This Old Man...

....he played five, he played knick knack on my hive with a knick knack patty whack give the dog a bone, this old man came rolling home... I don't get that song. Is there some hidden Satanic message there that I'm not aware of? More stuff in my brain today:

1. In the petrol station this morning, I noticed that they sell an enormous selection (20+) of woolen beanies. Okay, so winter is coming and it's getting colder. People's heads are cold. I get that. What I don't get is, who thinks to themselves, "Oh! Must get petrol, grab a litre of milk, and oh yeah - a black beanie with a hemp plant on it..."

2. I have become somewhat obsessive about my children's birthday cakes. In our house the official rule is that each kid gets their own, and they have free reign to pick whatever they want (flavour, decor, the whole thing.) Invariably Concrete Head (DS) picks the most complicated one - this year requiring me to make several Pablos from fondant. Incidentally, I'm also making some fondant bees for Miss Flexi (DD1). I don't think they care about this as much as I do - yet again the whole "my Mom never did this for me when I was a kid so I've got to do it 10x better for my kids" thing rears it's ugly head.

3. I've decided that culinary genius is definetly genetic, even though in my case my parents claim it's skipped several generations. Concrete Head *loves* too cook (and dressed as a chef for Purim). He often has some pretty good ideas of what to make. However last night Little Miss (DD2) had ideas of her own. At the moment she is avoiding protein like the plague, instead opting for a diet of carbs, carbs, and a side of carbs - much to my and DH's irritation. So clever me tried out a recipe for low-fat, low-effort Beef Stroganoff. Needless to say, it was fricking delicious. Seriously, melt in the mouth fan-bloody-tastic. Little Miss was avoiding eating the meat part (and who could blame her, OMG the sauce was brilliant without the meat.) She decides the best option would be to make a "meat SAM-WODGE" and grabs a loaf of (multi grain, low GI) bread. She takes two slices, slaps in a whole lotta Stroganoff, and bites in. The look of bliss on her face was enough to send the rest of us (okay, me and Concrete Head) to the bread bag as well. Holy Mazoly. Seriously, food orgasm time. Warm, dripping, meaty, paprika-y, mushroomy, creamy bliss encased in soft bread. DH and Miss Flexi were eventually convinced to try it. DH was so impressed that he insisted on keeping all the leftover sauce (beef, onions, and mushrooms having disappeared into a whole lotta sam-wodges) in the fridge for use over some rice or pasta.

4. Rehab is really pissing me off. I enjoy going, since it's basically a free workout - but it annoys me that nobody TALKS enough. As in, nobody tells me why I am doing certain exercises, or what the long term plan is, or anything. They just seem to expect that I will follow along blindly. Now I know this is all about education, and "building up to it" and blah blah. I totally get that and I'm trying to respect my body's 'messages' and other bull crap. At the same time, wouldn't I get more out of this if the therapists would LISTEN to what I'm telling them? It's like they all have to follow this party line which tells them how to treat people, and they never waver from that. So on the one hand they're telling me to set goals for what I want to be able to do, and on the other hand they are totally against my seeing what it is I am capable of doing. If you have no base line from which to determine your current abilities, how can you set a goal about future abilities? Besides which, I feel a jillion percent better and have resumed uni (and work next week, yay) and I am digging the whole body/temple thing. Next week I'm going to get all "what the fark is going on?!?!" on them and see what they say. Stay tuned. In the meantime my rehab mood is not improved by the fact that the one (under 60 yeas old) cute guy has changed days so no more flirting in the hydrotherapy pool. Bugger!

5. I've finally convinced DH on the dog front! So maybe by the end of the year we'll have another member of the family. Hopefully we'll treat it better than we've treated the poor fish, and hopefully DH will get some new contracts so we can afford to feed the damn thing. Think positive, happy, doggy money thoughts people!

(I know, I said 5, but I have one more. Go knick knack yo'self.)

6. Supposedly my sister and her daughter are coming to visit us in July. This has thus required at least a dozen phone calls, a couple of emails, and several text messages - and still not a ticket has been purchased. I think it would take less effort to organise Elvis to come to Passover dinner.