all grown up, happy dog indeed!)
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Cabbage Roses
My Aunt owned a little flat in a one street town on a medium sized Scottish island. This was a home handed down by her husband's mother and as a result family enjoyed the use of such an easy to reach weekend holiday place.
The windows looked out onto the sea at one side and a dark forest on the other and the close smelled of shellfish and sand. The lady who lived upstairs was
We visited rarely, although other family members took full advantage my own preferred the island next door and honestly I did too. Bike rides and sandy beaches.
I remember, as a young child, no more than five or six, tracing the patterns of the blue cabbage roses on the wallpaper. Fingertips sliding over the shiny surface in the morning light.
The windows looked out onto the sea at one side and a dark forest on the other and the close smelled of shellfish and sand. The lady who lived upstairs was
We visited rarely, although other family members took full advantage my own preferred the island next door and honestly I did too. Bike rides and sandy beaches.
I remember, as a young child, no more than five or six, tracing the patterns of the blue cabbage roses on the wallpaper. Fingertips sliding over the shiny surface in the morning light.
Of Late It Has Been Pouring Down
If life is meant to test a person then I have truly been tested above and beyond what most would be able to cope with.
That sounds perhaps egotistic. To think I could deal with things that would fell others. I am not egotistic, in fact I am more probably the polar opposite. Instead I look back on events of the past three and a half years for evidence. I look back and wonder how long this path goes on for and at what point this will ease enough for me to be able to feel safe and secure.
I look at all the mistakes I made, all the problems people have given me on the understanding that I do this alone. The biggest mistake has been letting mother stay with us. She reverted so quickly back to the bitter, childish woman that plagued my childhood that it caught me completely by surprise.
Yet here we are, this life I have created we have to live with. This is a challenge my sons should not have to live with however I have no choice. Here is the point, I have no choice. If I could then I would ship her off to the old people's home she continually insinuates would be better than life with me. Having a maid obviously isn't enough.
Ever since Dad died I have single-handed all of the arrangement. The funeral, the selling of one house, the buying of another, all of life's little incidents that happen in between and on top of that I've raised my sons and worked my little job. Meanwhile not only did I lose a father but I really lost her at that point as well.
Now my position would easily be construed as cruel. Not knowing the history, not knowing her, they would look on this as the evil daughter not caring for her mother. In a way they would be true. I no longer care. She has done enough in the past, nearly two years, to ensure that if I had never to see her again I would not cry with the loss. There is only so much a person can take and seeing how she could suddenly change from the façade she put up to all the old neighbours and friends where we used to live. See now she doesn't know people so there is no need to pretend. She can go back to how she really was.
Once she explained that her ice-cold method of mothering was down to suffering an extra long menopause. This menopause must have returned.
The truth I can see now, after all of the crap I've walked through, doesn't hurt. I have hardened somewhat. I am not the emotionally charged firebrand. The truth is that I was an inconvenience. Had I not existed her life would have been so much better but I got in the way. I was a daddy's girl and she managed to put a wedge in that. I can see what my dad went through and wonder how long he would have lived had he not had her in his life.
My Granny was right. She did not deserve such a gentle soul as a husband. She has too much of her family in her as it is almost a carbon copy of Gran, this person she is now. I listened to years of moaning about how she had to do this for Gran and had to do that and what a nightmare she was. I listened and now I'm seeing that for all that talk she is content to be just like her.
I wish for an easier life, in this little house of ours, I want to have peace.
That sounds perhaps egotistic. To think I could deal with things that would fell others. I am not egotistic, in fact I am more probably the polar opposite. Instead I look back on events of the past three and a half years for evidence. I look back and wonder how long this path goes on for and at what point this will ease enough for me to be able to feel safe and secure.
I look at all the mistakes I made, all the problems people have given me on the understanding that I do this alone. The biggest mistake has been letting mother stay with us. She reverted so quickly back to the bitter, childish woman that plagued my childhood that it caught me completely by surprise.
Yet here we are, this life I have created we have to live with. This is a challenge my sons should not have to live with however I have no choice. Here is the point, I have no choice. If I could then I would ship her off to the old people's home she continually insinuates would be better than life with me. Having a maid obviously isn't enough.
Ever since Dad died I have single-handed all of the arrangement. The funeral, the selling of one house, the buying of another, all of life's little incidents that happen in between and on top of that I've raised my sons and worked my little job. Meanwhile not only did I lose a father but I really lost her at that point as well.
Now my position would easily be construed as cruel. Not knowing the history, not knowing her, they would look on this as the evil daughter not caring for her mother. In a way they would be true. I no longer care. She has done enough in the past, nearly two years, to ensure that if I had never to see her again I would not cry with the loss. There is only so much a person can take and seeing how she could suddenly change from the façade she put up to all the old neighbours and friends where we used to live. See now she doesn't know people so there is no need to pretend. She can go back to how she really was.
Once she explained that her ice-cold method of mothering was down to suffering an extra long menopause. This menopause must have returned.
The truth I can see now, after all of the crap I've walked through, doesn't hurt. I have hardened somewhat. I am not the emotionally charged firebrand. The truth is that I was an inconvenience. Had I not existed her life would have been so much better but I got in the way. I was a daddy's girl and she managed to put a wedge in that. I can see what my dad went through and wonder how long he would have lived had he not had her in his life.
My Granny was right. She did not deserve such a gentle soul as a husband. She has too much of her family in her as it is almost a carbon copy of Gran, this person she is now. I listened to years of moaning about how she had to do this for Gran and had to do that and what a nightmare she was. I listened and now I'm seeing that for all that talk she is content to be just like her.
I wish for an easier life, in this little house of ours, I want to have peace.
Thursday, January 06, 2011
Perturbed
Sometimes Facebook can throw a whole pint of ice cold water over any semblance of confidence one has in friends and the constant human wish to be liked.
And, without going into any further detail so this post may remain as infuriatingly obtuse as I am, all I will say is that although my creative streak has lain dormant for a few weeks now I would have hoped that my ability to make pretty things would have at least intrigued a few to sign up!
Bah.
And, without going into any further detail so this post may remain as infuriatingly obtuse as I am, all I will say is that although my creative streak has lain dormant for a few weeks now I would have hoped that my ability to make pretty things would have at least intrigued a few to sign up!
Bah.
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
The Crime Of Neglect
Ah bloggie, how I have neglected you. Of all the promises and best of intentions I fail to maintain the momentum.
However I have new vigour. No, that is a horrid word that brings connotations of old men for some reason.
I have neglected everything. In fact for the past few weeks, along with the hustle and bustle of the "festive" season everything has had an air of fug over it. I no longer create, I vegetate. Yes, that is an apt description. I really should put more effort into things but instead I feel so tired I have barely the energy to keep up - and even in that I'm not successful.
I worry sometimes that the illness will come back, just as we are getting on our way. But the tiredness can be explain by lack of sleep and the truth that I simply have too much to do and no one to share the burden with.
Too late I realised that some people do not change and that living with someone who seemed to have changed to the point of being likeable throws light on to that character. And shadows can't hide in the light. That is what I am most disappointed with and it weighs heavily. Especially when you cannot openly talk about it. This is not a healthy way to live.
So, choices - bitch about it or do something about it.
However I have new vigour. No, that is a horrid word that brings connotations of old men for some reason.
I have neglected everything. In fact for the past few weeks, along with the hustle and bustle of the "festive" season everything has had an air of fug over it. I no longer create, I vegetate. Yes, that is an apt description. I really should put more effort into things but instead I feel so tired I have barely the energy to keep up - and even in that I'm not successful.
I worry sometimes that the illness will come back, just as we are getting on our way. But the tiredness can be explain by lack of sleep and the truth that I simply have too much to do and no one to share the burden with.
Too late I realised that some people do not change and that living with someone who seemed to have changed to the point of being likeable throws light on to that character. And shadows can't hide in the light. That is what I am most disappointed with and it weighs heavily. Especially when you cannot openly talk about it. This is not a healthy way to live.
So, choices - bitch about it or do something about it.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Tip me a wink in the morning Mr. Sunshine won't you?
There is a definite autumnal snap in the air and in twenty-one days we'll be jetting off for a much (desperately) needed holiday. So at this moment everything else seems to reek a little of poo; I've just had yet another blow from the ex that lets me know there are many people out there who believe I am a monster bitch of an ex-wife thanks to the lies he feeds them and at the moment I have to take it as I can't retaliate until the final piece of the jigsaw goes in and then he'll get his; house buying has hit more trouble and if it ever happens I'll die of shock; job at the moment isn't so much meh as "do I have to go?" and I'm getting more than a little pissed off at how my sons seem to miss out on every opportunity at school in favour of certain children who are always top pick. Everything is on a low and there doesn't appear to be any easy answers ready for me to snatch up. In fact there are never any easy answers so we'll mark that one down as a myth.
The hurdles I have to jump get higher.
Still, I carry on. I have to. I could really just lie down and sleep for eternity but I am made of sterner stuff, like the bloody Titanic I am and there are no icebergs around here I thank you.
I wouldn't say I'm keeping upbeat. No reasonably sane person could if they had to deal with the amount of utter snash that I have to. But I am keeping up. Just. When it gets like this I downsize. I don't look to the future especially when it looks as bleak as it currently does. Instead I take what pleasure I can from simplicity. That little cross-stitch I'm working on, the little drawing I'm doing, walking our boy (dog not either of the human ones), watching the Hobbits build their Lego or train models, reading together, watching films even if I have to sit through Star Trek...again..., that article in a magazine that resonates with me, that song I hear that brings a wry smile as I acknowledge the words that chime with me.
It is what you do to survive. At some point things will pick up, if not for me then I'll make it through to when the Hobbits are up and running and I'll ensure they don't end up with this kind of existence. That will be my reason to go on.
The hurdles I have to jump get higher.
Still, I carry on. I have to. I could really just lie down and sleep for eternity but I am made of sterner stuff, like the bloody Titanic I am and there are no icebergs around here I thank you.
I wouldn't say I'm keeping upbeat. No reasonably sane person could if they had to deal with the amount of utter snash that I have to. But I am keeping up. Just. When it gets like this I downsize. I don't look to the future especially when it looks as bleak as it currently does. Instead I take what pleasure I can from simplicity. That little cross-stitch I'm working on, the little drawing I'm doing, walking our boy (dog not either of the human ones), watching the Hobbits build their Lego or train models, reading together, watching films even if I have to sit through Star Trek...again..., that article in a magazine that resonates with me, that song I hear that brings a wry smile as I acknowledge the words that chime with me.
It is what you do to survive. At some point things will pick up, if not for me then I'll make it through to when the Hobbits are up and running and I'll ensure they don't end up with this kind of existence. That will be my reason to go on.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
And That Is The End Of That
Last year I began what newspeak would describe as a journey.
This wasn't a journey related (completely) to what happened three Summers ago. This wasn't a journey related (completely) to my father dying last Spring.
I began the process, and it is a process, of trying to get what is called an open market shared equity doo-dah from the government. The process was long and hard and frustrating. I watched as wonderful houses came and went while the organisation dithered and dallied.
Then, this year, success. Not only success but a sign - two signs in fact - and all the pieces began to fall in to place. The perfect house, the perfect price, everybody in agreement and all is merry and bright.
Until last week. Last week when the bank (rhymes with...) decided that due to the detritus left on my credit report by my ex then the "criteria" had changed and they closed the door. All this time, I have done my very best to repair the damage left when he decided to spend without paying back and when I was too ill to notice. I have saved, I have paid all my bills, I have been a good girl. But it is not enough. It is never enough.
And now it ends.
That is that, there is nowhere to turn. No one listens. No one looks at the evidence there in my own bank accounts. No one cares.
If there was a magic wand to wave I could skip the whole shared equity thing and suddenly there would be the £45,000 I need (and which ironically I can pay back but who cares right?) Without a mortgage there is no shared equity, without either of those there is no house.
Once again I have let everyone down. Those few years when I didn't pay attention, when I didn't look to see why he was so eager to take the bill paying duty from me - I will pay for them emotionally forever it would seem. But what pains me the most, like a dagger through the ribs, is the disappointment I am to my boys. Oh they don't say it, they say never mind mummy we'll be right. But I've let them down, I have failed completely in one of the "criteria" of being a parent - a stable, secure, safe environment, basically a home of their own.
I wonder just how long this goes on. While he swans about in BMWs, living in converted churches, not paying a single penny in maintenance. The injustice of it all is choking.
So here I am. Lost again. Loser once more. I keep telling myself that all is fine, we are still healthy, we still have this place but it doesn't work. I can feel it twist and turn inside my stomach ready to burst free and let it be known that the truth is...no matter what I do there is no hope. Failure.
This wasn't a journey related (completely) to what happened three Summers ago. This wasn't a journey related (completely) to my father dying last Spring.
I began the process, and it is a process, of trying to get what is called an open market shared equity doo-dah from the government. The process was long and hard and frustrating. I watched as wonderful houses came and went while the organisation dithered and dallied.
Then, this year, success. Not only success but a sign - two signs in fact - and all the pieces began to fall in to place. The perfect house, the perfect price, everybody in agreement and all is merry and bright.
Until last week. Last week when the bank (rhymes with...) decided that due to the detritus left on my credit report by my ex then the "criteria" had changed and they closed the door. All this time, I have done my very best to repair the damage left when he decided to spend without paying back and when I was too ill to notice. I have saved, I have paid all my bills, I have been a good girl. But it is not enough. It is never enough.
And now it ends.
That is that, there is nowhere to turn. No one listens. No one looks at the evidence there in my own bank accounts. No one cares.
If there was a magic wand to wave I could skip the whole shared equity thing and suddenly there would be the £45,000 I need (and which ironically I can pay back but who cares right?) Without a mortgage there is no shared equity, without either of those there is no house.
Once again I have let everyone down. Those few years when I didn't pay attention, when I didn't look to see why he was so eager to take the bill paying duty from me - I will pay for them emotionally forever it would seem. But what pains me the most, like a dagger through the ribs, is the disappointment I am to my boys. Oh they don't say it, they say never mind mummy we'll be right. But I've let them down, I have failed completely in one of the "criteria" of being a parent - a stable, secure, safe environment, basically a home of their own.
I wonder just how long this goes on. While he swans about in BMWs, living in converted churches, not paying a single penny in maintenance. The injustice of it all is choking.
So here I am. Lost again. Loser once more. I keep telling myself that all is fine, we are still healthy, we still have this place but it doesn't work. I can feel it twist and turn inside my stomach ready to burst free and let it be known that the truth is...no matter what I do there is no hope. Failure.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Thursday, August 05, 2010
It's like that...and that's the way it is
I'm your only friend I'm not your only friend but I'm a little glowing friend But really I'm not actually your friend But I am Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch Who watches over you Make a little birdhouse in your soul Not to put too fine a point on it Say I'm the only bee in your bonnet Make a little birdhouse in your soul
I have a secret to tell From my electrical well It's a simple message and I'm leaving out the whistles and bells So the room must listen to me Filibuster vigilantly My name is blue canary one note* spelled l-i-t-e My story's infinite Like the Longines Symphonette it doesn't rest
There's a picture opposite me Of my primitive ancestry Which stood on rocky shores and kept the beaches shipwreck free Though I respect that a lot I'd be fired if that were my job After killing Jason off and countless screaming Argonauts Bluebird of friendliness Like guardian angels its always near
I have a secret to tell From my electrical well It's a simple message and I'm leaving out the whistles and bells So the room must listen to me Filibuster vigilantly My name is blue canary one note* spelled l-i-t-e My story's infinite Like the Longines Symphonette it doesn't rest
There's a picture opposite me Of my primitive ancestry Which stood on rocky shores and kept the beaches shipwreck free Though I respect that a lot I'd be fired if that were my job After killing Jason off and countless screaming Argonauts Bluebird of friendliness Like guardian angels its always near
Saturday, July 17, 2010
times this by four evenings
Monday, July 12, 2010
Day 25 — Your day, in great detail
Where to start, where to start. Beginning is always best.
Woke up, on time, just, hate that feeling in the morning - I am a night owl. Boys up already and watching Spongebob (gah!) so breakfast made, bath run and boys persuaded to wash, dress and then have their breakfast. Just boring cereal this morning.
Off to Zumba class. First of all, wash on, the whirly gig is bent in an alarming fashion so I don't know how long it will last and as I want out of here then I'll be damned if I replace the damn thing. Zip about the hoover and then off I go. Zumba class is the best part of the day. Despite my hum-dinging quality after class I go shopping afterwards for necessities.
Back home, shopping put away, boys are in garden building skateboard ramps, warning given about broken limbs etc. Clean up house, washing done so begin to put on whirly gig - there we go, whirly gig snaps half way through. Fan-bloody-tastic. Take washing off and bring down clothes horse, one way or another these clothes will dry!
That done, time for much needed bath, put yesterdays wash away, nice bath, relax for five whole minutes. Up again, clean bathroom while I'm at it. Downstairs and time for lunch. Make lunch times four. Play Swing-ball with eldest Hobbit. Do a little bit of a cross-stitch design I'm working on. Fill in tax credit forms. Uh-oh look at the time.
Ready for work, ask mother to give boys pasta for dinner and off I go. Work is...meh. Busy but that is not the issue, see that once again all my effort seems to be for nothing as I'm not graded that well. Ah fuck it all to hell. Plow through the night, call after call, who cares about stats anyway (I do).
Time for home. Empty bins. Despite the time boys are still up and Mother is in bed. Hayfever stuff given and warning about bedtimes added on top. Bin outside. Online, first call as always the property search sites. Nothing there as usual. Consider my next step. Wish I could talk to someone about this and get more than just an agreement and "whatever you think is best" attitude. On here now. End of day.
Woke up, on time, just, hate that feeling in the morning - I am a night owl. Boys up already and watching Spongebob (gah!) so breakfast made, bath run and boys persuaded to wash, dress and then have their breakfast. Just boring cereal this morning.
Off to Zumba class. First of all, wash on, the whirly gig is bent in an alarming fashion so I don't know how long it will last and as I want out of here then I'll be damned if I replace the damn thing. Zip about the hoover and then off I go. Zumba class is the best part of the day. Despite my hum-dinging quality after class I go shopping afterwards for necessities.
Back home, shopping put away, boys are in garden building skateboard ramps, warning given about broken limbs etc. Clean up house, washing done so begin to put on whirly gig - there we go, whirly gig snaps half way through. Fan-bloody-tastic. Take washing off and bring down clothes horse, one way or another these clothes will dry!
That done, time for much needed bath, put yesterdays wash away, nice bath, relax for five whole minutes. Up again, clean bathroom while I'm at it. Downstairs and time for lunch. Make lunch times four. Play Swing-ball with eldest Hobbit. Do a little bit of a cross-stitch design I'm working on. Fill in tax credit forms. Uh-oh look at the time.
Ready for work, ask mother to give boys pasta for dinner and off I go. Work is...meh. Busy but that is not the issue, see that once again all my effort seems to be for nothing as I'm not graded that well. Ah fuck it all to hell. Plow through the night, call after call, who cares about stats anyway (I do).
Time for home. Empty bins. Despite the time boys are still up and Mother is in bed. Hayfever stuff given and warning about bedtimes added on top. Bin outside. Online, first call as always the property search sites. Nothing there as usual. Consider my next step. Wish I could talk to someone about this and get more than just an agreement and "whatever you think is best" attitude. On here now. End of day.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Day 24 — Whatever tickles your fancy
Despite his best efforts this summer holiday is most definitely not being ruined by the man child halfwit.
Having said that today, what tickles my fancy, is an IT Crowd marathon.
"If you type Google, into Google, then you can break the internet."
Peter File.
Classic.
Having said that today, what tickles my fancy, is an IT Crowd marathon.
"If you type Google, into Google, then you can break the internet."
Peter File.
Classic.
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
Day 23 — A YouTube video
I know people like this. Why do I even bother - because I want my boys to have a decent education. Will remind them to kick me if I ever become so pretentious though.
Day 22 — A website
There are a few website I enjoy trawling through while I'm meant to be doing other things. I am sad enough to have organised little folders for the different types of bookmarked favourites I have. There are the functional sites, such as bank, house search sites (God help me but I am fed up of looking at them!) and reference points. There are those for fun, some to browse and perhaps shop (either fantasy shop or real shop - go Amazon!) And there are those sites to which I look for inspiration.
At the moment I am watching and enjoying reruns of Project Runway season 6. For that - why didn't we get season 5 and where is season 7? Annoyed. So as many of the sites I use are the equivalent of flicking through a magazine (really good magazines where the subject matter is always involving and a delight for the eye) then I choose the website of one of the finalist. (To be honest she should have won, she has a gift of which I am entirely envious, oh to be able to whip up a beautiful gown in a day - what am I saying, would I wear it around the house? Get a grip.)
Carol Hannah
At the moment I am watching and enjoying reruns of Project Runway season 6. For that - why didn't we get season 5 and where is season 7? Annoyed. So as many of the sites I use are the equivalent of flicking through a magazine (really good magazines where the subject matter is always involving and a delight for the eye) then I choose the website of one of the finalist. (To be honest she should have won, she has a gift of which I am entirely envious, oh to be able to whip up a beautiful gown in a day - what am I saying, would I wear it around the house? Get a grip.)
Carol Hannah
Monday, July 05, 2010
Day 21 — A recipe
I cannot vouch for this recipe as I only found out such things existed tonight. While I can take or leave donuts, I love nutella.
Italian Donuts
Makes 3 dozen donuts.
2 teaspoons dry active yeast
1/2 cup warm water (about 100 degrees F)
1/4 cup granulated sugar
5 cups pastry flour
4 tablespoons unsalted butter at room temperature
3/4 cup warm milk
Pinch of salt
2-3 cups Nutella
Sugar for dusting
Place the yeast and water in a small bowl and whisk together let stand until creamy.
Place the sugar and flour in a bowl of a mixer and add the butter and mix just to incorporate the butter. Add the dissolved yeast warm milk and salt and mix just until the dough comes together. The dough will be very soft.
Grease a bowl well with butter and place the dough in the bowl and let rise about 1 to 1 1/2 hours or until doubled in volume.
Spread the dough on a lightly floured board to 1/2 inch thickness. Cut the puffs into rounds and let rise on a lightly flour board loosely covered for about 1 hour.
Heat the oil until it reaches 350 degrees F. Fry the puffs and drain on paper towels, then quickly sprinkle with sugar. Cook the remaining puffs. When cool enough to handle, fill with Nutella using a pastry bag fitted with a small straight tip. Serve.
Something else that is delicious is this:
Iker Casillas
Espana por favor!
Note to self - you obviously didn't look close enough during all that time you spent in Spain. Silly girl.
Italian Donuts
Makes 3 dozen donuts.
2 teaspoons dry active yeast
1/2 cup warm water (about 100 degrees F)
1/4 cup granulated sugar
5 cups pastry flour
4 tablespoons unsalted butter at room temperature
3/4 cup warm milk
Pinch of salt
2-3 cups Nutella
Sugar for dusting
Place the yeast and water in a small bowl and whisk together let stand until creamy.
Place the sugar and flour in a bowl of a mixer and add the butter and mix just to incorporate the butter. Add the dissolved yeast warm milk and salt and mix just until the dough comes together. The dough will be very soft.
Grease a bowl well with butter and place the dough in the bowl and let rise about 1 to 1 1/2 hours or until doubled in volume.
Spread the dough on a lightly floured board to 1/2 inch thickness. Cut the puffs into rounds and let rise on a lightly flour board loosely covered for about 1 hour.
Heat the oil until it reaches 350 degrees F. Fry the puffs and drain on paper towels, then quickly sprinkle with sugar. Cook the remaining puffs. When cool enough to handle, fill with Nutella using a pastry bag fitted with a small straight tip. Serve.
Something else that is delicious is this:
Iker Casillas
Espana por favor!
Note to self - you obviously didn't look close enough during all that time you spent in Spain. Silly girl.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Day 20 — A hobby of yours
Ah, this is the longest 30 days in the history of these meme things, of that I am quite sure. Still with the dogged determination that has hindered more than helped me over the years I continue regardless.
Hobbies, if only I had time for all the hobbies I'd like to do. This is where my arty crafty side comes out. Nothing calms the spirit more than ploughing through a design or turning a doodle into something that matters only to myself. I care not that people think cross-stitch and the type is twee or that some might look at what I do and sneer.
Okay, I'm not in a happy place today. That is clear from the focussing on the negative side of hobbies compared to just rabbiting on about why I enjoy things. Some days are just crappier than others.
Hobbies, if only I had time for all the hobbies I'd like to do. This is where my arty crafty side comes out. Nothing calms the spirit more than ploughing through a design or turning a doodle into something that matters only to myself. I care not that people think cross-stitch and the type is twee or that some might look at what I do and sneer.
Okay, I'm not in a happy place today. That is clear from the focussing on the negative side of hobbies compared to just rabbiting on about why I enjoy things. Some days are just crappier than others.
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