Better the Weber you know.

Today I'm writing about my BBQ. In keeping with today's Lounge theme. Which is BBQ. I know, I'm such a creative person.

Ole RoboMum is hosting today - check her post out and all the other peeps too!

So we have a BBQ. It's a Weber kettle arrangement. Not gas. Wood or heat beads.

We got it a few years ago. M was dead keen on getting this type. I wanted a gas BBQ. You know, so we could USE it and stuff. As it is, we have this bloody thing that you have to fire up at least eleventy hours before you want to eat, or there's nothing doing. The first time we used it we had friends over and we didn't get our laughing gears round our snags and chops until about 10pm.

I mean the whole bloody POINT of a barbie queue is to just, like, chuck a couple of steaks on and, you know, two minutes later you've got yourself a low carb dinner for minimum fuss!

Fucking disappointing frankly. It caused no end of tension between my beloved and I. Stupid thing.

It's somewhat better now we've realised that the strength of the Webber is as a sort of oven. You can cook a mean roast chook in it that's for certain. Still, we can cook a mean chook in our proper oven too so I'm still not totally convinced of its charms.

One of the endearing things about this particular Weber is that when we bought it, it came with a "gift with purchase". 

Observe...

This recipe book is one of the more hilarious things I've had the pleasure of owning. It is an Ode to the Weber. The authors are Hardcore Weber Devotees. THEY ARE WEBER EVANGELISTS!

Behold them in all their glory.

Brash young barbecue salesman meets home economics guru - and BAM - the magic happens!

I have a real fondness for this 1970s food aesthetic. Liberal use of glace cherries - TICK! Did you know you could bake cakes in a Webber? IS THERE NOTHING THOSE THINGS CAN'T DO?

You can even make a Bombe Alaska in a Weber. Or should I say - BOMBE KOSCIUSKO! BAM! SEE WHAT THEY DID THERE?!

Hardcore 1970s dinner party aesthetic. I LOVE IT SICK!

 The Webber did have its moment to shine when P was a baby, when we used it to dispose of a particularly heinous baby book that we owned.

Don't listen to those bossy free speech libertarian types, burning books can be fucking SATISFYING, particularly for crazed and sleep deprived parents.

Said baby book in said Weber. Parents beware. This book is farking crazy. I knew this photo would come in useful one day.

A picture of me at the time. To explain what might be construed as a SLIGHTLY hysterical decision. You know, to burn a book. POSSIBLY slightly cray cray.
Hey lady, nice eyebags! They so big you look like you goin' on VACATION!

The Weber will always have a place in my heart for this reason, despite its inadequacies.

The End.

Vomit. Armchair philosophy. Where my mind is. Money.

Baby B woke up this morning and promptly began to vomit profusely all over his beloved Mama i.e. me. Urgh. Nothing like spending a stinking hot day in the house wiping up vomit. Urgh I say again.  So today's activities were somewhat curtailed.

Anyway last night one of M's dearest old chums joined us for dinner.  He has the same name as M.  I'll call him, er, M2.  Anyway as I've alluded to in earlier posts M and his cronies are interested in reading Improving Works and discussing higher issues and contemplating existential questions.  Hey, look, it's not that I'm not interested in that stuff too - people, I have a degree in Political Science - but frankly I'm just into talking about TV, food, Kate Middleton and Georgette Heyer novels more.  Each to their own.

So M and M2 talked about, you know, the Hobbesian theory on man in the state of nature or whatever and I nodded and interjected with the occasional enlightening comment like "Hobbes? Pretty sure I saw him down the shops last week, he was buying some activated almonds and NapiSan", and "Rousseau? Wasn't he on Big Brother?", in between shoveling handfuls of macadamia nuts into my gob and listening to the music in my head.

At the moment that music happens to be that song they play ad infinitum on the wireless - "Call me, maybe?". If you haven't heard it,  I think the song is about two young people who meet one evening at a dance, whereupon the young lady gives her calling card to the young gentleman and he asks her chaperone if he can pay a social visit while she is staying at her spinster aunt's residence for the London Season. Or something.

Anyway as M and M2 reminisced about days of yore and chewed the fat philosophy style, I kind of drifted off. I don't know about you but I think a lot about food. So if you're wondering what goes on in my head that prevents me from, oh, I don't know, actually making sure I'm wearing matching shoes, wonder no more good citizens. Here's a sort of photographic recreation of the glory that is my mind.

Hey, I just met you!

And this is CRAZY!

But here's my number...

So call me, maybe?

Repeat ad nauseum...

Hey, I just met you!

And this is crazy!

But here's my number...

So call me, maybe?

Sorry about the gross broken nails with chipped nail polish. Insert any festive related treat into this pastiche and you will have a fairly accurate representation of the inner workings of my braiiinnnn, such as it is.  You could probably substitute other tunes also.  It used to be that Robert Palmer song "Simply Irresistable" that was permanently stuck in my head. I think you'll find that one works just as well for this thought sequence.

When the kids are in bed M and I are going to talk about money.  I don't know about you but frankly, after a busy weekend of vomit cleaning,  there's nothing like really getting down to nuts and bolts about family finances to cheer a girl up.  I think there might even be spreadsheets involved.  Oh the humanity...

How are you lot going?  Eating lots?  Swatting up on Descartes and his methodological skepticism? Enjoying your nice air conditioned houses you total bastards? Do tell.

Things I am totally awesome at.

Whenever I'm feeling a bit down in the dumps, I like to do what the life coaches tell you, and run through a mental list of all the things I am TOTALLY AWESOME AT just to give myself a little boost.

- I'm really fantastic at devising arts and crafts activities for kids and I've even written a book about it called "Keep calm and carry on glitter glueing!"

P indulging in a bit of hardcore arts and crafts.  Actually this wasn't at my house.  Damn.

- I'm also rather an expert at coming up with awesomely creative ideas for kids meals, and it just so happens I've written a book on this topic too, called " Shut up and eat your chicken nuggets!"

B tasting some of my home made delights.  See the joy in his face? Warms the cockles of your heart...

- I've got a real natural talent for home organisation and interior design, and am regularly asked for advice from television show Better Homes and Gardens, and Martha Stewart even follows me on Twitter. I was the one who came up with those wedding pompom crepe paper bizzos everyone makes! I know, she totally owes me.

Martha is totally interested in collaborating with me on the above interior concept. I like to call it "All of the crap covering all of the bench".

- I have really superior willpower when it comes to junkfood. I've actually never eaten sugar in my life, generally preferring to snack on spirulina smoothies made with spinach, cacao, coconut water, wheat germ and other healthy shit.

As you can see my diet is hardcore vegan.

- I am really calm and relaxed all the time and have a positive approach to life. I meditate regularly and am often asked to talk to school groups about techniques for stress management , including crying, panicking, yelling, crying some more and rocking backwards and forwards in the foetal position. Works for me.

Me behaving maturely and calmly.

Looking on the bright side.

Coping with stress and extreme heat in a totally relaxed and positive way.

Going to my happy place.  Not at all sleep deprived and mental.

- I have finely tuned financial management skills. I invested the very first dollar I ever earned and the compound interest has really paid off. Now I have enough money to buy a small island of my own!

Me freestyling it real estate investment wise.

- I am very fit and passionate about sport of every description. This summer I am planning to participate in a triathalon, continue with my coaching at Little Athletics and will also be appearing at my very first body building meet! In preparation I will be eating nothing but tinned tuna and protein shakes with the occasional bowl of boiled rice. I've even designed my very own string bikini for the event, and had my tracksuit stencilled with my motto
"Go hard or go home and have a Gin and Tonic".

Just doing some training wearing highly appropriate exercise gear and shorts that are not too revealing of chubby white legs at all.

Just going hardcore off-road cross country style wearing similar appropriate attire.  I'm a slave to fitness I tell you.

- Last but not least, I am always being invited to glamorous social events where I'm inevitably the life and soul of the party and always dressed to the nines in the latest fashions.

Don't ask.

So much to live for! If I didn't have such a large entourage already vying for my attention, I'd totally want to be my own best friend too!

Linking up with Grace for FYBF!!

Cat on a hot tin apricot ball. Heat. Hotness. Humidity. Cheerful stuff.

It's so hoooottttt. It's weather like this that makes me glad we don't have ceiling fans or air conditioning. Oh, whoops, sorry, what I meant to say is that it's weather like this that ENRAGES ME BEYOND BELIEF because it reminds me that we don't have ceiling fans or air con.

In today's world of modern conveniences, whenever I tell people we don't have these things they look at me with a mixture of pity and fear. Fear, because obviously anyone who hasn't prioritized aircon when building a new house is automatically a sandwich short of a picnic and such a loonie that they probably stockpile canned food and bottled water in preparation for the apocalypse and should be avoided lest the crazy proves to be contagious.  Oh well, I guess if I can suffer through last summer whilst eleventy months pregnant and working from home in our study, which is undoubtedly the hottest room in the house with only a pedestal fan, a wet washer and a bucket of iced water to keep me cool then I can survive this summer too.

Anyway, here's some cheerful things from the last week to distract from the sound of my thighs rubbing together as I wander around the house in a sort of langurous haze. I'm beginning to regret my no booze during the week rule as I could murder a G&T right now*.

- P and I made festive apricot balls and I didn't eat the whole batch myself. I even froze some of them to be defrosted only in the event of emergency/having company, whichever comes first. I mean I ate a LOT of them but not ALL of them, which is a giant leap for me**.

We've got balls.  P's such a ballsy little thing.  We really know how to grab life by the balls.  And so forth with the innuendo.

- When P woke up this morning she heard B calling out so she went into his room and they played together for a good 5 minutes. Warmed the cockles of me heart, although that could have just been sweat dripping down my cleavage, it's hard to say.

- I ate some delicious cherries

- We had a great weekend despite witnessing some bogan biffo

Having a picnic up the hills.

She's the king of the world!

- M and I had a date at Ikea where we bought a sofa bed and a sewing table for me. So now we will finally be able to transform the spare room into a baby's room. Only took almost 10 months. And I might finally actually learn to use the sewing machine I bought over five years ago. Also, at Ikea, although I was sorely tempted, I did not, I repeat, did not eat anything at the cafe, not even a hotdog. And I didn't buy my bodyweight in Scandinavian chocolate either. Winning. Now next step is to actually assemble the furniture. That might take us another 6 months.

M aka Goldilocks trying out the sofa bed. It was juuusst right.  

A man and his chair.

- I didn't lose weight, but I didn't put any on either.

- B started crawling. Clever little tacker.

B about to speed off into the sunset.

- I hit the jackpot when I discovered that my favourite two dollar crap shop does a mean line in Christmas decorations,  so was able to jolly the house up even more, on the cheap.

Faux garland. Don't worry I won't light the candles lest the synthetic berries spontaneously combust.

Ghastly, isn't it? And yet strangely mesmerising...

Faux Christmas plants.

Faux berry arrangement and gussied up Christmas candle, to greet roaming Jehovah's Witnesses as they knock on the door.

Any nice things happen to you this week? Any tips on chafing prevention? Anyone else suspect they need to go back on the calm the fuck down pills like I do?

Oh, and today's Darecember. Scarves. Too. Freaking. Hot. Took it off immediately

*Edited to add, it is pouring rain as I finish writing. Thank the Lord.
**edited to add - I have actually, now. Eaten them all, that is. Goddammit. Bugger bum poo tit, as my ladylike mother would say. Just swear already, mum! Your seemingly tame version actually manages to sound ruder than real swears do.

007 - Lady Date. Beach. Batshit crazy.

LANGUAGE WARNING.

I am feeling sweary.

Last night, being reluctantly torn from from my usual Saturday night activities (ie. watching Gardening Australia, folding washing, and going to bed early), I was forced out into the real world AFTER DARK.  Scary shit people.  I cant tell you how weird it feels when you are generally a shut in, only being released for solo nocturnal outings to ALDI or Woolies or some such place.  One of my dearest friends JJ (funky mother to three and arts worker extraordinaire) and I decided to throw caution to the wind and meet at that well-known artistic and cultural hub the Logan Hyperdome to view the latest James Bond film Skyfall.  Look, I'm not really a Bond devotee or anything but frankly anything that started at the right time of night (ie. NOT 9.30pm as that is hardcore past my bedtime) was fine with us, and I have always been partial to a bit of Daniel Craig ogling, so Bond it was.

The Hyperdome is about 20 mins from my place and 20 mins the other way from JJ's so it was perfect, but actually I'd never been to see a movie there before.  It was pumping baby!  The joint was jumping!  As JJ said, who knew!?  And why not, too....who wouldn't frequent a place that not only has a humongous cinema but also boasts a Sizzler's, a Gilhooleys pub and a Coffee Club amongst other things?  I don't BLAME them!   All you inner city snobs are missing out on all the action.  Anyway suffice to say it was the place to be and every man woman and child were there to see James Bond too.  Luckily it was in the most 'normous cinema ever known to humankind so that was fine.

I think the most exciting thing was seeing the trailer for Les Mis.  Oh. Em. Gee.  We were in ecstasy.  JJ reminisced about her youthful choral career and we both shed a little tear.  Hugh Jackman! Sacha Baron Cohen! Russell Crowe!  Heck yes. 

Skyfall was very entertaining of course in a camp sort of way.  Daniel Craig was looking a bit more haggard and weathered so less easy on the eye but I still felt fondly towards him.  Anyway there was sufficient bonking of Bond girls, car chases and blowing up of secret service buildings for even the most devoted of Bond aficionados, so all good there.  We had a blast.  We were totally Mums on the Run.  I pitied the people sitting next to us but not enough to stop our endless guffawing  and general chattering.  We have PRECIOUS FEW opportunities for this shizz people!

You can shake me OR stir me anytime, baby. [Source]

As a result I felt positively renewed today, like a new woman.  I felt kind and benevolent.

M had suggested we go on a family outing to the beach so I agreed, and after breakfast we packed up and set off for Currumbin where he thought there was a nice area for small fry to splash.  We had an ok time even though the bloody sun tent thing broke so I spent the whole morning sitting at a picnic table with B so his little bald head didn't get burnt to a crisp while M and P had a swim .

B and M.

P giving me cheek.

For someone who grew up on the Sunshine Coast and now lives on the Gold Coast I have me some deep seated ISSUES when it comes to the beach.  Issues I tell you.

As a teenager on the coast all the cool kids were surfie types and so I did the obligatory bleaching of hair and wearing of board shorts and bikini tops, as was the style at the time.  But as soon as I moved away to the Big Smoke for uni I died my hair pink, red, black, red, brown, black, blonde and brown -you name it -  developed a moon tan and generally stewed and became neurotic and weird.  And these days I am basically just down right phobic and scared of the beach.  I know.  Neurotic and weird, I hear you agree.  Neurotic and weird.

My phobic crazy beach disorder kind of goes like this.  Are you ready?

1.  I am pale, with a ruddy undertone to my skin, the sun burns the shit out of me if I walk outside to hang the washing out and if I spend the day in the sun then frankly I become pork crackling.  

This is me "sunbaking" on our honeymoon.  See? Moon tan.  Neurotic.  Weirdo.

2. I freaking hate the feeling of sand sticking to the sunscreen on your skin and I hate the feeling of putting clothes back on when you have sand and sunscreen and salt on your skin and it is all prickly and gross and URRURURURGHGHG I am FREAKING OUT JUST TYPING IT.  

3.  I hate public toilets at the beach, they never have toilet seats and the floor is always wet and sandy and God knows what and there's never hooks on the back of the door so your clothes get wet and OH GOD THE HORROR MY SKIN IS CRAWLING RIGHT NOW!  

4.  In a world that values hairless prepubescent female bodies I have been blessed with a thick pelt and that includes armpits, legs and the delicate BIKINI AREA and even my GODDAMN CHIN but that's another issue.  I am down with hairy armpits, I am all good, that's totally European and sexy and whatnot but I cannot come at hairy legs and so forth and frankly the upkeep to maintain a hair-free leg and pubical area is just too much for me and makes me want to have a good lie down right now.

5.  I am NOT THIN.

For so many reasons I endorse the Nigella burkini. [Source]

6.  I find the beach culture in Australia aggressive.  This was bad on the Sunshine Coast but oh fark it is worse on the Gold Coast.  Swaggering bronzed surfie types wearing thongs and no shirt, with their skinny girlfriends.  I feel like an alien near them.  Like they are so CONFIDENT and I can't help but feel like they have some SECRET KNOWLEDGE about being comfortable in your own skin even though you are a douchebag agro bogan and I can feel them all LOOKING AND JUDGING AND POINTING AND OH GOD THE HOOOOORRROOORR AGAIN (breathes into paper bag).

7.  SHARKS!!!!!!!!  My mum, who thinks I am an uptight wowser who should just chill out dude and go with the flow and calm the fuck down and enjoy myself, once tried to tell me there were no sharks in Hervey Bay/Woodgate Beach because it was protected by Fraser Island.  Nice try Mum, but I am pretty sure that is CYCLONES not SHARKS - I am ONTO YOU!!!!!!!

But I HATE MYSELF for being so ridiculous about the beach and always try and make myself go and end up practically on the floor of the car having a panic attack and shouting at my husband.

Our Argentinian neighbour M and her husband and kids spend every waking moment at the beach and they are brown as nuts.  When P was a baby and I was going slowly crazy as a loon, M used to say to me "Jost take herrrr to the beach!  All bebbies loff the beach!" and I wanted to scream, "Are you fucking out of your mind?! The beach with the sand and the sun and the waves and the bogans and the SHARKs and the OH MY GOD I AM LOSING MY SHIT AGAIN!!!!!!"

I decided today that it was all just stupid and even though the tent didn't work (M was screaming "WHY IS EVERYTHING ALWAYS SO HARD!!?? FUCKKKKKK!". I know! Out of character) I remained CALM and sat peacefully watching the little kids do their surf board riding lessons and thought to myself "If that bunch of tubby kids can be ok with the beach then dammit so can I".  

I am thinking maybe I need to take surfing lessons.  What doesn't kill you makes you stronger right?  Hmm.  I'll think about it.

Anyone else dislike the beach? Love it? Are you crazy as a motherfucker like me?