Smooching with Goats

I know you're all desperately waiting to hear about the jam, so I won't keep you in suspenders. It was delish! Although one jar smells slightly of Thai green curry paste which is a bit offputting. I ran it through the dishwasher and the steriliser, but that curry paste clearly isn't easily washed away! Mental note for next time - don't use a curry paste jar for storing things in once it's empty.

Today's excitement was more to do with animals than fruit. We spent the day at Odds Farm Park with some friends and their 2.5 year old who is a real cutie. There was a brilliant playground next to the picnic area which kept the kids entertained, and we then mooched slowly round the farm, doling out sheep and goat food to the most worthy looking candidates. Isabel wasn't at all sure about feeding the goats at first but finally plucked up her courage and then thought it was great, and said it felt like they were kissing her hand when they ate the food off it.



The sun came out as the afternoon wore on and we had a lovely day, although we did at one point think we'd lost Isabel which was a rather heart-stopping moment. She was in the playground, and had actually asked if she could go, it was just that she hadn't said "right, I'm off now" and we couldn't see her for a couple of minutes. Looooooong minutes. But all's well that ends well. I almost had heart failure again a few minutes later in the gift shop when I gave Emily, who had been asleep for over two hours, a little poke to make sure she was OK, and she didn't move a muscle. A devil on my shoulder then shouted "she's died in her sleep, you terrible mother", causing my heart to stop for the second time in about an hour. But of course this was complete rubbish, she was just having a nice nap thank you very much, and could I please stop poking her? Silly Mummy.....

Getting my hands dirty

So, we live in the countryside, and that means the smell of cows, the sound of cockerels in the morning, and a veritable supermarket of goodies on our doorstep. Isabel and I went for a walk the other day and came back with enough blackberries and damsons to make a fruit salad - today, buoyed by our success, we undertook a family excursion to do some proper blackberrying.

Armed with ice cream tubs we set off, and managed to pick almost 2lb of blackberries. And here they are:

The picking was not without its pitfalls - namely thorns and stinging nettles. And the staining qualities of blackberry juice of course.

When we got home we got the breadmaker out, mashed the blackberries, added an unfeasibly large quantity of jam sugar, and after 1hr and 20 mins ended up with this.

The real test will come tomorrow - we'll see what it actually tastes like. And there are still some berries left for an apple and blackberry crumble tomorrow - made with apples from our garden.

This rural life could be fun. Although it was a tiring day for all concerned!

Hippies are just a bit rubbish

We went to Regent's Park today for a picnic with some current and ex-colleagues. And it DIDN'T RAIN. I thought that deserved caps!

After our picnic we went for a walk (mainly so that Emsy would stay asleep, she really was a terrifically grumpy baby all day, poor little thing). And we came across a hippy camp. In Regent's Park! Bizarre. They'd built some very elaborate tree houses and hamocky things, and Isabel and I climbed up to a couple. One even had a library in it. All kind of cool, except I thought it could have been friendlier. We pootled about there for a good 10-15 minutes, but not one hippy approached us. We left, rather bemused as to why the whole installation was there at all. Having Googled it when I got home I found that it was meant to be some sort of art collective, hosting various events. Not when we were there, we only saw a lot of lazy-looking people sitting around in the sun. They had earned it in some way, because the tree houses were very cool:



The signs didn't make it any friendlier:

My theory on hippies, should anyone be interested, is that it looks fun to be one, but it's actually an enormously selfish way of life. Hippies seem to be able to get away with ignoring all of the minutiae of life which the rest of us have to take into consideration: things like getting a job and paying the mortgage, or sending people birthday cards. Does that mean I don't like hippies, or that I'm just jealous? Combination of the two perhaps!

The Baby Boom

I've got a small group of school friends that gets together fairly regularly, and until recently we had a handful of children between us. Not any more. As a group, we are experiencing a significant baby boom. I was actually the first to get pregnant so Isabel's the oldest of our children, and a couple more appeared over the next few years. Currently, between eight of us, there are nine children, and by the end of this year there will be sixteen! And interestingly, of this group of eight, four will have had their children thanks to the wonders of IVF. And of those four, three are having twins.

What is it that's spurred this sudden urge to procreate? My theory is that it's a combination of the credit crunch (can't afford to go out, therefore we're all staying in and making our own entertainment) and the increase in volume of our biological clocks. After all, we're all closer to 50 than we are to 20. God, what a depressing thought. Well, depressing in one way, but not in another - every day I work gets me a day closer to retirement, which spells a reasonable disposal income and the time to do what I like with it. Result!

Winning small battles

Last week we were struggling to get Emily to take a bottle. There were several reasons behind us wanting her to take a bottle: to give her some formula in an attempt to boost her weight, and because it's liberating, meaning if I need to be away somewhere for some reason then she won't starve. These rational arguments passed over our Ems though, and she was having none of it. But she does not yet realise how sneaky and devious her parents can be....

We went to see some friends last week and borrowed a breast pump which they no longer had any need for. I'd been really anti-expressing (it's difficult and time consuming, and I was no good at it last time) but decided that the only way to sneak the bottle in might be to start her off with a bottle of expressed milk and work our way up to formula by mixing expressed milk with formula. This process had to move on faster than we had initially hoped - Sunday evening was rather stressful for a variety of mother-in-law related reasons, say no more, and after about 45 minutes I'd managed to pump a paltry one ounce. And had sore bosoms. I even tried again at 5am after I'd fed her, but no joy. The combination of tiredness and stress just meant the milk would not come out. No way, Jose. So, Monday's 10am feed consisted of a bottle which was one third expressed and two thirds formula, and she drank the whole thing. Then today's bottle was 100% formula, and down it went! Hooray, I'm free! Not that this means I'm giving up breast-feeding, but after another month or so I shall start to drop one or more breastfeed in favour of the bottle. I may even go out. In the evening. Without the baby! Although that might be pushing it too far....

The other battle we won today was the battle of the pokey poo. Eldest child has had terrible constipation over the last couple of days, to the extent that I took her to the doctor today. A conbination of lactulose and 20 or so prunes over the last 24 hours finally took effect this evening, and hopefully we've turned the corner. Here's to a good night's sleep - last night she was up at 10.3opm, 12.30am and 5am, and since I was also up at 4am to feed Emily this made for a rather disturbed night. The poor girl's not been able to sit down comfortably or even eat all day. I really hope we've knocked it on the head, since another day like today would be agonising for all of us.

I'm Stupid, But I'm Loved

The other day I did a foolish thing. We went to Whipsnade on Sunday with some friends and their two daughters, and after a lovely day of picnicking and animal viewing we visited the gift shop and the loo and then set off home. Once the girls were in bed we got to the fun bit of the evening - uploading the day's photos. Except I couldn't find my camera. Searched and searched and searched but nope, it was gone. Did I leave it in the gift shop? Or the loo? Or did some toerag pinch it? We'll never know. I have a horrible feeling that I just absentmindedly left it somewhere but am trying to console myself with the thought that someone stole it. Because that reflects better on me.

Anyhoo, I was not in a good mood the following day because losing your camera is just such a stupid thing to do. I didn't lose many pictures, only those from that day, since I tend to upload them at the end of each day, but it's the principle of the thing which got my goat. I'm always telling Isabel to be responsible for her possessions and then what do I do? Lose something really valuable. What a great role model I am. And I know I could buy another one but I just felt it would be like burning money.

We'd been phoning Whipsnade each morning but no joy, so I resigned myself to the fact that it will never come to light. And then Husbandio and Isabel went into town today to do some jobs, and after lunch they presented me with a brand new digital camera. A beautiful one, 10.1 megapixels with a 3 inch touchscreen and more functions than you could shake a stick at. And it's red. With a pink case (courtesy of Isabel). I could have cried. I just felt so unworthy - after all, it was me who lost it, so it's my bank account which should have suffered. I told Husbandio he was very naughty and shouldn't have bought it for his stupid wife, but I said thank you too. Afterwards, Isabel asked if I liked my new "digikal" camera, and I said I did, and she asked why I'd said Daddy was naughty for buying it. And I realised that it was just my own guilt saying that, and that what I really meant was thank you thank you thank you for buying me a new camera to cheer me up and make me feel loved (even though I am clearly a stupid woman who may never get rid of this pregnancy brain). So thank you Husbandio! I owe you one.....now, any chance of buying me a brain that functions correctly?

Teaching the next generation about breastfeeding

I'm getting tired and wasn't going to post tonight, but having seen this video on YouTube I couldn't resist writing something. Even if you can't bear to hear about breastfeeding, click on the video link at the end, it's quality...!

I breastfed Isabel until she was one, and intend to do the same with Emily. It's been going well pain-wise but less well weight-wise, although we may have turned a corner since the little thing gained 6oz last week, much better than her usual 3oz (or, indeed, the 1.5oz loss she'd registered the week before which panicked me). I'm not a 'breast is best' preacher, it's simply the choice I've made for my children. There are several reasons behind the choice - it's good for their immunity (a good reason in and of itself in this era of swine flu), and general health, it helps me lose weight, it's free, and it's easier than bottles in the middle of the night. Oh, and there's a lower risk of breast cancer for me. And it's good for bonding, or so they say.

Isabel's not been phased at all by my feeding Ems, which is good, and she's picked up the lingo pretty quickly. For example, she'll ask "are you on bosoms two?" which means is Emily having the second breast i.e. am I nearly done feeding and can I come and play? However, it had never really occurred to me that all of the dolls on the market have bottles, which doesn't send a very good message about promoting breastfeeding. Until today. Someone's spotted a gap in the market, and invented this new doll. I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry. The politically correct part of me applauds the move, but would I buy one for my child - no, I think I'd be too embarrassed. Which, since I'm whipping my boobs out left, right and centre at the moment, is completely ridiculous. Hypocrite, me? Well, yes, in this case, sorry.