Sunday, 23 October 2016

Random Acts of Poo-mess

You have a few coffees, it's natural, it's going to happen. You're aware that it will and you plan accordingly.

I know my kid is only 3 but the instant urge he has to take a crap right then and there is still a bit beyond me.

Yesterday in the supermarket. I've got a full trolley.
Alfie: "mum, poo's coming out my bum."
Me: "ok, let's pay the lady and get you to a toilet."
Alfie; "it's coming out now. RIGHT NOW MUM. I can feel it!"
We abandon the trolley. The poo was coming out. I throw the Paw Patrol undies in the bin. I shouldn't have waited. It wasn't his fault. I just assumed he could hold it for 2 minutes and 48 seconds longer. 

He couldn't.

Today in the main street of Yarraville. Alfie starts riding his bike standing up.
Alfie: "mum. I need to do a poo."
Me: "ok, let's find a toilet. The pub's open."
As I rush towards the pub carrying his bike I turn around to see him doing a poo in a shopfront with a garden. I pick it up with a doggy bag and turf it in the bin. Let us never speak of this again.

I think I'm becoming a lot more patient as a parent. I can deal with things easier as they happen, I'm  crap when it comes to planning. 

And that's how I had a rad weekend. 

We had our first open for inspection at our Yarraville house. Loads of attractive bearded men and chicks with patterned socks checking out our goods while we peeked at the house traffic from 50 metres down the street in the pissing rain. The three of us held hands while Cheef Dog weed on the neighbour's fence.

I was an anxious mess before it happened. The inspection was planned. There was lead up. There needed to be a result. There was waiting. Someone recently told me that having an open for inspection was like holding a massive party and not knowing if anyone would turn up. 

Once it was over Alfie and I headed to the NGV with mates to lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling. Today a random massive bike ride lead to hot chips in the park watching sprinklers turn on and off in places where 'ginger turtles' live. Splendid, rancho relaxo stuff.

Reg finishes up at work this week. That's a big milestone. Hopefully we lease out our Yarraville house this week. Another big milestone. Then we settle at our Trentham house on the seventh of November and from there... golly, who knows?  We don't even have daycare let alone an inside toilet.

So in the meantime, I'm liking the 'winging it' theories of life at the moment. Going with the flow seems to be the only way we can get a grip on this tree-change. 

I'm not saying that if you need to take a crap, just drop your dacks and do it in a shop front, but there's something to say about not over-thinking the big things in life and just letting them happen. Even if it is a poo.

Have a most excellent week.

Ali xx

Sunday, 2 October 2016

Eating for peanuts

Leading up to our big move, Reg and I are on a budget. But let's be honest, we're pretty big tight arses so most weeks we keep  the purse strings tied up.

What keeps our costs down is planning our meals in advance. A big part of our little home is centred around food. Alfie loves to help in the kitchen but like most three year olds, he thinks that most things we cook up for him are 'poo' or 'wee' or most recently (and he was sent to his room for saying it), 'shit'.

We eat mainly vegetarian food in our house - not just because it is more affordable, but because I actually don't really like handling meat. Every now and then though, I heat up the slow cooker with a cut of some beast and eight hours later I forget that I've handled meat and become distracted with the waft of a good curry or casserole in the house.

So I thought I would share what the Webb household is cooking up this week. Most of this stuff is in our pantry, fridge or freezer. I can't stand shopping at the major supermarkets, so much bloody packaging and the milk aisle makes me tear up - last time I went to Coles the whole milk section was ONLY Coles' branded milk. C'mon guys.

Monday:   Lentil Shepherd's Pie (the kid thinks the lentils are meat- I  swear!)
Tuesday:   Pea, mint and lemon linguini (you can chuck all the ingredients in your food whizz stick)
Wednesday:  Veggie fritatta. We have so many eggs in our fridge at the moment and I'm done with egg sangas.
Thursday: Schnitz and chips. If we have time we will crumb our own, otherwise our local butcher does a mean schnitz.
Friday: Egg filo pies. We will take the leftovers with us to the BMX track on Saturday.
Saturday:  The slow cooker will go on with either a casserole or corned beef. It might get frozen for a mid week meal next week.
Sunday: We eat all of our left overs or cook up something with whatever is remaining in the fridge. Free balling.

I'd love to know what your quick and easy mid-week meals are. We are starved for time at the moment, so cooking tea calls for 30 minutes or an episode of Octonauts.

Happy cooking!

Friday, 30 September 2016

You change, me change, tree change


The Webb's are moving to the bush. And we're so bloody excited.

This November, we're gonna pack up our little Yarraville house... you know the one: the house that started this blog while we renovated knocked up to the sky rocket. Silly kids.

We're heading to Trentham, leaving our sweet 160sqm joint and spreading our wings on a quarter acre down  the road from the pub.

It's been a year in the making. Reggie started the ball rolling, but Alfie hit the pedal to the metal when he asked us if we could take the back fence down so we could keep running. I wish we could, but there's an apartment block in  the way.

Reg and I smashed some funds together, both working full time, dying a little of exhaustion - single parenting but living in the same house, just without a day off together.

We started hardcore house hunting six months ago, trying to find an old dame with a porch in  the sun. Each of us taking Alfie with us on separate days, Alfie exhausted at the thought of looking at another house.

We turned the house hunt into adventures, taking a measuring tape with us each  time to work out a space for a pirate ship-themed cubby with a trap door and a pterodactyl nest.

And then one day we cracked it, chucked in an offer on a joint and then sank some beers at the local pub while we watched our kid demolish chips.

We didn't get the house. Then a few weeks later... we did. I squealed like a madwoman in my open plan office.

So here we are, pooing our pants at the thought of the massive change ahead of us. A massive change involving a 110 year old house located next to a cemetery. Possibly haunted, definitely in need of renovation.

We don't really know what we're going to do. We don't have any daycare nearby, I'm going to be commuting to the city an hour each way five days a week, Reg is going to be hanging out with our kid growing some veggies and putting on a home brew until Christmas. Then I'm sure we will wing something to take us into the new year. We're gonna be poor, but we will have space for a bonfire which makes us happy.

All I can say is I'm so bloody relieved. Reggie and I suck at being adults. The chaotic life that we've had over the past year was all a bit much. Trying to be a grown up is hard and sometimes not very fun. We're chucking it all in and we're gonna make our own bread (in a COMBUSTION WOOD FIRE OVEN) and maybe purchase a piece of shit Holden and do it up in our front yard. Man, I'm also thinking about building a half pipe in the back yard. Just because we have space and I've always wanted my own skateboard ramp.

But I'm going to need some help. Firstly, I haven't lit a fire in  about 20 years. I haven't chopped wood in about 25. I've forgotten how to use preserved lemons - let alone how to preserve them. And our dunny is fucking OUTSIDE. That will change pretty quickly.. since it snows in Trentham.

I moved to the city from the bush when I was seventeen and I'm so excited to be heading back.

Wish us luck. We move in November.

Ali xx

Saturday, 10 September 2016

The eighties mum

Paleo, green-eating parents look away! I just made jelly crystal bikkies.

And they are so fucking tasty, I've already eaten four.

So what! My kid cleans his teeth (sometimes I have to pin him down or bribe him with an episode of Rabbids) and has been on his bike for the past two hours smashing leaps off jumps and scraping his knees through classic burnouts. 

I sometimes wonder if my own  mum, in her drop waisted summer frock, ever felt slightly guilty or required any justification for when she made us these as kids in the eighties? 

We were skinny little runts of kids running around the paddocks, told to stay outside until we were hungry. It was awesome. We were too busy to be hungry. But when we were, we would kick our gumboots off at the back door, run inside and smash one, two, three rock cakes in a row. If mum had made her cinnamon scrolls, hell we'd be floating our way back to the house from the fort Pepe-le-Peu style.

So I'm sure it's all in good measurement and of course, all in good taste. Whatever it is, these bikkies aint gonna last.

Super easy to make, thanks to  CWA. Have a go, maybe mix some colours together and then you will be a bloody legend at the park.

Courtesy Berris (of course) Sharman, TAS CWA branch

225g softened butter
1 x packet of jelly crystals (I used red)
2 eggs beaten
3 cups of SR Flour
1 tablespoon corn flour (don't ask me why)

Cream the butter with the jelly crystals, beat in the eggs, add the flours. Roll into little balls then press the top of them with the back of your fork. Pop in a pre-heated 180 degree oven for around 15 or til golden-brown.

Be an adult. Wait five minutes for the bikkies to cool. Breath. Then chew.

Bam! Jelly Crystal Bikkies

Wednesday, 20 July 2016

Social Truths

It started with homemade pesto. 

My son Alfie and I had collected, well I collected while he yanked, the delicate spicy smelling leaves off the plant in our front garden. I smashed the greenery together with some pinenuts, some parmesan, some olive oil and whizzed it around in the food processor. Then I gracefully heaped a few spoonfuls in with some cooked pasta and put a warm bowl down on the table next to a Lightning McQueen cup.

My kid ate it all and asked for seconds. I posted a heavily filtered pic of the pasta dish on Instagram and shared it on my blog. I’m a champion.

But actually I’m not. I failed to mention that my son had ONLY been eating pesto pasta or ‘green pasta’ as he likes to call it, for almost two weeks. Straight. He refuses to eat anything else except apples. Whatever. But I didn’t mention that.

This is the absolute joy of social media isn’t it? It hides all of our secrets. And we all know that we have those little secrets, no matter what your social media pages say.

I’m ready to come clean. Remove myself of the guilt.  Shake it all off Taylor Swift style. Reveal it all in the hope that someone else comes clean or throws shit at my car.

Ok. Here goes.

  •          My three year old can ride a bike with pedals like a champion but still wears a nappy and has a dummy.
  •          I bribed my son with a jelly snake last Saturday night to get him to get in the car in his pyjamas so I could go to the shop to buy chocolate. My hubby was working and it was the only way. I was desperate.
  •          I lie to my husband saying that I have diarrhea and secretly play Tetris on my phone in the toilet.
  •          I hide snacks in my house.
  •          Sometimes I rummage through the Lost and Found box at daycare to see if there is anything good that has been left behind.
  •          I choose new Lego based on my own capabilities and enjoyment, not on my son’s.
  •          I’m still wearing maternity leggings. And there’s a hole in the crutch. And I need to throw them out. Tomorrow.
  •          There’s fish fingers in my freezer and sometimes I wedge a few in a white bread roll with mayo and eat pretending I’m hungover so I can whisper to myself that it is a ‘one off’ and that I will never do it again.
  •          I had a skiddie on my pants from my kid and didn’t realise it until 11am when I was at work. I cleaned it up with a wet paper towel in the work bathroom.
  •          My kid farts and I think it’s funny, so I laugh. I know this is not what I’m meant to do, but I can’t help it. It’s funny.
  •          I like to dress like a toddler.
  •          I let my son watch Jurassic Park and it was the worst decision of my life (I forgot how scary that movie is). I didn’t tell anyone in case they judged me for being a bad uncaring mum, which I was for letting my 3 year old kid watch that film.
  •          My son was yelled at by another mum in the park for kicking sand. I was too busy hanging with my mum pack to notice, but turned when I heard her yelling and calling him a brat. I called my son away quickly and stopped him from kicking sand but secretly wanted to pick a fight with this lady, which would not have helped the situation whatsoever (I would, however, have had my mum pack back me up).
  •          I was once so tired I put the film Cars on for my son while I dozed on the couch, ever since this day I’ve had a creepy fascination with Owen Wilson and his purring voice.
  •          My son is three and cries for his dummy.
  •          I cried during the film 27 Dresses a few nights ago. It had been a tough day that seemed to never end. It started with the bmx track at 7.30am and ended with a nudie run through the house where my kid slipped and scored a giant egg on his head. I don’t know what made me cry more during the film – my parenting skills, James Marsden’s inaccessible self or simply the out of reach love scene, so far removed from my house complete with a dog walking around with a pair of jocks caught in his collar, that just made me bawl into my lukewarm beer. But fuck it felt good.
  •          My kid drinks more milk than a potty calf. I’m sure it’s an addiction.
  •          Sometimes I pretend to cry when my kid is too rough so I can get a cuddle.
  •          Sometimes I pretend as though I’m three and it’s so much fun.  Sometimes Alfie and I call each other ‘best friends’. Then I realise I’ve got to be a responsible parent and I stop building the ramp that was to be used as a bike jump.

That’s just the surface. I’d love to hear your secrets. Or maybe you just want to check out my pesto recipes. 

Whatever you do, keep it real.


This story first appeared in BubbaWest magazine. Since I wrote this over a month or two ago, I have to totally come clean and say that MY SON NOW WEARS UNDIES AND DOES WEE AND POO IN A TOILET NOT BEHIND A CURTAIN.

Thank you.