ENGLISH MUM

The Friday photo: summer holidays, sports days, goggies and wabbits

So it was #2′s sports day yesterday. As usual, The Lovelies swept the board, with Big Lovely winning every heat in his age group (the short race across the field and the one that’s twice round the field – we don’t exactly measure metres) and the finals as well, Middle Lovely doing the same, and even teeny Little Lovely is well on the way to upholding the Lovely tradition with a very respectable third place in the tiddlers’ race (resplendent in velour joggers and pink hoodie, no less).  D-next-door and Hubby all of a sudden remembered urgent appointments just before the Dads’ race and had to rush off, but Mr Lovely was forced into it by his offspring, and, true to form, won it by a country mile, and I came…er…hrmph in the Mum’s race. What? Didn’t catch that? Oh – I was somewhere in the middle.

Bert was an honorary sports day guest (special four-legged dispensation was given by the headmaster) and basked in not only the beautiful un-Irish sunshine, but in the masses of cuddles, wet kisses, half-nelson type hugs and friendly ear ruffles. 

One tiny little girl (whose Mam assured me she loves dogs) eyed him suspiciously, dummy firmly in place:

TLG: ‘Zat a goggie?’

Me: ‘Yup, he’s a doggie’

TLG (narrows eyes and looks suspiciously like a homicide detective): ‘You shure?’

Me: ‘Yes, I’m positive. He’s a very rubbish greyhound, but he’s definitely a greyhound’

TLG: ‘Oh’ – removes dummy, inspects it and pops it back in – ‘he’s vewy big to be a goggie tho…’

Me: ‘Er..oh, is he?. Sorry about that’.

TLG (lying lengthwise across a sunbathing Bert and giving him a full, smacking kiss on the ear): ‘herro goggie’

In other news, the evil squadron of House Martins has returned to terrorise English Towers – luckily the weather’s usually so bad that I never get to hang out washing, otherwise I’ll be dive bombed into submission again.  In worse news, they’ve decided to build a nest on the gable of the garage as well so we’ve got two families of the little buggers attacking us every time we go outside (sorry for the bad photography, but I feared for my life):

Disney parks part deux: Hollywood Studios and the Magic Kingdom

Walt Disney Pictures’ Bedtime Stories reviewed by #2 (the Death Wish Child)

So we’re all feeling a bit celeb here at English Towers since we got appointed as Disney Blu-ray Ambassadors and *gasp* the new Blu-ray player arrived (poor Bernard the postie hasn’t been the same since - being mobbed at the doorstep by an over-enthusiastic gang of Englishers must be very disturbing).

We’ve had a movie-watching frenzy and, in the interests of research (all for you, dearest reader), watched some rather fab movies.  Here’s the Death Wish One to tell you all about Bedtime Stories:
 

Bedtime stories By #2 (The the Death Wish Child) aged 11 and 1 month.

Bedtime Stories is about Skeeter [Adam Sandler].  Skeeter was born into a family who owned a motel.  Skeeter’s Dad was forced to sell the motel to Mr Nottingham [Richard Griffiths] because otherwise he’d go bankrupt.  Mr Nottingham promised that if Skeeter showed any talent he would be the manager of the new hotel.

Years later, Skeeter is the hotel handyman.  He has to look after his niece and nephew and discovers that when he makes up a bedtime story, what they say happens in real life.

This was an amazing film with twists like how when Skeeter said something in the story it wouldn’t happen, but when the kids said something it would happen.  My favourite part was when it rained gum balls (at least it didn’t rain the other sort).  My favourite thing was easily Bugsy the hamster with the huge eyeballs (I know again with the balls) and my favourite person was Russell Brand (Mr Coconut Bra).  I highly recommend this film for all ages.  It was the best film I’ve seen in absolutely ages. 

Hope to be writing more reviews soon,

#2

xx

This review is brought to you by English Towers (always up for a freebie) and the ‘Think Parents’ network:

Dark chocolate and peanut butter brownies

The little man’s school doesn’t allow any form of pre-packed sweets or snacks in their packed lunches.  That means no crisps, no sweeties and absolutely no chocolate bars.  Now I’m not an ogre, and while a healthy sandwich, some carrot sticks and an apple might be the way to go, it’s a bit bloody boring, frankly.  So I like to slip in a small something to perk up his lunch a little – on the understanding that all the healthy stuff has to be eaten first, obviously.  Home-made snackage is, happily, completely acceptable, so my current obsession is tray bakes, muffins, biscuits and flapjacks – anything to enliven the tupperware, as it were.

This one turned out pretty well, and, as I explained to him, peanut butter is good for you too, which makes this practically a health food (and if he’s not looking, I slip in some finely chopped dates, which add a nice toffee taste as well as being good for him):

175g dark chocolate

100g butter

70g crunchy peanut butter

2 eggs

170g caster sugar

110g plain flour

Preheat the oven to gas 4/180 degrees.  Melt together the  chocolate, butter and peanut butter in a bain marie (or a heatproof bowl over a saucepan of simmering water):

Remember not to let the water touch the bottom of the bowl – you want it all to melt very gently.  Turn off the heat as soon as it’s starting to melt and continue to stir occasionally, letting the residual heat melt everything together.

Meanwhile, whisk the eggs and sugar together (spiky hair optional):

When it’s really light and fluffy, sieve in the flour and fold gently through:

Now pour in your melted butter, chocolate and peanut butter mixture and stir gently until just combined, then pour into a baking tin:

Pop it into the oven and bake for about 25 minutes, until even and slightly cracked on top.  Remember you want to retain some squish in the middle.  When cool, cut into squares and store in an airtight container, ready to enliven the lunchbox (or if you’re feeling all posh, serve warm with whipped cream).  I guess you could say they’re nutty but nice.  Ahaha.

In other news, EnglishGrandma is a-visiting, and last night I tried out the recipe that I’m going to co-post with Curious Wines (you’re going to love it – they’re going to choose wines for us to complement one of my recipes).  Trouble is, after spending a whole afternoon toiling over oven-roasted butternut squash risotto, and chicken breasts stuffed with a sage, apple and red onion stuffing, taking step-by-step photos of the whole process, my camera promptly turned itself off and I lost every single photo.  Not.  Happy.  Still, it came out well.  I’ll just have to repeat the whole thing and photograph it all over again.  Tsk.

Ooh and in other other news, I’m a Disney Blu-Ray Ambassador!  Yay!  Lots of film reviews coming your way, including one each from the English Smalls.  Be afraid.

The Friday Photo: The Great Blogger Muffin-off: the results are in

So when I originally commented in a rather rude fashion about SingleParentDad’s use of fairy cake packet mixes, I wasn’t sure he’d take my step-by-step muffin challenge all that seriously.  And then when Laura from Are We Nearly There Yet Mummy (of the self-confessed ‘ovenly challenged’ variety), decided to throw down the gauntlet (or should that be oven glove and challenge him to a full-on ’Muffin off’, I knew we were in for a bit of fun.  Here are the results, then.  First of all, we have SingleParentDad‘s offerings:

And here are lovely Laura‘s small but beautifully formed chocky chippy wonders:

Each, as I’m sure you’ll agree, have their own merits.  So now it’s over to you.  Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to visit Laura’s blog (click here) and Single Parent Dad’s blog (click here) (SPD should possibly have points deducted for entitling his offering ‘Muff Munching’ however – not very Disney that, is it), read their full muffin posts, and then decide who is the winner.  This blog will self-destruct in three…two….one….

The shopping news

Enniskillen today, then.  Our once a month trip up North to replenish the cupboards and restock the freezer usually begins with a very fast drive-by of the school, pushing #2 out randomly by the school gate and shouting ‘bye!’ before performing a nifty handbrake turn and hightailing it up to the North.

RANDOM FACT: I have been stopped for speeding three times since we moved to Ireland.  The last time (erm… yesterday) I was doing 117 kph in a 100 kph limit.  This is patently not my fault as I just don’t think in kilometres per hour.  I’m not hard-wired for it.  In the same way that I’m not hard wired for adding up, dividing or taking away, working out exchange rates or changing pounds into grams.  Sorry.  It’s just my biology.  I blame my mother.  Anyway, when I’d explained all this (at considerable length) to the very large, impatient-looking Garda standing at my car window holding the speed gun, he sighed, muttered ‘well just slow down anyway’ and walked back to his squad car.  Hubby is disgusted that I got ‘let off!  Again!’ as the last time he got stopped for speeding he was doing 117kph too and he got an €80 fine.  He still starts muttering under his breath (something about ‘blonde’ and ‘cleavage’ and ‘fluttering eyelashes’) every time anyone mentions it.  Men – they’re so bitter.

So where was I?  Oh yeah.  Cue the ‘Catch the Pigeon’ music and here’s how our shopping expeditions go:

1. Fling out the child (oh, done that bit).  It’s okay, he’s quite hard-wearing.  Screech off in a northerly direction.
2. Get to Tesco.  Park.  Visit the ladies’ room (no, just me.  What?  I have a small bladder)
3. Perform a high-speed two-man trolley dash.
4. Get tutted at a lot.  This can be for anything from checking ingredients, commenting on what other people have got in their trolley, striking up random conversations with people about what they’ve got in their trolley, suggesting things to random people that I think will go nicely with what they’ve got in their trolley, thinking that something will go really well with something else that I haven’t got and having to go back and look for it, complaining that ice cream should be made with cream, eggs and sugar, and not weird re-something-or-othered vegetable oil, taking ice cream not made with eggs, cream and sugar out of Hubby’s trolley and putting it back in the freezer, striking up conversation with really nice checkout lady and sharing secret eyebrow-raising smiles at the packing/hopping about bit (see step 5)… anything, really.
5. Get to checkout where one person packs the stuff while the other one places it on the conveyor belt, then the first one (guess who) hops up and down with frustration as their end is now full up and they need the trolley, which is still being unpacked at the other end. 
6. Look at total.  Sigh.  Roll eyes slowly towards wife.  Raise eyebrows in very judgmental manner.  Sigh again.  Pay.  (Guess who).  Visit the ladies’ room.
7. Rush out to car, unpack trolleys
8. Rush back in to Tesco, grab two more trolleys, rush to wine section and repeat trolley dash but with alcohol.
9. Repeat step 5.  Repeat step 6.  Visit the ladies’ room.
10. Rush back to car.  Stuff bottles in on top of everything else, crushing fruit and breaking eggs. 
11. Hightail it back (under the speed limit, naturally) whilst mentally composing new recipes (me) and moaning about how much it bloody costs to do these massive great shops, how bloody annoying it is doing the packing when the other person doesn’t pull their weight, how blondes never get speeding fines etc etc (him), arriving in time to screech up outside the door of the school just as it’s kicking out time, grabbing child and hurtling back to English Towers where the great unpacking fest begins.

So not stressful at all, then, really.

Mum likes a good sausage…

Conversations around our kitchen table are getting more and more bizarre.  This one, for example, occurred last night:

The scene: because I haven’t ventured to Enniskillen for several weeks (pre-Disney, in fact) there is nothing to eat in the entire house.  Hubby and #1 are eating Pot Noodles, rescued from some dark recess of the kitchen cupboards, while #2 and Little C settle on cheese on toast:

#1 (spitting something into hand): ‘What’s this squishy bit?’

Me: ‘That would be some form of reconsituted soya stuff.  You didn’t really expect to find real chicken in a Pot Noodle did you?’

#1: ‘Ew.  Dad, I’m not sure I like these.  Bet they’re full of MSG too.’

Me: ‘Don’t shatter your father’s illusions.  It’s some sort of Father/son rite of passage, eating Pot Noodles together’

#2: ‘Meh.  Things that have MSG are really nice.  Take Pepperamis for instance – they’re probably packed with the stuff and they’re lovely.  And what about ‘Rib n Saucy’ Nik Naks?’

#1: ‘Ooh I like Pepperami.  And those the big pink fat sausages you get at the chipper’

[Husband barely contains a smirk and tries desperately to catch my eye.  I look away]

Me [glaring at Husband]: ‘Saveloys.  You mean saveloys’.

Hubby [more smirks]: ‘Oh yes, Mum likes those.  You like a sausage don’t you darling.’

Me [staring straight at him]: ‘Yes, I love a sausage.  Especially a really big one.’

#2: ‘There is one you don’t like.  I remember you saying you’d gone right off it…. what was it again?’

Hubby [quietly]: ‘She’s not fond of morning sausage…’

#2: ‘Ooh I know!  Chorizo!’

Husband’s shoulders are now shaking and silent tears of mirth have appeared at the corners of his eyes.

Me [ignoring Hubby completely]: ‘I like chorizo but that last one we got from Lidl had a weird squelchy texture.’

Hubby[through tears]: ‘Ooh no.  Squelchy sausage is no good at all…’

Me [struggling to keep a straight face]: ‘Con, would you like some peanut butter brownie?’

Little C: ‘Ew.  No, I hate peanut butter’

#2 [raising eyebrows at me in smug 'I'll show you how to approach this' manner: 'It's not exactly peanut butter, it's just crushed peanuts in there.  And lots of chocolate.'

Little C: 'Oh okay then' [stuffs entire piece of brownie into mouth]: ‘mmmmm… noische…’

#2: ‘What were you saying Dad?  Oh yeh… Mum likes a sausage…’

Husband now collapses into huge heap and #2, realising that he has inadvertently said something funny, proceeds to remind me how much I like sausage for the entire evening.  Randomly sending his father into convulsions.

What was that some genius once said about families bonding over shared discussions at mealtimes?  I think we should all just bloody well keep quiet.

Disney parks part 1: Typhoon Lagoon and Downtown Disney

So diverting my attention from the food for a moment, I thought I’d give you a little taster of what we, the intrepid Disney 7, put ourselves through just so we could report back to you about what it’s like to experience Walt Disney World at close quarters.  See, the things we do for you?

Typhoon Lagoon

First up, then, was the colossal watery infinity that is Typhoon  Lagoon.  Stepping, bleary eyed and jet-lagged out of the inferno-bus, we were met by our guide – whose name, very rudely, escapes me, but who was undoubtedly one of the most Disneyfied people we met on our trip.  She was ridiculously, madly, rabidly in love with her job and I have to say, her enthusiasm was pretty infectious.  First we had a good look (from a dry, fully-clothed perspective) at the Crush ‘n’ Gusher, the water roller coaster.  Second up was Humunga Cowabunga.  This is for you if you wish to be hurled at speeds of up to 40mph down a triple set of slides whilst achieving the biggest swimsuit-wedgie known to civilisation.  The more sedate amongst us can grab an inflatable ring and spend a happy hour bobbing mindlessly around Castaway Creek (‘many a parent lost there, I can tell you’, said our guide), a lovely river which bimbles gently around the perimeter of the park, and which looked so relaxing we all nearly made a run for it and threw ourselves in.  And there was still time to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ and the 2.75 million gallon wave pool, complete with huge, explosive wave every 90 seconds for the daredevils amongst us (full learn-to-surf programme available – blonde, shaggy hair optional).  There’s an amazing opportunity to snorkel with some real, live sharks on the shark-reef – a sunken tanker complete with its own wildlife and for the smalls, there’s even a little tiddler area, Ketchakiddee Creek, with little slides, rafts and bubbling jets and Gangplank Falls – a family raft slide.  Oh, and those buckets of ice cream?  The ones with the free spade?  They’re $10.  Mine’s a large one.

Downtown Disney

I’m not sure if Downtown Disney is actually a resort/park in its own right, but it really is a lovely place and not to be missed.  Sadly, our Characters in Flight ride (the new Disney hot air balloon) was cancelled due to strong winds, but we headed off to gawp at the little princesses in the Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique and make silly noises at teeny little baby clothes in the countless Disney shops (obviously, we spent a considerable time in the Disney kitchen shop, Mickey’s Pantry.  While you’re there, don’t forget to visit Disney Design-A-Tee where you can customise your very own Disney t-shirt (I made an Englishmum.com one, obviously).  There are loads of restaurants here (and Raglan Road Irish Pub too, I noticed), and we had a fabulous cob salad in the Earl of  Sandwich, but hey, if you fancy a Macs, you’ll find that here too.  My oldest nerd would have killed to get to DisneyQuest: five floors of interactive rides and games, and a lot of us would definitely have loved La Nouba, an amazing live act by Cirque du Soleil.  Sadly, time beat us and we were off again, this time to Hollywood Studios: the Rock’n'Rollercoaster, the Towerrrrr of Terrorrrrr and Craig, the rubbish cocktail waiter.  Tune in, if you’re still awake, for my next riveting instalment!

The Friday (Bert) photo: I want the bunny, though…

Okay, so here he is, especially for Moon.  Sadly, he’s not doing anything cute, or funny, or naughty.  In fact, he hasn’t done anything except this:

… for several hours, since we went for a walk and discovered what we suspect to be Bert’s arch enemy, The Nasty Nemesis Hare ( the one who lolloped round the field, bimbling very close to windows where Bert happened to be, looking suspiciously like he was on a bit of a wind up) squished in the lane outside the house.  No longer will he saunter smugly past the window, furry face set in a hare-approximation of disdain, sticking his little tongue out as Bert leaves great pools of drool on the windowsills and sings a very bad Edith Piaf impression of absolute, jaw-clenching frustration…  Nope, he’s an ex-parrot.

And because Bert can just about see the aforementioned squished hare if he really cranes his neck, sadly his little peanut greyhound brain can focus on nothing else.  I mean, look at the expression.  I’ve tried to gently break it to him, that his furry tormentor is no more, but sadly, Bert will probably sit there until tomorrow morning, when he will discover that the flattened ex-hare has been taken by a fox, and stare for another couple of hours in a sad, disbelieving trance at the place where Nemesis Hare met his maker.  Bless.

And for those of you who haven’t visited before, no it’s not a very small sofa, it’s an utterly enormous horse-sized, somewhat bewildered and incredibly stupid dog.  Just thought I’d clear that up.

The Friday photo(s): vanilla muffins, step by step

So it’s come to my attention that Single Parent Dad uses packet fairy cake mixes.  *Gasp*

When I recovered from the shock, I promised to do him a little step-by-step guide and he, in turn, promised to take photographic evidence for us all to have a good laugh at to prove that he’d really made them.  Just so happens that I have a spanking new bottle of something called Madagascar Bourbon Vanilla Bean Paste nabbed in the fantastic Williams Sonoma on our recent trek with Disney’s Sarah (Mary Poppins) round the biggest mall in the world, somewhere in Florida:

Here yiz are, then, SPD:

Firstly for the ingredients:

• 200g plain flour
• 1 tsp baking powder
• ½ tsp salt
• 75g caster sugar
• 50g brown sugar
• 100g butter
• 2 eggs
• 125ml milk
• 1 tsp vanilla extract or vanilla bean paste
• 100g chocolate chips (optional)

You will need:

• A set of scales
• A bowl
• A sieve
• Two measuring jugs
• a microwave oven (or a saucepan on the stove)
• A small whisk or fork
• A spoon
• A spatula to scrape, otherwise a small child to lick bowl
• Paper muffin cases
• A muffin tin
• An oven.  Duh.

And here’s how to do it:

1. Firstly, and most importantly, make sure you’ve got all the ingredients.  Preheat the oven to 180ºC/gas mark 4.
2. Grab a large bowl, a sieve and some weighing scales.  Weigh out the flour, add in the baking powder and salt, then sieve it into the bowl.  You can leave the salt out but it does add a lot of flavour, especially if you’re using the chocolate chips.
3. Now weigh out the sugars (if you don’t have any brown sugar it doesn’t matter, use all caster sugar – I just like it as it gives a slightly toffee flavour to the end result.)  Add them to the floury stuff in the bowl and stir it all together.
4. Put that bowl to one side.  Now measure out 100g butter.  Put it in a microwaveable jug and melt it in the microwave, or melt it on the hob: 
5. Take another jug and measure out the milk.  Plop in the two eggs:
    
   and the teaspoon of vanilla:

   

   …it looks yucky but don’t worry, just whisk with a fork or something until it’s all combined. 

6. Get the butter out of the microwave and pour carefully into the eggy milk mixture, whisking all the time.
7. Now grab the bowl of dry ingredients and pour the wet ingredients in.  Stir gently with the spoon until just combined.  Don’t over mix (this is the reason why everything your child makes turns out like rock cakes – overworking the gluten if you must know) - if there’s a tiny bit of powder left that’s fine:…and if you’re using chocolate chips, stir these in now.
8. Now get the paper muffin cases and put them into the muffin tin.  Spoon one tablespoon full (or use an ice cream scoop) into each muffin case:
9. Bake in the oven for about 20 minutes until golden brown and a gentle push on the top makes it spring back up.  If it’s squelchy and your finger disappears into the muffin, it’s not done!
10. Remove from the oven, allow to cool and either eat as they are or decorate with a little icing or melted chocolate:… an icing footballer or two (although we think he’s slightly too rotund to play for Liverpool):

    

    Oh and if you have Mickeys that you stole from a Disney resort, so much the better:

    

And that’s it.  Good luck, SPD.  We’ll be waiting for your results.

You can also find this post at: havealovelytime.com