Did'ja Miss Me? The Big emzee Update

emzee on...

Detox: It was always intended to be a 2 week thing, which would then lead to some other hocus-pocus bullshit crazy naturopathic thing to follow. I did the 2 weeks (rather brilliantly, I might add). I went back to said naturopath and I hated every minute of it. Not so much because of the snake oil ideas of naturopathic health and wealth, more because we just didn't have great rapport. I'm still committed to exploring this idea further, just not with him. Mr Naturopath Man, YOU SUCKED.

Quinoa: I bought a bag (400g at $5.49! Eeek!) from the local Middle Eastern bakery. First night, I overcooked it slightly and so it was a bit gluggy but...delicious. Seriously. I cooked it in some chicken stock (I know, I know, chicken is technically not allowed) but it was so great the kids asked if we could have it the next night. The next night I undercooked it a bit and used onion soup rather than chicken stock. Not as much of a hit with the under-7's crowd. Still, delicious and well worth buying more of and experimenting more with. Does anyone know if quinoa is allowed for Passover?

Passover: It starts in 2 days, which means no bread for me, for 8 days. I'm thinking this is a good thing, as I've been OD'ing on bread products like nobody's business. Then again, girlness is coming my way and that's a sure bring-on-the-carbs time of the month. Carb addicted women like myself use this holiday as one big excuse to be bitchy. Not that I actually NEED an excuse, ya know?

Dirty Weekends: I didn't blog about it, but as a surprise to DH I kidnapped him and we spent 22 hours celebrating the 12th anniversary of our first date. We indulged in a 5 star city hotel, meals at nice restaurants (hello, Rockpool!) and other appropriate debauchery. Yes, we're that cheesy. Yes, we had sex without anyone banging on the door incesstantly, yelling, "Eeewwww...stop KISSing. It's GROSS!" or anyone asking us why we were not wearing pyjamas on such a cold night. We even managed to not giggle (much) as Whitney Houston warbled on about how much she will aaaallllllwwwwaaaaayyyysss love yooooooooooooo in the background. Oh, and there was an incident with a hanger and a scalding hot bath and rose petals in a bellybutton and a drunken DH. You don't want to hear about all that, do you?

Exercise: Bollywood dancing this week was great fun but not as much of an aerobic workout. Seems the location closer to me is a haven for geriatrics. I brought DD2 along and even without her, Jewel and I lowered the average age in there by 20 years. Clearly I live in the less young and hip suburb - but that's okay because I am neither young nor hip. Gym attendance was at a high, but is now made harder by the kids being on Autumn vacation.

School Holidays: Which is what they call it here when your kids are home for 2 weeks driving you mental. I adore my kids, I really do. I also adore fobbing them off on underpaid and unappreciated teachers for 7 hours a day. Holiday? Ummm, yeah. For who exactly? The trio have been especially tired these past few weeks so I deliberately made no plans for them other than the odd play date or short outing. This would be working rather well, except that they seem to be enjoying slopping around in pyjamas until 3pm and refusing to go anywhere...until 3:05pm where they start complaining that they never get to go anywhere and it's all so BORING. Thanks god for $6-for-6 weekly video rentals!

Snoopy Come Home: One of the videos we rented this week. I watched most of it (talk about mind-numbingly boring. OMG) and then used the excuse of cooking dinner to leave. Five minutes later I hear a chorus of deep, heart-wrenching sobbing coming from the living room. I go in there to find my three kids literally crying their eyes out...because Snoopy decided to return to his original owner, some little shit named Lila (who btw is in the hospital for 3 weeks, but let me tell ya, she looks pretty freakin' healthy). Firstly, who the fuck KNEW he had an owner other than Charlie Brown and secondly, talk about giving kids a separation anxiety complex! Of course the little two-timing Benedict Arnold goes running right back to ol' Charles a few minutes later. Yeah, thanks for the emotional train wreck, Mr Schulz.

Sex & The City: I've never seen a single episode of this show...because let's see....it involves single, skinny, rich, successful, sex-addicted chicks who are (as my friend The Neighbour's Wife would say) uber-cool. I may be one of two of those things, but I'm not enough of those things to justify watching it. At the same time, I'm bloody grateful that I am in the minority, as the tickets to the Première (a fund raiser I'm organising for the kiddos' school) are flying out the door faster than I can get them printed.
(In Melbourne? Wanna come? Email me - emzeegee[at]hotmail[dot]com)

Money Tree: I haven't got one. I need one. Anyone?!

Sexist Undies: I went to get the kids some new undies today...and the girl ones are all covered in slogans which say things like "Girls Rule" and "Boys are Gross." I'm wondering why the pairs I found for my son didn't say things like "Girls are Over-Emotional" and "Girls Stink" and "Boys Kick Girls' Asses" Yes, it's true. I've discovered blatant sexism in the undies aisle at Big W. I've also discovered Elmo pajamas in a size 18. Now THAT's sexy! (not).

Facebook: I considered it a major achievement to have more than 8 friends, until I looked at my eight and found out that some of them have well over 100. Seriously, who the fuck knows that many people? Or am I just a big loser?

This Blog: Gets me in trouble more than I realise...and in the oddest ways. I got a text message today (Hi Sheets!) which said, "How's the detox/kids/cakes/bhangra going?" Who knew?!

I may be a bit absent from here in the next few days - what with Passover coming and kids being at home. In the meantime, amuse yourselves.

Death Night Food

Later this year, one of the organisations DH and I support is holding a fund raising night - a "Newlywed Game" night where married couples get to answer questions about one another. (Have you ever noticed that the word newlywed looks weird? It's one of those words which looks misspelled even when it isn't. Okay, sorry, tangent.) Anyway today DH asked me if I would be willing to subject myself to being a contestant in this going-to-be-embarrassing spectacle of human behaviour. Me being me (an attention seeking fame hound and overall competitive person) immediately agreed.

Of course, me being me, I also came to the conclusion that DH and I *must* win this game. I commented that we would win because we know each other so well. So well in fact that it's almost a bit scary, to be honest. He then rightly pointed out that some of the other recruits have been married for 20, 30, 40 years, while he and I have been married for only 10 (and a half) years. What chance have we got against the old fogies? Ha! (says I) Ha! We will win because....we will study! So I immediately bombard DH with a whole load of potential game questions. Favourite colour? Colour of your toothbrush? First concert? Favourite hobby? Lucky undies..or lucky socks? and so on...until I came to, "If you could have one last meal before you die, what would it be?"

Now I tried to guess what DH would have, before he said it.

My Guess: Anything involving loads of meat, and probably something fried, too.

His Answer: A really, really, really good roast beef sandwich with loads of horseradish cream(not unlike the one we had in York), some really, really, really properly cooked chips (hot, golden, salted, delicious), minted peas (WTF??), some roasted veggies (again, I say, WTF??) and then he mumbled on about dessert which involved mostly dark chocolate ice cream and a pavlova without the fruit.

Result: One point to the Green team (note meat products mentioned, and fried stuff, too.)

His Guess: Bread, bread, bread, bread and a side of bread and for dessert more bread. Did I mention your Death Night food would include bread?

My Answer: An unlimited basket of crunchy fresh baked bread served with loads of softened, salted French butter and extra salt flakes, a big ol' chicken schnitzel (breaded!), a mound of sticky rice cooked in chicken stock (oohhh...comfort food), a side order of a grilled cheese sandwich done in butter (with white bread and crappy American orange cheese...there goes the bread again), and for dessert a big wedge of fresh fruit tart (with custard and pastry base) and some seriously good, premium ice cream (probably oreo flavour.)

Now at this point I came to the conclusion that if I actually ate all of that, my heart would sieze up due to the cholesterol, fat and sugar overload. But then who cares, since I'm dying soon anyway?

Result: One more point to the Green team (note bread/bread products mentioned more than once.)

Needless to say this got the kids talking about what their last meals would be...with DS deciding that "fruit, fruit and more fruit....like twenty hundred plums and eight million apricots and a zillion peaches and don't forget the watermelon" was a good choice. Hey, at least he was dying knowing he was getting some nutritional value out of it (unlike his mother's meal).

Clearly with as long-winded answers as these, DH and I have a lot of work to do if we're going to kick the asses of the octogenarians. Then again, maybe not. If we talk as much at the event as we do in real life, the old buggers will just fall asleep.

Victory!

How True It Is!

Having recently purchased a kilo of vanilla beans via Ebay, and seriously contemplating buying some random kitchen crap, I can relate to this!

Please, Talk Me Down From The Edge

I don't think one should blog when one is feeling really, really, really irritable. I might end up saying things I don't really mean, or cursing a lot, or just plain old exploding. At the same time, blogging is almost as good as therapy, only a lot less expensive and a lot more socially acceptable.

Things Giving Me The Shits:

1. My kids. Who complain when they wake up that they are tired, complain when they leave school that they are tired, complain through dinner they are tired....and then hit the sack and spend HOURS piss-farting around, picking fights with one another, and coming down the stairs forty thousand times. If you went to SLEEP instead of doing all that shit, you might not be so tired. Doesn't take a genius (or three.) Or maybe it does.

2. My DH's work. He used to make fun of me, when I worked for a large university, that all the work that I did was "more public service than the public service." He used to say it because of all the inefficiencies, all the back-talking, all the games playing. I hated when he would say that, but karma, as we know, is a bitch. Henceforth why he is now dealing with government, and politics, and assholes who tell you "you're doing great" all the way through the process, only to say "actually, you've fucked it all up" 48 hours before you need to hand over your deliverable. While I enjoy the financial benefits of his job, I HATE what it does to him and his self-esteem and to our family life. Yeah. Public service. Hmmm.

3. The heat. Oh god the heat.

4. One of my family members (left unnamed to as not to offend) who seems to think I am running some sort of kiddie business as opposed to a fully-fledged, money making, growth venture. This family member reminds me, continually, in a condescending way, that I need to make sure that the business is making money, that I need to just keep assessing and then close it all down if it's not paying itself back immediately. I'm flattered that this person cares, and that they are trying to be supportive. However the constant reminders and assumptions that I didn't think about these things before I went into business are starting to irk me in a big way. I get it, you're worried. It's very sweet of you, but here it is in black and white: I KNOW WHAT I AM DOING. PLEASE STOP ACTING AS THOUGH I DON'T. For once, congratulate me on a job well done or say, "Wow! That's great that you have so many orders!" and then DON'T follow it up with, "You know you'll need to make sure you have done a proper cash flow report, and that you assess in 6 months and then decide if it's worth going on..." I understand your concerns, but rest assured this is MY business, and therefore I am capable of looking after it. You also know nothing about running a food-based business. I DO. I love you, but you're beginning to make me not want to answer the phone when you call.

5. My landlord, who for all the world reminds me of my Dad with his irritating remarks and his looking at the things I produce and then says things like, "Oh. It's a cake." NO SHIT SHERLOCK, I'm a CAKE BUSINESS. Argh! Plus he (after nearly 6 months) doesn't seem able to provide me with an accurate lease to sign.

6. The lady in the kitchen next to me, who calls me "Mich" without first asking if that's okay. I DON'T LIKE being called Mich, get it? There are a very, very select few who are allowed to call me that. As in, my blood relations and maybe one other person. You? YOU NEED TO CALL ME BY MY WHOLE NAME. We are not, repeat, not on a nickname basis.

7. The couple who had 2 very long meetings with me to discuss the worlds most simple wedding cake. I thought they had a small budget, so I under-quoted them to be nice. I came in on Sundays...TWICE...to meet with them. I bent over backwards providing quotes, providing samples, etc. They then commented that the icing was "very sweet" (umm...really? Were you hoping for SOUR?!) and then didn't give me the gig. God have mercy, people.

8. The hideous amount of spam I am getting from companies trying to get me to advertise with them. This is due in part to my other website going live and getting listed on a jillion and one search engines. I'm glad about that part, but not so glad about offers to reach "8,000+ people a day for only $50 a month." Yeah, right. I read the small print and discover you also want my first born. Leave me ALONE and stop flooding my inbox, okay?

9. The fact that I am way behind in articles for my other gig, and yet I am having a hard time summoning the energy to write anything. Not sure why that is, which in itself is an irritant.

...and the very last thing which is irritating me:

10. My favourite squishy yoga-esque pants have developed an inoperable hole, in an conspicuous place. I know the pants are ugly. I know they are unflattering. I know I shouldn't wear them...and now, sadly, I can't even if I want to. Don't advise me to go and buy more. It just wouldn't be the same!

It goes without saying that there are loads and loads of things which are making me very, very happy today. In fact on most days, I can do that positive thinking exercise where you think about at least ONE good thing a day which has happened. This website is very good at that. I often read it because her positive thinking thing makes me feel a little less, well, scratchy.

So I could, and probably should, write a blog post about the things which are making me happy. But somehow that's just not nearly as much fun.

(Ed: LOL. I just Googled "irritating" to find a good image to put at the top of this post. All I found were loads of pictures of creams and lotions which claim to be anti-irritating. Maybe I should get myself some of that stuff!)

Overwhelmed

It's 7:48 pm on Sunday, November 11. I am sitting here overwhelmed by a number of things. Given my penchant for to-do lists (lists in general, really) I thought I'd jot down the things which are overwhelming me in this moment. Not in order of importance, just in order of what comes out of my head and onto my hands.

I am overwhelmed by...

1. The generosity of my friends, who have spent all day today packing, wrapping, sticker-ing, ribbon-ing and praising my seemingly endless pile of Three Sweeties products. Really, I have no words.

2. The fact that one of said friends (Poppet's Mum) was wrapping biscuits... while in the early stages of labour. No, I'm not kidding.

3. The fact that The Baker's Wife is still giving so much help and support, when she's just entered into her own pastry business venture. She doesn't have to (and has far more important things to do)...and yet she does.

4. My friend Nicole, who has literally given me DAYS of her time and BUCKET LOADS of her talent to help me get through this mountain of pastry production. I didn't ask her to come - but she did. For 4 days now...and she brings lunch! She talks to me. She keeps me sane. She listens to my carrying on, and she tolerates it. I am completely overwhelmed by her support, especially when I know the true good deed in this is that we are 'curing' one another's kitchen loneliness.

5. Fighting my control freak tendencies to completely freak out over the market this week and the future of Three Sweeties' products.

6. My children's ability to get me to dance at their playroom disco for over an hour, when my feet are already on fire. When ABBA is playing "Mama Mia" and you're wearing a green glow-stick bracelet, somehow doing the tango with a six year old makes your feet feel a whole lot better.

7. The sense of achievement I have about all this, and how proud I am of myself. Fact is - in real life I have pretty low self-esteem. Yes, I'm loud. I'm outgoing. I'm a scary overachiever. I'm a classic Type A personality. A vast majority of the people I meet/ know would even say I'm completely full of myself. None of it is really true. I actually suffer from extreme self-doubt. Today, however, I enjoyed a little internal smile every time I got to give someone a tour of my (one room, tiny) kitchen. It was just...WOW...I DID this? No way! Yay me. :) (and then in came the rushing thoughts of failure and hysteria and worry...but for a fleeting second I had a YAY ME moment.)

8. Summer is coming, and for the last 2 days it's been nothing but sunny skies and warm air and the need for my most precious and beloved night table fan. Somehow I manage to hate the heat but adore the summer. No, it's not worth figuring out. It's just another strange thing about me.

9. My DH finally getting the idea that dinner needs to consist of something other than just a main serving of protein. He seems to be grasping the idea of side dishes! Or rather, SIDE dish (singular)! Can you believe? I think this chef business is rubbing off on him. Perhaps next year he'll graduate to side dish-and-vegetable. (Love you, deegee!)

10. Spring Racing is over for another year and somehow, it wasn't all that terrible. Annoying, yes - but not as time consuming as last year. Also made infinitely more tolerable by the presence of workmate Jewel, who always makes everything work related more tolerable.

11. My blog posts have become a lot less funny, and this is overwhelming me. I feel a need/desire to be funny, but somehow can't get that to come out on "paper." I am wondering if this isn't because my blogging mo-jo is lost, and if I shouldn't just stop now and end this blogging biz.

12. My best friend Alexis has a really awful disease which seems to be killing her slowly, and every single day I worry about her. It's one of the very few situations in my life where I not only feel completely helpless, but I also wish I was the kind of Jew who believed in the power of prayer.

13. I miss my sister. A ridiculous thing to be overwhelmed by, but there you go. Worse than that, I miss her kids, too...and as we all know, I don't really "do" other people's kids so much.

14. Exhaustion. I'm not actually all that tired - and I'm doing a good job of pacing myself (!!) so I don't have back issues or sleep issues or over-work issues or ANY issues, really. It just seems like no matter how much sleep I get, I'm still feeling like I could sleep for a week. Or two. Me thinks it's time to check my iron levels.

15. The fact that in about 6 weeks, it's Christmas. Which means it's my birthday. Which means I will be 32. I never thought I would make it to 32. I don't know WHY I thought that, I just did. But then I never thought I'd be married with kids, so clearly I was just a wee bit hazy on the whole 'my future' thing.

16. The taste of the lamb kabana from the Grand Vewe cheesery in Tasmania. The fact that I can still 'taste' it in my mind several weeks later is overwhelming. A foodie experience I won't likely forget.

Hmmm. Sixteen things in my life which I find overwhelming, in this very moment. Maybe it's time for a Coke Slurpee.

When The Cat Is Away (again)...

The mice play (again.)

Which is a nice way of saying that DH is out of town again, for about 4 days. Now normally I'd use this as an opportunity to stage a mini-revolt. Regular readers of this blog know that I use my DH's work travel as an opportunity to either turn into Slacker Mom, or just plain Crazy Mom. So, you know, I might throw out his t-shirts from 1964. Tidy up his side of the room, because he really won't miss that issue of "Submarine Monthly" from 3 years ago that he swears he is going to read. Or I might change jobs, cut my hair off, renovate my wardrobe, paint something, acquire a pet (or two), acquire a piercing (or two), let the kids play hookey from school and watch TV all day, have pizza for dinner several nights in a row, not bother to do any housework, buy a new car, acquire a tattoo (or two) ... really, there's a whole list of things I tend to do (or want to do) while my DH is away. Now it should be said that he really wouldn't mind my doing those things while he was in town. He might raise an eyebrow, but in general he's so sickeningly supportive and lovey-dovey and just plain nice about everything, that he takes my craziness in his stride. Bless him. This whole quiet normalcy thing is probably why I tend to break out the wierd stuff while he's away. Because, you know, it just might get a reaction out of him.

It never does. Partially because the show-off in me feels it necessary to blog about my exploits, and DUH, he reads my posts when he's gone. So the surprise factor isn't really there. Partially it's because he's my best friend, so I call him within ten seconds of committing some (minor and petty) craziness and say, "GUESS what I've just done? Can't guess? Okay, I've [insert minor and petty craziness]!" Partially it's because I attach more value to these things than he does - what I consider a big deal, he considers an "Eh, so?"

For the last couple of days I've been trying to think of craziness I can commit while he's away. This coming Wednesday is his birthday, so there were some good opportunities there, as in, "I got this tattoo just for you, sweetie!" I wonder, though....isn't it a bit control freak overachiever of me to be PLANNING my madness? I can totally picture this as a "to do" list:

1. Go crazy
2. Do something which you think is crazy
3. Blog about it
4. Call DH and tell him about it
5. Realise you're being silly, it's not that crazy at all. Start again.
6. Go crazy.
7. Repeat steps 2 -7 ad naseum until you come to the conclusion that you're so normal, and so straight, and frankly so bloody mother-of-three-in-the-'burbs that you're never really going to do anything all that bad in the first place, so might as well give up now.
   

So after several days of trying to come up with a craziness-to-do list, I'm still left with nothing. Seriously. Maybe this is because I have tons of normal stuff to get done. You know, like open a business (T minus one week), do mountains of laundry (currently, literally, to my knees), take care of three energetic, what-are-we-doing-today-Mum kids who are on Spring Break, buy an oven worth $6,000+, go to work, finish two giant school assignments, and oh yeah did I mention open a business?! Minor stuff, you know.

So maybe this is a week for calm rather than for added madness. Now there's a crazy thought.

The Swedish Chef

yah! ....e'vytink is okie dokie!....
(and I don't know what's funnier, the Chef himself, or the joke made at the end about the bride!)

Lessons for Life #1

Should you find yourself feeling a little down, a little blue, a little bit harumpf, harumpf, harumpf, (let's face it, a little bit crap about oneself altogether), instant relief can be found by acquiring a bright red "go faster" stripe:


It works. Trust me.

The Post Secret Mini-Movie

For well over a year now I've read the secrets posted on this website. I've laughed, gotten goose bumps and smiled both inside and out. Sometimes my heart aches for the people who have no other outlet for their grief than anonymously sending their secrets out to the world....but then I realize we all have our secrets, even if (like me) we live our lives surrounded by love and support.

In honour of Frank Warren's life-changing project, I am sharing a secret of my own.

One of my biggest secrets is this:

I hated being thin. The person in the mirror didn't look like me. I could no longer wear my weight as my suit of protective emotional armor. For many reasons I desperately need to lose weight, but I'm terrified of doing so (for the above reasons) , so instead I am eating myself into self-destruction.

Confirmation

I always knew that I was hot stuff. Here's proof!

Someday When I am Queen

One of my worst but most entertaining habits is complaining. Mostly I complain about how other people do things - because, of course, MY way would be superior. Given half the chance I am always convinced that my way would be the better, faster, cuter way to get things done. Partially this is because I have a ridiculously high expectation of other people, but also because I have a ridiculously high expectation of myself. So OF COURSE other people will fall short, and the full-of-myself self would do a better job.

The great thing about this bad-but-amusing habit is that I have friends who do it too. Us overachievers tend to stick together. So I'll be bitching about work (or school, or DH, or whatever really) and the other person will agree with me, and then I'll sigh and say, "Someday, when we rule the world, it will all be better." Of course, in that case, I'm just being nice since I know *I* will be the ruler of the world, while whoever I am speaking to will just be coming along for the ride. But I digress. Thinking about my future dictatorship, I've started to come up with a few rules which I think we all need to abide by, for someday when I am in charge. Here are but a few:

• Carbohydrates (simple, complex, whatever) will all be negative calorie loaded. I will expend more energy eating them than is actually contained in them, but they will taste the same. NO! They will taste BETTER. With each bite, I will lose weight.
• Pieces of paper which are not immediately deemed important (by me, of course) that try to make it past the threshold of our home office will vanish in a colorful 'poof!' of smoke.... with a 'poof!' sound effect, which only I (of course) can turn off.
• The distance between Baja, Mexico and Melbourne, Australia will be much, much shorter but then much, much longer as I see fit ( I want to have weekends away at my parents swanky holiday house whenever I feel like it, but if my family drive me nuts I want to be able to get away.)
• I will always have enough money to buy the things I want to, when I want to, and pay my bills in full and on time. No more than that. I don't want a ton of cash. I just want enough to pay for what I want, give some away to other people, and that's it. So, say for example I see a really, really cool red silicon rolling pin which I want (Note to DH: This is a not-so-subtle hint. Our anniversary is coming.) . I'll take it to the counter, pull out my wallet, and whoosh, there's the dosh.
• The snooze button on my alarm clock will exist in a time warp, just for me. So no matter how many times I bash the living shit out of it, I'll still be on time to work when I (eventually) get out of bed.
• My back will be made out of a flexible titanium steel rod thingie, which means I'll never suffer back pain and I can carry heavy loads using the totally wrong posture and it won't matter. I'll be able to do a double lutz triple half-gainer with a twist...all while bending from the waist to pick up a really heavy, oddly shaped box and carry it across a very slippery floor. I will, of course, do this not only pain free but with a serious amount of grace and style.
  
• People named Debbie will be banished. For some reason I've never met a Deb, Debbie, or Deborah who I actually liked for longer than 5 minutes. I'm sorry, they'll just have to go.
  
• I'll posses that finger snapping ability to clean up clutter that Jane & Michael Banks exhibited in the movie "Mary Poppins." Better still, my kids will have that ability too.
• Ice cream will be declared a food group, existing somewhere near the bottom of the food pyramid. Okay, make that 'cold confections' so that Slurpees and popsicles get a look in.
• The word "HILLLL-AIR-EOUS" will be banned from my vocabulary, due to extreme overuse in this current, non-Queen-like life of mine. It's getting old.
  
• Other people's children will become tolerable - even the snot-nosed, tiny little shit of a terror who is currently annoying my daughter on a daily basis. I'll find him tolerable, but I won't be sad about the fact that he will grow up, but his penis won't.
  

....I could keep going, but I think you get my drift. For those brave enough to comment, leave me one rule you'll envoke as soon as you are leader of the world*. Please don't bother with eradicating poverty, disease, allowing peace to reign or anything worthy and moral like that. This is an entirely selfish, indulgent exercise and I won't have you ruining it by being all high and mighty.

* which will never happen, because that's my job. But play along anyway.

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.

Happy Belated Blogaversary to ME!

On the 16th of April last year, I decided that having my own blog would be a good idea. I'm not really sure WHY I thought it would be a good idea, other than mellie said it would be, and I believed her. As it happens, she was right. In order to write my own "happy blogaversary to me" post, I went back and had a look at the things I've posted about through the last year. Originally this was meant to be a foodie blog - not dissimilar to the myriad of foodie blogs out there which literally groan with a tummy full of brilliant recipes, mouth-watering photos and interesting restaurant reviews. In that respect, I failed. I don't write a "foodie blog", or at least not anything like those I respect. I also don't write a "Mommy blog"because I don't crap on and on about how fabulous and wonderful my kids are (okay, sometimes I do) and how my brilliant, mistake-free parenting fulfills my every waking moment. I also don't write a "chef's blog" or a "baking blog" or a "family blog" or any other type of "... blog." I just kinda, well, talk a lot, to whit:

• I hate other people's kids, and I hate other people telling me how to parent mine, so I complained about both of those a lot.
  
• I asked you all to commit Random Acts of Sweetness, and yet nobody did (or bothered to tell me they have). I, however, continue to do this as much as I can. This just proves how fab-u-lous I am (or how much therapy I need, since for me baking is pretty much the same minus the chaise lounge.)
  
• Culinary school was another topic of complaining...and with about 9 months left to go, I can't see this rant ending any time soon.
  
• My adoration for various people was declared out loud.
• Food (not surprisingly) was a major issue - I made it, I worried about it, I wanted more of it, I got fat from it.
  
• I talked about stuff I like, and stuff I hate.
  
• Parenting - and the real, total truth about it, was also a topic of discussion...including the phenomenon of Mommy Guilt.
  
• I developed bad habits. What am I saying, I just admitted that I have them and the reveled in them.
  
• Photographic evidence finally made it on the scene!
  

So, as they say, it's been a good year for blogging . As I mentioned above, I've decided that I don't really fall into any type of blog category - and it's safe to say that's probably a reflection of who I am, anyway. My life is a mich-mash (pun and spelling intended) and this blog is, too. Fine by me, as long as it's fine by you. Actually, I could care less of what you think - but I am flattered that people are out there reading and replying to what I have to say. And that, my friends, is the point. This blog is all about me, me, me, and some more me - and I make no apologies for it.

In the 11th Hour

7 days since I noticed a niggling backache...
90 minutes before I have 23 people wanting to eat a multi-course Passover feast....
21 hours before I'm supposed to be winning a cooking competition....
several hours since I've downed some anti-inflammatories....
less hours since I've sucked down some super pain killers...

And my back is still totally fucked.

As of yesterday morning, all the following are so painful to do they bring tears to my eyes:

- standing
- sitting
-lying down
- trying to roll over in bed
- walking
-bearing weight on my legs
-breathing in
-depressing either the accelerator or brake in my car
- typing this

What makes this day different from all other days? This is totally the WORST possible day on which my body can be completely incapacitated.

It looks like I'll have to forgo my effort at culinary mastery. One cannot effectively season something and cry at the same time - you can't see how much salt you're throwing in.

I'm so upset - and rather than drown my sorrows in decent bread, I have to drown it in freakin' MATZAH, which will then give me a stomach ache. For 8 days.

A Friday Funny

Green Eggs & Ham, the Jewish Way

Will you never see?
They are not kosher, so let me be!
I will not eat green eggs and ham.
I will not eat them, Sam I am.
But I'll eat green eggs with a biscuit!
Or I will try them with some brisket.
I'll eat green eggs in a box.
If you serve them with some lox.
And those gren eggs are worth a try,
Scrambled up in matzo brie!
And in a boat upon the river,
I'll eat green eggs with chopped liver!
So if you're a Jewish Dr. Seuss fan,
But troubled by green eggs and ham,
Let your friends in on the scoop:
Green eggs taste best with chicken soup!

(courtesy of a Jewish Day School who was celebrating Dr Seuss Day)

Space Waster

Here are five more interesting, amusing, or just plain fill-in-the-blog lines things about emzee you might not know (and don't want to know, but this is me putting it out there, okay?)

1. Who says Australia is a cultural wasteland? Up on our pin board are tickets to these events: Miss Saigon (which I've seen 3 times previously), Walking with Dinosaurs (which I bought tickets to only because I got one for free, and because I am claiming it's for DS but it's really me who wants to go) and 'Out of the Frying Pan', a Melbourne Food & Wine conference all about the future of food and the media (hey, I might meet someone fab who says, YEAH! The emzee show sounds like a GREAT idea).

2. I announce my bathroom visits. ALL the time. I had no idea I had this habit until DH pointed it out, and now he pretends to 'sound an alarm' every time I make my announcement. I do this at work, too. There is no earthly reason why I need to do this, and I don't know why I do. Maybe it's because I think people will miss me when I'm gone? Am I that self-centered? Who knows? *announcement* I'M GOING TO GO PEE!

3. I recently answered this question: "What do you think is your best parenting skill/strength?" with this answer: "Basically I think I do a good job at raising happy, healthy kids. The rest, frankly, is just gravy. But, DANG, I make a good cake."

4. I once rented a car (at the airport in Boston) on a fake ID. The car was a HUGE mini van, brand-spanking new, with 12 miles on it. I drove said car through the night (with a friend) trying to get to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. We had only the rental car company map (of the greater Boston area), and despite repeated attempts to purchase one, we still had no map. We had nothing except ourselves, some clothes, and a rented minivan rented under false pretenses. Plus we had a lot less money because of those damn tollways. We finally gave up at Allentown, PA - where we spent the night and then drove back to Boston, only to discover that a return flight from Boston to Pittsburgh was CHEAPER than renting the stupid car.

5. I'm home from work today with a helluva head cold...so I did what any self-respecting woman would do. I baked a giant white chocolate mud cake (for a client, and no I didn't sneeze on it), asked DH to make some chicken soup (from my sister's recipe, which she learned from our Guatemalan maid - go figure) and complained a lot that "by doze iz ztuffy." Oh, and I watched some crappy daytime TV. Know what? It was bliss.

Okay, so this isn't the best post ever - but my brain is full of boogers and that's my excuse.

Flip Side

Five things which are irking me today:

1. My ear is threatening to secede from my head. Seriously. I'm suffering some sort of wierd flap-between-my-head-and-my-ear disease (scientific name: FBMHAMED) which must bear a close relation to SMRD. The end result is a painful behind-my-ear cut thingie, which oozes and crusts and is in general pretty feral. I'm just glad it's not visible to the average person. The worst bit (besides it just being utterly gross) is that it HURTS LIKE A BIOTCH when DH swabs it with an alcohol wipe (to be rid of said crustiness.) True love, that is - wiping clean your wife's crusty ear cut.

2. I have now proven that it is quite impossible to leave work, find my car, drive to school, find a parking spot, pay for parking, walk back to school, change uniforms, grab my knife kit and other paraphernalia, and be prepared to start the prep for a night of paying customers in the 30 minutes I have to do all of this. Oh, and then stand there for 6 hours while the morons around you need 3 HOURS to prep for ONE dish, when you need less than 30 minutes. And the morons are making salad.

3. The inefficiency of my workplace. Disclaimer: I love my job and (most) of the people there and etc etc etc. Disclaimer over: I hate the fact that they throw away thousands of dollars of food, have NO standard recipes (or if they do, nobody seems to use them), can't seem to get their ordering right...you get the idea. Makes me want to scream, "You people have NO idea!" Then I remember how much they pay me, and that I almost never start work before 7am, and I think, "Bugger it. Be inefficient. Gives me more work to do."

4. I am a person who likes her own space. I find that a couple of times a day I just need "quiet time" - a few minutes to just decompress. DH is working from home, which means he is always here. While I adore him - with him here it's very hard to get that decompression time. He is GREAT about leaving me to my own (to blog, read, pee, whatever) - but I am finding it hard not having that time to myself, as in TOTALLY ALONE. As a result it's making me less than loving to him - for something which is not his fault - and I feel guilty about that. With the kids coming home earlier (and me often picking them up on the way home from work), alone decompress time is getting harder to come by. As a result I feel like a very wound-up spinning top and sadly DH is bearing the brunt of that.

5. The fact that I went to Google "Top Chef" (see #3 below) and I inadvertently found out who wins this season. I hate that!

Here are five things which are totally making my life worth living:

1. Twice in one week I've eaten at Richmond Hill Cafe & Larder. Once for breakfast, once for brunch which moseyed into lunch and then a cheese platter and then afternoon tea (yes, really). The food was fab, the service brilliant and the company was indulgent - in both cases female chefs I admire and adore and who don't mind my loud incessant talking.

2. My digital camera is back! Photos of food and experiences and kids and life and probably my ugly mug coming soon.

3. The return of Top Chef to cable TV. Season Two is now airing here in Australia. I *heart* this show. Especially since I think I could compete in it....and while I'm not good enough to win, I'm good enough to look cute on TV. Plus I'm glad they got rid of Katie-Lee Joel. We hate her because a) she stole the Piano Man from under my nose, and b) a more wooden TV host you have never seen.

4. The Melbourne Food & Wine Festival is coming. I might not make it to any of the events (I want to, I need to, I should...) but it just reminds me of how much of a foodie city this is.

5. Again on food, a few mornings ago I had the last skerrick of my Mom's Cafe Elite which she left behind. I'm not a coffee drinker, but every once in a while I like a taste of home so I have some of this. Finishing it off put me into a strange, temporary depression so on the way home from school I swung into Alex's - the local Jewish/Israeli supermarket thingie. There I was met with my childhood - products like Achla Hummus, Krembo, Bissli of several varieties, Bamba...a veritable cornucopia of yummy, fattening, wonderful Israeli stuff. It made me feel SO MUCH better, especially since I bought some to bring home. I *heart* Israeli convenience food. Nobody does strange unhealthy snack food as well as they do, with the possible exception of the Japanese.

So what's irking/keeping you alive this week?

Like a *bleeping* sailor

When I got home today DH said to me, "You know your most recent blog? Ahem, the last line?!" ... and then he gave me a look-down-his-nose-stern-Dad look. He's referring to the fact that I used a curse word in that last line. (Don't believe me? Scroll down.) A few days ago someone at work commented that I am very "expressive" - which was a nice way of saying that I curse like a sailor. As in, A LOT. In almost every sentence, usually more than once in a sentence. Lots of s, f, and other alphabetical swear words (but never C) get used when I'm at work. Partially this is because all the kitchens I've worked in tend to be male dominated, fairly aggressive, and stressful. Partially because it's just a bad habit I've picked up from working with people under the age of 25, and partially because I kinda like it. Yes, it's true. I *like* swearing. I mean why say "poop" when you can say "sh*t"? "I've got to cook, like, 40 kilos of freakin' mushrooms in, like, 10 freakin' seconds" sounds wwwaaayyyy better than "So I need to cook a lot of mushrooms very quickly." See what I mean? One way: cool chef, the other way: dorky loser chef.

Anyway - after this person made this comment, I started to listen to myself. I realised just how much I was cursing. Know what? It's pretty terrible. I daresay I even shocked myself a bit! Who knew I had such a potty mouth? So I resolved then and there to turn over a new leaf, and to stop the swearing. To be fair, I hardly swear at home - and mostly it's only when DH is around - but at work, wooo-weee, I should wash my OWN mouth out with soap. So it's been three days since my resolution, and I'm faring pretty well. I've only had one or two purely slip-out swear words happen (which I then apologised for) and I'm finding that a kinder, gentler emzee has emerged. I quite like it, this whole holier-than-thou-reformed-curse-girl thing. It's refreshing.

So I understood why DH was somewhat - disapproving - of my blatant use of a curse word. So this brought me to my newest resolution, which is that IRL (in real life) there is no cursing allowed. On my blog, however, I can use it for artistic expression and for making me sound funnier than I am.

I mean, for fuck's sake, how perfect does he expect me to be?

Fortune, Shmortune

At work recently there was a box of fortune cookies. Me being me, I decided to eat one. (Hey, it's something sweet, it was free, and it might reveal something fabulous!) Anyway, so I took one fortune cookie, broke it in half (thus resulting in crumbs everywhere, but never mind.) Secretly I was hoping there would be no idiotic "Help! I'm trapped in a fortune cookie company" message. This could be IT. The key to my future happiness and untold wealth! So you can imagine my delight when the fortune said:

You have a friendly heart and are well admired.

It also had lucky lottery numbers on the back (3 16 14 28 15 17) but the point is, that was a GOOD fortune to get. I started to feel a little bit "yay ME" about it. Obviously, while the cookie itself might be stale and crumbly, clearly the messages inside were as fresh as a daisy! This had to MEAN something, right? You people LIKE me, you really LIKE me!

Now because I am greedy and eat too much, I decided it would be a good idea to have another one. This one might promise me travel, or a money tree, or an instant solution to weight loss which allows all the food I want! I was on a roll here, baby! So in anxious excitement - and just a little bit of smug aren't-I-cleverness - I cracked open fortune cookie numero deux. It said:

It is always the ones who talk loudest who do the least. (24 17 25 32 33 35)

Stupid fortune cookie fuckers. What do they know?