Sunbathing, salsa and the garden luge. With cackling.
So it’s bank hols here in the Republic and yesterday dawned the most beautiful, hot sunny day. There’s nothing quite like a sunny day in Ireland. Not only is it very unusual and therefore all the more welcome, but the whole greenness of the place gives it an almost luminous, lime green glow. The kids started off mucking about spraying each other with water guns, then hubby disappeared to the shop and came back with industrial strength rolls of bin bags to create the garden waterslide from hell. Here’s Hubby, #1, #2 and Little C (Lou was far too dainty for hurling herself downhill on a bit of plastic) having fun. Apologies for the hideous cackling, but what you couldn’t see, just out of shot, was that they all crashed into the side of the garage at the end of the trip (oh and check Hubby’s ‘argh! incoming!’). Oh and sorry about shooting directly into the sun. I don’t think I’ll be entering it at Cannes this year. Enjoy though.
We had lamb-burgers for lunch, made with minced lamb, breadcrumbs, crushed garlic, cumin, mustard seed, salt and pepper, with a lovely salsa that hubby made out of the lovely frondy fennel in the garden, plus chilli, pineapple, tomato, greek basil and spring onion. Summer on a plate:
Bert enjoyed the bank holiday too. Hubby has mowed another beautiful heart in one of the front lawns for me which is now full of wild flowers:
and happens to make a rather nice sunbathing spot too:
Mind you, when you have a comfy child to lean on, you can sunbathe just about anywhere:
We rounded the day off with hotdogs and a bonfire, with a bit of guitar playing and a sing song. Ah, I hope the summer lasts.
An English Towers Easter medley
What? No, of course it’s not because I can’t be arsed to write anything.
1. Me hiding the eggs (what? of course you’re allowed to hide them on cars)
2. #2 scoffing his painstakingly (not) decorated chocolate muffin
3. And they’re off…
4. Little C goes a-huntin’
5. Lou and #1 check out the bottom of the garden
6. The fellas find ‘treesure’ in the Christmas tree
7. Lou’s beeyootiful muffin
8. Muffins galore
9. My chilli seedling (thanks to Growup for the seeds!)
Counting my blessings
So I spoke to me Me Ma yesterday. I’m sure she won’t mind me telling you that she’s had a bit of a rough time recently. She’s just retired, too, and that’s a big life change when you’ve worked at the same place donkey’s years; your colleagues become your friends, and suddenly not seeing them every day is a pretty big deal. ‘Still’, she said, ‘when I get a bit down, I remind myself to count my blessings: I have my health and strength, and there are plenty of people worse off than me’.
Too right, said I. We had a chat with the fellas about Christmas: you don’t want to terrify the little sods, but we tried to explain how the credit crunch affected everyone, even Santa, and that maybe Christmas would be a little smaller this year. Still, they’re going to have a house filled with fun and laughter for Christmas, stuffed with Uncles, Auntie L, their cousins and their Grandma, which will definitely make up for it. I told me Ma about Lou and Little C. They came to dinner on Sunday evening as D was out with Hubby. When I offered her sprouts, Lou said ‘erm, can I just have one?’ (I’m sure she hates them, but didn’t want to be rude). After dinner, the boys went off to play Xbox or PS3 or whatever, and Lou and I sat and watched MTV and talked about phones (she wants a pink one for Christmas) and shopping and stuff. She told me that they’d got all their Christmas decorations out, and I was struck by how hard it must be for them: unpacking everything that their Mum had packed away last year. Mr and Mrs Lovely are fantastic and do so much for D and the kids, but blimey it can’t be easy. Don’t get me wrong: they’re kids and they’re not perfect, but they’re always upbeat and they’re absolutely no trouble to look after. Their Mum would be so proud of them.
So like my Ma, I’m counting my blessings today. My kitchen is warm and fuggy with the delicious smell of the Christmas cake that is cooking in the oven, I’m filling the freezer in anticipation of my family arriving and I’ve just made a fire, which will be crackling away nicely by the time #1 gets home (#2 is in bed with a cold – don’t worry, he’s happily watching Monty Python’s Holy Grail on his PSP).
And next time I hear someone moaning, I shall wish that like the Ghost of Christmas Present, I could transport them to the window of the house next door, where two little ones are preparing for their first Christmas without their Mum.
Remember when Mum gave all the cows names?
Earlier, Bert and I wandered up to the churchyard to spend a while at C’s grave. I noticed that the flowers I took up there had been cleared away by someone thoughtful (Mrs Lovely, probably) – there’s nothing worse than dead flowers by a grave – and felt guilty that I hadn’t brought fresh ones. There’s no headstone yet, D says it’s too early, but various people have left terracotta pots full of flowers and it looks very pretty.
Every time I go, I remember snatches of conversations; brief moments in time that now seem so long ago: snorty belly laughs as well as tears and frustrations. Was it really last October when we went to the pumpkin festival together? Last November when we did trick or treating, jamming our overdressed and overexcited children into the back of the jeep so we could visit the neighbours?
Time flies. We’re already making plans for Christmas – my family are all flying over and we’re tremendously excited, but it’ll be bittersweet. Last year, we spent both Christmas and New Year’s Eve with C, D and the kids. D does a good job, and I have to stop myself from flapping over the children: do they have the right stuff for school? Do they need new swimmers for their imminent holiday? He’s very patient and I think (hope) realises that I’m only trying to help – he has The Lovelies, who help in so many ways, and his parents. The children have lots of support, but every so often it will hit me that things will never be the same: like a well-intentioned note on Lou’s hospital appointment that said ‘remember your Mammy can stay overnight with you’.
Her number’s still in my phone. I kept her texts: frustrated ones from hospital: ‘goin stir crazy in here’, supportive ones: ‘yr the next Delia Smith!’, and downright silly ones too. Life goes on. We all carry on, but she’s not forgotten. ’Remember when Mum gave all the cows names?’ Little C said last week. Yes, I do. Like it was yesterday.
C’s vegetable soup
So I often get emails asking after Little C and Lou. D battles cheerfully on, holding down a full time job as well as combining Mum/Dad duties at home. It’s now, unbelievably, nearly two months since their Mum died and with the added childcare pressures of the summer holidays, it’s a wonder he doesn’t spontaneously combust.
Happily, Little C and Lou are cheerful, muck-in with everybody kind of chaps, so it’s no hardship to have an extra couple of smalls about during the hols. There are obviously stumbling blocks (I for one feel very weird if I ever have to tell them off), but D also has a lot of support from his wonderful family, so nobody ever feels overwhelmed. One problem I do have is with food. Little C, like #2, is not a big eater, and finding something that everyone will eat can sometimes be a struggle. I’d never be one to force kiddies to eat stuff they don’t like, but I’m not going to let them eat Nutella sandwiches, either. Happily, with her usual forward planning and attention to detail, C left behind a folder of recipes; everything from how to make mashed potato to how to roast a joint is explained perfectly and, sitting in D’s kitchen the other day flicking through them, I noticed this little beauty. And do you know what? It was hoovered up by everyone – even the veg-phobic Little C.
1 tbsp olive oil
2 litres stock
1 onion
1 celery stalk
2 carrots
1/2 swede
1 parsnip
Handful frozen peas
Couple of handfuls red lentils
So heat your olive oil in a large heavy based pan, and chuck in your chopped onion and celery, sprinkle with salt, then fry gently until translucent. Then add your stock (either defrosted chicken stock, or made with cubes – whatever), and finally chuck in all your chopped vegetables and the lentils. Bring to the boil and let it bubble away for a good half hour or more until all the veggies are soft.
Whizz in the blender until completely smooth and serve with plenty of warm cheese bread.
Good ol’ C, eh?
