whybother?

Smiley Saturday is brought to you by Lightening. Feel free to join in! 

The birthday marathon continued into it’s third day today. As such, I’m too exhausted to do much of a post. How about a few pictures instead?

I almost forgot about the Smiley Swap! My partner finally received her gift from me, so I will post a photo of what I received from her. I thought I had already done so, but I can’t find it, so here it is!

I have been studying Lightening’s tips for budget busting. Whilst I am not making huge advances at a rapid rate, I am beginning to apply her techniques in teeny-tiny stages. This is in the hope that I won’t notice what’s happening, and suddenly find myself with more money at the end of the week without making any huge sacrifices!!

With this in mind, and having a looooong history of over-spending in a MASSIVE way around the time of the child’s birthday, I began to plan ahead! Yay me! I decided in advance to limit the purchase of presents to a manageable size. There was no specific cash limit, just a vague idea of not impulse-buying 15 or 20 ‘cheaper’ items at the last minute.

Over a month ago, I spotted a nice little gold ring with her birthstone in it. I ordered it online, and got a really good price. I know this, because I checked out similar items in the shops! I’m so proud of myself.

Then, I determined the type of MP3 player she particularly coveted, found out what the ‘must have’ items needed to be part of the package, then went out and found a generic brand, again, online. Thank God for the internet. Including postage, I saved myself around $50 on a similar item from a store, and $150 on the brand name item. 

She collects Beanie Kids. Delta the Diva Bear shares the same birthday as the child (did you know Beanie Kids had dates of birth? Me either). I ordered from an online supplier and got two for the price of one.

The hardest part for me was coming to terms with the fact that there would only be a small pile of presents. I was really worried that she would be disappointed, because in other years there have been a larger number of individually wrapped items (think Dudley Dursley out of Harry Potter: ‘But last year, last year there were 35!!’).

Judging from the photos, I did ok!

At this point, I’ve probably saved about $150-$200. But wait, there’s more!

Instead of having a party, Mollie was allowed to invite a friend for a sleepover. For the picnic that we were going to have (but has now been cancelled), she requested home made sausage rolls and honey joys. We decided to have the honey joys for an afternoon snack, and the sausage rolls for dinner. I bought a kilo of sausage mince (there will be four of us eating these!), a packet of no-name frozen pastry, one carrot, one zucchini, a packet of cornflakes (for the honey joys) and some lollies and Cheezels (for later!). The whole lot cost about $15.

After dinner, we are going to the ice-skating rink for the Friday night Teen Disco. Hence the junk food. If I pack drink bottles, they shouldn’t need to spend a cent, beyond the entry fee ($17 each for a 3-hour, supervised session). I don’t even want to think about what a party would have cost! Food, drinks, birthday cake, party bags, games, prizes…the mind boggles. I reckon I’ve probably saved myself at least another $50-$100.

Let’s face it, I ROCK! And none of this would have been conceivable without having read all of Lightening’s tips. So, thanks hun!

Now, who wants recipes?

Sausage rolls 

One kilo of sausage mince

One packet of frozen puff pastry sheets (six sheets)

one carrot, grated

one zucchini, grated

2 eggs, beaten

one onion, finely chopped

a handful of breadcrumbs for smooshing it all together (smooshing is a technical term)

a splotch of tomato sauce if you feel the need (I do!)

Method: 

Lay out the sheets of pastry so they can thaw. Heat the oven to about 200C. Put everything except the breadcrumbs in a big bowl and get into it with your bare hands (it’s disgusting, but effective). If it seems too goopy (another technical term), throw some breadcrumbs in to bind it together a bit. Once it’s all mixed together, it’s up to you how you proceed. I don’t cut the pastry at all at this stage. I place the mixture onto the pastry, roll it up, then cut them into about 5 pieces. This seems to work quite well. Place the sausage rolls into the oven. I haven’t cooked this lot yet, but from memory, I think they take around 45 minutes all up. Put them in for 20, see how they look, then go again! It’s a very precise science you know. When they are ready, the pastry will be all golden and puffy (hence the name ‘puff pastry’). The meat will be all brown and sizzling and they will smell to die for. WARNING: For God’s sake, give them a few minutes to cool slightly, or you will burn your mouth. Happens to me every. single. time.

Honey Joys: 

90g butter

1/3 cup sugar

1 tablespoon honey

4 cups cornflakes

Method: 

Heat the oven to 150C. Place the first three ingredients in a saucepan and stir over low heat until the butter melts and the sugar dissolves and it goes all frothy and smells divine. Then chuck the cornflakes in and stir it all together. Place the mixture into little patty pan thingys (technical term- you know, the little paper cases) then bake for 10 minutes. The same warning about burning your gob applies to these. They are very, very good if you have them with a glass of cold, full-cream milk. Skim milk will not cut it here, I’m afraid. It’s often a good idea to cook a double batch, because they don’t seem to last long.

Enjoy!  

When she went to bed last night, she promised to wake me up early so we could do presents before Dad left for work. True to her promise, the wake up call went something like this:

Me: snoring

Mollie: *roars from another room* Mummy! Time to get up!

It was still dark.

Have a great day, kiddo! Love ya! 

Mollie sent the Evil Mother In Law (EMIL) a text just now, asking what was happening on Saturday. Mollie was fully aware of all the emails that were flying around.

EMIL texted her and said she was really sorry, but she wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be able to make it. Hello? Today is Wednesday. The birthday celebrations are on Saturday. Must be something badly wrong! So Mollie texted back along the lines of oh, that’s a shame, hope you feel better, what a coincidence! And got no reply.

I rang EMIL, who told me she was feeling very upset and quite unable to drive. I asked what the problem was, and she began to tell me that she doesn’t like the way I speak to her and was ’sick to death’ of all the driving she’s had to do lately. I pointed out that the only times she’s been to Cessnock recently have been for funerals (there have been two since last October), and she made some sarcastic remark. Then, she hung up on me! I phoned her back, and she hung up on me again! The great balls-less FIL wouldn’t answer the text I sent him either!

So, I went to Mollie, who is in bed, trying to get to sleep, anticipating the big 11, which occurs tomorrow, with all this shit going on. I hugged her and apologised. I explained to her that I didn’t mean for her to be more hurt by my actions. I thought carefully before I confronted the old cow in the first place. I was angry, but I didn’t say anything uncontrolled. I guess it’s all just blown up in my face.

The precious child, old and wise beyond her years, told me that it was ok. It wasn’t my fault, it was EMIL’s. She said ‘I understand what you were trying to do and this is not your fault’. Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better.

Darling girl, mummy should have kept her big old pie hole shut. I’m so sorry that this has happened. I hope with all my heart that this doesn’t ruin your very special day. I honestly believed I was doing the right thing, but I should have bitten my tongue. All I’ve done has been to make things worse.

Note to self: Next time, SHUT THE FUCK UP! 

On this night, all those years ago, I was lying in the spare bedroom of the Evil Mother-In-Law’s (EMIL), 40 weeks pregnant and full of trepidation. All our goods and chattels had been packed up by Grace Removals, and were on their way to Western Australia. Except the pram, the car seat, the port-a-cot and the nappy bag. And the nappies. And the suitcase full of baby clothes. First thing in the morning, Daz would drive me to the hospital, where they would start the drip, which would induce the birth, which would result in the greatest miracle of all. My very own. My precious. (Gratuitously thieves lines from ‘Lord of the Rings’).

It was stinking hot, and I lay beside my husband with the ceiling fan barely stirring the heavy air. The baby was kicking and somersaulting. I knew that within 24 hours, I would hold my newborn. I would feel his or her tiny fingers grasping mine, I would look into his or her Blue? Brown? Green? eyes. I would feel his or her breath on my face as I smelled his or her glorious baby smell. Would s/he have hair? What colour would it be? How much was it going to hurt? This time tomorrow, I thought, I will be a mother. We will be a family. I will never be the same again.

I began to cry. Darren held me, soothing me, laughing gently at his ‘little wife’. Not so little at that point, I can assure you! ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘I’m scared!’ I sobbed. ‘What if I can’t do it? What if something goes wrong? Look at this pram, this car seat, what if we never need them?’ He laughed again, but not in a mocking way. ‘You’ll be fine. I believe in you.’ 

I cried myself to sleep. I doubt if Darren slept at all, as he kept watch over us. Our last ever night of ‘coupledom’, the eve of discovering the joys and wonders of parenthood. I remember.

Around about 12 years ago, I met my beloved. Shortly thereafter, I had the pleasure of meeting his parents. I doubt if his mother and I have ever had an honest conversation. Too painful.

I don’t know how she feels about me. Care factor? Zero. Not interested. She walks the walk, and is quite convincing, but given my depth of feeling towards her, I doubt if there’s any genuine affection for me on her part. That’s fine. We don’t have to like each other. So why pretend?

Folks, this woman has pissed me off more times than I can count. In so many different ways. There was the time she accused me of child abuse. There were all the times I invited her to something on Darren or Mollie’s behalf and she rejected them, but wouldn’t tell them, would tell me, so that I had to break the news to them. The times that she has hurt Mollie, and I’ve been the one to cop it.

Darren and Mollie choose not to confront this woman. There is a good reason for this. She has a vicious tongue. Even her humour is hurtful. She is intolerant. Towards everybody. She hates Asians, Muslims, Aboriginals, Homosexuals, Catholics, Politicians, Americans. That’s her problem. She hates. She is bitter, and twisted. There is no joy inside of her. None. The precious moments she spends with her only child and her only grandchild are often wasted as she picks at them, criticizing and condemning them until they are silent with hurt. She is incapable of positivity. She sees only the negative. She looks for the negative, and if that’s what you look for, that’s what you find.

Next week is Mollie’s birthday. All she wanted was a picnic with both sets of grandparents, mum, dad and one friend. Here is an extract of the email I received this morning, from Darren’s mother:

Mollie said the party is now at Lake Macquarie not Cessnock, if this is right, we will only come and see her and give her the present, as 6 hours travel in a car is too long for JB and the drive back after 4 hours in the car is a lot extra for me too. Sorry about this, but we can still come up early that day to give her the present or go back to another weekend in Cessnock that suits you all. Judy

Lake Mac is half an hour from Cessnock. They have to drive one hour to Cessnock, half an hour to the lake, half an hour back, then another hour home. That makes it 3 hours, not 6. Additionally, if it was that much of a drama, they could stay overnight, as they have been invited to do, but declined. They are in their 60’s, not their 90’s. This is not the first incident of such a slap in the face.

On reading this, I fired off a quick, ‘ok, no worries, we’ll have another talk about it and let you know’. Then took myself quietly off to my room to fume in solitude. Then thought about it some more. Then got angrier. And angrier. 12 years of anger and pain went round and round my little brain. I came out of my room. I mentioned the email to Darren, and was asked ‘what did you expect?’ This hurt too.

Mollie isn’t here at the moment, so she doesn’t know about it. When I tell her, which I will have to, because she won’t, she’ll be angry and hurt too. And she will take it out on me. Which is natural.

So I sat down and composed an honest email. I took my time. I read and re-read it. Then I hit ’send’. Fuck it. Fuck her. 12 years is a long time.