Birthday Party Boy

We'd hatched the idea that, now in spring, an outside party at Fitzgerald Park could be fun for a crowd of 8-year olds. The party had to be, we're not long before leaving, and this school has been one of the better things to happen to The Bean ever! Such wonderful friends, such a vibe, such folk-like-us in the school, it's easy to talk in there, without much pre-amble to explain ourselves.

So, to the party. I walked up to the park from school, in fine, almost sunny weather - 5 children, the others in other people's cars, on the way to meet up there. LMM on the way with The Pumpkin and the cake, to the cafe, where we'd start with pizza, toasted sandwiches and drinks, as arranged. Oh well, as he arrived, it seemed a complete surprise.

Twas a great party. The Bean had painted an alien, without eyes, so we could play Pin the Eye on the Alien. Pass the Parcel had rocket balloons in it, which were hanging in trees the next morning still. At one point, all the big kids went running, shouting, "Alex, your brother's rocket went the highest, did ye see it, he's the champion!!!" They especially loved the Great Fitzgerald Park Quiz, their first treasure hunt, with 11 questions I'd put together for them on sheets. They ran like mad, in pairs, had a great time! We've now seen more poetic, interesting spellings for belly: bellea, belleay.

The cake this year had to be alien/space/explorer-related, so 'twas an alien spaceship, bright yellow frosting, red pods on top, foil antenna (note to self: post photo!), and got eaten up! There was also a truly delicious cake which he chose from a patisserie in Montaigue the day of his actual birthday: caramelised pear with pear mousse. The boy got style, he do.

Weekday Pasta Recipe

Have all the ingredients for pasta with meat sauce on hand; also 2 small boys, homework, a painting project and a grey Cork afternoon.

Chop onion, mince garlic, fry with olive oil in large heavy-bottomed saucepan.
Stir. Put down spoon, wipe hands, get water for the boy's painting project.
Chop mushrooms, great zuchini. Take mince from wrapping.
Stir onion mix, add mince, check heat.
"Mummy look!" Check painting project, advise on shades of blue for the sky.
Stir mince.
Put on water for noodles in a large saucepan.
Add vegetables and salt and herbs, once mince is browned.
Change rinsing water, mind the green paint all over the sink. Discuss how to achieve pale shades of yellow and brown.
Adjust newspaper on table to prevent paint landing all over dining table.
Open tin of tomatoes, add this and tomato paste to the sauce. Do not squeeze tomato paste tube onto boy's paint palette. (He's not using red today.)
Rinse brush before he moves on to yellow, under the cold tap, not in the noodle water.
Add noodles to water once boiling.
Stir sauce. Check painting's progress, advise opinions. Taste sauce, adjust seasoning.
Allow to simmer: the sauce, not the boys. Chat to painter and his smaller brother. Assemble clean plates, drinks, grate parmesan.
Move dirty paintbrushes from the sink before you strain off cooked noodles.
Dad comes home from work.
Remove painting to drying spot, rinse paint plate, serve sauce over noodles.
Sit together, enjoy!

Where are the recipe books like this? Does anyone else cook like this, with often up to 3 different things going on at once?

It will surely be what I remember about my times here, in fact what I'll remember about all these early years before they were both in school. Pictured is the Bean, helping with the strawberries, as the box construction and paint project dries on the table. There are SO many of these afternoons here, I do treasure them. And sit in an exhausted stupour sometimes between 9 and 10pm, once it's all over. That's where Channel 4 comes in.

It is an incredible leap coming in January next year, when I will see both my beautiful boys off to school - a new stage for us all.

Mother's Day in Moissac

This is vivid. Precious. Europe Green. Still.

HOT day, I decide to wear 'the' dress, on only its third outing all year. Drove to Moissac, a cathedral town on the Garonne, famous for its cloister and its canal. Markets again, our French is running back into our mouths like saliva does when you see something delicious. Suddenly, the words are there.

An outside, sunny, hot, picnic of couscous and chicken by the Canal du Midi. The lunch is gorgeous, the company fine, the weather has us amazed - it can feel like this!

The canal runs across France from Bordeaux to the Mediterranean, and was built by a genius engineer (he must have been) during Napoleonic times. Here in Moissac, the canal must cross the Garonne. Simple, they said. So a bridge to transport the canal was built, ably assisted by a lock to adjust levels. We walked under plane trees, saw some boats lower in the lock, and walked back again.

Green spring. My beloved boys. All three. This is how a mother's day should be. Every now and then. Too much and we wouldn't have enough to laugh about later.

Birthday Boy

The Bean turns 8, in France, thrilled that he is having a birthday in Europe after all. He thought, as we all did, that we'd be home by his.

Staying with family friends, from the Malaysia days, in the Quercy region of France, we had a completely beautiful spring time location, with a flower garden sheer bursting in celebration. The day started with presents, a young deer stopping by on his walk through the woods, just a quiet, very moving gaze; continued with a trip to the local market and the patisserie at Montaigu de Quercy; back for lunch, boules on the boulodrome and a tractor-mower ride, and finished with a swim and a walk in some of the most picturesque country there is, anywhere.

The Bean got parcels from grandma, new doctor pyjamas, things to make and read, and a Nintendo DS, and the gift of today. We, the parents, had agonised about the DS for 6 months, as it's the big toy here in Cork. The debate goes like this: does he need a box to disappear into? It's good for trips and anywhere that we happen to be - portable. It's removable. It's the toy he's up to in his progress, and they are a tool for social interaction as much as anything. There are good games for it. It's very expensive, will he treasure it? We hate them. If not now, then when? Not when he's grown past it, which no doubt will happen too. So, we did. He is thrilled! And, on a serious note, we will be introducing a total number of screen-time hours he is allowed to have each day: tv, DS, computer, anything.

If we lived here, he could have balmy lovely spring birthdays every year. May is magic in France. Fraises et asperges. Which we ate most days for 2 weeks. All of us: The Bean more into the asperges in his fingers as a starter, the Pumpkin more into the fraises with sugar and cream! LMM and I just inhaling all day long.

Breakfast with a Nightshifter

At the table, all at once, during a happy family sitting: boys in pyjamas, cereal which we call 'glop' (yoghurt, oats, grated apple or other fruit, linseed, sunflower seeds, milk), smoked mackerel dip with black pepper, jams from Poland and France, cups of coffee, and beer!

Wish I'd taken a photo, 8.30am in the morning. Also, the sun is actually shining in our window, still amazed to see this here in Cork.

This is what it's like, our Cork-life during the week of nights: he's winding down and going off to sleep after a late snack, we're winding up into our day - away from the house as much as possible. We went off to have a wild, sunny, sand-building day at the beach, Ownahinch, pictured here, once we'd finished our city.

Homeward Bound

Well, that changes everything. A week ago, we decided to fly home on our original plan a, ie the end of June, with 2 weeks USA fly-over. After paying for the tickets Friday, it then took the weekend to decide really - and shed the tears. Once I've cried, the decision is made. Really made. Sealed in water.

In a week, it's changed my view of Europe, my needs of the place while we're still here, and my connectedness to it. Immediately, I'm less connected, less immersed, because I know we're stepping out. We're separate again. I'm on the way to becoming that stranger again.

And I got the next in our seemingly endless line of colds, one of those ones with a throat so raw I could hardly speak. Or move off the couch in the evenings while LMM worked the night shift. More on that later.

What I observe is that the variety, availability of SO much here deeply appeals to me. The thought of the streets in Australia filled me with glumness - so few cars to choose from. I've come to accept, enjoy the BIG variety of everything here - jams, cars, newspapers, destinations for our week-out trips. And, after being frugal because we're living here (and because I'm that way inclined in day-to-day life), I feel a shift to just HAVE whatever we can get in the remaining 2 months.

And thoughts turn to packing, each item I hold in my hands becomes a question: am I taking you back, do I still need you now, or are you for the bin immediately? Last night, this set of thoughts filled a bin: the Shanghai fake Converse, some out of date cosmetics and lots of paper, process-drawing from the boys.