C is for Cookie

Sweeney's packed in a swag of preschool-grade goofing off into his last weekend as a four-year-old:

• ran and jumped and clambered with Bela;
• played something noisy and shouty and very, very active with Aariz;
• went to a climbing wall with Joe and Kimberley;
• helped me make sourdough, and fish and leek pie;
• took about three years to tidy his room. By which I mean, empty most of what was in his room into the hallway;
• watched Sesame Street and loved it;
• having watched Sesame Street, understood who Cookie Monster is and went nutty over a Cookie Monster storybook he's previously scorned;
• insisted on having his Cookie Monster stories read to him over and over and over;
• watched Ahhh!! Real Monsters and Angry Beavers, and clearly found them a big, fat yawn;
• ate roti and butter chicken at Aariz's house, kind of sort of almost in the manner that Aariz and his family eat it; and
• chatted, sang, danced, played the piano for a bit, made stuff up, did some drawing, co-operated, refused to co-operate, fed the cat, built things, hung up the towels.

You know, the usual ...

The Pancake Song

-remember all the good times we had together?

-what times?
-the time we had those pancakes?
-pancakes?

eggs, milk and flour, pancake power,

look at his milky yellow sunshine face

flip it now flip it good oo

flip it now flip it good oo

some are salt
some are sweet
some are fruit
some are meat

the time we used the chive

it really came alive!

edible frisbies
springtime tuesday

i like to boogie.

Yes, indeed. Thanks, Mighty Boosh, I can't put it any better than your Pancake Song. If there's been a theme to this weekend, it's probably something to do with the utter joy that comes from snorkelling up a pancake.

I was given some of that pancake stuff that you mix with water, and - what ho!! - actual pancakes emerge, for Mother's Day, but it's languished in the fridge. Until yesterday. Turns out it's rather good stuff.

So inspiring was that experience, that I delved into the bookshelf for a Nigella-endorsed version. Cue even bigger, fatter pancakes. We've eaten a swag of these babies ...

In other news, we went swimming with Bela yesterday, which was splendid fun, and we enjoyed an extended session of otters at the zoo with Blessing today. We took in an extended session of the hind quarters of a sleeping cheetah. Then we had an extended session at the park next to the zoo. Lovely.

In other, other news, I went to Ancestral on Friday night for a tiny bit and reacquainted myself with Dubonnet-based drinks. It's a lovely setting - the outside area is semi-enclosed, like at the Matterhorn, and the concrete seats on the perimeter are heated. Yes. Heated. As in, warm. Which is fab on a chilly night like Friday night was.

Keen to go back there to try out about a million other delicious-sounding drinks that I read about while slugging back my Candied Apple.

Long Weekend

Check out what Kimberley's been doing. She's like, a traveller again. She brought me back some maple syrup and an extraordinary tea towel. Chuffed.

In other travel news, I carted Sweeney and Harper to Christchurch for a long weekend at their Nana's. We met up with Kimberley at the airport, and set off for three days of hanging out with our mum and watching the boys goof off.

We explored about the place. Luckily, most of the groovy houses I lived in have already been flattened to make way for carparks, so no surprises there. We had lunch in Lyttleton, in the one cafe that's managed to reopen. Sweeney asked for us to stop beside the twisted bridge on River Road, so that he could look at it properly. We checked that the Bridge of Rememberance is still there. It is. It's all a lot to take in, to be honest.

And then we were there for another quake this morning that made the papers ...

We set out for a fabulous day of steam trains and adventure yesterday at Ferrymead. The steam train ran at about 2mph, with views of soggy, mostly bird-free wetlands on one side, and the soggy back end of the Ferrymead compound on the other. It was a little anti-climactic. The bit I enjoyed most was when I pinged Sweeney's undies, and a boy next to him - a complete stranger - thought it was a good idea and did the same.

Then we got off the train and staggered around in the most miserable weather of the year. That was when we saw The Horses. To me, they looked like a collection of clapped-out, somewhat moth-eaten nags. To Sweeney, they looked like glorious stallions with shining coats and possibly even wings.

Anyhoo, from there it was a quick sprint through a pianola demo and a whizz round the crafts stalls, then back to Nana's for hot lunch and a spot of lazing.

Thanks, Mum, for the lovely weekend!!