A Day in the Life

9am(ish) the Domestic Goddess rises. Ahh, bask in her beauty...

See how she is perfect in every way (and if you say otherwise there will be bloody trouble, I can tell you).

She sparkles with the inner glow of knowing she is fabulous.



Now to begin the day properly, with a holy offering of a cup of tea in one of her lovely new heart shaped tea cups.

Be it vanilla, chai, English breakfast, or a refreshing strawberry raspberry cranberry combination (as shown here) tea is the drink of the Domestic Goddess until 12pm (when vanilla vodka becomes appropriate).




Once she has broken her fast, the Domestic Goddess must visit her loyal worshippers at the local antique shops.

Here she blesses her people with wealth in exchange for small and beautiful offerings, such as another new tea cup.






It is then time to be re-energised by the sun, by laying in the yard reading one of the holy scriptures (such as Agatha Christie, Kerry Greenwood, Terry Pratchett).

Here she is guarded by the holy of holy beings - the daughter and son of bitches. They protect her very vocally from passing birds, cats, leaves, clouds and often invisible things.



Because the Domestic Goddess chooses to bless Melbourne as her place of residence, the sun does not last long and she retreats inside to create wearable miracles (knit beanies) for blessed relatives and friends (or unlucky, depending on your point of view).

Miracle creation is often accompanied by Queer Eye at 12pm and Oprah at 1pm.



Eventually she realises she has to wash the bloody dishes.

Then she gets the evening sacrifice prepared early to ensure she maximises her Neighbours and Big Brother viewing. Trashy television is a necessity to keeping the Domestic Goddess stress-free due to the busy, difficult and challenging lifestyle she must succumb herself to.

The Miracle Maker (that is to say, me)

Glen asked when I was going to get a shrine to the Domestic Goddess (aka Me) and then claim myself as the head of a legitimate religion. Hmm... I always knew I was omnipotent (not to mention psychic, as a psychic once told me*) just ask my husband. So perhaps it is time I built a shrine.


Well, here is what I suppose you could consider a shrine to me - this is how I have my dressing table set up (sans the mirror, which is currently in the bathroom**). In the fullness of time I will get a nicer table, there is one I have my eye on at the antique shop up the road. Then I will be a proper Goddess, even if I am the only person worshipping me!

Perhaps I should go door knocking in the middle of the day and asking other women who are also enjoying the world of domesticity if they would like to worship me? Not overly enticing, but then, what door knocking religion sharers are?

Now I know someone is likely to suggest that a shrine to a Domestic Goddess should have things that reflect housework, like washing detergent and a scrubbing brush***, rather than jewellery, sparkly stuff, tiaras, Napoleon lip gloss and general pretty things.

They would be wrong. Very wrong.

I don't think it would be at all appropriate because housework isn't actually what being a Domestic Goddess is really about - housework chores are just the miracles I perform. (Bloody amazes me that I'm doing it, and I'm pretty sure husband is surprised on a daily basis when the dishes are done and dinner is cooking.)

One a (slightly) more serious note though, census time is almost upon us (hurrah! I love filling in forms and surveys!****) and I am seriously considering putting 'Domestic Goddess' as my occupation, after all, you're not supposed to lie.


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*I'm sure you all know that story, I bloody tell it often enough.
** Who makes a house with no vanity mirror in the bathroom? I mean really.
*** That person is unlikely to be my mother, who I suspect wouldn't recognise these items any better than I would.
**** No seriously, I do. Except for those ones the Scientologists try to get you to do in Civic Bus Interchange.

Baby Boom and Baby Broom

Is it just me or has the world suddenly become more fertile?

I know I've just been to a baby shower so it is likely to be playing on my mind, but the shower was for two people - one cousin and one cousin's fiancee. That is two more pregnant people in my family than there has ever been (that is, in my generation, obviously someone had to be pregnant in my family for there to be a 'my family' to begin with). Also Fitzy is having a baby. People I went to school with have had babies. Lots of people at my (old) work had babies recently. Why all the babies suddenly?

I suppose that last year was the year of weddings (mine included) and as we all know first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in the baby carriage. Puts a little bit of pressure on when relatives and friends begin procreating, but I'm still holding out (and keeping my legs crossed).

Leading from the baby shower last weekend, I've begun thinking about Fitzy's baby shower in October. I went to wikihow for some inspiration and found the curious of all curious baby activities, and that is how to make a Baby Broom.

Now, call me crazy, but what the hell is a baby broom? It's popular enough to have its own 'how to' on wiki and I've never ever heard of it. Why decorate and jazz up a broom with ribbon, streamers, glitter, a rattle and most importantly a sprig of baby's breath for 'freshness'????

It sounds enormously tacky and I think if I was pregnant and someone gave me a baby broom I would probably beat them with it until they left my house. Having said that, I think it would be the funniest thing in the world to make someone. You gotta share the love, right?

Now I'm chalking this baby broom thing up to good old America, and the general tackiness of things that seem to come from there (have you seen Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes?) but what would be the Australian equivalent?

Sounds like we need an Art Attack ! I need Neil's help! What to make? A mobile made of colourful tinnies (pre-drunk of course)? Or should I decorate a Hills Hoist with ribbons, streamers and baby's breath?

Watch out Fitzy! I'm getting creative, and i have a lot of time on my hands!!!!

As Neil would say: Too rah!

Baby Showers and Cocktails

Saturday was an event-filled day.

Husband and I began with a quick breakfast and grocery shopping at the markets.

I then trundled over to Aunt J's house to help prepare food for the baby shower she was hosting for her daughter in law and niece that afternoon.

Can I just say, I am so totally chef-a-licious. I helped prepare platters of delightful desserts, such as canoli (I totally whipped the custard stuff), caramel tarts (I totally put the caramelised condensed milk in the little baked butternut snaps), mini-cornucopias (I totally whipped the cream - me and electric mixers go way back), filled profiteroles (again, the cream was all my doing), and just generally faffed about in the kitchen making platters look yummy and trying not to lick my fingers.

Was a fun morning, and I couldn't wait to get back that afternoon to try everything we'd prepared.

Thanks to my excellent whipping skills, oh and I suppose effort on everyone else's behalf as well (but mostly my whipping skills) the afternoon went off really well. The food was eaten and relished, fingers were licked and tummy's were full (mostly of food, but also babies).

There was more estrogen in the house that afternoon than there has ever been (being a family of mostly boys) and you could almost hear the house sigh in relief! heh heh.

Everyone was asked to share a piece of advice for the two mums-to-be (mine had no empirical evidence to support it, having an un-used uterus) which was a really nice idea, and one I think I'll pinch for Fitzy's baby shower in October.

What I love most of all about any "secret women's business" event (such as bridal showers, kitchen teas, and now baby showers) is that really it is just an excuse for groups of women to start drinking champers before 5pm. I Love It. But this event wasn't just serving ordinary champers. This was champers mixed with vodka and lemon sorbet.... It was deliciously potent, and altogether too easy to drink. By far the yummiest champagne cocktail I've had since discovering the Hippo Smash (champers, peach schnapps, vodka and a sugar cube).

Following the baby shower husband and I prepped our house to entertain people I am not related to. Yes, we had a date with people we didn't know before moving here! Ordinarily preparing the house for guests would probably be a bit of a stressful event (as I take after my mother), but we were able to get the house and nibbles ready without a hitch.

Now, I can either attribute this to my new found Domestic Goddess skills (I'm trying not to laugh disbelievingly at myself as I right this), or to the fact that I was floating around in a champagne cocktail haze...

Our 'date' went fabulously, the people were really nice and friendly, and I got to drink more champagne. Now, I can either attribute the success of the evening to my new found Domestic Goddess skills, or...

My Rights as a Domestic Goddess

Today I finally completed and sent off the last of my homework for my Cert IV in Training and Assessment. Yippeeeeee!!!! Now I can spend the afternoon reading in the sun, absolutely guilt free.

Hmm, wait...no... ah, there it is, Domestic Goddess guilt setting in. What I should be doing is some tidying and cleaning as one of husband's work mates is coming around tomorrow. But the house is so cold today, and the sun is actually out in Melbourne! The house is cold because we haven't quite worked out how the central heating works. Or rather, we think we do, and then it doesn't come on when we think it will. It would make a lot more sense if there was just and 'on/off' button with a little temperature dial.

I'm sure that it is my right to work in a comfortable environment, isn't it? Isn't it? I shouldn't have to tidy in the cold! It just isn't right! And washing dishes while standing on a cold floor must contravene some OH&S regulation, I'm sure of it.

Perhaps I should have a mini demonstration by cooking myself a nice warming laksa for lunch? Although a demonstration means I need to have a chant. Thinking back to the few mild demonstrations I have been to (unwillingly in the case of just walking through the ANU union court trying to get to a lecture)...

The Domestic Goddess
United
Will never clean the house!
(unless we can maybe work out the central heating)

Hmm, not very snappy. Perhaps more along the lines of...

Hey hey
Ho ho
Cleaning in the cold has go to go!

Mind you if I have a public demonstration, or even just a private one, I'm sure someone will kindly point out that it is also my right to work in a clean environment, but that I'm the one that's got to clean it!

Bloody Howard. I'm sure its his fault.

Whereismystuff.com

If only whereis.com could actually tell me where my personal belonings are. I love that I can call my mobile phone when I lose it and wish my wallet, TV remote and ugh boots all had similar features. If only someone could invent a neat little website where I could go to find out where my stuff is, entitled whereismystuff.com This does not appear to exist yet. Why?

This need has become stronger as I unpack all our boxes from moving. Most of our belongings have been unpacked now, but there are still many boxes hanging around that either I can't bear to look at because I know I'll have to find places to store it, or are labeled so randomly that I haven't bothered opening them yet.*

So today I'm looking for dog nail clippers. As it turns out Buster is too small to wear down her own nails. Now that we are in a polished floor board house, the length of her nails had become acoustically apparent. Cannot find bloody nail clippers!

Where are all our laundry baskets? I can only find one! Did all our black socks getting eaten my the moving truck? I can't find the specific books I feel like reading either. wherearethey.com?

Another random item I tried finding was a plastic lady bug book mark that used to be in my bedside table. That was found in the box with the bathroom stuff. whythefuckdidIpackitlikethat.com?????

Why does the world not run according to my needs and wants?

On a happier note, I did find a cafe/bakery called 'Something Sweet' that is open before 10am on Sundays. Finding something open on Sundays at all has been a challenge, but this cafe is pretty cute and the food delish.


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*I found boxes 'Odd and Sods' 1-6 very helpful labeling. Thanks for that G&S (and I don't mean Gilbert & Sullivan).

I have the same taste in movies as a four year old

In an in depth discussion with a four year old on Saturday night (who I think is my second cousin once removed) I discovered that yes, I own the same movies as he does. We had great discussions about Pirates of the Caribbean, Finding Nemo, Monsters Inc and Spiderman(to name a few) during which I received many looks of exasperation if I didn't know or remember as much about them as he did. Shamefully we both also own a Bob the Builder CD.*

Then he wanted to play Justice League with me, so I said I wanted to be Superman (he wanted to be Flash or Green Lantern, pah! as if you'd be them!). But he wouldn't let me be Superman, because I'm a girl. When I said I wanted to be Homer Simpson, I got the double rolling of the eyes because a) Homer Simpson isn't in Justice League and b) I'm a girl. When I pointed out that Homer sometimes dressed up as a girl he said that although this was true, it was because he was a boy pretending to be a girl.

When we couldn't agree that this logic worked in reverse, I decided I would have to finish my wine before we played Justice League as there were obviously too many rules I weren't aware of and I thought more wine might help the conversation flow (or at least my side of it). I soon got in trouble for drinking too slowly - I never thought I'd suffer peer pressure from someone twenty one years my younger, but there you go.

What did I learn? Never try to argue with a four year old or people might think you are one yourself.


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*Mine is Bob the Builder does Mambo No. 5, and no, I can't justify its purchase, and yes, I will just have to wear the shame.

Pink and sparkly attack

Saturday I woke up slightly dehydrated after Bastille Day Dinner - this was soon remedied by bacon and eggs, followed by a full day of shopping.

I didn't purchase much (have already done some sneaky clothes shopping), but I found this really cute shop on Brunswick St called Harem. This was like walking into someone's boudoir - and now I have inspiration for what my dressing room (aka our spare bedroom) will become over time! This place was luxurious and beautiful and could almost cross the line to tacky - I Love It.

There were mirrored dressing tables, beautiful sparkly jewellery and random pretty things to decorate with (mostly involving lace, pink and feathers).

Husband will suffer a fear, pink and sparkly attack if he ever goes to this shop - which if I have anything to do with it he will, as that is where all my upcoming presents will be coming from that I have earned for being such a beautiful domestic goddess.

At Harem I purchased two pink tea cups which are molded so that your tea makes the shape of a love heart - so cute. Makes tea so much yummier.

Bastille Day Dinner

Had a lovely dinner at a cousin AM's house on Friday with husband and sister, cousin DM and fiancee AF. In celebration of Bastille day we had French onion soup, beef burgundy, crepes and creme caramel.* Also forced my self to drink lots of red wine and champers. mmm, Moet & Chandon...

Decided not to drive as it was raining and the roads were busy and I had no idea how to get to Carlton, also meant we could all have drinkies. We caught a cab (taxi driver got a bit lost so I'm glad I didn't drive!) which was pretty cheap - go team Melbourne!

I had such a great night - good company, lots of laughs, beautiful food and a poor fat cat who nipped me because I didn't pat her right (obviously that didn't contribute to the 'great' part).


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*I have a sneaking suspicion that AM just might be a perfectionist as she cooked two desserts in case we didn't like the first one. So we ate them both, hurrah!

And now for something completely different.

Had a busy little weekend - the amount of activity would have been most exciting and felt very sociable if I hadn't been related to every single person I spent time with! No disrespect to my family though - as it was, is was a great weekend and I had a wonderful time. Husband, on the other hand, seems slightly exhausted and overwhelmed as events involving large numbers of in-laws would do for anyone.

The weekend began for us on Thursday evening when my parentals and sister arrived at 11.30pm. From there it was all go.

Prior to their arrival, husband and I had gone out for dinner - we found a Chinese restaurant that looked busy and decided we would not order our usual meals (good old honey chicken and satay beef) but have something new and different. I was worried because, as Lan always says, "I tried something new once and I didn't like it" so this was a bit of a gamble for us.

For entree we had wontons, which I love and husband had never tried - they were soooooo good! One-nil in favour of 'something different'. Husband ordered some spicy beef thingy which I can't remember how to spell, and I ordered crispy chicken rice noodle soup. This way we felt half safe as we were still getting our staple meats.

Spicy beef thing was a little too spicy (food just shouldn't hurt) - making the score one all.

My soup came with the chicken on a separate plate with bean sprouts, fresh chili and lemon, so I had a mild panic about was I supposed to put them in the soup or not, but went with the obvious answer that if I had ordered a chicken and noodle soup, then yes, I was supposed to put it in (this was hard as they only provided chopsticks, forks and spoons, so cutting up the chicken was a challenge). I still asked husband to watch the waiters to see if they were laughing at me putting the chicken in my soup. They didn't.

The soup was yummy, although I deducted 0.25 points for causing the mild panic and difficulty of cutting up the chicken - thus the score ended up 1.75 to 1.00, making trying something different the winner!

Following our high caused by the win (and possibly MSG), we went on to try more different things at a Greek cake shop further down the street. I ate too much chocolatey cake (my stomach was ready to burst), but it was really yummy, so again, 'something different' came out on top.

I really like that in Melbourne there are lots of different foods all within spitting distance of each other (although no actual spitting was witnessed between restaurant owners), and they all seem to be so different to the types of places in good old 'Berra. I love it!

My skin is suffering from me trying to catch up on 25 years of no souvlaki and canoli though.

Crowded House Were Right

Its what everyone says about Melbourne - four seasons in one day. Although I new this to be fundamentally true about Melbourne, I am still obviously a newbie here as the changing weather keeps taking me by surprise.*

I was about to go to the markets for lunch and veggie shopping. As I put the dogs into the backyard I thought "What a nice sunny day! When I get back I might just put out a rug and lay in the sun reading" (as every domestic goddess is allowed to do once they have washed the dishes, which I had).

Between me closing the back door, putting on a cardy ("Won't need a jacket in weather like this!"), picking up my hand bag and opening the front door it had turned very, very grey and cold, with an icy wind and menacing clouds.

Bugger. Had to put on a jacket after all.

I've learnt to carry around an umbrella in my hand bag at all times, but I feel like I almost need to also carry sun screen, a warm jacket, a summer t-shirt, a beanie and scarf, thongs and maybe gum-boots as well.

Being science minded, and just generally wanting to know 'why?' I'm curious as to what it is about Melbourne's geography that makes the weather act the way it does.


* It has been so bloody windy one of the hinges on my back door blew off. At least the washing dries quickly.

Buffy and Vikings

Must say 'thank you' to the Tree Frog Carers who gave me season four of Buffy as a going away present. I spent an enjopyable portion of last week watching it, carefully avoiding 'Hush' while I was home alone.

To accompany my Buffy watching I knitted a viking helmet beanie for my uncle. The joys of having relatives with more exciting cultural backgrounds than myself! I wish I was a viking...or maybe just being carried off by one. (^_^)

Barrel O Hangers

In my joy of having put together new Ikea furniture, particularly wardrobes, I neglected to realise that this would involve putting away my clothes. This is a task I hate at the best of times, which either husband or parentals can attest to. I carefully weighed up the pros and cons of completing this thrilling domestic task.

Pros:
I wouldn't have to live out of a suitcase and cardboard boxes
All my shoes would be more readily accessible
The bedroom would be less cluttered

Cons:
I would have to fold my clothes (ugh)
I would have to hang my clothes (double ugh)
I would have to admit to how many shoes I own (much to husband's disgust)
I would now need to maintain a cleaner bedroom as I didn't have the excuse that I was living out of a suitcase and cardboard boxes anymore

So, the cons outweigh the pros, but this was clearly as task that had to be done, so I decided to grit my teeth and bear it (I would have much preferred to lie back and think of England, but that wouldn't have got this particular task done).

My clothes just fit in the drawers and hanging space, but my shoes didn't quite. May have to throw some out... Admitting to this will thrill husband enormously and make the size ten footed women out there cry "No!" at such a senseless waste.

The worst part though was the coat hangers. When we moved I packed all our clothes into boxes and then packed a separate box full of hangers. Getting out a single hanger was like playing 'Barrel O Monkeys' in reverse, and exactly the reverse amount of fun. Rather than trying to hook the hangers together to make a nice long chain and win the game, I had to fight to get them out in singles and won the exciting treat of hanging up my clothes. Woo. Hoo.

I struggled for some time over this task and got frustrated and yelled at the Barrel O Hangers - but it is hard to argue with misshapen wire and wood at the best of times (damn inanimate objects).

I'm starting to think that I'm not really cut out for this domestic goddess business. Actually I started thinking that I while ago. Like, twenty odd years ago when I developed a sense of situational awareness. This was about the time I learnt to recognise dad's anger at messiness. Safe to say I didn't inherit a lack of domesticity from my dad.

Mmmm, Ikea...

There's a box over here
And a box over there
There are nails on the floor
And screws in my hair
There are lots of little Allen keys in the air, everywhere
It's an Ikea kind of day!

Hurrah! We made it to Ikea! We spent up to our limit on our eftpos cards! Yaaaayyy!!!!

Husband and I spent all of Sunday afternoon assembling various pieces of Ikea furniture. I love Allen keys, they are so clever. We now have wardrobes (praise be, I can finish unpacking!), some new CD racks, new bookshelves, glass cabinet and two cute stools which are also storage for the bathroom.

There is something satisfying about putting together pieces of furniture - it must be even better to do it from scratch! It makes me feel like I'm totally in control of things cos I can put together stuff made of wood AND do it properly (although I put the shelves in backwards once and had to start again) and then have something functional at the end.

actually, it reminded me muchly of trips to Home Bush Ikea in Stella, and then assembling purchases in the S Pad. I no longer have to travel three hours to get to Ikea, which is good, but I do miss the girlie camaraderie of Stella shopping trips!

Losing my blogging virginity

OK, so I'm tentatively embracing blogging and am following in the footsteps of the ever lovely Sherdie. So now we have someone to blame!

I arrived in Melbourne 'for keeps' almost a week ago, with husband and dogs in tow (or perhaps more precisely, husband had myself and dogs in tow having already been here for a month). I'm currently job-less and loving it! I'm fully prepared to become a domestic goddess until I get a job, although I don't really cook or clean, so this is proving more difficult than I thought. I can knit, and am really good at drinking tea and watching Oprah, so I reckon I'm halfway there.

I have moved into a mint green Californian bungalow which is older than any house in home-town Canberra (well, maybe not, but older than houses I've rented anyway). Polished floor boards, freezing cold bathroom, oldest kitchen ever, beautiful high ceilings, big rooms, door frames so low to bathroom and toilet that husband has to duck to go in, did I mention it was mint green?, stained glass in front windows, nice garden and two lemon trees. Feels like home already!

Have ventured out onto the roads by car a few times, having absolutely no idea where I was going. Managed to stumbled across Northlands shopping mall, which was slightly disappointing (this is probably a good thing for my bank account). Have found Preston Markets and think I'd make it to Brunswick St if I had to. Could probably tail-gate a tram to get to the city too. So all in all I am slightly confident of my ability to be mobile.

So far I've unpacked millions (well, maybe tens) of boxes and have a mountain of bubble wrap sitting in my dining room. You would think that a mountain of bubble wrap would be anyone's idea of bubble-filled heaven, right? Alas, no, jumping on a mound of bubble wrap turns out to be a few pops, but mostly me hurting my bum. I think I'll have to revert to the good ole 'one-by-one' method of popping bubble wrap - seems to be more fulfilling that way!

There are a few things which I am confused about. Mostly it involves supermarkets. What is with Wooly's being called Safeways? It's just wrong! The "Woolworths" brands are still called Woolworths in the Safeways stores, and their ads are the same, they just say Safeways. I'm so confused. On a scarier note, "Safeways" implies that there is also, somewhere, an "Unsafeways" - that keeps me awake at night.

And you have to pay a deposit for trolleys! What's that about? Are they really worth stealing? Can you sell them on the black market? Is a $2 deposit really going to stop me stealing one if I was intending to sell it on the black market? I think $2 is a pretty good price for a trolley. I feel like I'm missing some really important part of the story - like watching an Agatha Christie movie and missing the denouement. Did something happen in Melbourne that forced supermarket owners to go "That's it, there are too many black market trolleys out there! They are sub-standard, and consumers are being ripped off by these counterfeit trolleys. We'll charge people a $2 deposit from now on to use our genuine, high quality Safeways trolleys!"

I'm sure that supermarkets do lose money on trolleys over time, but I can't understand the whole deposit thing. Maybe they should have some sort of electrical tag like on clothes, where if you take it too far away all this blue ink spurts out of them or an alarm goes off. Or could they microchip them like they do wheelie bins on the South coast? (That's a whole other weird debate that I won't get into right now.)

Thankfully on my first visit to Safeways there was a lonely trolley sitting free, so I didn't have to do the lame "Um, I'm from interstate - how do I get a trolley free?" thing. I'm still a bit scared about it though.

I haven't decided yet whether to start saying "Safeways" or continue to say "Wooly's" as some sort of stubborn cultural throw-back. To assimilate or not to assimilate?

Well, this has been quite enjoyable and therapeutic.