Comfort Food for the Broken-Hearted

My poor ole kid. We get home from Dash's football gig today and I am greeted at the door by a very somber Mr G with some sad sad news... Dash's goldfish has passed on/kicked the bucket/bought the farm.

We had been worried about "Nemo" (the fishy - I know - such an original name!) for a day or so.

Mr G was worried that the new fish food pellets weren't going down so well. The tank had turned murky green and Nemo had been hugging the bottom and sides. Things didn't look good... and then, well, he died. My hubby found him while we were out at football; he said he felt a little choked up when he saw the little guy floating. After all, the fish tank is Mr G's project. The fishies belong to Dash but Daddy does most of the work.

Now comes the tricky part: breaking the news to Dash.

What makes this tricky is this is actually the third fish we have lost in the year since we've had them.

The first one was an algae eater called "James". We buried him with much ceremony and many tears after we returned home from holiday and found him dead last January. Dash painted his "coffin" (a box) and made a plaque for James's gravesite. He cried and cried, great heart-breaking sobs, because this fishy loss had come hard on the heels of losing his grandad to cancer just before Christmas.

When the second one died soon after, we let Dash think "John" (the other algae-eater) had been released into the wild. We just couldn't watch him going through more grief so soon after his other losses.

Grief is tough; Losing someone you love is tough, even if it's just a fish. Especially when you're a little kid.

So bearing all this in mind we broke the news to Dash as gently as we could. His little-boy face crumpled when confronted with the fishy remains, carefully interred in a box by Daddy. He ran to his room and lay weeping on his bunkbed, my poor little guy.

He didn't want a cuddle, didn't want company - at least not from me. Daddy went in and shared his sorrow, laying on his bunk with him and talking in low tones. Dash clung to Daddy, his partner in loss.

Me? I made Macaroni Cheese (with bacon)... Dash's favourite dinner. It seemed to cheer him up. There's a good reason they call it comfort food.

Macaroni Cheese with Bacon

• 1 pkt penne pasta (or large pasta elbows) Boil in salted water until tender but not mushy
• 200g pkt of middle bacon; microwave or grill bacon; remove rind and chop into roughly 1cm squares

Cheese Sauce:

2 Tablespoons of butter (or low fat spread)

3 Tablespoons (approx) of white flour enough to mix to a paste with butter
Milk (approx 4 cups)
Salt to taste
Grated cheese (a couple of handfuls, plus some more for on top)

 Melt the butter in a saucepan, add the flour and mix to a paste (a "roux"); add milk slowly, mixing as you go to avoid lumps (for guaranteed no-lumps use a whisk).

Heat and stir continuously until the sauce thickens then add grated cheese.

Drain cooked pasta and stir cheese sauce and bacon through.

Tip the pasta mixture into a large baking dish, sprinkle with more grated cheese and bake at 180oC  for 10 minutes or until cheese is golden and bubbling.

Enjoy a meal where no-one complains and everyone eats everything on their plate!

(Serve with veges or salad if you must)

Loving... NOT Loving...

I am loving so many things right now. My list is as long as my arm. But here's my top five...

I am LOVING the Library. I am loving how much my boy is loving the Library. I am loving that he asks to go so he can find books "with information" about Dinosaurs. I am loving that he chooses a book each for his brother and sister. I love his choices. I love that he is excited about reading and books. I am also loving this pile by my bed; some books read and loved, some waiting to be read. Books are friends. I am LOVING books.

I am LOVING my Scraggy.
He is just too cute. I love his giggle/chortle/cackle. I love the way he comes running to me when he bumps himself so I can kiss it better. I love watching him LOVE cars. And trains. I love the way he plays (I am NOT loving the danger to life and limb from his random mini-vehicles parked all over the house).

I love my Scrag-gym workouts. He weighs a ton and is great resistance for leg-lifts! I love that he is feeding himself (but I am NOT loving cleaning up the mess). I love that he is growing up. But I am NOT loving that he is growing up too fast.

I am LOVING my roses. They smell so good. I am loving having cut flowers in the house. From my garden.

I am LOVING my neighbours. My big boy was off school yesterday with something dodgey going on in the tummy department. My lovely next-door neighbour, Michelle, took the Princess to school for me. My wonderful round-the-corner neighbour, Linda, picked up Princess after school and took her home for a play... and then sent this lovely dinner home with her. Angel food. I am LOVING that.

I am NOT loving having to get a specimen of Number Twos in this! Really, really NOT loving.

I am loving Gail.  Gail rocks. She thought up the Candy Exchange. She meets me for coffee at a moment's notice...

Then she organised a great night out with a bunch of friends, where we got to leave our "parent hats" at home. We went on the Ferry to Devonport. Me and Mr G made it with seconds to spare after our babysitter arrived 15 minutes before the ferry sailed. We caught every green light and managed to roll straight into a parking spot 200metres from the ferry terminal. We sprinted (until my lack of fitness made me have to walk or die) I waved at Mr G to run ahead and get tickets and limped as fast as I could the rest of the way. We made it just before they shut the gate. Our friends cheered us on as we raced up the gangplank. We had a great night, good food, good company, lots of laughs. I am LOVING lots of laughs. I am NOT loving my sad lack of fitness.

But I am loving my friend Gail.

What are YOU loving/not loving at the moment?

Drama with Keys

This morning, I was at our local Mall getting stuff for The Great Candy Exchange.* I also popped in to Stevens and scored some Christmas bargains. Oh yes I am so onto it today.

There I am, laden down with bags, pushing the stroller with my elbows and the Scrag has had enough of all this sitting lark and he starts to complain and demand my keys. You know me, anything for peace, right? So I hand him my keys and say, "Don't lose them Scrag, not like yesterday in Whitcoulls OK?" (I had to key-hunt yesterday after I let him play with them. I should have learnt.)

We make it to the car, plenty of time to make it home for my 10am appointment. I deposit my bags of goodies in the front seat, strap the Scrag (with keys) into his carseat, shut the door and... pop!

Scrag presses the remote lock on the key ring. He is locked in the car with the keys.

OK, don't panic, I think. I wave and point to the keys: "Push the button bub! Push the button!" I say hopefully through the glass (as if... He's 18 months old!) He waves the keys at me and giggles. What a fun game!

I try again. He waves the keys... if only I can get him to accidentally push that button again? Oops! He's dropped the keys.

Now what?

Phone the AA? Nope, no credit on my phone. And the darn Vodafone top-up menu has been out of order for a whole day. Phone Mr G. Yes, the Knight in Shining Armour! (I can phone his number but no-one else's)

I call the Man. He says He will call AA for me. Hang tight, he encourages.

Meanwhile Scrag doesn't think this game is much fun anymore. He is wriggling and complaining, trying to get out of his carseat, trying to open the door... his happy giggling has turned to tears of confusion, which quickly turn to distressed sobbing. I stand helplessly by, tapping on the window and trying to reassure him through the glass, "You're OK, bubba, mummy's here. The man is coming to let you out..."

10 minutes feels like an hour with my poor little man screaming inside the car. I feel helpless! (I am helpless)
I explain to curious passersby why I am standing outside the car with a screaming baby locked inside. I am not a car thief or a kidnapper!

At last the AA guy arrives. It takes him less than a minute to open the car. He shakes his head at me and gives me some sage advice: "Never let him have your keys!!"

Ahhh yes, thanks. I should have thought of that!

I give the Scrag some Candy to console him (luckily I happen to have some on hand...) Now I just hope he won't be traumatised for life by...

• cars
• carseats
• keys
• the AA man

That could really make things tricky.

The Great Candy Exchange is a cool thing Gail has dreamed up where a northern hemisphere blogger gets paired up with a southern hemisphere blogger and we send each other a bunch of candy: local specialities and treats. My Candy Buddy is Jenny, and I'm sending her these New Zealand favourites. Mmmmmm. Lucky you Jenny.

I Finally Signed Up...

Me and Exercise are sadly not on speaking terms. We should be, but somehow we just never made it past the introductions. If Exercise were nicer to me, I wouldn't give it the cold shoulder.

But sometimes Exercise is mean. It makes me all sweaty and breathless, and turns my face red. That's not Nice. I wish Exercise wouldn't do that.

There have been times in my life (a long long time ago) when me and Exercise were at least acquaintances... back in the days when I was dating Mr G, I thought Exercise was a good idea. Me and my hunny would even go Exercise together. But it didn't last. I got married, I looked great, I quit the Gym.

Other people seem to be able to get on OK with Exercise; I have friends who rave about it... Crazy. These are otherwise normal people.

But my big butt likes comfort. I guess that's why it's gotten so cushiony lately; I've been sitting on it way too much.

Mr G has just rejoined the gym. He is about to become buff and toned and trim. Oh man.

Now I have to do something... turning 40 in 10 days with a cushiony butt and squishy tummy and a buff-toned-trim hubby??

I'll be Mrs Bigbutt and he'll be Mr Fabulous.

Did I tell you what my son said to me the other week? He was puzzling over my photoshopped Party Picture (our heads on Abba's skinny bodies).

"Mum, this picture is a bit strange... Dad looks skinny... and he's not. And you look skinny too, and you're not either!"

Oh man. I'm just gonna have to get moving.

So I did it. I signed up for the Walking School Bus. One morning a week. Woohoo.

Hey, don't mock me! It's a start, right???