First harvest

Once upon a time, our remote hunter-gatherer ancestors figured out that they could improve the quality and quantity of their food supply if they helped it out a bit, by adding a splash of water here, a spot of compost there, and keeping the weeds and predators away. And so it came to pass: the first vegetable patch. Fast forward several millennia, to February 14, 2014: I received a vegetable patch for Valentine's Day. And ever since, this little patch has given me so much pleasure. We live in a terrace house with a pocket-handkerchief sized, fully-tiled courtyard out the back. Not exactly plant-friendly. So to grow my vegetables, we turned to the Little Veggie Patch Co for a no-dig, organic garden crate. If you want an easy, affordable, space-efficient garden, I highly recommend these guys. The veggie crates come in different sizes and, if you want to, you can have them delivered with organic soil, compost, worm-poo and anything else you need.

I really like the idea of everything a garden can teach Madeleine and Harry. At its most basic, the garden will teach them where food their comes from. You hear all these stories about children not knowing that apples grow on trees. My children will understand the whole process from paddock (or crate) to plate. The garden will also teach them about patience, about waiting for sunshine and rain, and about the slow rotation of the seasons, the time it takes for good things to grow. They will learn how to nurture and care for something, by giving the plants food and water and weed-free space to breathe. And they will learn about caterpillars and butterflies and snails and ladybirds.

That's a lot to learn from one square metre of dirt, wouldn't you agree?

I harvested my very first produce from this new garden on the weekend: baby heirloom beets. People have been growing and harvesting vegetables for tens of thousands of years. It's not exactly rocket science. But I was incredibly proud as I pulled those baby beets out of the warm earth. It's just so satisfying to grow your own food. Something else I'm glad my children will have a chance to learn.

Last night I steamed then lightly-sauteed the beet leaves in sesame oil and a splash of soy sauce, to go with our beef gyoza for dinner. Do you eat beet leaves? They taste mostly like spinach, with a hit of the earthy sweetness we associate with beetroot. Delicious!

As for the beets themselves, I paired them with baby Dutch carrots (not mine: I did plant some but they're not ready yet) and roasted them with orange and thyme. Those home-grown beets were some of the tastiest roast vegetables Mr B or I had ever had. Next time, I think I'll add some steamed green beans, and perhaps some dry-roasted almond slivers over the top for crunch.

How about you? How does your garden grow?

Favourite things - sweet treats

In my home, sleep deprivation and general exhaustion breed sugar cravings. We know it's not good for us, but Mr B and I are both guilty of over-indulging on the sugar front when the world around us just won't stop. (Even at 2am. And 3. And again at 5. Stop already, world!) It's not even lunch time and as I type, I'm already starting to dream of a sweet treat. Anyway, this collection of favourite things may not be the healthiest I've ever made, but it suits the mood around here. And it sure was fun to do.

1. Cupcake ATMs

Cupcake ATMs are popping up everywhere. This one is in New York. Ahoy there, Sprinkles: in Melbourne, we REALLY LIKE cupcakes too. Just sayin'...

(Photo via East Midtown on Flickr, licensed under Creative Commons)

2. Piñata yo face

This DIY on Photojojo teaches you how to make a piñata out of somebody's photo. They suggest it could be a lovely gesture for, say, a birthday. I put it to them that bashing a picture of somebody's face as hard as you can with a stick until it bursts open isn't exactly a traditional sign of love and affection. On the other hand, all that candy goodness to tumble out would be pretty sweet (pathetic dad-joke pun intended).

3. Sweet Paul book

Sweet Paul has gone from online magazine to print mag and now to book (called Sweet Paul Eat and Make)! If you don't know Sweet Paul, it's all about delicious food, beautiful craft projects and clever home tips.

4. Don't be rude to food

I have bookmarked this post so that I can refer back to it when Madeleine and Harry are old enough to say "Yuck!" about trying new food. I think it will help.

(Photo is of Madeleine being distinctly not rude to a piece of chocolate cake she made herself. Question is, does she extend the same courtesy to broccoli? I think we all know the answer to that.)

5. Teddy-bear bread rolls

And just like that, you will never say no to carbs again. (Look at that little face. How could you say no?) Here's the recipe to make them yourself.

(Seen via the Frankie blog)

The calm

Today my children and I went for a walk in the park. That is all it was. No drama, no grand and creative ideas. No picnics no bubbles no balls no pigeon-chasing. Harry was awake, but not crying. He wasn't doing his usual laughing, either. He relaxed in his pram, blue eyes looking into grey sky - and sometimes across at me - taking it all in. Madeleine held my hand the entire time. No running off and asking to be chased, or pretending to be a dog, not even twirling. She just wanted to walk beside me, hand in hand, while we looked at the park. So that's what we did. When we came to a fountain I crouched beside her to point out its features (highly educational comments, like "Can you see the mer-people holding up that heavy platform?" and "Oh look, those children are nudie-rudy just like you in the bath"). Madeleine squatted beside me and gave the fountain her full attention, rolling her eyes and saying "Oh Mummy" at that last comment.

Harry watched the wind flirt with the still-green trees and said nothing.

We walked around the duck pond. At each new fountain, Madeleine pulled hard on my hand until we both crouched again and pondered the inscrutableness of sculptural water. Ducks traced water-lines through fallen leaves on the still pond, and it would all have felt very Zen if it wasn't for the soundtrack of an excited "Quack! Quack!" coming from the toddler attached to my left hand.

Harry watched three seagulls circle a fig tree and said nothing.

We stayed an hour in that park, just looking at fountains, looking at ducks, looking at seagulls, looking at trees. When I put Madeleine back into the pram and headed across the road into Gertrude Street, it was as though a spell had broken. The silence of our still and simple walk was torn apart. Madeleine began to grizzle. "Nom nom?" she asked, which was fair enough as it was well past her usual lunch time. Harry stopped watching the sky and fell asleep. We turned towards home.

These days

  These autumn days are wild and windswept.

One moment they are humid and heavy, ripe with old summer gone to seed. Sun-hats and sunscreen and sweaty sheets, kicked off in the night. The next, the air turns cold and these days tumble into thoughts of green apples and roast vegetables. Hot chocolate under blankets, pink rain-boots, and waiting for the leaves to fall.

These days are 10 chubby fingers and 10 chubby toes, waving in the air. New words learned every day; brothers and sisters holding hands; and twirling: joyful, exuberant twirling.

Long hours these days are passed with kisses and big, beautiful smiles. Raspberries blown into fat-creases on perfect little thighs.

Small fingers softly exploring my face.

They are fevers and 'flus; mountains of tissues; long cuddles through sad nights.

These days are taking those first, glorious steps outside into the autumn air, when everyone is finally starting to feel better and the four walls of our house have drawn uncomfortably close: freedom at last. Cafes and coffees, exploring old streets and new, a row of rainbow-hued watering-cans.

All too much excitement for some.

Pencil case

Stationery lovers hold your breath. Don't you just love the nostalgia in these sweet little "pencil case" sculptures? They make me think of fresh starts: blank notebooks full of promise; the first day of school; snail mail as-yet unwritten. And this. British artist Camilla Barnard hand-carves each piece out of wood, with the goal of "transforming the mundane into devices of fascination and joy." Mission accomplished. They'd make a lovely collection for the office or creative corner, don't you think?

Joyful, joyful

(Alt. title: THE BEST FLASHMOB YOU WILL EVER SEE OR HEAR) How was your weekend, friends? Mine was pretty average, to be honest. I am happy it's over and ready to start the week fresh.

There were some good parts, especially catching up with some lovely friends who dropped by on Saturday afternoon. But mostly, it was taken up with sleep deprivation and taking care of an increasingly-sick little girl, culminating in a visit to the hospital in the early hours of Sunday morning. She will be ok, but right now she is SO sick and SO miserable. Poor little Harry has been incredibly patient and sweet. I am just praying that by some miracle he won't catch whatever Madeleine has.

On Sunday night over a late dinner with both kids finally asleep in their beds, I looked across at Mr B and the bags under his eyes just about reached the table, as did mine. I felt a surge of love for him. You have never met a man who works as hard as this man. He is phenomenally dedicated to his job, which by the way happens to be a job that helps thousands of hospital patients every year get the care and treatments they desperately need. At the same time, he is also phenomenally dedicated to his family, so we get all his love and all his loyalty and incredible levels of self-sacrifice. There isn't much left for him after all that, and the exhaustion of these past few months with two children so very young has taken its toll on his health. He seems to be catching every little thing lately, just like Madeleine. We had both been awake since 2am that morning and, at at 4am when Madeleine's fever still wouldn't come down despite taking both Panadol and Nurofen, he'd taken her off to the Children's Hospital. After they returned, he spent most of the day with a sweaty, vomit-smelling, unhappy little girl asleep on his chest. Then after dinner he made the two of us the famous Bulger Family Chocolate Pudding as a treat. All of this was despite the towering piles of work he had intended to do on the weekend, meaning the alarm went off at 5am today. Again. And it will probably continue for the rest of the week. I really need to think of some nice things to do for him.

Anyway, while nursing Harry in the midst of all this blah on Sunday afternoon, I saw this video on a friend's Facebook profile (thanks Matt!) and, call it exhaustion or whatever, it brought tears to my eyes. It was a little moment of happiness and goosebumps in my sad and sickly weekend, so I thought I'd share it with you, too. I hope it makes your Monday joyful!

And now for the video:

In the kitchen

Mummy-blogger creates amazing recipe for cake that she cooks with angelic children in pristine kitchen. Cake tastes like extra-rich mud cake but is actually made from organic beetroot, powdered kale and sun-dried goji berries. No sugar or gluten in sight. Mummy-blogger and aforementioned angelic children cover cake in silky-smooth icing, then use tweezers to artfully place edible flowers all over, creating culinary masterpiece. Only, not in my house. I won't be winning any Mother of the Year awards for healthy toddler foods (or clean kitchens), but Madeleine, Harry and I have been having a ball flexing our baking muscles of late.

Madeleine is going through an "I can do it myself" phase, which is frequently excruciating to watch but also so sweet, seeing her confidence and independence burgeon. Also, Harry is a most appreciative sous-chef, grinning and gurgling and kicking his little feet with gusto from his front-row seat on the kitchen floor.

Lately Mr B has been working a lot of nights, meaning Madeleine is in bed before he gets home. She is really missing him. Everything right now is about Daddy. I convince her to eat her vegetables each night by shaping them into a face on her plate and calling it "Daddy." I talk her into wearing pants on a cold day (when she would much rather wear a tutu) by telling her, "These are Daddy's favourite pants."

When we baked chocolate cupcakes last week, they were "for Daddy." When I told her in the morning how Daddy had gobbled his cupcake up when he got home, and that he said it was delicious, she radiated pride. "YEAH!" she yelled, balling her chubby little fingers into fists and punching the air.

Then yesterday, we made sugar biscuits "for Daddy." She was so excited, and determined to do it all herself. Madeleine mixed the dough, rolled it, pressed out the shapes, made the icing, chose the colour, decorated the biscuits. Harry was helpful, too. He laughed and said "Hoo" a lot.

I texted Mr B a picture of Madeleine decorating the biscuits and told him she was making them for him.

Then at around 6.30 that night, just as she was finishing her dinner and finally about to have one of her biscuits for dessert, Daddy walked through the door. He'd seen my text and thought, "That's it." He packed up a whole lot of work to do from home at night, and hurried back here to surprise her before she got into bed.

I pulled out our best floral china, and Madeleine and Daddy had a tea party with the biscuits she had made all by herself.

Little things - the weather house

Little things in my home... This dusty little German weather house sat in my Nanna's house, on a little shelf beside her kitchen table, for as long as I can remember.

As children it was the first thing my brother and I went for every time we came to visit her. It was the Nanna version of a Magic 8-Ball, so long as the only question we wanted answered was "Is it raining or is it dry, right now?" When the air was humid, the little man would come out of the house. I always wondered why he wanted to go out into the rain wearing such short shorts... On a dry day, the little lady would come out.

Despite having just come from outside ourselves, we'd race into the lounge room as soon as we'd kissed Nanna hello, to find out what the weather was doing.

My relationship with Nanna was... complicated. There was never hostility, but we were not close in the way that a lot of other people are to their grandparents. There was so much that frustrated me about my Nanna, and I don't think I was always kind to her, in my head.

But it wasn't fair. Because while I rolled my eyes at Nanna behind her back, her love for my brother and me was unwavering. In her eyes, we were golden sunlight. We could do no wrong.

Before Nanna died, she asked us if there was anything in her home that we wanted. I asked for this German weather house.

It sits in my office and, every time I look at it, I remember Nanna's kitchen table and those childhood days before I got all judgmental and superior, when Nanna was just Nanna: a funny-smelling old lady who still wore her hair in rollers to bed, told us Froot Loops were healthy (because they were made out of fruit), sang silly songs in a wavering voice, and had a room full of oil paintings in various stages of completion (oil paints and turps caused the "funny smell," I learned a lot later).

Nanna's house was a Federation bungalow with tiny windows. It was quite gloomy but, in my memory, that little barometer is always bathed in light.

Even when the man in his utterly impractical costume comes out to play in the rain.

::  ::  ::

“Little Things” is an occasional series about the stories behind some of the little things you’ll find around my home. Are there stories behind the little things in your home? I’d love you to tell me about them! Or if you’d like to join in and write a post like this of your own, don’t forget to share a link to it so I can read it.

Turquoise and mint

1. Simple succulents 2. Footpath beside Sydney Road

3. Triangles in Aunty Betty's quilt

4. Friendly monster on the Milk Bar wall

5. Beating eggs

6. Vintage tea ad

7. Local wall

8. Those eyes!

The Food Justice Truck

It's no secret I'm a fan of a good food truck. I've been slowly eating my way through a good number of them, and you can share that journey with me if you want to, here. But this may well be the best food truck idea yet.

Called the Food Justice Truck, it is a social-enterprise initiative of the Asylum Seeker Resource Centre (ASRC), and the goal is to make fresh, healthy food available to asylum-seeker communities who could otherwise simply not afford it.

Riddle me this. On average, it costs $130 a week for an Australian adult to eat well. Most asylum seekers have about $20 a week to spend on food. It doesn't take a mathematical genius to figure out that you have $110 worth of hunger and chronic malnutrition going on right there. In our back yard. On our watch.

The Food Justice Truck will buy locally-sourced, ethically and sustainably produced fruit and vegetables, then resell them in asylum-seeker communities at a 75 percent discount on the rates they'd pay in the shops. In effect, asylum seekers will be able to buy $80 worth of healthy food for themselves and their families, for $20.

By using the truck to get around to communities where the greatest numbers of asylum-seekers are congregated, they estimate they'll be able to help bring healthy food to 2000 asylum-seekers a month. This little video helps explain it all.

If you think this is a great idea, too, you can donate to help them buy a truck and get started via their crowd funding page. If you can't afford to donate but still want to help, how about spreading the word? Let's help get the Food Justice Truck on the road!

Image credits: food truck is a screen shot from the promo video above; market produce is by Natalie Maynor, licensed under Creative Commons