Stonewalled

She was parked where the red Rav4 is in this photo,
only with two less wheels on the bitumen

Finding a car park outside my favourite cafe is hard. It must be. Seems every time I sit down to eat there lately someone is out to entertain me by doing it wrong. Firstly there was the parking incident a few months ago, and now this.


Miss17 and I were having lunch today when our chat was suddenly severed by scrapping metal and a loud bang. Across the road a car had reversed parked into a parked car, which in turn slammed into another parked car. But the poor driver didn't stop there: ending up with her rear end mounted halfway up a stone wall at a jaunty angle the city town planners hadn't considered.

"Is Grandad joining us?" I asked Miss17. When my parents buy a car they never want a new model: They want something with parts and panels readily available from the wreckers. My dad's driving is worse than mine, which is saying something, and parking his car seems to be a particularly hazardous task. 

Tracey can't sleep in the car when I'm driving, even on long trips. She bleats on about at least one of us needing to watch the road. 


"Left! Right!" she'll snap as we drive around town, like I have no idea where we're going. Seriously, we live in a town, not a city. It takes five minutes to drive from one end to the other, and only because there are a couple sets of lights.

Although I will say, if Tracey and I entered Targa Tasmania, I think we'd turn some heads, with Tracey, as my navigator, barking out directions from beside me. "Left! Right! Left in three, two,one!" Yep, we'd do well  - until we went through a built up area.


"Did you see the wallpaper in that house, Tracey? That's the sort of thing I've been trying to expl....."

 "Brake!!"

And for us the race would be over. Well, for us, someone's cat and a power pole.

Miss17 and I raced across the road and found a lady with her head in her hands.

"Are you alright?" I asked. Turned out she was, but the old dear was in a real dither. Traffic was still pouring past. As her hands were shaking I tapped on her window to get her attention, suggesting she turn the car off-

-and immediately jumped back as the car rolled forward, threatening to make roadkill of my feet.

"And put the handbrake on!" I yelped, banging on her window again.

For the safety of all feet concerned, we encouraged her from the driver's seat and I drove the car down off the wall. That bit was hell fun. If Tracey was there she could have been yelling navigational instructions at me like, "Dismount!" That would have made it funner.

Then Miss17 and I set about calming the dear down.

"It's okay. No-one was hurt. You're not hurt. They're only cars," we told her. "And they're all old cars too, so there'll be lots of parts available from the wreckers."

"You don't understand," she moaned.

"But I do understand," I reassured her. "You're upset. But no-one is hurt. That bump on your head will buff out. It's all good."

"No, you don't understand," she repeated, and I wondered if sounding like a broken record was maybe a sign she'd hit her head too hard afterall: but then I remembered how many times I bark the same threats at my kids any given day.

Finally she explained - it wasn't because she'd damaged two other cars, or she was embarrassed with everyone looking on, or she wasn't insured, or she wouldn't be able to afford the repairs, or her husband was going to ridicule her. The problem was a matter of poor timing.

As she explained, "I only picked the car up from the panel shop an hour ago."


Like this whole thing wasn't funny enough (for us).


Oh, and she may be wrong about the ridicule. I know for absolute certainty if I'd mounted our car like a prize salmon Tracey would give me merry hell for the rest of my life.






Our Faceboook Page

Take the lead

We've always encouraged our kids to use school to try everything. Music, public speaking, chess, sport - whatever they're offering, put your hand up and give it a go. How else do you find out if you like doing stuff?

Given the number of times Master20 came home saying he was trying out for something or other he just about walked around school with his arm in the air.

"I'm in the school play!" he announced excitedly one night.

"That's fantastic," I told him. I was in school plays when I was at school - usually up in the rafters helping with the lighting and trying to look down the girls' tops. "What are you doing? Props? Seating?"

"I got the lead."

There was a substantial pause at this point. The main thing which was going through my head had to do with the fact this was to be a musical.

Cause I'm an ass I asked, "Have they heard you sing yet?" The bathroom used to be directly off the kitchen. We'd all heard Master20 sing. My oldest son could guest spot the segment on Spicks & Specks where someone does a performance of a well known song, which almost sounds like the original, and everyone has to try guess which it is. I love my son, but he may as well attempt to hold steam as hold a tune.

"Sure did. We had auditions the other day."

I tugged a little on my ear and thought about this some more.

"So....they've actually heard you sing?"

"Tracey helped me chose a song. I did Joy To The World. Want to hear it?"

"No!!" I turned to my good wife. "Oh my God, Tracey, what have you done?"

"Well thanks for your support, Dad," Master20 had said. He seemed a bit crushed at my assessment of his inability to sing. I didn't understand. I assumed he knew.

Rather than ask if lip syncing was an option I asked, "What's the play?"

"The Pajama Game."

Which was a really, really good thing. If he'd been singing songs people (thought) they knew there might have been trouble. As it was they didn't know the songs he was slaughtering so no damage was done, except maybe to their eardrums.

I'll say this, his was the standout performance.

I truly love my eldest's attitude to giving things a red hot go, even if sometimes his father is an ass about it.



BFLI Facebook page

Happy as a clan

"I'm bored," said Master7 as we drove out of G-town.

Tracey looked at me, suddenly tired despite the clock reading 8.30am. "Only an hour until we get there."

I tried to engage the kids in a game involving licence plates.

"Can't we just play punch buggy?" asked Miss8. Any opportunity to thump a sibling.

The one moment of respite on the trip down was when we we were treated to perhaps the most magnificent rainbow I've ever seen. Master7 was so impressed he immediately threw us into a BCF tv advertisement.


"Now THIS is living!" he announced. 


The reason we were heading out of town was for a little reunion with my Uncle James & Auntie Madeline's side of the family. My father & James come from an extended family of seven kids (my mum is one of five). And while my parents had three kids, James and his lovely wife had six, so I feel a deep emotional connection with them - I think it's called sympathy. 


All up a group of 25 Devereaux's converged on a park and fish & chip shop at Mooloolabah. Sadly some family members were away in Victoria or North Queensland, but then if everyone turns up you've got no-one to whinge about.


The weather could only be described as beautiful, if we were meeting in Hobart. As we were in Mooloolabah, it was crappy, with any occasional bits of blue sky quickly chased away by wind and rain. 


We're always telling Miss17 she doesn't dress to the weather, but she never listens. The most important thing is to look good - the high price of fashion is goosebumps followed by a week of sore throats and a runny nose. 


"I'm soooo cold," she complained to me at the park, rudely using my XXL body as a windbreak.


"Really? It's not like you to dress inappropriately," I lied. So Miss17, she who must always look worthy of strangers' cat calls and her father's frowns, spent the day with a baby blanket wrapped around her shoulders. It's a wonder the fashion police haven't locked her up and thrown away the key. I know it's a scenario I've entertained more than once.


After we'd eaten our fish and chips a couple of fire engines arrived for a meet and greet with the public and the kids quickly hurried over. I think my cousin, Danielle, was a little disappointed with the fire brigade. I think she expected their equipment to be more impressive. This is the problem with those Firefighter's Calenders, they do raise one's expectations.


Growing up in South East Queensland, it was Uncle James & Auntie Madeline's kids we most often caught up with for family get-togethers. Now we've all grown up (and in my case, out) it's nice to introduce our kids to each other and reconnect. This is our second gathering in as many years, and if the happy faces and warm embraces were anything to go by, it won't be the last.

Not only is this living, this is what life is all about.

What's this look, Miss17? Baby Chic?

Master7 and Grandma pose for a photo while I demonstrate I forgot
to ask Tracey 'do I look fat in this?' before we left the house. On the
bright side, I made the firefighters look almost calender worthy.

My parents - Geoff & Judy

Not my parents - Uncle James
& Auntie Madeline

The cousins, playing together :/

Makin' Bacon

Today we went halves in a pig with another big family. We've got a freezer full of mince, chops, roasts and bacon, and some of the best ham I've ever tasted taking up most of one shelf in the fridge.

The total cost was $200 a family and came in just under $8 a kilo - a huge saving.

Which is important if you intend cooking any of Karen Martini's recipes. 

Tracey loves Better Homes & Gardens, and I must admit it's nice watching all the decorating tips and tricks and knowing our house is but a half day of give-a-damn away from being something really special.

Part of the fun of watching Better Homes is the Karen Martini cooking segment. We LOVE how simple her recipes are. We make a game of it, with the whole family sitting and counting how many ingredients her 'simple' recipes have. Like tonight's - 20! Including home staples like saffron. 

We had pork chop tonight. With sides of mash and greens we counted seven ingredients, including salt & pepper.

I do wonder how much money these telly chefs think we spend on an average meal. Fifty dollars? Sixty? And don't forget to use a good quality wine in your cooking. The hell we will! If there's a good wine in the house the first thing I'm doing is pushing the bottle to the back of the cupboard where no-one will find it. Only then will I try and work out who left it here.

While Karen Martini's recipes do look fantastic (and we've decided to have a month of cooking one of her creations a week) we're more Fast Ed sort of people.

Actually, we're more 4 Ingredients sort of people.

But regardless of who's book we're leafing through, for the next couple of weeks I think we'll be focusing on pork recipes.

Link over and like our Facebook page :)

Boys & Their Toys

What is it about boys and their wee little toys?

My youngest son likes to use his as a periscope when he's in the bath. At least, I think that's what he thinks he's doing.

This afternoon, a friend of mine was telling me a story about his youngest son, Boy6.

It's school holidays, so while mum was in the office their two sons, aged 8 and 6, were amusing themselves in the yard with bikes and play equipment.

They have a large, neatly lawned property - just perfect for racing around and kicking balls and playing.  It's nothing for the boys to spend hours outside. There's heaps of stuff to do.

Like waving at the passing cars.

It was his Nanny who stumbled across Boy6. As she drove up to their property she saw a kid in her daughter's driveway jumping up and down and wiggling his hips at the passing cars.


"What's that bugger up to?" she thought as she approached.

As she turned into the drive she realized exactly what he was doing, because her grandson was also butt naked. The jumping and wiggling was to animate his wanga.

One of the hardest things to do when faced with a situation like this is to not laugh. But Nanny wasn't new to dealing with wayward boys. Instead of getting him dressed and back inside she put him to work weeding the garden. And because he was embracing a naturalist lifestyle, she let him do it naked.

So why was Boy6 flipping his dinky at passing cars? 


Well I guess when you've got such a fun toy you want to show it off - and let's face it, hardly anyone passes by while you're in the bath.



Link to our Facebook page :) Just saying.

Disney On (Thin) Ice

On the weekend we took the little kids to Disney On Ice. Like the Halloween segment of the show, the day was a freaking nightmare.

There was me freaking out because we arrived late: an overtired Miss2 freaking out to the point where we decided she shouldn't go in: Miss5 freezing mid-stride at the entrance because when the doors opened the cold air freaked her out: Master7 freaking out because our cheap seats were so high up he thought he was going to fall.

You know, the usual special day out for the Devereaux's.

In the end we solved a lot of the problems by ringing up Master20 and having him and his girlfriend take the three little kids in while we took the youngest two to the park.

With all this 'fun', Disney has been on the kids minds a bit this week, with Miss5 playing Tinkerbell games and Miss8 watching snippets of the show on Youtube and reliving the experience. The only one the show hadn't seemed to overly effect was Master7. 


Or so we thought.


With Cousin8 and Cousin5 spending some holiday at our place while their parents work, Tracey has been thinking up things for them all to do: so the place doesn't sink into anarchy. This afternoon she printed out drawings of Disney characters for everyone to sit around a table and colour in. She was a little amused when Master7 and Cousin8 picked out a sheet with princesses on it and started to colour it in together. Twenty minutes later they started colouring a second drawing, and Tracey was near enough to overhear the conversation.


"I loved the pattern we did on that one," said Master7.


"Me too," agreed Cousin8.


"Should we do it again like that?"


"Yeah, I think so," said Cousin8, and they bent over the sheet with their pens.


The boys were right: they're beautiful. Tonight we were having a giggle and looking at their efforts while Tracey told us the story. 


"They sounded like...like..," Tracey tried to find the right word.

"...like truck drivers?" Cousin8's father asked hopefully.

Yep, sounds to me like we've got a couple of truck drivers on our hands because truck drivers, like tuna fishermen, are renowned for their keen sense of fashion.

The skeleton drawings, on the other hand, were being coloured in by Miss5. This was even more of a surprise because once inside the Disney On Ice stadium and seated, things settled down for all of ten seconds before Miss5 noticed there were skeletons in the show and flipped her lid.


"They're not real," her big brother assured her.


"Yes they are!" she screamed at him. Pointing at the costumed people skating around the stage she added, "They're right there!!"


You just can't argue with that sort of logic. And because Tracey and I were at the park drinking coffee, we didn't have to :)

Gosh it's freaking nice when something works out right.

Up the creek

This morning, after taking care of the chores around the farm with his wife and son, a client of mine arrived back at the house for a quick clean up before heading into town. He ducked to the bathroom while the family took a load off their feet and made a cuppa. 

Shortly, my farmer mate joined his family in the kitchen, a towel wrapped around his waist.

“No water,” he told his wife and son. “The pumps not working.”

Despite not having a shower he changed into his good shirt, trousers and shoes and drove everyone down to the creek on the tractor.

Turned out, to fix the pump, someone needed to walk into the creek. Unfortunately for this unlucky person the thermometer registered 1 degree this morning. As my mate watched from the tractor a heated argument broke out on the banks of the creek as his missus and their boy ‘discussed’ who was going in. In the end, Rock Scissors Paper decided and his wife lost. She needed to wade in till the water met her belly button - and then bend over.

“My wife would have pushed me in the creek," I told him. "Roughly." I didn't say she'd have laughed while she was at it, but anyone who knows Tracey would see this as a given. "How the hell did you get away with her going in instead of you?"

"I was sitting on the tractor in my town clothes," he said, matter-of-factly. 

"So your advice is ‘always overdress for the occasion’?” I asked. 

“My advice is 'don’t get off the tractor'.”




Click over to our Facebook page :)

Smokehouse

When I first saw this photo on Facebook I thought
someone had gone overboard with the vegemite.

Isn't it a joy when young sprogs start to make their own breakfast, allowing their parents an extra fifteen minutes of snooze time.

Our bedroom is off the dining room and the sweetest sound in the world is our little munchkins spilling milk and breaking plates while we shove our heads even further into our pillows and pretend they're doing fine. It's very refreshing.

Friends of ours posted this photo on Facebook yesterday of their son's breakfast. They didn't wake to the sound of breaking plates and dropped bowls of milk. Oh no, they woke to the refreshing sound of smoke alarms and the smell of burning.

Batteries can be removed, but the smell of burnt toast took over two hours to leave the kitchen.

"What were you thinking?" Dave asked his son while they opened windows and started the fans - cause that's what you want to do on a winter's morning, isn't it, get a breeze going. "How many times did you push the toast down?"

"Three." But he'd also turned the dial all the way to dark.

I know what he was thinking. Cooking bread once makes toast, which tastes great. Therefore, cooking bread three times will make awesome toast. There's a certain logic there which I think needs to be applauded and encouraged. Once the smell goes.

"And you!" Dave asked his oldest daughter. "Didn't you see the smoke?"

"Yep," she answered him. She could hardly have missed it. There isn't a smoke alarm in the kitchen area. To reach the alarm the smoke had to firstly fill the kitchen ceiling cavity enough to duck under top of the door frame and then waft it's way down the hall.

"And you saw what was causing all the smoke?"

"Yep," she answered him. She was sitting at the dining table watching him while she ate.

"And what did you do?"

"Nothing," she told him. 

"Nothing?"

"No wait," she said, thinking of something. "I ate my toast." 

What a trooper. Even in the face of disaster she kept her head and thought to finish the most important meal of the day.

You possibly won't be surprised to learn, in the interests of snatching that elusive fifteen minutes of extra sleep on weekends, the toaster now lives on the dresser beside Mum & Dad's bed.

Next to the kettle, waffle maker and the electric knife.

Join us on our Facebook page :)

Dry July

You know how when you have some annoying job around the house that needs doing and you think to yourself, I'll do that next time I'm on holidays? Then the holiday comes and you've made this promise to yourself, and if you're really silly, your wife, and so you've got to do it.

Last week, while I was sitting drinking a stubby on the lounge watching Top Gear, Tracey said to me, "So it's July next month."

"You're all over it," I replied.

"Still think you can go a whole month without a drink?"

Damn! I'd forgotten about that.

When I heard about the Dry July concept I thought it sounded great. 

"I'm going to do that," I said to Tracey at the time. That was my mistake - if I'd kept it to myself I'd be having Scotch & Dry July instead.

"Why?" she asked. "Why would you want to do that?"

Because I want to give my liver a break. Because I want to prove to myself I can. Because abstinence makes the heart grow fonder. "Just because," I told her.

And, well, it was March when we had this conversation: July seemed so very far away.

Worst thing is, I've even got a week off work in July which I'd normally use to polish off a carton, but now I don't know what I'll do.

Tracey has that covered.

"Don't forget you promised me you'd paint the fence these holidays."

Damn! I made that promise back in February.

Join us on our Facebook page :)

Ten Things I Want To Tell New Parents

1. ADVICE. Everyone from your mother to your mother-in-law, from your butcher to odd strangers wearing tea-cosies on their heads in the street, will offer you advice on raising your baby, whether or not you ask for it or even acknowledge their existence. Just nod politely and then do whatever the hell you want. They've had their chance to stuff up a kid, now it's your turn.
2. NURSERY. Don’t base your nursery design on the ones you see in movies. Here’s the thing, and I want you sitting down for this because it may come as a bit of a shock: movies aren't real. Here’s another thing: they have budgets in the millions. You don’t. There’s a lot of stuff you can buy which, quite frankly, you don’t need. Bassinets look great in photos but aren't necessary for a baby to sleep in: use the cot. My mum slept in a drawer when she was brought home from the hospital and she’s mostly fine. A bed makes for a great change table – but change nappies on your partner’s side, just in case there’s leakage.  And as for baby baths, just use a flat plug for the laundry tub until you’re happy using your actual bath. All the trimmings won’t make you a better parent, won’t make your baby any happier and won’t make the whole experience more enjoyable, it will just put an unnecessary strain on your purse strings, vastly diminishing your alcohol budget. Plus a cluttered nursery just means more stubbed toes.
3. NAMES. Who cares if one of your friends has a kid with the same name you like? I've seen friendships ruined because someone ‘stole a name’. Are they worried it’ll be so confusing their kid will go home with the wrong parent? When I was in Brisbane I knew best friends with the same first name –  Jess. No one ever confused them because they had different faces, personalities and surnames. Oh, and only one was a girl. The thing is, most kids will hate their name at some point anyway, so don't over think it and don't be turned off by what names other people like or are calling their kids. Call your baby whatever the hell you want. Afterall, you'll be the one yelling it.
4. NAPPIES. Cloth nappies are the equivalent of trying to generate your own electricity using rubber soled shoes and a rug - it all sounds nice on paper but in my experience the reality is there wasn't enough time in a day. I tried cloth nappies with my oldest. My wife couldn't understand why she needed to buy another pack of twelve every couple of weeks. I knew why. If my son did a poo I'd just throw the whole mess in the bin. I don't know the mechanics of what happens to the milk to make it come out the other end so nasty, but I want as little to do with it as possible. Go disposable - trust me, your life will be shitty enough.
5. CHORES. It is never too early to begin chore training - let’s start out as we mean to continue. I don't mean with your bub, of course. When you bring your baby home from the hospital have your husband changing nappies, making bottles and extracting burps from the get go. If you don’t you may find yourself charged with all kid related duties until the little buggers finally leave home on their European gap year. Yes, I know their cuteness is unprecedented in the history of mankind and no one in the world is capable of satisfactorily wiping poo off their bum like their mum, but you've got to think ‘big picture’ here. Hog the baby at your own peril.
6. SIX. Men will be counting down the six weeks from when you have a baby. Why? Don't pretend like you don't know: you were there when the doctor said it. If your little bundle was born at 2 in the morning, you can expect a tap on the shoulder in the wee hours exactly 42 days after that joyous event. Your big hunka spunk really loves you, sure, but part of his logic for settling down was the idea of having sex on tap for the rest of his life. Well he's been sitting on a bar-stool at the pub with no beer for a month and a half now, and the man is thirsty! Yes, we're fickle and shallow and perker-lead - but that's why you love us. Of course, doctors cause a lot of these arguments with their 'you can have sex in six weeks' pronouncement. There'd be less marital strain if they used a more accurate measure for when the sex tap will be turned on again. Something like, 'once the baby is sleeping through, when teething is finished, after your wife is back to a size 10, once you've helped with the dishes and if she ever again has the urge.' Then both parties would know where they stand. 
7. CLOTHES. When people offer you bags of their kids clothes, ALWAYS take them. It's not being cheap, it's recycling. Given how quick the little buggers grow out of their clothes, it's also common sense. Of course, you don't have to use it all. Pick out any nice stuff from the bag of clothes and pass the rest on to someone else. Most importantly, the money you save using hand me down clothes can pay for more and better alcohol. And don't kid yourself, you will be needing alcohol, that's why I keep bringing it up.
8. BABYSITTING. There's a prevailing opinion which says using the telly as a baby sitter is bad parenting. Poppycock. Teaching kids to 'roll their own' and blow smoke rings is bad parenting. Turning Sesame Street on and sticking your kid in front of the tube so you can have a quiet cuppa or go to the loo is like a sanity booster shot. But it doesn't need to stop there - you could conceivably use the tellysitter for housekeeping, cooking dinner, gardening, afternoon drinks with the girls and naps. On a not entirely unrelated topic, we have perhaps the most extensive DVD collection of kid's movies outside of Blockbuster.
9. MILESTONES. Kids develop at their own pace. While the rumours Einstein didn’t talk until he was four aren't true, doctors were genuinely concerned he was mentally challenged. As we all know, it ended up the challenge was for all of us to keep up with him mentally. The point is, if your baby hasn't rolled at 4 months don’t necessarily book a doctor’s appointment. Don’t worry too much about your bub hitting those milestones – just watch and be amazed when they get there under their own steam, whenever that is. Having the only one year old who isn't walking at your mother’s group doesn't mean your kid is the dumbest. I have a 20 year old son who still can’t seem to make his own bed – and he’s at university! 
10. MEDICINE. Don't wait until your child is cutting a tooth at midnight to stock your fridge with drugs. Kids have a habit of reaching their pain threshold within minutes of the local chemist closing for the weekend. Always have a good supply of kiddy painkillers and teething gels on hand. And Phenergan. Babies can't have the Phenergan until they're two, but then it's not just for children, is it? Heads up - if you're struggling with point number 6 (SIX) above, well, if a little was stirred into his cup of tea before bed the randy bugger probably wouldn't even notice. Just saying.

Our 'BIG FAMILY little income' Facebook Page

Our 'BIG FAMILY little income' Blog

'raising a family on little more than laughs'

(don't forget to thank our sponsors by clicking their links)

Featured as a Guest Blog on STAY AT HOME MUM