Best weekends

Are there any other publicist / chef relationships out there? If so, please knock on my door and have a beer with me as I'd love to hear your stories of logistics, shift work, balance and options and how you find ways to pump up the jam.

Hubster and I totally pumped up the jam yesterday. We had a freaking RARE as fuck Saturday DAY AND NIGHT off together, but as we have an almost three year old, there was no sleeping in. Instead we pre-planned the night before a seriously rad beach trip.

Our favourite beach to head to is Indented Head because it has a funny name and one shop called a General Store and no phone reception. It's very cool.

We packed badly (only one nappy and no shoes for the kid + a broken beach tent) but it didn't matter. It was a pearler of a day and shoes are overrated in summer.

If you have never been to Indented Head before, it's time to try it. Especially if you have a toddler. There's a shipwreck, rock pools and sail boats. And it's just so goddamn quiet you can hear yourself think. Only about an hour and a bit from Melbourne-town too. Leave your phone at home.

But it came time to leave the beach and grabs some snacks which meant pick up some shoes for the kid thanks to the superbly hot ground. We could only source Haviana thongs in Portarlington for $25 a pop (kill me - for thongs!) which meant the extravagant lunch we had in mind turned to pies, Oak flavoured milk and jelly slice at the local bakery. Which turned out to be pretty excellent if you're into 1990s-style baked treats.

It's these weekends, half planned, half winging it that turn out the best. Flicking on the radio to hear Foreigner, spotting a pirate ship at the pier, grabbing a kilo of muscles from a boat, and my favourite, scoring freshly picked fruit at the local Williamstown Farmers Market and watching my kid sit on the ground and devour piece after piece after piece until all my coins ran out.

Happy Valentine's day to all the loved up people out there. May you be eating the food my man is cooking up today while he works or listening to the sweet sounds of the orchestra while I work tonight.

I hope next weekend is filled with just as much love, if not... .find yourself a jelly slice and discover love at first sight!

Don't judge a mother by her cover

Today someone said the nicest but possibly the strangest thing to me.

'Gosh Ali, you always look like you have your shit together.'

Yes! The cover is working. Holy Helen of Troy. I thought I looked the OPPOSITE of 'together' most days, but this little comment put a spring in my step.

But hang on, is that what I really strive to do... cover up all my flaws with a cheeky grin and a shirt I've hung next to the hot shower to sort out it's crinkles?

So I'm going to be super honest,  most days I don't have my shit together. Most days it's a big egg scramble and it's freaking tough to do it all. I'm constantly wishing I was a carefree mum, cruising around  in my Seed Heritage chambray, puffer vest and soy decaf latte watching my son eat stems of broccoli and asking me if he can brush his teeth.

The last day my husband and I had off together was Father's Day - two months ago. We spent the day in Barwon Heads as a little family and it was ace. Our next day off together is likely to be Christmas Eve. We normally have three nights off a week together and the other nights we usually see each other during a high five in the hallway before one of us has to head to work, or sometimes one of us just doesn't get home until super late because we are at work. But it's ok. This is our life and it's a busy one. Most weeks it works, some weeks the logistics are so stressful I suffer hard from IBS thinking about the very limited options we have. 

But the truth is, most days are pretty grotty, snotty and now filled with potty (mouth and usage). Here's a snapshot of ONE day in my week. Let's say... today. Ok. Go.

5.50am    Alfie wakes up and comes into our room. His pants are wet. So I get up and he runs around.

6.00am    I have a pantless child refusing to put on a nappy screaming at me that he wants a sticker. I give in and he puts it on our fridge. I scratch it off, caring.

6.15am    I start making my lunch for work, Alfie knocks it off the bench by accident while trying to get my attention. I give up and we sit and watch some pulsatingly weird colourful kids show on ABC2. I look at Facebook on my phone, post something about it being Back to the Future day, feel guilty about why I care about that rather then my son sitting next to me and pop it in my work bag.

6.30am  Still no pants on my kid. He wees on the kitchen floor. Hubby gets up. He's running late and has to be at work by 7.30am. Bribe the kid into wearing clothes... something about Santa and parcels and maybe cake.

6.45am  We drink instant coffee and talk about how late we are but we are both standing in the kitchen in our Kmart pjs. The Kid shovels half a banana into his mouth, the rest is pushed into the couch. Cheef Dog arises.

7.00am  Hubby is in the shower and takes ages. I start getting annoyed as I need to use the bathroom. I pace past the door, which is open. No one in our house is allowed to close the bathroom door according to Alfie. Cheef Dog does poos in the yard. Alfie looks through the window and counts them as they come out.

7.15am  I'm in the shower. I have five minutes to get ready for work before hubby has to leave for work. I curse. Spend most of my time squeezing a pimple, only to make a big red bump on my face.

7.20am  Hubby heads to work, I wrestle Alfie into the pram while bribing him about seeing diggers/tip trucks /garbage trucks, put the lead on Cheef Dog and we walk and talk about diggers/tip trucks and chocolate cake.

7.30am  Guaranteed to bump into this one lady EVERY week who makes a comment similar to: it's too early to be out with a child so young/too cold/he's not wearing shoes/he looks sad/why isn't he in bed etc.

7.50am  I bribe Alfie into the car with promised he can wear his backpack, eat cheese, look at diggers/trains through the window.

8.00am  I arrive at daycare and ALWAYS park across two parks. I'm always rushing and I feel out of place in heels as I walk through the foyer. I chat to the daycare teachers, and as I leave Alfie always explains to his educators that 'mummy's going to work to talk on the phone'.

8.45am  Drop the car at the station, jump on a train. Arrive at work and the day is hard and fast, running but also a sweet, sweet break from domesticity. I eat my breakfast and check emails. Phone starts ringing and doesn't stop until I leave.

5.15pm  I leave work and run to the train station, get off the train and jump in the car and drive to daycare. Pick up Alfie, most likely in his third set of clothes for the day. We chat to other parents and the daycare workers and then we head home.

5.30pm  Alfie shows me a dance, how to drink out of the potty, pats the dog, shows me trucks, his paintings and tells me his fingers look like doodles while I start dinner.

6.00pm  We sit down and eat tea together with the TV off ALWAYS. And we talk about our day mostly surrounding trucks, diggers, who hit who at daycare and how  his fingers look like doodles. It's lovely, especially if he eats what I made him.

6.30pm  We clean up together (i.e. he gives Cheef Dog his leftovers) and I run the bath. We have a fight about how many stickers he can have for sitting on the potty until I give in and give him four. He sticks them on the fridge. I scratch them off, trying to care.

6.45pm  I finally get him in the bath along with all of his favourite trucks and we sing some songs and he drinks the water. He tells me his fingers look like doodles. Sometimes he wees in the bath then drinks the water again.

7.00pm  He runs around the house using up the last of his energy.

7.30pm  We read Richard Scarry books about villages and hot air balloons and animals wearing clothes and acting like people. 

8.00pm  Alfie decides he wants to get up and drink milk and do some more dancing.

8.10pm  He runs around the house inviting me to catch him. He takes off his pants. I'm tired.

8.15pm  I get him back into his bed. He wants Cheef to sleep in his bed with him. I make up some story that Cheef won't dream about carrots or some shit if he sleeps on Alfie's bed. Alfie nods.

8.25pm  Alfie wants to get his handbag. It's got something in it he wants to show me - a chocolate cake. My work phone rings, I know who it is and really need to answer it, but I need to get my kid to sleep.

8.30pm  I make up a song about chocolate cake and somehow the kid crashes. As I walk out of his room I step on some squeaky toy and my heart stops. All good.

8.40pm  I turn on my computer and check my work emails and sort out any lose ends from my day.

9.00pm  I write a story for the local paper and check in with my favourite photographer to see if he can shoot some pics. 

9.45pm  I pack my lunch for tomorrow and order my fruit and veg box for the week ahead.

10.00pm  I do the dishes and tidy the house, chuck on a load of washing. Fold the washing from yesterday.

10.30pm  Bed time. I'm reading a book called Toddler Taming...

11.00pm  Hubby gets home from work. He smells like oil from the kitchen. We have a nice cuddle and he crashes.

1.30am   Cheef Dog wants to do a wee. I let him outside and he chases a possum and barks.

4.30am  Alfie comes into our room, he's cold. We let him pop into our bed for a cuddle... and it starts all over again.

So to  the person who told me I looked like I had my shit together - thank you. It's tough working under cover but sometimes you've just got to do it, no one is going to do it for you. I like my job and I'm good at it, I like being a mum and I think I'm ok at it. Both my hubby and I have solo parenting days with Alfie so he gets a lot of our individual attention and it's special. 

Sometimes I fuck up, most days I laugh  at myself, but the best bit of all is at the end of the day, when that gorgeous kid of ours is fast asleep and the pep tea is brewing and the housework is done, I can use my undercover skills to find that secret square of Lindt chocolate hiding in the cupboard which has been saved just for me.

(You ain't no) Part Time Mother

I just worked my first FULL TIME, FIVE DAY week since Alfie was born and it hurt. I crashed hard on Friday night somewhere between 8.26pm and 8.31pm. I was zonked, my body ached and my brain was filled with way too much information. In short, full time working mums: you are fucking legends. Machines. Machines who are strong, amazing, powerful and admirable. May you rest your weary feet each Friday and treat yourself to a can of your coldest ale you can find. You deserve it. You're excellent.

Here's something I wrote JUST for you.

(You ain't no) Part Time Mother

The morning is crazy: brekky, dressed and bag

Some kind of mascara so you don’t look like a hag

You drop your kid at daycare, brush the crumbs from your seat

Arrive at the station, the train you just meet.

You get straight to it at your desk: emails, phone and print

Shoveling a sanga at the same time, quickly grab a mint

Then it’s meetings and chats and it’s busy as hell

And all these new young acronyms: BRB and LOL.

Your mobile phone rings and it’s a daycare call

It’s your son, he’s being too rough and he’s taken a fall

You ask if he’s ok; ‘yeah he’s fine, just an egg’

The teacher reassures you, then you notice your ratty leg.

Somehow in the busy morn, you’ve gone and ripped your tights

You’re now dressed like a rotten punk who has had a real big night

You duck out in your lunch break, only to realise...

You’ve got no bloody veggies to go with that night’s pies.

On the way home to daycare, you’ve got five minutes to spare

The guilt rises in your belly, coz your kid’s always the last one there

You have three choices to fill your five mins, it’s all a little muddle

To buy the veggies, do a wee or dive in for a cuddle.

Fuck the veggies, fuck the wee, a giant hug will do

I’d take a cuddle any day, even over a solo poo

It makes sense when you feel the embrace, why you do all this shit

You might be tired, you might be zonked, but boy… it’s so worth it.

Tea at the Webb's

All parents are busy. Why? Because they have kids. And sometimes, that time between 5 and 7 pm is the hardest, most busiest time, especially if you’ve had a shocking day at work or if you are in a disorganized state.  How the hell are you meant to come up with something wholesome, exciting, pretty, delicious and downright edible for your kid every night?

I’m married to a chef. A really good one. One that has worked in the finest dining establishments in Melbourne, who has slogged away at a stove (and loved every minute of it) for over half his life. When people find this little fact out, they get all ‘Oh. My. God. Do you like, eat THE BEST food every night?’ ‘Do you have THE BEST well stocked pantry?’ ‘Does he make your lunch?’ ‘You are so lucky!’

What people seem to forget is that when a chef works, it’s during those busy times… you know, between 5-7pm when people eat and are feeding their kids. I’m lucky enough that when we had Alfie, my hubby decided to change jobs and work closer to where we lived and closer to his son. My hubby is most likely now your chef, that is, if you eat at the Cornershop in Yarraville.

So what does a chef feed his two year old son? 

I bet you are expecting stylized recipes that look like they’re straight from a fancy cookbook, or even specially curated menus that would make Heston Blumenthal sweat. Nope, we are just a normal family, surviving each 5-7pm period each day with the most basic of ingredients.

Our son can sense a vegetable from a mile away. He knows the word ‘yuck’ and definitely knows the word ‘no’. He also knows how to make a fake vomit noise, throw and climb and hide food under his thigh. And he certainly knows how to ‘share’ food with the Cheef Dog.

To us, a good meal for our boy is all in the name. Favourites include Monkey Muffins, Tiny Tacos, Meallion (makes a million meals), Froggy Fritters and Por Favor Patties.

So here’s some inspiration for tea from one normal family (with a chef) to yours. Bon appetite!

Monkey Muffins

1 cup self raising flour

¼ cup caster sugar

50grams melted butter

¼ cup milk

2-3 very ripe bananas

2 eggs

Good handful of prunes, dates or whatever dried fruit takes your fancy.

Mix all ingredients into a batter and pour into a muffin tea. Into the oven set at 180 degrees for 15-20 minutes or until you can put a skewer into a muffin and it comes out clean.

Meallion

500 grams good quality mince

½ cup grated carrot

½ cup grated zucchini

½ cup sliced mushrooms

1 small brown onion, finely chopped

Any other vegie you can find

Rocco’s Deli homemade pasata (from the fridge at the back)

Chicken stock to cover the ingredients by approx. 1cm

Salt and pepper

Thyme / Rosemary / oregano / marjoram or a mix of whatever herbs you have at hand

Brown the onions and meat, add vegies, stir a lot, add stock and pasata. Cook on a low heat, stirring regularly for 45 minutes. Add extra stock as required.

You can turn Meallion into a million meals. Add some kidney beans and put the mixture into flat bread to create Tiny Tacos (great with avocado and sour cream). Pop a spud in the oven and add the Meallion on top. You can also turn it into a quick cottage pie by adding smashed potato (or smashed cauliflower) on top.

Froggy Fritters

4 grated zucchinis

1 cup of grated cheese

5 eggs

4 rashers chopped bacon

½ cup self raising flour

½ cup peas (can be frozen)

Salt and pepper

Mix all the ingredients into a bowl. If the mixture is too dry, add another egg. Pour into a lamington tray and place in the oven set at 160 degrees for 30-40  minutes, or until a skewer comes out clean.

Once cooled, cut the green zucchini slice into appealing shapes. Presto! Froggy Fritters.

Por Favor Patties

1 can of sustainable tuna

2 potatoes (boiled and smashed)

1 small sweet potato (boiled and smashed)

½ cup peas

2 cobs of fresh corn or 1 can of corn

Lemon zest

1 cup of breadcrumbs (or enough to combine the mixture)

Allow the potatoes to bind all the ingredients together. Mould the mixture into balls the same size as a golf ball. Add olive oil to a hot pan and lightly pan fry the patties until they have a golden brown colour on the outside. Take out of the pan and place on paper towel to absorb any oil.

Serve with smashed avocado, scrambled eggs or even a little bit of Kewpie mayo. Por favor, please.

A key part of our crazy 5-7pm busy period is having options and a good, well stocked fridge and pantry. We have the fabulous Reno from Vari’s Organics deliver a fruit and vegetable box to us each week. At $35 a box, it’s great value and feeds our family well. For those nights where it’s all a bit too hard (i.e. when my hubby is working), I like to give my son some homemade produce, made by someone else with love: Rocco. Rocco’s Deli on Roberts Street in Yarraville has a great selection of homemade pasta sauces, bolognaise, lasagnes (veg and meat based), soups (their bean soup is amazing) and it ranges between $2-$8. It’s really handy to have these items in our fridge for those emergency nights.

I’m always happy to share our meals and recipes, but I would love to hear about what your kids have for dinner.

Poos and wees

We’ve been thinking about toilet training. Our son isn’t ready, I don’t think, but perhaps over summer he will be? We have bought a potty and like everything plastic introduced into our house, this one has caused a whole lot of excitement.

Alfie has been pouring cups of water into the potty and both he and the dog drink out of it. The potty gets dragged across the floor and shown to anyone who comes over for a visit. No one else is allowed to sit on the potty. No one is allowed to touch it either. God forbid.

The potty has caused so much excitement that my son keeps taking my hand and showing it to me in the bathroom. He has no idea what to do with it, but he likes looking at it and showing me how to take the lid off it and drink out of it. Sigh.

We’ve been using the words ‘poos and wees’ in our house for a while now. Ever since we discovered that Alfie liked to poo behind the curtain. When we see him heading in that direction we ask him if he is going to do poos, usually his raised brow, red fierce face, hunched back and clenched hands leaning on the wall say it all.

When my husband or I go to the toilet it’s a huge ceremony. Alfie always wants to watch and wave bye-bye to the poo. It’s always so exciting to press the flush button and to see how the toilet paper goes around on the holder.

Some mornings after a poo ceremony, it’s really hard to move on from this farewell display to go to the office and take on serious meetings about serious stuff. Sometimes during serious discussions at work I might get a call from my husband who will explain to me the ins and outs of a new poo dance that Alfie has devised or a story about the fascination with the toilet. It can be very hard to switch back to writing documents and speaking with managers.

Prior to the last few months, I had never been to the toilet in front of my husband. It was the one thing I held onto. My one last piece of dignity. Since the fascination with all things bathroom has kicked in, I’m now showering while my dog, son and husband clean teeth, do wees, play with the potty, fix the toilet roll holder, close and open and close the toilet lid, pull the towel off the rail, look in the toilet, throw things in the bath, talk about poos… the list goes on. I can’t even do that secret wee in the shower that no one ever admits to.

So now that I go to the toilet with an audience, what dignity remains? I have no idea about this toilet training thing apart from the many discussions I have had with my husband about putting down the lid. I still continue to lie to my husband that I have diarrhoea and I shut the door of the bathroom and secretly play Tetris on my phone. My husband recently said that I should go and see a doctor as I had been sick in the tummy for some time. I think my private time is almost up.

I would love to know where you go from here. Once your kid grows up, can you revive any sense of mystery about yourself? Will there ever be a time where no one knows that you’ve done a poo?

Until that time arrives, I’m making the most of my toilet time at work.

This post first appeared on Bubba West.