SEVEN! A simple birthday celebration.

It always amazes me that as a mum, I find myself surprised when ever one of the babes turns another year older. This time it was the boy's turn. The dear sweet boy who was my first babe to come earthside, the first to teach me what it is to be a mother, the first to help me realise what this life thing was all about, turned seven earlier this month.

We weren't up for a big party this year, I've been battling a few health issues, and my stamina just wasn't up for preparing the shed for an invasion by a multiple of sevens. So we asked if he'd mind picking just five friends (and some little sisters, mums, and dads too), and we'd do something special. Imagine my delight when he suggested a bush walk might be fun!  

Immediately, the perfect trail came to mind! 

On the day, we met at our start point and the scene was set: a fair damsel and her child (OK, in this case it was a rather hairy and bearded damsel called Greg, but you know... make believe and all that!) had been kidnapped by pirates and was stranded on a beach around the headland. The mission was to pass through the lost city destroyed by the pirates, fight their way past the evil banksia men, and cross the crocodile infested lake to rescue the fair (hairy/bearded) damsel and her child and then bring them some food and drinks... yeah I know, lame, but it worked! 

Setting off...

Discovering the lost city destroyed by pirates...

Pretty sure he's running off from a fight with a Banksia Man...

On to our destination...

Of course, on our arrival, the poor fair damsel (hairy/bearded damsel) was fast forgotten as rock climbing and beach exploration became a far more interesting priority! And of course, cake eating. Don't forget cake eating! 

Love you Logan boy. You rock our world.

Lest we forget.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young.

Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.

They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,

They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning,

We will remember them.

(From "For the Fallen"
by Laurence Binyon, 1914). 

Today is ANZAC Day. In around an hour and a half my family will be waking early to attend the small but significant dawn service in our town. Normally I would be joining them, however this year I am working a night shift and am therefore unable to make it. This saddens me somewhat.

Though I may not hear the chilling last post this year, I will nonetheless stop at dawn and remember.

 I will remember the diggers of past who gave their lives. I will remember families and towns that lost loved ones. I will remember those who are still giving today. And far more raw: I will remember Paul and Lyn my friends and colleagues who gave their lives in 2005, when the helicopter they were on crashed during a rescue mission in Indonesia.

I will remember them. Lest we forget.

Why would you?

This week I'm not going to write about what I've been up to in simple living Arthur style world. Instead I'm going to send you over to Pearl and Elspeth and you can see for yourself! Then, I'm going to ponder a couple of questions that have risen from some conversations I've had this week. 

1. Why would I spend five days working my butt off to help a couple of complete strangers (almost!) build their house... for free?

First there is the obvious answer: we don't want to be shed dwellers forever, and here was a perfect opportunity to learn about a building method that intrigued The Dada and I. I wanted to see how it worked. I wanted an idea of how expensive it was. I wanted the sensory experience - to touch and feel what it was like. I wanted to see it come together - to understand it. And importantly, I wanted answers to the raised eye brow questions asked by the skeptics in my life (who I love dearly I might add!) like "What happens when it gets full of vermin?",  "What about fire?", and "How on earth could a bunch of hay be load bearing?". I'm getting all of that and more. 

But there is another reason. Arguably, a more important reason why I would do this, and maybe a kinda selfish in an around about kinda way reason: the community. I'm tired of the self sufficient, we don't know our neighbors, keep to yourself attitude society seems to be adopting. I think I've blogged about this before when discussing MamaBake. I know I've ranted and raved before about how the fault of society is our lack of community, our lack of support, our strive to be independent of each other, and the loss of  "the village". You know, that village it takes to raise a child? 

So I'm doing this not only for Annie and Genevieve, but for my children, my family, my town, and my community. I want to live in a community that helps each other out. Somewhere where when asked to help people say "yeah sure" instead of "why?". Where help is offered before its asked for even. There is nothing more sad than being surrounded by people and yet feel so lonely you could cry. I've been there, its not nice. So I figure, why not start with me? You know, Gandhi and "be the change you want to see" and all that.

What goes around comes around. Now, Annie and Genevieve, if you're reading this I'm not for a moment suggesting you have to help me in return! Rather, I'm just saying if more people helped where they could, the world would be a better place. I'm not Buddhist, I don't believe in Karma really (I don't think), but whats wrong with having more helpers and less skeptics in the world? Live, love and help each other. Its not that hard.

So my friends and family, next time you can't figure out why I would do something like this (or if I ask for your help!), instead of being critical, rolling your eyes, and asking why on earth (yes, some of the responses I've had), stop and think what you would like if you were in the other shoes. Thanks. 

2. Why Blog? 

As I sat on the periphery of morning tea this week, I listened with interest to a discussion on mummy-bloggers. The content of the conversation was rather thought provoking for me. Why do mummy's blog? Why do I mummy-blog?

There was a lot of talk about it being a record for the kids, and online diary etc. And some mummy's make some cash on the side line from advertising.  What made me smile though was some chatting about "perfect mummy's" and their projection of perfect lives, in a perfect house with perfect children, being the perfect parent. I really did smile. If you're familiar with mummy-blog world, you know what I'm talking about. The general consensus of the group was that it (the perfection part at least) was bullshit. The portrayal of perfection like a glossy magazine further worsening the stereotype that all us mummy's (and mummy-bloggers) should strive for. I loved that bit of the conversation - something I've thought over many times. Personally I cannot stand anything that implies (intentionally or not) that mummy should be perfect.

One particular comment made me giggle a bit "there is no freaking way she can do all of that unless she has two housekeepers and three nannies for the kids!". A few more giggles ensued over a mummy-blogger blogging about the hardship of making $16 last four days by living out of her fully stocked pantry and garden (ummmm really? A whole four days with only $16 but a fully stocked pantry and a vegie patch? Poor you... in reality lots of families live this way regularly - without the fully stocked pantry, for time periods of more like four weeks than four days!).  Its probably important to note here that the conversation wasn't being critical of mummy-blogging in general, this was just some observation that reality seems to be missing in some mummy blog posts... (Disclaimer: I don't actually know who these mummy-bloggers that were being discussed are, so cannot comment on the actual content of the blog posts in discussion, only the discussion itself). One mummy partaking in the conversation confessed that she used to blog, however felt that she had nothing of importance to share in mummy-blog world, and was sometimes left with a feeling of inadequacy that she wasn't doing "enough" with the kids after reading what other mummy-bloggers were up to: that she could not compete. Thats about where the conversation ended as we were all called back to work.

So what is it all about this portrayal of perfection? Is it just another way for women to compete? Surely not? Personally I prefer to see the dishes piled up on the sink, the washing waiting to be folded, the kids running feral, and the general chaos. Thats reality. Louisa, one of the mummy's involved in the conversation is toying with the idea of writing a paper on mummy-blogging. I really hope she does. I think it would be a fascinating read. But meanwhile it has got me to thinking. Why do I blog?

I'm certainly not in the "perfect mummy" show off crowd! This post about the horrific state of my house proves that! I'm not a fantastic crafter, although I do dabble. I don't have a business and certainly don't make money from my blog from advertising (and nor do I want to - art not adds remember!). I don't have a passion or political point I'm trying to promote. And I'm not trying to educate anyone. Is it about that 15 minutes of fame? Hmmm maybe, don't really think so - I'm not out there promoting my blog trying to get more followers. I do get a kick out of people reading and commenting though. I'm not a brilliant photographer - most of my pics are from my phone, and I'm certainly not a poetic writer.

 I think for me that the reason I blog is twofold: firstly its an outlet. I get to write down my thoughts and record our goings on to look back on later. I can sit and unwind in front of the computer - we don't have TV and I'm not a big novel reader. Hopeless at card games too.  Secondly, I have many friends and family across the country and world that I would dearly like to remain in touch with however I don't. I don't because - lets face it - who has time to write individual emails or letters, and because (confession time) I have a phone phobia. Oh I can answer the phone and carry on a perfectly normal (kinda) conversation, but initiating the call is really really really hard for me. So I don't. This blog is somewhere I can record all the things I'd like to share with my friends and family who live far and wide. I don't think that is such a bad reason to blog. And if I can help break down the "perfect mummy" persona of mummy-blog land in the process, well that might possibly be a good thing too. 

Til next time. XX

 

Gastro-nomical Craftyness

No its not a typo. Unfortunately the Gastro Fairy cast a spell on me Thursday last (or "Gastro Goblin" as my friend's seven year old says - you see Fairies are good not evil, and would never be so inclined as to cast spells of gastro - thanks E.) and I found myself quarantined to the confines of home for the day. Too under the weather to do much else that needed doing, but not so unwell as to keep boredom at bay, I settled down to some been-meaning-to-do-for-ages crafty type tasks. Was a pretty successful day, between trips to the loo. 

First up was a rather cute dress my mother in law bought for Lily a little while ago. Lily adores the dress, but doesn't get to wear it a lot - you see it has a problem. This:

 I detest mass marketing aimed at kids. Don't get me wrong, I'm not gonna tackle your sweet heart and rip his Bob the Builder runners from his little feet in a fit of rage, I'd just really quite strongly prefer it was not anywhere near MY kids. And of course there is the issue of not being allowed to wear clothing with marketing images to school (we have a dress code, not a uniform), so this dress was sitting in the back of the wardrobe not being worn... that is before it sat in my "to do" pile for five months. Lucky it still fits really. 

Anyway, I ummed and ahhed, and decided that rather than turn on the generator to run the sewing machine I'd use a little elbow grease and crochet an applique to hide Dora. This is what I came up with: 

 Don't ask me for a pattern to crochet that flower (please?). I kinda... winged it. I have no idea what I did where or when to end up with that flower! The end result is below. I'm happy and so is Miss Lily. 

 Then it was time for me. On my last op shopping trip I found this skirt:

  

Particularly ugly, mid calf, 1990's style split up the back, not roolly moi (also, sorry about the bad pic - I was sick remember!). But that fabric kept calling out to me. So for $4 I figured, meh, what the hell, I'll work out what to do with it later! And I did. I took the scissors to it and hand stitched a new hem. Here I will add something I NEVER thought I would say EVER! I miss my iron. Hemming without the iron sucks balls. Hemming sucks balls, but not being able to get that precision fold in the fabric, REALLY sucks balls. The Dada swears its crooked. I told him to (not quite so politely) keep his opinion to himself. Anyway... she is now a rather fetching mini, which just called out for one of those flowers I sewed onto Miss Lily's dress! I fudged out another one in skirt matching colours, and here she is: 

  I probably should have modeled for the shot but Gastro Goblin hadn't left me feeling quite so up to the cat walk that day - you'll note I DID manage to take off the Vinnies tag from the waistline this time. By this point I tired of wardrobe refashioning and lazed about on the couch, looking up at my Mumbulla, crocheting some more Granny Love for the rug I started, ooohhh about a year ago?! I have a good stash now - probably enough for a single bed, but of course the ambitious side of me wants one big enough for MY bed, so I'll keep going. 

So there it is. My day of Gastro-nomical Craftyness! Till we meet again, let the Gastro Goblin stay far away from your homes!

Landing ourselves in hot water!

Remember Ben who came by to help with the "man work" (disclaimer: "man work" actually means "there is no doubt in my mind that I could do this myself as a woman, but since they offered, I let them") of installing Everly the Everhot fire? (I know, I gave her a name, couldn't help it). Well, while he was here The Dada and Ben got to chatting about Everly's wet back and the creation of on tap hot water and what a bliss it would be. You see Ben lives rather simply himself so knows the trials of heating water via kettle each time you need to shower or do dishes. Although Ben has an AWESOME fire bath (picture it: bathtub, on a pedestal of rocks, out in the open, heated by warm coals underneath so it never goes cold - bathing while staring at the stars! Bliss!) to heat his family's bathing water, he did understand our desperation for this one simple pleasure: running hot water.

Well, it just so happens that Ben has recently solved his dilemma of the lack of running hot water, by creating a composting hot water system. A composting what? I mean, I'd heard of composting loos, we're going to put one in our house when she is eventually built, but composting hot water systems? I have to say that my ears pricked up at this point in the conversation, and I listened in.

Apparently Ben had created on tap hot water at a constant 60 degrees 24/7 for his little mountain shack, pretty much for free by utilising compost to heat the water. How absolutely marvelous! He arranged some plastic pipe in layers within his compost heap, much like this chap has done at the Permaculture Research Institute of Australia, and viola: hot water! The Dada went and checked out Ben's hot water creating composting heap a couple of days ago, and on Easter Monday got crafty with Simon (our Italian guest who is camping out with us working his butt off on our block in exchange for food, rent and a bit of Aussie culture - which he is getting by the dozen, surviving lunch with my family on Sunday!).

Turns out Simon is a bit of a compost king back home in Italy, so between them, The Dada and Simon crafted a very nifty little compost and pipe holding arrangement. Here's a pictorial view of the process...

 

Now those of you who are friends or who have been following along for a while will know we have experience with the thermal energy created by compost and what it can do, when our garage burned down a couple of years ago. Let me tell you those heaps can get hot. Really hot. I can't wait to see if we really can use some of that energy for something so useful! I do wonder if we needed to unbunch the pipe a little, and I will admit I did ponder the safety of using ag-pipe and heating water in it for a while - thinking about the potential chemical release into the water. In the end I figured so long as we don't ingest it,there are certainly worse things we could do to ourselves! Thinking now about all those years of drinking chemical laden town water supply water - eeewww!

I can't wait to test her out. Oh baby! Hot water! WOOT!

In other exciting news... I'm joining the fabulous ladies of Pearl & Elspeth for their Strawbale workshop! Can't wait! Strawbale is something The Dada and I have been tossing around as an idea for our own house when we get around to it. Warm in winter, cool in summer, and environmentally sound. Perfect. Oh, and while you are perusing their blog, check out Annie's amazing skills in the skirt department! They rock! Can't wait to meet them both properly, although I suspect it will be more work, less play...

Ciao. (Even writing it I can't say it like Simon does...)



15th April 2012 - EDITED TO ADD: Less than a week later, the water is comfortably warm. Not hot yet, but warm enough to do some dishes. I'll report back in a few days.

25th April 2012 - EDITED TO ADD: Hmmmmm not so good. Its only luke warm now... Have had a chat to a new friend about it and they're sending through some composting recipes... thinking we haven't go the nitrogen/carbon ratio right... Will report back when we fix it.

Cornucopia.

Yep. Cornucopia - my lame attempt at a pun. Meh. Oh well.

But its true. We were blessed with cup-runneth-over type abundance of corn today! You see, my little brother (by little I mean 6ft 3 and around 120kg type little!) runs a farm contracting business, for which he grows corn to make into silage (a soggy, cooked and preserved by the sun smelly thing that cows go mental over) which he sells as cattle feed. With recent floods, some of his crop was unable to be harvested due to flood debris being deposited amongst it, rendering it impossible for him to run his very expensive chopping type machinery through without some rather horrid damage occurring.



Left behind was a fairly decent patch of corn which was ripe, in fact overripe and slightly drying, for the picking.



Not the sweet type corn which is scrumptious on your dinner plate, but maize/cattle feed type corn - so very perfect for chooks and ducks! Soooo much better than seeing it go to waste!

The wee ones and I set off early to harvest as much as we could - well as much as we could before the "Can we go to Nanny's" and "Do we have to keep picking corn?" kicked in (it wasn't much fun after they realised that it didn't taste all that great). It was fabulous (in an itchy, dear god this corn is giving me hives and by golly I over dressed for this weather kind of way)! And we now have a lovely loot of bird feed to augment the kitchen scraps and whatever they find while free ranging during the day.

At first they had fun! And were great help!



The boy then found my phone and wanted to take a pic too. Hmmm. I must remember to wear that skirt more often - I do so love a good circle skirt!



Look what a beautiful place we live in - even when its being heavily farmed and is almost bare.



After as much as the wee ones could tolerate was gathered...



...we headed to Nanny and Poppy's to do our fruit "shopping" for the weekend.




Hope your weekend was as plentiful! 

EDITED TO ADD: 
Since writing this post, my brother has had problems with people entering the property and helping themselves to the corn, without permission. Whether prompted to do so by this blog post, or by having seen us there collecting corn, or even because they felt so inclined all of their own cheeky accord, I am not sure. Regardless, I feel compelled to write that this post was certainly NOT an open invitation to trespass onto my brother's privately leased property and take the corn. Not only does someone doing so create a public liability nightmare for my brother, TAKING CORN WITHOUT PERMISSION IS THEFT! He's a pretty reasonable bloke. Most people would just have to ask! 

Cakes, and biscuits and soups and...

...and even more will soon be cooked up in the shed (all gluten, soy and dairy free of course - buts a long post for another day!). The Arthur's kitchen is slowly coming together and soon we might even be able to put the caravan away! The Dada recently acquired by way of eBay (and a boys road trip) an aged Everhot One Fifty wood fired oven for $50. She is aged as I said and well preloved, but with some tender loving care we figured she would suit our purpose well. Her wet back seems intact - and with the amount of timber fallen not only on our own block but also the lot kindly offered to us by our neighbours, she means free hot water! Free stove top cooking! Free oven cooking! Free heating! Yay!

First up The Dada built her a plinth on which to sit. This was his first attempt at brick work and although he was apprehensive, I think he did a mighty fine job.



And today our friend Ben was employed for some man-work. Now don't get me wrong ladies, I'm not saying Everhot restoration and installation is not for girls, but she is damn heavy and damn dirty and frankly, since they were happy to do it, I was happy to let them!



She scored some new fire bricks, Ben fashioned a new runner for her hotplates to sit on, some screws were added to realign the poor girl (she's not had a privileged life our girl!), some new asbestos rope to seal her (asbestos! eep!) and mounted on the plinth she was. The boys then installed a new flu and - wow! Look at her!



She's having her maiden burn with us tomorrow evening - have to wait for the fire cement to set or something or other... Meanwhile I did what all good housewives do and raided the garden to fix the boys some lunch!

We're still harvesting tomatos, have a glut of basil, chives and cucumbers - perfect for a Quinoa based salad with my favourite easy dressing (sunflower oil, white wine vinegar, garlic, salt, pepper and a generous helping of my dad's to-die-for home extracted honey).



Can't wait for the rest of the kitchen... then it will be onto a bathroom. Happy Thursday everyone!

(PS. Sorry about all the retro pics... I'm sure I'll get bored of my new toy soon and go back to the regular camera!)

Purple Day March 26.

The 23rd of July in the year of 2010. This is the day that my life changed (who am I kidding! My life is always changing, lol, but this was one of those significant ones). I woke early for a morning shift with a bit of a headache, assuming I had dehydrated myself the previous evening. I was a Registered Nurse and Student Midwife.

That day, I was caring for a wonderful labouring first time mum to be. She had worked hard, was still working hard. She was motivated, she was strong and she was ready to birth. I moved with her, I suggested different positions, I helped her partner and friend to support her. I used a mirror to show her a whisp of her baby's hair, just visible. She wanted to be on the bed, I helped her get comfortable. I listened to her babies heart beat, strong and happy. Then it happened.

As I looked up to smile at her partner, he somehow looked familiar. In fact, time paused for me as I realised everything about the moment was familiar. I had done this before. No, I had dreamed this before. This woman, this birth, her partner. I had dreamed this birth and here it was playing out in front of me. Then came a familiar rush. An adrenaline rush over my entire body. It wasn't the first time I had felt this sense of familiarity and rush of... well almost a rush of dread, overcome me. It had happened before, you know one of those things that in the back of your head you think to yourself you should take to the doctor and have checked out. Deja vu. Thats the usual term, but this was stronger.

Breathe through it like you have before I thought. I turned to Julie, the Midwife supervising me. "I just need to step out for a moment" I wanted to say. But the words wouldn't come. That was odd.

Then Julie was at my side. Julie and the woman's birth partner were flanking me. "Help her to the floor" I heard Julie say. "Its ok. I'm not fainting. I just need to step out for a moment" I wanted to tell them. But again, the words would not come. Strange.

Then I heard a loud beeping. A siren. "Beep. Beep. Beep...". It was going over and over again. I recognised that sound. That was the hospital's arrest alarm. I opened my eyes and looked up. Thats funny... why were my eyes closed. As I looked up I noticed Sam, the ED doctor in front of me. And Kelly, my friend I worked with in the high dependency unit. And Helen, also from the HDU. As I saw them standing in front of me, each one of my workmates had a look of terror on their faces and I realised I was drooling. "Oh my god I'm drooling!" I said. At least these words came out!

Then something registered. That arrest alarm... "Is that arrest bell for me?" I asked. Julie and the woman's birth partner were still flanking me. Sam looked me in the eye and said, yes Bec, you've had a seizure.

It didn't register at first. What? A seizure? I don't have seizures... "No, it was just a deja vu" I replied. There was some confusion, mostly mine, and it was decided that I needed a wheel chair, and a bed to lay on. "I'm OK" I said, still not really believing them. I was still confused. I remember being pushed in the wheel chair, along the corridor of my work place, not really taking in what had happened. "Who's pushing this wheel chair?" I asked. "Its Sam Bec, you just had a seizure" came the reply and with a reassuring hand on my shoulder. I had forgotten Sam was there. Already. I still didn't quite believe what he was saying. They took me to my old unit, helped me onto a bed, took some observations, hooked me up to a monitor, and Sam inserted a cannula into my arm and took some blood. "Shit Bec, I'm glad you're alright" he said. Helen was at my side, with tears in her eyes "Don't scare us like that!" she demanded. "Fuck mate" is all that came from Kelly. I didn't know what to say. I still couldn't quite believe it.

As I slowly processed the events of the day, through a fog of thoughts and a whopping headache, it finally sunk in. By this time I was down in the ED so I could be admitted and examined properly. Ian, the on duty obstetrician came to see me. He'd heard what had happened, and wanted to see me. He held my hand and told me everything would be ok. Sam came over to talk to me, explaining some statistic about adult onset seizures, and how most people go on to never have another... by this time James, my husband was there with our daughter Lily. I looked from Ian, to James and Lily, to Sam, and I started to cry. These three strong men were all telling me everything was OK, yet in all three sets of eyes was fear. It was beginning to sink in. Holy shit. I'd had a seizure. Tears welled up in my eyes. I was a nurse. I was, of course, terrified. Sam looked at me, squeezed my arm and told me not to cry or he would.

Months of investigations ensued: MRI's, CT's, EEG's, blood tests. Everything inconclusive or normal. No cause could be found. I saw a neurologist who said it may or may not be epilepsy. Wait and see was the response. I had a month off work, had to reduce my hours, and I couldn't drive a car for three months.

While I was relieved that nothing sinister was found, it was hard (and still is!) not having an answer. I learned that the episodes of extreme deja vu I had been having were in fact simple partial seizures. I went on to have several more of these simple partial seizures during a particularly stressful period, when my boss at the time trying to bully me into working more hours than my doctors recommended in order to finish my course. It was then I was given a "loose diagnosis" of Epilepsy and started on anti-seizure medication (a journey itself almost worth another post!) at the age of 36. The neurologist says all being well I may be able to trial coming off the medication in September. I've been seizure free on a very small dose of medication since April last year.

So why am I sharing this story?

March 26th 2012 is Purple Day. An international day of Epilepsy Awareness.

"Epilepsy is a common neurological condition in which a person has a tendency to have recurring seizures. Our every thought, feeling or action is controlled by brain cells that communicate with each other through regular electrical impulses. A seizure occurs when sudden uncontrolled bursts of electrical activity disrupt this regular pattern. Communication between cells becomes scrambled and our thoughts, feelings or movements become momentarily confused or uncontrolled. While seizures can be frightening, in most instances they stop without intervention. Once the seizure is over the person gradually regains control and re-orients themselves to their surroundings, generally without any ill-effects." (From the Purple Day website, 2012).

Purple day was founded in 2008 by a 10 year old Canadian girl by the name of Cassidy Megan. Cassidy wanted to raise awareness of epilepsy so that other children suffering with it would know they were not alone, and could talk about their Epilepsy without fear of being teased. Today, Purple Day has evolved into a global event, not only to raise awareness of Epilepsy, but to raise funds for research into this sometimes very debilitating disorder.

I consider myself very lucky. I have a very mild and manageable form of Epilepsy, if I even have Epilepsy at all. I don't have a terminal illness, and I can function normally - aside from having to pop little blue pills every day and it not being a fabulous idea for me to try any mind altering party drugs. But not all people are as lucky as I am. For some the disorder is crippling, and the toll on families is so intense that it is not able to be measured.

So please, go to the Purple Day web site. Have a look around. Donate if you can. And wear purple on March 26th 2012 to show your support for Epilepsy awareness.

Four Months in a Blog Post!

Hello there. It has been some time. Simple living has turned out to be... simple. Mostly.

Unfortunately I did not come prepared with photographs to accompany this post... posting on a whim if you like, I might only be able to provide you with those I am able to poach from my Facebook account. This might be boring for you... please bare with me. You see not having very good internet access and limited power makes blog time difficult. I've grabbed an opportunity when I could.

Where to start? Perhaps with an apology first - I dashed off without warning. When The Daddy suggested we move, I gave none of you any thought - it did not even occur to me that a six acre plot with marginal reception might pose problems for blog world! Hence my rather distasteful last post. But, regardless, we are there. We need a few tweeks (like a fireplace, a kitchen, and a bathroom perhaps) but we are there. And for the most part we are so very happy.

So what have you missed? We had the pox for Christmas (Chicken Pox), starting first with my immunised boy (go figure!), moving then onto the girl child just in time for my brother's wedding in January. Regardless they had fun. Here's a couple of snaps from Christmas at their grandparents farm.




Summer did not grace us with her presence for long this year. On the warm days that did arrive, we managed a little bit of this:





And we bathed like this:



For three mornings this was our wake up view. I did not want to leave.



The boy child caught his first fish.



And not long after, so did the girl.



The vegie patch proved itself time and time again, and what a delight it has been to eat fresh from it daily!



My wee girl then started school.



And the boy went up to Class One. The pic is his Kindergarten teacher wishing him farewell. Brought a tear to my eye.



And that my friends is it: Four Months in a Blog Post. Apologies for the pics... if I was clever I guess I could have edited them to make them the same size...