Cold Feet

There's a Frank Sargeson story about a boy who works on a farm and warms his cold feet in the mornings by standing in cowpats. It's typical Sargeson - short, economical, a deceptively sweet coming of age story.

When I worked on a dairy farm years later, I got peed on and crapped on by cows most mornings as I hooked and unhooked them to and from the milking machine. I'm still struck by the scale of their waste, but that's a whole other story. I remember once putting my gumbooted foot into a cowpat as I sprayed weeds. I could feel the heat through the rubber.

With winter approaching, and us having cold hard floors throughout the house, cold feet are more of a reality every day. Sweeney and I bicker over whether he'll wear his slippers, or his socks, or his socks and slippers ...

He'd love to play in some cowpats in his bare feet. I just know it ...

Lucky Number

House stats and highlights for the week:

• calls to 111 and subsequent fire brigade visits to notre maison - 2;
• visits from freaked-out passersby and neighbours warning us that our house was sparking and crackling and generally going off - 2,000;
• power cables replaced - 1;
• terrifying invoices for power cable replacement due to arrive any day now - 1;
• episodes of the Muppet Show viewed - 25,000;
• times Toy Story 2 viewed - 2;
• renditions of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star sung nearly word-perfect by a certain Big Strong Boy - 11;
• parcels in the mail containing treats for Sweeney - 2;
• instances of deep annoyance to Ange from government departments - 1;
• parcels of Easter treats despatched to the wintery south - 2;
• chests of drawers caused to tip over by a curious boy's need to open every drawer and climb up them - 1;
• area of curious boy's bedroom covered by potting mix from the little plant on top of the chest of drawers when it was sent flying - 100%;
• things requiring fixing about the house that actually got fixed - 4;
• times the kitchen floor got washed - 3;
• days the kitchen floor really could've done with a wash - 7;
• pages of Ange's book actually read and absorbed - -10;
• times Sweeney asked for honeytoast for breakfast - 7;
• times Sweeney asked for honeytoast for dinner - 3;
• days we walked to preschool and back - 5;
• days Sweeney complained bitterly and hit the deck on the way to and/or from preschool - 5;
• puddles that warranted much jumping and splashing - 3;

I could go on. Pretty good week, really.

Fight the Power

Yesterday, while I was doing stuff at the back of the house, I could hear a misfire-type sound from time to time. Later, while I was doing stuff at the front of the house, I realised it was the return of the bang!! sound from when I doused the power cable in water on Saturday. It banged!! a lot.

Got assurance from the electrician that the house wouldn't burn down and we wouldn't die, and that he and a linesman would be back the following day to replace the casing and tidy the cable.

Then, after dark, our neighbour Tracy popped over to tell me that there was flashing and hissing coming from the cable. Sweeney and I visited our several neighbours over the road to give them our number in case they saw flames coming forth overnight. It was all kind of jolly.

Until everyone who passed our house banged on the door in a panic because of the bang!!ing and crackling and hissing and flashing. I called the fire brigade again.

The same firemen arrived quick-smart, and told me to call the electrician back TONIGHT. The linesman arrived and for a while the place was overrun with men in bulky clothes climbing up to, and down from the attic. Luckily, the terrible rain that was forecast didn't evenutate, so we could hang out in the street and watch them work.

Turned out that the power cable was hanging on by a thread, and what with the wind whipping up last night, it would've come down and been live and dangerous. The chaps spliced on cable to keep it safe overnight, but the cable needs to be replaced, so they're coming back later today.

Thanks, everyone!!

I know we did other stuff yesterday, but I feel like all the cable drama erased it from my memory ...

Working on the Weekend

Today is our friend Alfie's eighth birthday. He's eight. His mum and dad are two of my oldest friends. The day before Sweeney was born, I felt out of sorts and even more lumpy than usual, so we went up to their place and I crawled from gorgeous sofa to gorgeous sofa around their house. Best day of my life.

Anyway, happy birthday, Alfie!!

At the weekend we did stuff at the front of the house. Pruned the rose and diagnosed Black Spot. Clipped back all the valerian that grows in all the cracks in the concrete and takes over the paths. Dug out the dock plant that hides under the borage. Deadheaded the agapanthus and tried digging some of it out. It's really hard stuff to dig and I don't think I'm up to it.

I tried washing the front of the actual house itself. I made good progress but didn't notice that the casing on the power cable that runs into the house had come loose until there was a bang!! sound and a little flame and some crackling and hissing. I ran in and out of the house a few times, then back to the front of the house and it banged!! again, so I called the fire brigade - first time caller, long time observer of fire engines - and they didn't laugh at me or hang up on me. In fact, they sent round two of the nicest, friendliest firemen who checked the meter box and the fuses and admired the clean side of the front of the house. They assured me that the cable would dry out in the warm breeze, and to get the casing reattached before attempting more washing.

Kimberley and Harper were over at the time, but Sweeney was off on a bike ride with Joe and missed the visit. Last time he came close to a fireman, he was still crawling and we were at a creche fair with a petting zoo and firemen and a man who made animals from balloons, and Sweeney wasn't interested in the fire engine like all the other boys, he just tried to pull himself up on the fireman's big thick - possibly asbestos - trousers.

We met up with Liisa and Bela yesterday at Te Papa. The Colossal Squid was a bust. The Earthquake House was unacceptable to Bela, but a joyride for Sweeney. Crawling through the whale heart was a bit of fun. The exhibition of introduced animals - deer, rabbits etc - was a thrill. The Pasifika interactive area absorbed them both - drums, puzzles, cushions, craft activies using scissors.

At home later, Sweeney decided it was time for some role play:

S: Hi, I'm Ange!

A: Oh okay. Hi, I'm Sweeney!

S: Yes, I'm Ange. I'm your mum. You need a fresh nappy!

A: Sure, have a go. And what's for dinner??

S: Oh, we'll have ... sauce!

Sauce it is, then ...

For What It's Worth

Sweeney's come to expect music when we're in the car. He usually asks for bouncy music, but I'm not sure exactly what that is. I've tried a lot of things out on him, and right now, Ray of Light-era Madonna seems to keep him happy. We've been watching the Muppets, and today he ate nearly an entire piece of toast during their version of For What It's Worth. That level of concentration toward food is miraculous, especially when I'm steering us out the door for the day. Maybe the furry critters helped. He's starting to really enjoy songs and dancing, and his shouty version of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star is genius.

Trying to get my head around autumn. Fleecy pyjamas, leaves on the ground, hot water bottles, drawing the curtains every night. The bickering over compulsory wearing of shoes, trousers and jacket to leave the house, hankering after stews and soups and hot steaming cups of milo, looking at the moon before Sweeney goes to sleep. Pulled out the remains of the summer vege garden, planning what to get going for winter. I'm thinking broccoli, cauliflour, spinach and I don't know what else.

Made some carrot and oat biscuits for Geoff next door, to say thanks for feeding Pippi while we were away. Thanks, Geoff!! Also trying them out as an alternative to the muesli bars that Sweeney's crazy for. Working baking into my schedule almost every day now.

Must be time to watch more Kermit ...

Tripping the Lightweight Fantastic

We're just back from a long weekend of glorious weather in Christchurch. As usual, everything revolved around Harper and Sweeney and mealtimes. I always forget what a difference it makes to have more than one adult around. Sweeney loves hanging out with Harper all day, and extra adults give you opportunities to take your eyes off him for long enough to do stuff in other rooms. Or even leave the property alone.

Lots of kicking the ball on the lawn, trike riding in the lane, building things with blocks, reading Where's the Sheep? and playing with all the toys in the toybox. And lots of filling and emptying the dishwasher, fixing snacks and meals, changing nappies, dressing and undressing unwilling victims, walking Harper around the house and garden, tending to Sweeney when he brained himself, trying to stay conscious and hydrated in the heat while keeping all doors, gates and windows closed so no children or rehoused cat could escape.

Thanks Nana and Grandad - see you again soon!!

Middle(of)March

Good grief, it's March. March 19th already. We've been having a very busy time here, a good-type busy, lots of same-old same-old busy, and a few bits of extraordinary busy.
I've got so many things I want to write about, but it would take forever and be boring to anyone who isn't actually me. So here's a list of edited highlights from the last who-knows-how-many weeks:

• Mt Victoria fair. The rainiest day this year. We got boots and jackets on and headed down, ate a sausage in bread and looked at stuff. Then we walked home via every puddle between here and Courtenay Place, coming to a heady climax at the vacant site by the alley - acres of mud, hip-deep puddles, funny-looking branches. I even found a bay tree, all gnarled and weird-growing, probably beaten up by all the vehicles on there over the last 15 years;
• dinner at the M-Zs, then the next night at the W-Ds. Both nights we came away with loads of delicious food, as well as the meal itself and the fine, fine company;
• my mum notched up more days of not smoking. Brownies were despatched to P Lane to mark the occasion;
• the M-Ns and Martin came for dinner at our house. Used some of the food booty from my friends to make the best roast I've ever made in my life;
• spent a bit of time with Monique, went to Aunt Daisys in Titahi Bay and had lovely coffee, talked too much about myself, but she still seems to like me;
• Frank-next-door's birthday party. He's just turned three. Sweeney headed straight for Frank's stash of cars and hardly dealt with another human the whole party. Things got raucous after nightfall - there was a lot of booze about the place. Notable for us coming home to have people over for dinner, then heading back to the party after they'd gone home;
• Ruth had told me earlier in the week that she had a cold, so with this in mind, I made a chicken and vegetable soup when the M-Zs and W-Ds came for dinner. Our house is running on fumes at the moment, so another beauty of this was that I had all ingredients on hand already. The W-Ds brought a spectacular apple pie, as well as rice and butter chicken for the kids in case they rejected the soup, and Helen and the M-Zs brought eggplant relish and beautiful plum and chocolate muffins. I had one for my breakfast the next morning. Nothing nicer than chocolate at breakfast, I reckon. And then I biffed some noodles in the leftover soup and we had the rest for dinner the next night. Sweeney slurped his down double-quick and asked for more. Unheard of!! Will definitely do this one again;
• I finished the knitting parts of two more baby kimonos and a pair of slippers. The pattern calls them pocketbook slippers. They're dead sweet, for Lucia across the road. I feel like I've been doing a lot of knitting, but my stash is still vast. I'll put photos up when they're sewn;
• applied for what feels like a million jobs and am eagerly awaiting rejections to match each one. Hurrah to Houghton Valley School for sending me an individualised letter;
• Another splendid dinner experience tonight - cooked some spaghetti with peas and broccoli in the water with it, drained it and dumped it into a bowl with a raw egg and some grated cheese. Stirred for a bit, then we ate it. Sweeney slurped up a mountain of the stuff, including the vege;
• fielded horrible news about lovely people being in hospital. Mum's neighbour's grandson swelled up and sore and only diagnosed after a week or so of pain and freaking out, and my Uncle Roy - Ernie Wise to our Dad's Eric Morecambe - fell down his back steps and is still in hospital after nearly a week. Wee Oliver's on the mend, and Uncle Roy, get better or I'll come up and make you watch Joy Division videos with me. You hated it in 1981, you'll hate it now ... ;
• went to an O'Neill barbecue and watched Sweeney take on all comers in foosball and pool and sticking his hands in the chip bowl. He was frankly terrible at the sporty stuff, being so short and easily over-excited as he is, but being enthusiastic and indulged by his dad, uncle Dom and Grandad O'Neill, he emerged the winner; and
• I cleaned the downstairs ceilings. It took two hours to do it, a hot shower and two days of downward dogs to get my shoulders back under my control. No-one noticed.

Onward!!

Taking Flight

On 101 Cookbooks the other day, I found a recipe for Anzac biscuits. Pretty similar to the Edmonds version that every New Zealander grew up with, but it was so sweet to see an explanation of the term Anzac under the recipe, and all the comments from people in the US struggling to find golden syrup. The debate about whether honey or maple syrup or treacle would do, instead.
Anyhoo, to mark my mum's milestone of 50 days without smoking, Sweeney and I knocked up a batch of Anzacs for her. No significance really, except that Mum has a great fondness for food in biscuit form, and I think she deserves a sugary, buttery treat. And it's nice to do something nice for your mum, right??

101 Cookbooks pressed the mixture into gorgeous heart shapes, and I thought I'd try something the same, but I have no biscuit moulds. I do, however, have access to playdough moulds, and the butterfly shape looked interesting to me. As you can see, it makes for a lifelike result. Although the monarch in the photo has been dead for some time - I've been collecting up dead butterflies and cicadas and bumblebees this summer, but that's for a whole other post.

She's talked a lot about feeling liberated from smoking, so maybe the butterflies can signify this new freedom she's experiencing.

Sweeney and I have been butting heads after preschool each night since Dad went back to Christchurch. Okay, that's only two nights, but it's come as a shock because everything seemed so mellow. When I think about it, the last three weeks have involved a lot of trips to the hospital to see Martin at that time of day, or being with lots of people for dinner, or doing something intrepid with Grandad. Now it's just boring old Mum, who's saying that she needs to make dinner so she can't kick the ball around or play cars on the deck. And no, that's not an invitation for Sweeney to kick the ball around in the kitchen.

But after a bumpy few hours together, including a timeout outside Paddy's Lotto Shop, when we'd got through the horror of dinner, bath, pyjamas, and were mucking around before going upstairs to bed, we made butterflies out of our fingers and fluttered them over each other's face. Sooo nice.

And this is what we read fifty times tonight - this week's favourite book. It's old enough that cabin crew are referred to as "stewardesses". Kind of hilarious.

Oh, and the golden syrup debate?? Nothing - nothing - works like golden syrup. It's worth the hunting.

Le Semaine That Was ...

Good things that happened at La Maison d'Ange et Sweeney this week, not in order of chronology or importance:

• found this website, via Supervery, that's got me up to speed about the internet and copyright and personal freedoms and whatnot;
• tried making Donna Hay's banana cake and it turned out weird, not cakey, but still delicious;
• tried making Nigella's onion mush and it turned out amazing;
• managed to knock up a delicious Nigella-type dinner for Dad's last night - steak Mirabeau, gratin potatoes and chocolate peach pudding;
• Martin got his personal health WOF and was released from hospital;
• Adam popped in for a visit on his way to see Martin. From Sydney. For one day. Kind of impressive;
• Harper ditched his olds and came over for a visit with the cool gang;
• Harper's toybox, the engineering feat of the century, was completed and delivered to KimberleyJoeHarper's house;
• Sweeney and I went out to see Sweeney's great-grandmother - Granny - in Alicetown. His Auntie Anne and Uncle Brendan are over from Sydney also. Brendan won him over in about half a second with a set of five Hot Wheels and a Lego concrete mixer that they assembled together;
• Dad and I spent a happy hour or so at Pick A Part at Naenae - dead car heaven;
• our friend Louis had his tenth birthday;
• Harper and Sweeney dragged their mums and grandad to the Ribble Street Races, to eat sausages in bread and watch kids of all ages go vrrroom;
• we went to our street party, where someone cooked our sausages perfectly, and Sweeney took off with neighbourhood boys for hijinx, possibly involving Johan's guinea pig;
• finished the kimono jacket for the newish poppet at No.8. Just working up the stones to walk over the road and give it to his parents, and somehow not appear like a weirdo who knits unsolicited kimonos. Hmm, tough sell, that one ... ;
• Dad, Kimberley and I tried bubble tea at Cha. I can report that taro flavoured bubble tea is delicious;
• lost my camera, called a million places to see if I'd left it there, then found it in a dark corner of my bag. In my defence, it's a big, dark bag;
• got word that my mum's notched up 50 days without smoking. Good work, Mum!! Good work, Nana!!;
• found some beautiful old photos of my parents, grandparents and sister, in a box in the front room;
• Sweeney brought home a truly splendid collage he'd made at preschool, using a beautiful sea-green colour as a theme. It's on the wall where I see it a million times a day. Such a great colour makes me feel good.

I think that brings us up to date. Except that I've mislaid my camera again ...

Bon Voyage, Grandad

Sweeney and Harper's grandad jetted back to Christchurch today. Here's a probably abridged list of what he's done while here:

• hung things on walls around the house;
• erected and filled the paddling pool;
• deflated and emptied the paddling pool;
• sorted out Sweeney's trike, the stroller tyres and the coffee table;
• assisted with the removal of more than two carloads of stuff to the landfill and the landfill shop;
• helped me break down Sweeney's cot and assemble his bed and set up his room;
• gave Sweeney lots of baths and got him into his pyjamas lots of times;
• took Sweeney for lots of walks to the dairy;
• drank countless cups of tea and made me countless cups of coffee;
• cooked bacon and eggs and toast and beans for our dinner on more than one occasion;
• made shepherds pie for us to take to KimberleyHarperJoe's for dinner;
• did our dishes lots, and put out washing;
• babysat Sweeney so I could drink myself stupid on plum wine on my birthday;
• talked quietly to me, and encouraged Sweeney to do the same, on the morning after my birthday;
• helped me and Sweeney keep Harper from killing himself in all the ways a one-year-old can kill themselves in a house with stairs, power sockets, screwdrivers and poisons that is now geared toward a nearly-three-year-old;
• bought Sweeney an ice block, hot chips and one of those inflatable hammers at the Island Bay festival, then bought him a sausage in bread at the Ribble Street Trolley Races the following week;
• made several attempts at explaining other people's points of view to Sweeney and gave Sweeney cuddles when Sweeney was past reason and just needed a cuddle;
• spent an entire day tracking down just the right hinge-thing for Harper's box, two days waiting for it to arrive, then an hour installing it;
• babysat Harper so Sweeney and I could go to the Moir St party, on Sunday when Harper was with us for the afternoon;
• introduced Sweeney to Tom & Jerry cartoons;
• told me and Sweeney some lovely stories about himself as a little boy; and
• stopped me freaking out when Sweeney jumped on his bed and banged his head into the wall so hard it made a dent. In the wall. In the morning, his forehead didn't even show a bruise or an egg. By contrast, Harper tapped his noggin on a cupboard next to a series of pillows and squabs set up for him, and he had a proper, throbbing welt in about 0.3 seconds. Just as his mother pulled up outside.

He also plugged away at me to clear out the front room, which has been a storeroom and general no-go area since September. It's a job only I can do, lots of decisions about what to keep, what to throw out. A bit more emotional than I'd expected, lots of notes, photos, letters, memorabilia, so in true Ange-fashion, I spent a lot of time rearranging the kitchen, baking, mucking about anywhere but in the front room. But I attacked it with renewed gusto yesterday, and it's nearly there.

Sorry for going on, but it's been special and nice and we'll miss him. There have been lots of wonderful other things happening for us over the last week, but I'll catch up on those tomorrow ...