Thursday, December 07, 2006

Domestically Challenged (to put an optimistic spin on it)

Look at the sad little batch of cookies I made with Sapphire on the weekend. Could they be any more retarded - and the recipe was from her school's 'beginner book' which was sold as a fundraiser this year!

Somehow we must have got the proportion of butter to flour a bit mixed up because they started out as rather rock-like spoonfuls barely touching the tray to a colony of pizza-for-one shaped bathroom tiles that scared us when they emerged from the oven. The photo on the left shows them separated, but, together they were not unlike the pebble-dashed cement render of my old 1970s classroom walls.

Oh well, at least they tasted OK - if you kept your eyes closed - and even my mates at Saturday's quiz night politely took a mouthful, chewed thoughtfully for an agonized second or two before washing it down with a mug of shiraz.

This orange square on the left is - if you squint - a rather intimate study of Dogadoo's footprints, planted onto the verandah exactly three minutes after Love Chunks had just finished painting.

He had been so proud of his work - the floor did look splendid with the glossy, rust-coloured lacquer until..... Sapphire opened the front door and Dogadoo automatically ran up to greet her; running in happy little circles, tail wagging frantically and unwittinglt decorating the sticky paint with her paw prints. Uncharacteristically, I remained silent, too afraid to see if LC was angry, furious or just plain cross.

Luckily, he was amused. "That's what she's all about - love. If Sapphire appears, she'll immediately rush over. Serves me right for calling you round to have a look and expecting Dogadoo to read the 'Wet Paint' sign.

Despite this, our furry faced friend was still perceptive enough to get the impression that she wasn't exactly flavour of the month around our house that day, and retreated to the serenity of her doghouse. Well, for five minutes at most, because she's utterly incapable of sulking when there's people coming and going; ripe plums falling off the tree to throw, chase and chew; birds to scare off and a trampoline to sunbake on.

On to less furry family members. Here we have a rare picture of Sapphire, looking rather uncertain that her brand new karate gi was the right fit. They tend to come in a 'one size fits all' variety which is fantastic for adults because we all tend to look like sugar bags with belts, but for kids it requires........ sewing.

I failed sewing at school. Me, a class goody goody, hated sewing and I delayed, chattered, goofed off and lingered over the materials long enough for an entire term of Home Economics to avoid even having to thread a bobbin. What is a bobbin anyway? This scored me a 'F' for that term, yet somehow I ended up with a 'B' for the year - my charcoaled chook leg with vegemite coated vegetables (as my creative substitute for soy sauce) must have really wowed them, as did my currant buns that had inflated to the size of party balloons.

Back to the sewing issue - this outfit was going to need some serious work on the hems and my mother (sewing goddess, wardrobe mistress for local musicals, made all of my party dresses growing up and capable of stitching on several hundred sequins quicker than typing it out) was not around before our next karate class. I was seriously entertaining the idea of just stapling up the legs and arms, but realised that rust marks would eventually show when the hem needed to be lowered. Damn.

Several hours later, the hems were done. Sure, they might look as though I did them whilst trapped on the top loop of the Mad Mouse rollercoaster ride, but at least Sapphire can now do a roundhouse kick without catching her foot in her trousers and flipping herself over like a beetle on the floor.

So, is there anything domestic I can do properly? **Sigh**, the washing. Six loads (for only a three person household) seem to magically make their way from the hamper, to the machine, the clothesline before being mysteriously folded, ironed and put back into their place of origin. It seems to take me all bloody weekend to do, but sadly, no-one tends to fling open their top drawer and yell out excitedly, "Woo Hoo! Clean jocks - you are FABULOUS, MillyMoo, just amazing!" Nor does anyone kneel at my feet in gratitude for remembering to take tissues out of trouser pockets before doing a dark load or my ability to hang up the loads according to family member or location (ie sports gear here, Sapphire's stuff over here, LC's gardening clothes up this end....') Yes, I do recognise how pathetic this skill is, especially when I am still incapable of being able to turn the key into the front door lock without trying both directions at least twice, and having to ask LC to help me use the kick-stand on my bicycle.....

Naturally, there's about a 20-part series of blogs about how wonderful LC is with cooking, cleaning, gardening, parenting and helping when I'm ill, but they're for another day and would be completely out of place here today. **Sigh**


Anonymous said...

"COOKIES" ??? In Australia they're called "BISCUITS" - I'm disappointed in your use of Americanisms Milly Moo!!!

Anonymous said...

Millo moo, maybe you should go on strike!! Everyone would then realise how important or significant your contribution is when they cannot find a clean pair of socks or undies.

Milly Moo said...

To both Anonymouses (Anonymi?)

Thanks for your recognition of the importance of clean undies - no-one on this earth wants to be called SKID MARK for the wrong reason and
Yes, I said 'cookies' instead of biscuits. May my entrails be used to wire Telstra's new rural network and my brain be covered in velvet for you to rest your feet on as a pouffe

Anonymous said...

instead of sewing you could've used a roll of plumber's '2 minutes 100 miles/hr tape' for Carly's karate kid uniform. Doubles up as a belt too.