How to brew Elderflower Champagne

Ooh, so nervous about guest-blogging on my wife’s blog. She’s far funnier and eloquenter (see!?) than me. Thanks Middy for letting me have a go!

When one becomes confident enough in one’s own brewing legendarity to decide to guest-blog about how ‘quick and easy’ a simple springtime champagne is… yup - you guessed - it all almost goes belly-up.

But don’t let that daunt you - this delicious Elderflower Champagne really IS easy to make, now that I’ve made the mistakes for you…

And the end result - enough summery booze to float a small ship at a tidy 7% ABV, or thereabouts…



Before starting, you’ll need a few things. I’ll divide this into two lists - Equipment, and Ingredients. Actually, no, I’ll waffle a little, and divide this by places you buy stuff from.

EQUIPMENT

1 bucket to ferment in. Assuming you don’t have a fermenting barrel, Payless Plastics sell 20l food-grade pails with lids.

An airlock for your bucket, and a holey-bung to hold your airlock. Here you’ll need a trip to the home brew store - perfect if you really want to ensure you feel like an old piss-head, booze-hag, or master-craft-brewer, depending on your gender and zen on the day.

While you’re there…

INGREDIENTS

Pick up a decent champagne yeast and some wine nutrient (not having this was my own big mistake).

Plastic Bucket with Lid ~ $15
Airlock ~ $6
Sparkly yeast sachet ~ $6.50
Wine nutrient ~ $6ish

Then, off to the Supermarket for

3kg white sugar
White wine vinegar
6 lemons




METHOD

Step one - pick elderflowers from the side of the road. I never realised how abundant and everywhere they were until we did this.



You need about 35 decent heads of Elderflower.

Dissolve sugar in boiled water. Pour into fermenter/bucket. Zest and juice lemons and add to barrel. Add 2 Tbsp of white wine vinegar. Check Elderflower for any brown manky bits. Remove mank. Add to syrup. Fill barrel two thirds with cool water. Stir like a mad thing to aerate. Fill barrel to 19-ish litres.



^^ DO NOT use this yeast, pictured. More on this in a mo.

TEMPERATURE

You’re aiming for not-cold, but not warm. 20-28 deg should be fine. Assuming you started with a few litres of boiling water, just add the rest as cool tap-water.

YEAST

The official story is that Elderflower should have enough wild yeast on it to start the fermentation. Obviously the yeast-fairy didn’t shake her thang over our bush of choice though. And don’t even think about using the generically specified ‘Brewer’s yeast’ in other recipes. My fermentation didn’t kick for more than a week, and this made me very nervous, as this lag-time is where things get whiffy and forked.

Basically just follow the steps on the yeast sachet - a half tsp of sugar in 50ml of warm water, add yeast AND yeast nutrient. Wait half an hour. Stir, and add to your barrel. Don’t stir the barrel. At least, that’s my advice. Let the yeast you added start fishing at its feet, and spread out from there. Other more advanced brewers may tell me this is bullocks.

Fit your barrel lid and airlock. First time, this involves drilling a tight hole for your rubber bung. Put some *boiled* water in your airlock, to about half-way up the chambers. The purpose of the airlock is to stop your brew getting infected by letting the CO2 out, but no air in.

The CO2 is the yeast eating the sugar and converting it to alcohol.

After 24 hours or so, the lid of your barrel should be tight and puffed up a bit, and hopefully your airlock should be bubbling away, anywhere from a blurp every few seconds to just a few times a minute.

Assuming your fermentation kicks good, it should be done in a week. Leave it two, till the lid goes slack, and the airlock water-levels go even (I’m trying not to mention ‘Hydrometer’, as I don’t want to over-complicate this for you).

BOTTLING

Using sterilized (fresh from dishwasher) equipment, add 1 level Tbsp of sugar to each 1.5 litre bottle. Scoop elderflower from the top of your brew with a sieve (sterilized!). Line a funnel with muslin. Scoop out a pitcher-full of your soon-to-be champers, and pour it into bottles. Leave a bit of space at the top.



As you get to the bottom of the barrel, try not to disturb the yeast-cake that has formed on the bottom too much. You’ll see it clouding as you do. It’s a bit tricky to scoop the last little bit out. You’ll probably waste a wee bit.

Cap bottles tightly. Invert and shake a bit to get the sugar mixed up. Place somewhere even-temperatured-ish (spare room wardrobe here).

Watch those suckers like hawks to make sure they don’t chain-reaction explode all over your wife’s lovely new carpet.

When bottles are fully tight, chill and enjoy. You’ve got about 3 months - 5 and she’s getting pretty tart and dry.

One 1.5l equals about 9 standard drinks, which seems like a fair challenge.

Any probs, flick me a message at facebook.com/stevebells.

Coconut smashing and things

The kids always used to implore me to let them shake a coconut when we go to the supermarket. It must have been something I did with them one trip when I was trying to avoid grizzles, but anyway it became a tradition. They also always begged to buy one and I always said no. That became kind of a tradition too. One day recently I actually thought before saying the obligatory 'no' and threw one in the trolley. The kids were elated!

We got home and did some talking about what might be inside and how we'd get it out. Google helped us a little.

The children then got busy with a hammer and a nail and broke a few holes for the liquid to drip out. That took a while, but Soph was determined to sit it out! When we were bored of that, we wrapped it in a towel and bashed the living daylights out of it with a hammer, until it cracked in half. All and all, the kids were entirely unimpressed and haven't even done so much as acknowledge a coconut since. Lots of fun all the same. And it only cost $3.90 ;-)







We are now well into November and despite being a funny old season of wind, rain and very little heat, things are finally coming together in the way of produce around here. I've had a bit of a rough run with the vege patch, what with rogue chooks, birds and cats scratching where they are unwelcome, and 3 year old children taking it upon themselves to independently plant the entire bag of seed potatoes in (and I quote) "All of those places", but I think we'll get there. My biggest issue is actually having run out of room, and my poor husband not having time to whack me up more raised beds! If we lived anywhere else in our area, then that wouldn't be an issue and I'd just get the shovel out and stop whingeing. Soil around here is pretty rocky and frankly average though, so we need to buy it in until the compost gets cracking. And it's always convenient to blame someone else, isn't it?

Here are some pics of what is going on:
Beans and peas


One of our more prolific apple trees. Really must thin the fruit down, but it pains me!


Widdle wee bubba nashi pears!


Cherries. The tree appears to be straining a bit and we need to net it if we don't intend to supply the birds with a feast sometime soon.


Mandarin blossom! And leaf curl, but lets ignore that. Citrus is hard work in our spot, as although we get fabulous heat we also get dreadful frosts. Am hoping to get fruit from both our mandarins and limes next year though!

The Unscary Scarecrow

My school have a fabulous display of scarecrows displayed at the moment and today we finally succumbed to the requests (demands) to make one of our own. This was partly due to the somewhat alarming collection of perfectly wearable clothing piling up in the 'Clothes For Scarecrow to Wear' pile outside, most of which had been pilfered from wardrobes other than Sophie's own!

It was a bit harder than I had initially imagined to make. We ended up using a pair of straw-stuffed holey tights as arms and running a stake through them for stability. A rubbish bag of straw served as the body, and a plastic supermarket bag the head. Sophie thoughtfully illustrated the scarecrow's frock with pictures of lambs, hay sheds, butterflies and stars and gave it smiling face. Of course all art work must be named. This rule applies to scarecrow faces too.



Caleb is a bit nervy of scarecrows, due to a story we once read about one with a grumpy face. He seems a little unsure of this one, but was happy to attack it with a drill and hammer, so it can't be too frightening!



Oh, and just to make you die laughing (as my dear husband did while taking the photo) this is evidently how I look swinging a hammer. There is a good reason I am usually given the measuring tape!

Owls

Sophie has been begging me to do some paper craft with her lately, and after a friend's baby shower where we made owl bunting, I was inspired to do some owl stuff. Despite Soph's vehement distaste of the birds already hanging above her window, she also quite liked the idea.

We used templates to cut scrapbooking paper of varying prints into the correct shapes, then simply glued them on canvas. Some vintage buttons added to the appeal, and sparked lots of lovely discussion about how to make something look in different directions and how our eyes work together as a team. Caleb had a fabulous time playing in the buttons and trying (mostly unsuccessfully) to find matching pairs - it reminded me of the many hours I spent as a preschooler delightedly playing in Mum's button tin full of treasures. What a fabulous and underrated learning tool they are - sorting, describing, matching etc - all really valuable pre-maths skills.







I can't decide which I like best. Possibly the top one, despite its wonky beak, glue marks and uneven tree branch. Kinda adds to the appeal.

Fire

A month or so back, I posted this picture, of my parents' 150 year old homestead in the freak snowstorm we had:




The other night, we saw it like this:



We are devastated. My family have lived in that home for 100 years, and it contained countless Irreplaceable family heirlooms, as well as all of the simple, essential things needed to run a large sheep farm - vehicle keys, gumboots. lambing records. My sisters lost their clothes, shoes, laptops, university notes. I live over the road, so it wasn't really my everyday *stuff* that was lost. But little things like special childhood toys, books, Christmas decorations - all of those things that create and cement memories are gone. I was at a baby shower today, and teared up when I realised we've lost our baby record books. You never miss them, until they're gone.

The house was beautiful. She'd been a bit rough when Mum and Dad first moved in 11 years ago, but they had almost finished the renovation, with just 2 bedrooms, the laundry and the exterior painting left to finish. On a house of that magnitude, an incredible amount of work had been completed, mostly by Dad and relatives. This wasn't a renovation done on a shoestring, either, unlike the one Steve and I completed on our old house. We'd done a good job (if I do say so myself ;-) ) but for us, money was a big constraining factor, and to begin with, our house (though a similar age) didn't have the... grandeur, I guess, that Bankhead did. In it's day, it was a show home, and it was very close to being that again.

But through it all, the wonder of humankind comes through. Wonderful, wonderful folk who gave meals, baking, time out of their own busy lives to sit and cry with us, look after our children or sift through ashes to try and find our treasures.

Thank you.

Spring!

While I'm at home (not quite as wretchedly ill as I have been over the past four days) and childless, thanks to the wonder of preschool, I thought I'd update some of our happenings lately.

I alternate between thinking that 4 year old girls are the devil incarnate and the most fabulous creatures around. I don't tend to hover in between these extremes. Currently my feelings are on the favorable end of the scale. Sophie is learning huge amounts every day - not necessarily the schooly-type stuff, but the really important, 'this is how the world works' kind of stuff.

The other day, whilst I was busy being wretchedly ill and Steve was on solo Dad duty, Sophie decided she'd like to make a kite. She tied a piece of string to a picture she'd created a few days earlier and took it outside. Of course it failed and she stomped inside in a fit a fury. At this point, an interesting situation developed involving the differences between the female and male mind. Or maybe jut the mind of a teacher and the mind of fixer.

Steve (who admittedly at this point had already suffered several days of essentially parenting two busy preschoolers alone and was somewhat frazzled) said "Of course it won't work. I'll make you a kite later. But not now." Male mind: Solve problem.

Enter ill and woebegone mother / teacher / embracer of learning experiences at the expense of sanity...
"Why didn't it work, Sophie?"
Sophie: "It was all floppy"
"How could we fix that?"
And here was her solution - straws and a tail.



And you can guess what happened. It still didn't work and we had a repeat of the earlier drama. Poor Steve was getting a tad frustrated at the excessive emotion, as afterall, he had offered to fix the problem. What were we messing around with?

Sophie and I had a discussion about what else we could change that would make it work. Her eyes lit up and and she said "THE SHAPE! It has to be a diamond shape!" We were on the way, and through the process of trial and error, she'd come to some important conclusions about the laws of physics and the limits of craft supplies.

At this point, Steve intervened. As a fixer and a perfectionist, he simply couldn't suffer through the process any more, and sat down with the kids and researched some kite making. They ended up sacrificing an old cot sheet, a bamboo stake and a string line and it worked! Unfortunately, we have no pictures of The Great Kite Flying, but apparently it was so impressive that cars slowed on the highway to watch two little poppets flying their piece of homemade wonder, picking dandelions as they went!

The tail, incidentally was made with fan-folded origami paper. It seems by teaching Sophie this trick, I may have sparked a new obsession. Heaven help us all.

Here are some pictures of the process and the finished product, yet to be painted.





All in all, it was a fascinating probe into not only physics, but the differences in thinking between two people essentially working to meet the same goal. One that seeks solely to create a product that works with the minimum of fuss, and one that seeks to learn along the way and maybe not actually end up with anything but a heap of failed experiments and a list of things that didn't work. And a fair guess at why that may have been. Neither is wrong, but spot which one is the teacher ;-)


Another thing we've been doing is planting the seeds for this year's summer vegetables. As an experiment, we did the old 'bean in a jar with paper towels' trick. Though we used loo paper, as we had no paper towels. I intended to take a pic every day, but failed miserably! In any case, the seed germinated OVERNIGHT! I can definitely recommend a heavily used coffee machine as a good spot for speedy seed growing. Gotta be some bonus benefits to our excessive caffeine consumption!

It has been a fascinating thing to watch. Great for explaining the role of roots, stems and leaves, which mean nothing to your average preschooler. Also great for them to be able to see what is going on under the soil in the pots sitting on our windowsill. So far, it has helped repel nosey fingers from investigating... mostly **twitches a little**

Day One:


Day Four:


Day six:

Parking rage

This post is dedicated to the thoughtful souls who filled every single 'Parent Park' at Rangiora New World this morning with their child-less vehicles. That long walk across the carpark in the sleet was just what my 2 preschoolers and I felt like, and we all particularly enjoyed Caleb's half-way face-plant into the gutter, while about 100m from the front doors. Cheers for that. Hope you got a flat tyre on the way home ;-)


After 4 days cooped up in the snow, the driveway was finally clear enough to drive our car through, so I thought I'd pop into Rangiora to get some milk and fruit. Didn't really **need** to, but we were all getting just a little bit over these 4 walls and our white landscape (though now it's kinda brown and grey) so an outing seemed like a welcome distraction. And actually **popping** anywhere in Rangiora is a bit of a joke in these post-quake days anyway, now that a good percentage of ChCh has joined us in our conclusion that it's a pretty decent spot to live. Basically, I should have stayed at home, which is the moral of this post.

There are certain signs that give away a vehicle's child-status, and any half-witted parent can spot them a mile away. Obviously car seats and those tacky yellow 'Baby on Board' signs are a dead giveaway, but there are other, more subtle ways that a small person marks their territory. Things like food wrappers. Manky apple cores. Seventeen sweatshirts and odd socks, flung about the back and trampled upon until they might as well be a part of the upholstery. Books. Drink bottles. Basically if a vehicle contains none of these things, it is fair to assume that the owners do not have small children. Or that the vehicle belongs to my husband.

So it was with a sneer and a narrow-eyed glare that my children and I entered the supermarket this morning, after our harrowing journey across sodden asphalt and sudden splashing from vehicles unseen behind our chilly, hooded selves. Now if any of the assorted cars parked in the parent parks contained evidence of small children, or a disabled sticker (though they have parks of their own, I'm happy to share ;-)) I wouldn't have minded. In fact, with a nearly 3 year old and a 4 year old, I usually don't bother with Parent Parks. And even in my more stressed days as a new mother, I really only used them if I had both children with me. Today, I would have been happy to walk if I knew that those cars contained frazzled mothers and children who were spared the inconvenience of the ghastly weather. But they didn't.

One contained a tartan rug. Children? I think not!

One contained a washing basket with a spray bottle of some kind of chemical cleaner in it. Children? I think not!

One had a dog in it. A dog. One of those small, yappy, fluffy white things, wearing a tartan coat. A dog is not a child. Go to the back of the line, Lady. And what is it about tartan?

I spent the supermarket visit alternately snapping at my children and mentally penning my e-mail rant to the local newspaper. Was actually looking forward to seeing my venom in print, like A. Clarkson from Woodend, who has a very regular whinge. They should actually give him a column, he has so much to say. Possibly a retired school teacher who misses the union meetings...

Anyway, I was almost eager to bump into one of the park bandits as we left, but to no avail. So we jittered our way across the carpark in our wobble-wheeled trolley instead, saving our glares for the trolley boy. Poor soul.

Next time I suggest going out, just shoot me. Or at least give me a 'get-the-heck-over-it' pill.

General madness

Life is back to its busy term-time normality now. Week Two of Term Three is just finished and I'm suspicious that the last holidays were nothing but a figment of my imagination. We are all tired, ratty and frazzled... actually, maybe that's just me.

This term at school, we have our biennial musical. The less said about this stress inducing madness the better, but it is a major contributor to my foul mood and snippitiness.

At home, I have a four year old that is revealing a passion for art, craft and writing. She is at her happiest when she has a pencil in hand and a ream of paper to scrawl on. And if Mummy continues her current run of photocopying fails, then there will be no shortage of drawing paper anytime soon! She would actually thrive in school right now, but she is still 9 months away from turning 5 **looks to find a brick wall still standing after a year of earthquakes to beat head against**

Our lovely 2 year old is also a whirlwind of activity. He is revealing a great sense of humour, and a fondness for wearing Princess-themed dress-up frocks. I'm thinking the two traits are linked, especially when he minces past in heels and squeaks in a shrill voice that his name is now 'Ginger'. He is equally at home swinging a hammer or disassembling his train table with Daddy's missing flat head screwdriver. He is begging for real tools for his birthday, but my furniture couldn't stand it.

I often get asked if the stories I post about my children both here and on FaceBook are really true - I mean come on, could a pair of children really be that crazy? I filmed them in action whizzing down our orchard paddock the other day as proof of their day to day antics. Judge their madness for yourself...

DISCLAIMER: Many parents watching will be horrified at the speeds at which my children are hurtling down the hill without a helmet. They will probably also be concerned that they are wearing insufficient clothing for a Canterbury winter's afternoon. I firmly believe that children tend to bounce. Or at least mine do. Ignoring last year's brush with State Highway 72 our children have grown up surrounded by hazards and are constantly being taught to respect them. Mother Nature and the Laws of Gravity are great teachers! **braces self for calls from CYFS**

Anyway here they are in all of their glory...



Some interesting features you may not have picked up during the onslaught of raw Kiwi accent and poor camera handling / editing:

* Yes, those are chooks running about my lawn. And yes, they are meant to be contained in their lovely little chicken house on legs with fancy easy access laying boxes. And yes, Kevin the rooster continues to crow continuously at ungodly hours and incite similar behaviour among the other cockerels (**snigger**) within a 2 km radius. I am unimpressed. Their day of reckoning is coming. Probably in a fertiliser sack and a long one way trip to a picnic spot a long way away...

* Sophie does claim to have nearly "done wees" in her knickers due to the sheer thrill of downhill racing. And then proceeds to remind me of Caleb's penchant for peeing on trees. And then (this bit is muffled, but it's worth watching again just to hear it) she declares that she'd like to give it another go herself. Peeing on trees that is... and yes, she has tried and failed at this before. She's sometimes not a fast learner.

* I cut out most of the roaring that Sophie does to Caleb to get him to move from the bit of fence she wanted to crash into at the end of her run. It took 4 minutes before she was persuaded to actually stop yelling and get biking. I left the snippet in that you see, purely to share her wonderful line "GO. OR I'LL BUMP INTO YOU AND CHOP YOUR SKIN OFF!" She has a way with words, that child.

So that's us. It's meant to snow again this weekend, so more craziness is bound to be on the cards.

Snow days

It snowed this week! We don't get a lot of snow here - maybe one big dump every few years if we're lucky.

Lots of tom-foolery and hijinks were had. Am a tad worried that Steve's 'Adrenaline Junkie' gene is obviously dominant over my 'Will Just Sit Quietly and Have a Cup of Tea' gene, though. As long as they also have his ability to fall sensibly, then I shouldn't stress too much. They do tend to bounce, afterall.

Having had to pour two uncooperative and impatient preschoolers into miserable little shrunken excuses for gloves, I swear I could now successfully insert an octopus into a string bag. Who makes these things? They should come with a warning: "May lead to foul language and aggressive teeth-gritting, which in turn may frighten small children". Next time it snows, they are wearing socks on their hands. Or staying inside!

Here are some pics...




"I'm coming down!"


Mum and Dad's place across the road:


And... what snowy, wintery day wold be complete without mulled wine? I didn't really know what I was doing, but made this with a cheap and nasty bottle of merlot, orange rind, the juice of an orange, 2 cinnamon sticks and a few cloves. Oh, and a bay leaf and some brown sugar. And a slosh of brandy. Very scientific. Another batch was made the next night, using a nice bottle of Pinot Noir. Twas not as lovely, and the smell still permeates the house. Anyway, the first batch was truly lovely and I apologise for desecrating a nice drop on my second attempt.

Out of the mouths of babes...

I have a stubborn daughter. Actually, that might be unfair. I have a daughter who adores rules and order, and until I understood this pivotal aspect of her nature, we butted heads - even more than we do now! It irks her terribly when she sees rules being ignored (exceptions are at times given to herself, however) and she can't help but bowl in and solve the problem or demand that justice be served. When there are no clear rules, she is a nightmare. Every unstated or unwritten regulation will be tested and tried to the point of extreme exasperation. Once any boundaries have been outlined and discussed at length however, things are usually reasonably plain sailing. Unless of course she sees a loophole in said law, and then said law is put on trial, resulting in even more extreme exasperation.

She's actually quite lovely, really!

Her somewhat anti-social behaviours have been the target of our parenting bootcamp at regular intervals since she hit an age where it became obvious that it was needed. Basically when I realised that the reason little old ladies had stopped cooing over the curly-haired cherub in the pram was because she was turning them to stone with her withering glares.

We do a lot of role play. You know: "when *** says / does *** what would a good friend say / do to solve the problem?" Basically all of the feel-good blah that you read in parenting books. We didn't have much choice though, because only the playgroup Biter (every group has one - is it your kid?) gets more social derision than the rude little monster that sticks its tongue out at anyone that glances sideways in its direction.

Anyway, I think we might be making progress. She still has to make a conscious choice to be polite. She isn't naturally predisposed towards pleasantness, and still needs to vent a long spiel of negative happenings in her day before she is relaxed enough to sleep. A bit like poor old Eeyore, actually.



But she is thinking about her actions. She has realised that other people have feelings. She has realised that her behaviour influences other people's feelings - beyond manipulating parents, of course. She realised that a LONG time ago! And she is coming out with some classic comments, usually said in a loud, indignant voice.

Like this one:
"Mum, that lady didn't have a smile, so I gave her one of mine. It was a NICE smile, and she's STILL grumpy. Must be a pretty bad old day SHE'S having."

**cue mother to die a thousand deaths**

Or:
"Mum, those kids aren't 5. I think they're actually only 3. They're not allowed on that equipment without an adult."

Or:
"Excuse me, can you get out of the way? Slides are for going DOWN, not UP."

Note, there is no screaming or tongue-sticking (AKA 'The Tongue Dance' - Rule Loophole #213) just clear, stated opinion. Not particularly welcome, but not entirely offensive at this stage either. I no longer fear she's heading toward a childhood spent as a social pariah (though to be fair, she probably wouldn't care, as long as she was justified!) and she might actually be grasping some pretty important concepts about human behaviour. If she's smart - like her father - she'll use them well in life and charm her teachers and superiors. If she's not - like her mother - she'll just have to put her bossiness to good use and BE the freaking teacher!

"Just sit with me, Mummy"

Caleb has Man Flu. To be fair, he has had a wretched night - sobbing, coughing, groaning, generally keeping us all awake as much as humanly possible - but he sure knows how to milk it.

Parenting has been hard work with our two cherubs lately. Sophie has hit four with a vengeance and to be honest, she could do with starting school. However, the Ministry of Education and I differ in our opinions on this matter (and many other matters, but lets save that for another post ;-)) so I have another year of four-ness to relish before I unleash her quirky fabulousness on Mrs Pester in Room One. The arguing is almost constant, the 'no nonsense' sticker chart has somehow evolved into a a negotiating tool that would challenge the best UN peacekeeper, and she has revealed a temper that has startled more than a few innocent passers-by. Our current sanity saver is Nigel Latta's 'Ladder of Certain Doom' but I'm sure its tenuous reign will soon end.

Caleb is two. Need I say more? He sometimes tricks me into thinking he's older (in depth discussions about poisonous berries and the classification of dinosaurs and insects will do that. It's entirely his fault) but essentially, he's contrary because he's two. I hope. "I will do it MINESELF, thank you!" is a common declaration, but due to two-ness, it often goes badly. He also adores breaking things, and will do so on purpose to get attention when he decides he warrants it. Particularly high on his destruction list are precious things belonging to the female members of the family, due most likely to them giving the most impressive display of negative attention. Of course after serving his sentence, he'll be at his most charming, wheedling his way back into our good books with his tear-stained hugs, kisses, and "I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean to".

Needless to say, there has been a fair bit of barking going on here, and it ain't coming from a dog...though wouldn't that be nice **subtle dig at dog-disliking husband**. I have noble ideas about dealing with Caleb's behaviour, but very often they end up being discarded for the 'easy' option, which is generally lecturing, growling, threatening, confiscating, more lecturing (using longer words), door-locking, etc. Often the level of naughtiness escalates before I have my plan of attack sorted - what started as a sneaky poke in Sophie's ribs as she walked past, turns into a handful of hair being yanked out of her head in moments. Rascal!

So anyway, he's sick. He needed a sleep. I took him to bed, did the usual quiet sleepy time business, and he kicked up unholy Hell. Much screaming, door banging, wretched sobbing etc. I started to threaten and then realised I couldn't be bothered. I walked into his room and a pitiful wee voice said "Just sit with me, Mummy". And I did. And you know what? He was asleep in less than TWO MINUTES.

Perhaps I need to do more 'sitting' with my kids. Maybe armed with a cattle prod to give them a gentle nudge every now and then ;-)

Sophie and Caleb's first foray into the film industry

After entertaining (or possibly torturing!) the fair citizens of Rangiora with endless renditions of The Three Little Pigs whilst shopping this afternoon, we got out the groovy puppets a friend gave Sophie for her birthday and acted it out. After a few renditions, it suddenly occurred to me that I should record their efforts, because they'd be excellent humiliation ammunition for their 21st birthdays.

So here is a few (long) minutes of what we got up to. Poorly edited and shot, but a bit funny if you can bear the length of it. Or maybe I'm just turning into one of those mothers that think their children are amazing / amusing / beautiful when they're actually gormless little twerps who drive every otherwise normal person within a 10 mile radius insane **twitches slightly**

Anyway, what struck me as I watched the video, was how much I interrupt my children - SHOCKER! How rude. And how often I interrupt their wonderful, creative ideas with how the story *should* go. Must stop that. Whose game is it, anyway? And who cares? What am I actually teaching them by doing that? That things must be *right*? That their ideas aren't as good as the *right* ones? Not ideals I want to imprint on them in any case. I should video myself parenting more often - I suspect I'd change a few things as a consequence...

Anyway, here it is. Feel free not to watch, and let me know if I'm in danger of descending into blinkered parent territory.

Here 'tis!

Minutes of Bell Family Meeting - 22/5/11

Present:
Dad (Smirker in the Corner)
Mum (Chairperson / Secretary / General Dogsbody)
Sophie Bell (Chief Whinger and Complainer of All Things Unfair)
Caleb Bell (Holder of Bottom Rung in Pecking Order)
Buzz and Lemon Meringue the goldfish (no speaking rights)

Apologies:
Barry the Cat (didn't bother showing up - rude!)

Matters Arising:
1) Meeting is called to order by Mum and rules of the 'Talking Stick' explained.
2) Rules of the talking stick clarified once more.
3) Sophie takes hold of Talking Stick and explains reason for meeting - Caleb is guilty of stealing precious Hello Kitty clock (purchased with own money) and throwing it in his room, resulting in it being "smashed to bits". Demands that a new one be purchased, this time a Princess themed one (over Hello Kitty phase) that can hang on wall, out of pesky little brother's reach..
4) Stick passed to Caleb, who freely admits stealing and smashing said clock, and proceeds to tap fish tank with Talking Stick, unperturbed.
5) Stick passed to Mum, who reminds all parties that new clocks cost money, of which Caleb has none. Mum and Dad should not send their money on clock when they have no involvement with crime.
6) Dad mentions particularly sad state of family finances due to yet another nasty lawnmower repair bill.
**Muttering heard from Mum's end of the table about lemons and second-hand ride on mowers. Unclear and spoken out of turn, so not minuted**
7) Mum asks Caleb how he can get some money.
8) Caleb suggests going to the shop and buying some money, before removing himself from the meeting. Slips on book left on floor and bangs head on corner of magazine rack. Cries.
**Meeting adjourned briefly until order restored**
9) Caleb returned to meeting and instructed to stay until issue has been resolved.
10) Rules of the talking stick clarified once more.
11) Sophie suggests chores for Caleb to earn money.
12) Caleb flogs Talking Stick and runs away.
**Meeting restored briefly until order restored**
13) Role of Talking Stick clarified once more.
14) Sophie raises hands and shares her carefully thought out list of appropriate chores.
- Feeding Minty twice a day for a week
- Picking up stones.
15) Sophie reminded that Minty eats grass and no-one ever feeds her, so that is not an appropriate chore. Talking Stick abandoned.
16) Dad gets gleam in eye at prospect of stone removal from lawn, potentially preventing further nasty lawn mower repair bills.
17) Mum agrees.
18) Sophie smirks.
19) Restorative justice achieved and meeting adjourned, 2:05pm.

Bliss in a swiss roll tin...

Chocolate and Peanut Butter Brownie

180g butter
150g dark chocolate
1 3/4 cup sugar
4 eggs
3/4 cup flour
2 tbsp self-raising flour
1 tsp vanilla essence
1/3 cup cocoa
50g extra dark chocolate
3 tbsp crunchy peanut butter

Line (why do they always suggest greasing as well? I never do) a swiss roll tin.
Melt together butter and 150g chocolate.
In a bowl lightly beat the eggs then add sugar, vanilla ess, flour and cocoa.
When the butter and chocolate mixture has melted allow it to cool slightly before adding to the other mixture. If you don't, it does strange frothy, early cooking things. Trust me.
Stir together then add remaining chocolate bits.
Place in tin.
Soften the peanut butter then with a spoon blob it on top of the brownie.
Using either a sharp knife or skewer swirl the peanut butter so that it creates a marble effect on top.
Bake at 160 degrees until just set - 40 minutes or so.

That is all. Happy calories...

Recent happenings

I've been getting the odd subtle (and sot so subtle!) reminder that I haven't updated for ages. There is a very good reason for this - nothing's happening!

We're trudging on in post-quake Canterbury, avoiding driving into Christchurch where possible, which our pockets are thanking us for in light of the truly horrific petrol prices these days. Whenever I think I might like to pop into town, I ask myself if it's worth spending $15 on - usually it's not!

The other day I ventured into the city to buy some of the alternative flours that I mix to make Caleb's gluten free bread mix. What is usually a 35 minute trip took forever, as I constantly hit the cordoned off 'Red Zone' that is keeping the worst hit areas of the CBD off limits. A thousand U-turns and curses later, we reached our destination (Discount Food Warehouse, for those who care - worth a look for flours, nuts and spices. And scary-looking Hindu pictures of ladies with lots of hands to terrify your children :D) and I was nearly at the point of tears over the stress of it all. This particular building was the only one green-stickered and open down what is usually a very busy inner-city block. Very sad, but I'm choosing to be excited about what our 'new' city will be like, instead of mourning the past. Perhaps we dare to hope that they might get public transport right - actually have a system that runs on time and inspires commuters to leave vehicles at home. There is talk of buildings being required to be 3 levels or less, and obviously they will be as quake-proof as current technology and design allows. The city-scape will be very different, but potentially a very exciting place to live, work and play. I think I should work for the council ;)

I have also been very busy at work. Typically, my planning for this term included many grandiose ideas that will drive to the brink of insanity before they are realised, but I'm still of the vain hope that we'll get there, providing there are no more earthquakes closing us down again.

Our biggest trial of late is the continual toilet-training drama that Caleb has us all engaging in. I'm pretty sure at some point he's going to decide that really, there are better things to be doing with his precious 2 year old time than requiring Mum, Dad and even Sophie to dash around, stress, wash copious amounts of clothing, clean up puddles and foul messes while he watches on with a smirk on his face. Or maybe he knows he's onto a good thing...

We have days that are perfect, and days that he and the toilet are not on speaking terms. We also have days when he is fine, until he spots that shiny, sparkly thing on his way to the loo and forgets he needs to go RIGHT THEN **head> - < desk**

Anyway, he's the routine that must be adhered to for all toiletting, and NO HELP is accepted. It really is no wonder we have messes!

Step One: Remove trousers and undies entirely.
Step Two: Close toilet Lid.
Step Three: Climb on toilet lid and turn on light.
Step Four: Climb off toilet lid.
Step Five: Lift up lid and seat of toilet.
Step Six: Climb on toilet.
Step Seven: Realise seat is up and bottom is cold on toilet bowl.
Step Eight: Hop off toilet.
Step Nine: Pull down toilet seat.
Step Ten: Hop on toilet and do business.
Step Eleven: Shake off drips VERY thoroughly. There is always one more when you think you are done.
Step Twelve: Hop off toilet
Step Thirteen: Pull lid down.
Step Fourteen: Climb on lid.
Step Fifteen: Flush toilet
Step Sixteen: Hop off toilet.
Step Seventeen: Realise light is still on so climb back on toilet and turn it off.
Step Eighteen: Try to get undies and trousers on. Fail.
Step Nineteen: Decide life is less complicated with no pants anyway, so run off and play bare-bottomed.

Bless his trying wee soul...

This morning he did some threading to make a collar for his stuffed dog. Pipe cleaners made the threading much easier and it actually kept him quiet for more than 5 minutes. Or maybe that's an exaggeration. It was at least 3, anyway!



Today we went to the park, and for poor Sophie, an inevitable travesty has occurred - her brother now balances out the see saw! She was furious to be left stranded at half altitude and a lot learning regarding the laws of physics ensued. I think she worked out where she needs to sit to bring it down in the end, but not without a great deal of swinging, bellowing and declaring that "I'M THE BIGGEST, you're only TWO!" The joys of being of mousy proportions and having a brother just 16 months younger!






Caleb has always had an oddly obsessive nature, and although he is still fiercely fond of windmills, hot air balloons and eggs, he has developed a fascination for space and bugs. I suspect a certain Space Ranger may have something to do with this. The park we went to today had a climbing frame shaped like a planet, and he was delighted to have "Satuuuuuuurrrrrrn" to clamber on and have as a base to call 'Star Command'.



He startled me in the supermarket the other day by spelling out C-U-S-T-O-M-E-R S-E-R-V-C-E before attempting to sound it out. Being the neglected second child, I really haven't had the time or inclination to teach him anything other than to use the freaking toilet (please, dear child, PLEASE!) and to sleep through the night. Both of these have been somewhat spectacular failures. Obviously the Leap Pad Fridge Phonics that drives me so batty works. Either that or his sister should follow me into the teaching profession!

So that is it, really. The city is still mostly munted, Caleb's toileting is obviously ruled by the lunar cycle, planetary alignment or the number of shiny, sparkly things to be found on the way to the loo, and he's obviously a certifiable genius that will undoubtedly provide extremely well for his long-suffering parents in their retirement.

Pretty quiet month, really!

Feathered friends / fiends

I haven't updated for ages. To those admirable folk who care enough to read my ramblings, I do apologise. In the craziness of the post-quake world hereabouts, I've been pretty distracted, though to be fair, visiting family and my old friend Workoholism have played a part too. I forgot how much I actually love my job, when I'm not stressing over childcare and functioning on minimal sleep. I'm enjoying seeing some fairly massive academic gains take place in my class, though teaching a very boy-heavy bunch is certain to lead me to the brink of insanity sometime very soon.

Anyway, I digress...

A few months ago, we got some chooks. They were promptly named Cinderella, Ariel, and Fizz. We can mostly tell them apart, though when Fizz grows the feathers back around her nether regions, it may become difficult.

We had always intended to get chooks, but Steve had grandiose plans for the Taj Mahal of hen houses, so there was quite a building process before we were ready. To his credit, the finished product didn't cost us a cent, and was made entirely from salvaged or recycled building materials. It even has a fancy wee flap to access the laying boxes, though we had to do a bit of work convincing them that they were suitable boxes, as they preferred the floor for a while. I would perhaps like a gate on the run, as we've shredded two favourite clothing items whilst climbing the 'we'll-never-need-to-actually-climb-that' fence already. Am also becoming adept at clipping feathered wings, but more about that later...




Pretty flash, aye?

The first bunch are common old brown shavers. They lay very reliably, and are incredibly tame. The kids spend a lot of time playing with them, picking them up, feeding them, and generally having a merry old time.

Today we acquired a pair of banty / shaver crosses - one old lady, prone to broodiness, and a young cockerel (okay, I just wanted to type that word!) that will end up in my lovely new casserole dish the day he learns to crow. We are very fond of the theory of wee chickens running about, but the idea of an early wake up call is a little unsettling when we are this close to restoring our child-induced sleep deficit.

So against our better judgement, and following the advice of the fair folk who gave us the chooks, we just bunged them in with the others straight off. I built a funky wee teepee of branches as an alternative roost if they were made unwelcome in the Taj Mahal, and left them to fight out the pecking order.

A few hours (or was it minutes?) later, I was seen dashing off up the hill, wielding Steve's precious trout net (which to be fair hasn't had a LOT of use for its intended purpose for a variety of reasons **winks and waits for backlash later**) and swiping at two amazingly quick chooks.

There were howls of mirth from the deck, as Steve (recovering from knee surgery) watched and attempted to video my gallant efforts at catching both rascals in the net. Some foul (fowl? **groans at own humour**) words may have been uttered at this point, and he limped and grimaced his way down to give me a hand.

Eventually we caught both, though not without some drama. Minty attempted to help and ended up chained up for her efforts. If it wasn't for her prize-winning efforts at the local A&P show recently, she'd be heading for a long slow stint in my casserole dish too!

Speaking of which...



She went on to win 4th (**ahem** last) in the champion all age round, but we shan't dwell on that. Minty and Sophie are the reigning champions of the Oxford A&P Association Preschool Pet Lamb class, and nothing shall deter our pride in such an achievement, even the tantrum that ensued during said championship round.

We've also been having a great deal of fun with the tops sawn of a friend's retaining wall posts. My intention is to concrete them in as a meandering climbing feature for the kids, but in the meantime, they make great building materials! I love watching their wee minds work as they build, balance, and play around with the laws of physics. Trying not to twitch about that treated timber...

These are a few of my favourite things!

Yeah, apologies about the Sound of Music theme going on lately. Where did that come from?

So it was my birthday yesterday. Was thoroughly spoiled, but as I didn't expect to be and had made copious pleas not to be in light of the recent earthquake and general depressed mood of all Canterbury-residing folk of late, I thought I'd make just a wee purchase for myself **darty-eyed glance**

I splashed out and bought a cast iron casserole dish. A bit sad, and not even that expensive given the Farmers '60%-Off-So-Please-Get-Spending-Again-Canterbury-In-Case-We-Go-Bankrupt' sale, but very exciting for me and my sad little collection of disfunctional, un-matching and cracked cookware.

So it inspired me to make a list of my bestest favourite cooking stuff. I hasten to point out here that until very recently, my entire kitchen was stocked full of second and third-hand cast-offs from late grandmothers and the boys' flat that was our first home until I moved in.

We had an amazing collection of saucepans with handles that fell off if you didn't screw them back on after every use. Copious amounts of spatulas with melted handles, and measuring spoons with the unit rubbed off. And some ugly, ugly bakeware. Possibly so ugly that had I kept it for another decade it would be back in vogue.

Anyway, since acquiring a new house last year, I got a bit stroppy about upgrading a few items and actually buying something NEW that hadn't been thrashed and rejected by someone else. So here's my list of loves...

Old School Kenwood Mixer



I love this baby. She's a few decades older than me and runs like a dream. She actually was previously owned by a grandmother, but I'd sell my soul to buy one of these second hand if I didn't already have one. Seriously. The new Kenwood mixers (the trendy coloured Kitchen Aid rip-off kind) don't even come CLOSE to the functionality, reliability and general awesomeness of these machines, despite looking so groovy that I'd possibly be tempted to buy one for the looks factor alone. I use mine to knead bread, mix cakes and cookie dough, beat eggs, basically everything. Unfortunately the rest of NZ has also become aware of how fantastic they are, so the price of one on Trade Me can be pretty daunting for something so old. LOVE IT. Have I said that already? Buy one. Or better yet, steal your granny's.

90cm Smeg Freestanding Oven



Yeah, so I know I'm skiting! I have been coveting this piece of culinary creating perfection for a few years. When I saw a new one on Trade Me while we were building for almost half the retail price, I bought it. And then had to sort out shipping for a 100kg oven from Auckland to Christchurch **nervous twitch**

It bakes perfectly. It simmers perfectly. It brings water to a raging boil in moments. It lets fudge and sweet treats idle away without frying their nether regions to tar on the bottom of a broken-handled saucepan. It really is every bit as wonderful as I hoped it would be. It has ingenious racks that layer in the most incredible way to fill that 90cm of baking space to the max. I have actually managed to cook two trays of cookies, 3 cakes, a loaf of bread and a lasagne all at once. And the cookies didn't even taste like mince!

My one complaint? It doesn't have a colour change function on the LCD display, so it clashes with my splashback. Bahahaha!

Shiny new Kenwood MultiPro food processor



This was my birthday pressie from everyone else. Was a tad flummoxed as had selfishly purchased cast iron casserole dish for self earlier, and now had a present afterall. I guess there goes Christmas!

I've hardly used it, but have coveted one for some time. Of course I'd love a Magimix, but I live in the real world and our budget just doesn't stretch that far. So it chops heaps of stuff, has a million gadgets and gizmos that attach to do cool stuff, and its shiny and silver. And it beats the pants of my second-hand, non-brand plastic fantastic blender with a half-sized food processor bowl attachment. Am looking forward immensely to making soup and managing to whizz it in fewer than 4 batches. Heaven.

Beside it is my Sunbeam Bakehouse breadmaker. This was the first 'new' appliance I ever owned, and it was after we'd been married for about 6 years. I am of two minds as to whether I love it. I used to. And Steve uses it daily to make bog-standard loaves of bread, so it has certainly proven itself to be very reliable and far better than any of the other cast-off breadmakers I've owned. I am getting quite fond of making bread by hand though, so I'm finding that I use it less these days. Still very handy though, so I included its picture. Also because I couldn't be bothered shifting the MultiPro from its suctioned wee feet which meant I couldn't crop the breadmaker out ;-)

Imperia Pasta Maker



I have sung its praises before, so I shan't repeat myself. Love it though. Don't be fooled by cheaper imitations. Like I was.

And here is my Shiny New Cast Iron Casserole Dish



... capitalising because I can. And because it deserves it.

Love being able to use the same pan to brown meat on the hob and then just bung it in the oven after adding the saucy bits. And I don't mean rude things.

It weighs a tonne, and I look forward to foisting it upon ungrateful future grandchildren and daughters-in-law when I buy new stuff, because this sucker would survive a nuclear holocaust. Or another major earthquake.

Is that statement in bad taste??

I took a picture of my Tupperware digital scales, because I think I do love them today. The thing is, though, that I have a passionate love-hate relationship with Tupperware. I adore their gleaming, stackable, matching fabulousness, but the disgraceful prices and exploitation of my obliging nature at parties makes me twitch. I think I have a Tupperware problem, actually, and don't EVER invite me to one of your parties, because I WILL buy too much, I WILL regret it, and no amount of shiny matching containers that I can't even microwave without breaking the fecking lids (and no, that's not covered under the infamous lifetime warranty) will make it okay. Although I do really like the free stuff. And my scales. And the wee lunchbox containers. And...

Right, I've been writing for ages, and actually I'm boring myself to tears, so if you've managed to stay tuned for so long, well done. If it was a Tupperware party, you'd be getting free egg separator. At least I think that's what it is for.