Blankety Blanks

I received some fantastic news from the doctor yesterday - I am shooting blanks. That's right people, there are no secrets on this blog.

Thrilled I wouldn't have to endure yet another vasectomy I raced into the lounge room to high five Tracey. But her response was a little less enthusiastic than I expected. She looked crestfallen.

"Aww....I think I'm a little disappointed."

"You're kidding me, right? So you wanted another kid?" Inside my head I'm thinking, 'but you insisted I do this - I had needles!'

"No, I don't want any more kids. But I think I like having the option. I like having the choice."

Me too - I am so pro-choice on this issue I'm thinking of making placards. I like choosing to limit our baby output to seven beautiful kids. If I was even five years younger, maybe I'd be keen to keep going. Even now I think of the kids we might have had in the several years after we married when we thought we couldn't afford to have kids yet - like you can EVER afford to have kids (best just to dive in and work out the finances later). I do like not having to tell my folks (and Tracey's folks) we're pregnant again - every time I feel like I'm a horny teenager confessing a teen pregnancy. They kind of stopped being SUPER excited after number 3. They still love having the little buggers once they're here though.

And of course there's the choice of not having to worry about contraception. Although with seven kids I guess it does beg the question, did we ever?

A Good Day

"You need to go have your whooping cough needle," Tracey told me this morning. It was the same thing she'd told me yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, and every day back to before our little Miss0 was born.

As I see it, I have a healthy and rational fear of needles. Healthy because there is absolutely no way I'll ever become a junkie. Rational because it makes complete sense to want to avoid something which friggin well hurts.

There have been times, I'll admit, when it has caused me some discomfort. Like when I needed a camera tube fed down my throat, into my gullet, so the docs could see if I had an ulcer. A friend with a similar needle-phobia told me he had the procedure without the sleep inducing jab, so I told the doc I didn't want it either.

Fully conscious they inserted the tube down my throat and took pictures and samples while I physically aged, my only consolation being that old mate had gone through this before me and he was fine. It was uncomfortable. It was brutal. It was hell.

Of course, when I saw him a few weeks later and he inquired how it had gone I told him I also went through it without a needle.

"So you had the gas," he said.

"The what the?' I asked.

"The gas. To put you out." Dang.

That was the last time I ever had any procedure without whatever the hell drugs they wanted to give me.

I know where my fear of needles stems from - those arm killing tetanus shots. And do you know what they mix the whooping cough vaccination in with. You guessed it. So I've been trying to think of reasons I can do without it.

"Did you see how many needles I had during and after the birth?" Tracey demanded of me this morning.

"Yes," I admitted, "but you wanted them." When she balked at that I continued. "I was there so you can't pretend otherwise," I told her. "They asked you if you wanted them and you said yes. I definitely don't want this so it's very different."

Needless to say, shortly after this I went to the doctors for my needle.

When I arrived home, Tracey was very sympathetic.

"How'd you go?" she beamed at me.

"Great," I beamed back at her. "I didn't need it. I'm up to date. I had them when Miss2 was born."

Tracey was clearly thrilled for me. "You shit!"

Furthermore the doc said I wouldn't need any sort of a booster shot now until the grandkids start arriving, so I've decided I'm going to start giving Master20 & Miss17 condoms for Christmases and Birthdays. Hopefully that'll buy me a decade.

Bruce's Beer Battered Fish

Tracey called me into the lounge room earlier to watch Justine, from Masterchef fame, cook some fish and next thing you know I'm at the supermarket picking out four nice size slabs of dory (just keep swimming). She so owns me right now.

We don't like to have fish at night because Master6 has a sensitivity to it and he takes offence to us eating it in front of him, like we're not being very considerate. So holiday, weekday, lunch time fish is a real treat.

You will need:

Fish, 4 fillets
Beer, up to one carton
Self raising flour, 2 cups
Salt, pinch or two
Egg, one
Oil to deep fry
Someone to pick up kids from school

This is so easy. Seriously. You'll wonder why you haven't done it before.

Start heating up the oil.

Separate one cup of flour into two bowls. Set one aside. Into other bowl add the pinch of salt. Make a well in salted flour and start adding the beer until it's got a nice runny consistency, probably less than one stubby. Now add the egg and beat for thirty seconds.

Dip strips of the fish into the bowl with flour and then into the bowl with the beer batter and finally drop it carefully into the oil to cook. When batter goes a nice golden colour the fish is done. Remove and set aside onto paper towels to drain. Repeat until all fish strips are cooked.

I like to eat with a wedge of lemon, some nice aioli and remainder of beer. Finally, collapse on lounge and snooze.

My Fairy Tale Life Begins

All those fairy tales and stories we hear when we're kids - did you ever wish one of them was true? Did Cinderella, Snow White or Peter Pan fill your dreams? I know I would lie in bed and think about Peter Pan all the time (that's come out wrong - for me that story was all about Wendy - hey, I was a boy).

Fairy tale characters got all the good stuff - pumpkin coaches and magic lassos. Think of the fun stuff Jack brought down his beanstalk. Not that I would have achieved all that Jack did because I'm scared of heights and my feet wouldn't have left dirtside, let alone made it all the way up to the castle in the clouds. But I would have loved the treasures he found - the magic harp and the hen which lays the golden eggs. Mainly the hen. And I say found, but lets face it, he stole them. Then killed the owner. It's not great on morals, this story.

Actually now that I think of it I'm pretty sure the magic lasso was from Wonder Woman. Wendy was primary school, Wonder Woman was more early teens. But I digress.

Well anyway it seems some of my childhood wishes are coming true. At bath time tonight, I was undressing Miss2 when all my prayers were answered. I lowered her nappy and a couple of dollar coins fell out.

I stared at them on the bathroom floor for all of two seconds before I realized what was going on.

"Good news, honey!" I called out to Tracey. "This one's shitting money!"

I've already married my princess and now it looks like a bit of bran and the money side of things is taken care of too.

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Secret Squirrel Meat Pies

We're always looking for new things to do with mince - simple things and cheap things.  Secret Squirrel Meat Pies fits the bill. The secret is these pies are full of vegetables - potato, pumpkin, onion, peas and carrot. And yet the kids still love them. In fact they can't get enough of them - usually three a piece with a promise of more for school lunch the next day. Fortunately, this recipe makes 24 pies.

Please note, while there are secret vegetables, there is no actual squirrel in these pies: it's just a name.

400gms beef mince
8 sheets puff pastry
1 onion
1 tablespoon garlic
1/2 grated carrot
1/4 cup frozen peas
3 medium sized potatoes
Small wedge of pumpkin
Five tablespoons tomato sauce
Five tablespoons BBQ sauce
Double dash of red wine
Dash of Worcestershire sauce

Boil the potato and pumpkin. Meanwhile brown onion and mince, then add garlic, carrot, peas, tomato sauce, BBQ sauce, Worcestershire sauce and red wine: stirring over a low heat for a couple of minutes. Turn off heat and allow to sit while you mash the potato and pumpkin.

Cut rounds of pastry to fit into cups in a couple of muffin trays. Add a tablespoon of mince mix and a tablespoon of potato mix. Using a smaller round of pastry add a top to the pies - don't worry too much about crimping the edges together cause they seem to come out fine when they're cooked. Add a couple of slits to top of pies with a knife and brush with milk.

Cook pies in oven at 180 degrees for ten minutes, or until pie pastry is browning and your mouth waters when you look at them.

Allow to cool. Serve. Accept praise.

And if they still suspect pie is full of nutritious goodness, smother in sauce.

A Beautiful Thing

Not sure where this has come from, but Miss4 came wandering and singing into our bedroom this morning at some unsightly hour, looking under cushions and inside wardrobes. As she searched a pile of my t-shirts was growing on the floor.

We watched her and listened to her singing for a bit before asking what she was up to.

"I'm looking for money," she told us without a pause in her search.

"Why?" I asked.

"Cause I want to buy a beautiful thing," she sang.

"What beautiful thing?" I asked.

"A mermaid tale, which glitters in the sun, and glimmers and shimmers," she told us.

A worthy quest, young lady. Search on.

Of course, with the impending baby your mother hasn't worked for the last two months so you'll be lucky to find a dollar in this house at the moment, but it's important to dream.

Budgeting for a new baby is always difficult, first baby or seventh. Actually maybe I should say second baby or seventh because the upheaval of that first child, in terms of finances, emotions and lifestyle is something which needs to be experienced to be truly understood.

Tracey and I put off having kids for several years because we were worried we weren't financially ready. My god, how many could we have ended up with?! In the end we just bit the bullet and said we were having a kid and that was it. It worked out. Just like now: it's working out.

Things are starting to settle down a bit now, although it's the calm before the storm - I'm only off work for another week and a half. Tracey's mum takes over then. Not that I'm saying she's the storm - I think I better change topic now.

I've been enjoying doing all the cooking and cleaning (well, I'm not as good as Tracey but I try) while Tracey focuses on her booby-duties and lack of sleep. It reminds of when I was a single dad with Master20 and Miss17. In some ways they were the most fulfilling of my life.

Wouldn't want them back for all the tea in china though, so I guess I better sharpen up my housecleaning skills. I might start by folding that pile of t-shirts on our bedroom floor and putting them back in the wardrobe.

If I'm lucky I might even find a dollar. That would be a beautiful thing.

Sometimes it's really hard to say no to your kids. Sometimes, not so much.

I should have known something was a little odd when the birthday party invite came home from school on Friday and Miss8 told us the party was on Saturday, the very next day.

"No, the party is a month away," Tracey told her. This is February and the invite said the party was on the 4th of March.

"Nooooo. It's tomorrow," insisted Miss8. So Tracey rang and it was indeed the next day.

A mother a little unsure of the date, let alone her daughter's birthday, should possibly have signaled something wasn't quite right.

Now I'm tired: having a new baby in the house, even one as perfect and gorgeous as ours, zaps the patience right out of you. So maybe I'm overreacting here. You be the judge.

Because Cousin4 was also having his fifth birthday on Saturday, Miss8 and Master6 slept over at his home Friday night, meaning we had to drive out to their property to bring Miss8 back into town for her friend's party. This meant, because things are all a bit cloudy and unorganized at the moment, we were a bit late (nearly an hour?). I apologized.

"That's alright," said the mother, greeting me at the door at 11.30am with a rum in her hand. "We ain't started yet. I know the invite says we'll finish at 12.30 but you can leave her till one, or one-thirty, or two if you like."

Now I'm not saying I've never had a beer at my kids' party. In fact, it might be closer to the truth to say I've never not had a beer at my kids' party. But in the am? Plus there's usually other more responsible parents, like Tracey, in the vicinity.

"I'll be here at 12.30," I assured her. I would have stayed except I'd left Tracey and the other kids back at the property and I really needed to go get them.

When we arrived to pick Miss8 up, though, there was a problem.

"We ain't had the cake yet," the birthday girl's mother told us. "Come back in half an hour."

I dropped the family home and went back down.

"They're round 'ere somewhere," the woman assured me. She turned to her other daughter. "Are the girls out the back yard?"

"No," the older sibling said, pointing over my shoulder: that is to say, in the exact opposite direction of the back yard. "They've gone for a walk."

I'm sorry?

I spotted them a hundred meters down the road. The four young girls were hardly hidden, the way they were hogging the center of the road as they laughed and meandered away from the house.

"Just drive down and pick 'er up," suggested the woman.

I opted to bellow my daughters name instead: so furious I couldn't even turn to face the woman who had let my daughter wander off down the street while she was in charge. Not only let her wander off, but had no idea the kids were even missing.

When I later asked Miss8 where they were going she told me to the park around the corner. That would be the park, I might add, which has been featuring fairly heavily in the local rag for a recent suspected abduction attempt of a twelve year old boy.

Once she was back at the house, and having grabbed her shoes and lolly bag, Miss8 raced out of the house full to bursting with excitement.

"I can sleep over tonight!" she exclaimed.

Let me assure you, this was not one of those times when it was difficult to say no.

Homecoming

Miss0 working the camera - she's a natural

Leaving Tracey's ward at the hospital I nearly managed to trip over the suitcase Tracey was pulling down the hall, instead brushing against the wall and sending a couple of dozen brochures zipping across the floor. Not a great start, I thought to myself. Fortunately things went smoother after that and we managed to arrive home with Miss0 free of bruises and still sleeping.

Our new little wonder has arrived home and is fitting into our routine remarkably well - that is to say, it's added to the overall sense of bedlam here. Last night I slept on the lounge, in our bed, on the lounge and in Master6's bed. In that order. Master6 ended up on the lounge, but attempted to jump in our bed at around 2am. Not because he's needy but simply because he was sleep walking.

This morning, while Tracey fed Miss0 and Miss2 fed her dolly, I walked to school with Miss4, Master6 and Miss8. It soon became apparent something was playing on their collective minds.

"When is mummy bringing the baby to class?" Miss4 wanted to know, and the other two confirmed the urgency of the question. Apparently their teachers are very keen for us to go in. Methinks perhaps my kids are projecting. Tracey is looking at going in Monday to show off their new little sister. Miss2 will be in daycare for the day so that will make things easier. So in a few days we'll have that particular hurdle behind us.

Everywhere I go around G-town I've been inundated with well wishes the last couple of days - that's what I especially love about life in a small town: you're a someone with a name. People know you: people care.

Which is just as true of the hospital staff - from the midwives to the tea lady.

She's got my chins

The staff at the Gympie Hospital have been their usual wonderful selves. I've had three kids delivered (me playing support) in private hospitals over the years - Master20, Miss8 and Master6 - but the level of experience up at our local hospital always reigns superior. Four of my kids were delivered into the world by Gympie Hospital staff - Miss17, Miss4, Miss2 and now Miss0. They just know their stuff. A big thank you to Melissa and Angela for their help during the delivery. And to all the lovely ladies up there, and especially the beautiful Betty Smith, who is just a wealth of knowledge and well of confidence for mothers.

Back on the home front, Miss8 has been teasing her little brother a bit about there being another girl in the house. At least she tried. Master6 wouldn't have a bar of it.

"I don't care that she's a girl because all that matters is she's my sister and she's okay." Stick that up your shirt and scratch, Miss8.

Not sure how much sense my posts will make in the coming six weeks. It's always horrid and tiring, and it's off to the fairly standard start already. So forgive me a few spelling and grammatical errors (like you don't already). Likewise, I'm sorry if I miss a day or several. I've an idea the posts will probably follow basic format anyway - me gushing over my new little daughter.

And for that I make no apologies at all.

Miss17 with Miss0

Master6 with Miss0

My favourite Caesar Salad

There are probably a few dozen different Caesar Salad variations about. Every restaurant seems to have their own idea about what's in it and how it's represented - Sometimes the egg is in the dressing: sometimes the egg is soft boiled and tossed in with the croûtons and bacon: sometimes the bacon is chicken.

I found this recipe in The Backyard Barbecue Cookbook a few years ago and I've been pretending I invented it ever since.

You will need:

white bread - a few slices, chop into small cubes
bacon, 4 rashers, rough chopped
cos lettuce, at least one, chopped up into largish pieces
Parmesan cheese, 50g, shaved
anchovies, 4, chopped
egg, 1
lemon juice, 2 tablespoons
garlic, 1 clove, crushed
olive oil, 1/2 cup

Crisp the cubed bread in the oven - 190 degrees for 15 minutes should do it, but keep an eye on them so they don't burn. You want them just brownish, like toast. Crisp bacon over stove and drain on paper towels. Mix lettuce, cooled bacon and bread croûtons in a bowl.

I make the dressing in a bowl with a spoon and a whisk because I like my dressing to be rustic with chunky bits of anchovy, but you can use a processor if you like. Mix anchovies, egg & lemon juice. When blended, continue to process, or whisk, and add the olive oil in steady stream. When Drizzle over the lettuce mix.

I warn you, you will not make this recipe once. My kids love this Caesar Salad and if I want Master20 to stay for dinner on a Saturday night I tell him I'm making this.

Quote of the Day

"Alright," said Tracey as I started outside to mow the yard. "Well I'm not going to interrupt you. But before I do that let me tell you about what I've been doing."