Happy Birthday to YOU Rachel Doyle!

It is the day of my best friend's birth and firstly, I would like to personally thank her parents for coming up with such a great invention.  Rachel and I have been friends for 11 years now (how I wish I had met her sooner) and have maintained our friendship through 2 moves, 6 time zones, the addition of 1 husband (mine - she was married when we met), some major life hiccups and 2 babies (one each).  Through thick and thin, I do believe what has kept us so close is the fact that:

1.  We have respect for each others differences
2.  We both love cheese so much it hurts
3.  We don't take ourselves (or each other) too seriously most of the time
4.  We both have a disturbingly similar sense of humor (we like watching people fall down)

We both met at a time in our lives when (for many) the BFF in your life has already been a BFF for about 10 years.  I don't know about you, but the older I get, the harder I find it to make great friends.  Don't get me wrong - I have met plenty of lovely people as an adult - many of them good friends whom I adore and hang out with regularly.  I am not talking about those types of friends.

I am talking about the kind of BFF who can hold your hair back while you are puking tequila out of your nose because you are laughing so hard at the chick who just slipped in her 4 inch platforms on a wooden bar floor and is now sprawled out with her thong showing, screaming at her boyfriend to pick her up.

The kind of BFF that you can call at 4 am (even though you know she would really prefer it if you didn't) to tell her that you are angry that she moved to Texas and why won't she just come back so you have somebody to do stuff with.

The kind of BFF that forces encourages you to re-take up ballet at the age of 28, because she too remembers how great it felt to be a ballerina and needs a partner in crime.

The kind of BFF that will sit in the back of a convertible (top down), while it is pouring rain and allow you to pull over (not to put the top up) but to snap a picture of her soaking wet.

The kind of BFF who can convince you to tart it up to THE MAX in Vegas, comandeer a sequined saddle on the empty stage in the entry lounge bar of the Stratosphere and (politely) ask a group of Japanese business men to snap some pics (then offer autographs).

The kind of BFF that will let you dress up in her evening gowns and every piece of jewelry she owns while she dons her wedding veil to play some crazy Texas Hold'em with the girls.

You know the kind of friend I am talking about?  If you don't have a friend like this, I highly suggest that you find one, you can't have Rachel, she's my BFF and I don't share well.  She is a southern bundle of hospitality, charm and wit and makes the best damned cheese-based dishes I have ever had the pleasure to stuff myself with.

I wish, more than anything that I could spend her birthday with her - unfortunately due to work/child commitments I am stuck here in England.  This blog will have to do (and the Lush stuff being sent her way)!

Happy Birthday to YOU Rachel!  I love you more than I love to watch people trip and hurt themselves!

Smooches........Kittyn

Why I might never eat cheese again...

I write this blog with a heavy heart (and an even heavier digestive tract).  If you do not know me, you won't understand the complex and long-term relationship that I have with cheese.  Even if you don't know me, perhaps you have seen me stuffing my face with it in a restaurant, my car, the library....

To me, cheese is the food of Gods.  It goes with everything - like beige.  Cheese is the food equivalent of your favorite pair of neutral khakis.  You can put cheese with salty foods, spicy foods, bland foods, sweet foods, junk foods and healthy foods.  Of course, if you are a cheese purist, you can also eat it BY ITSELF!

I had a close encounter with cheese last night, however, that has left me with a lump in my throat and the desire to never eat cheese for the rest of my life (or at least a week, which ever comes first).

So, last night I was contemplating a very late night dinner.  I was tired and a container of Mexican Rice I had made a few nights ago was calling my name.  Seriously - it said "Robyn" as I was opening the lid.  As I opened the container I did a sniff test - I do this with all left overs even if it was made the night before.  I also did a visual check - and it was all checking out just fine!  I was about to put the dish in the microwave when I spied a bag of mozarella and thought outloud "this rice and this cheese NEED to be together as one!"  So I grabbed a fistful (okay 3) of the cheese and sprinkled blanketed the rice.  Shoved it in the microwave.  Waited for the 'ding'.  Took it up 3 flights of stairs to my bed to eat while watching some crap TV.  I got about 2/3 of the way through the delicious dish when I happened to look down at the bowl.  "hmmm - I don't remember putting green herbs into this rice dish!"  As I am putting the next forkful into my mouth it dawns on me - "coulditbethecheesenoIamsureIwouldhavecheckedohgodcoulditbemold?"  For a split second I actually considered finishing it, because it tasted lovely but then my SANITY took over and I flew back down all three flights, flung open the fridge door and grabbed the bag of cheese I had used.  As I am doing this I was really thinking "don'tbesillyyouwouldneverbesodaftastoputmoldycheeseonyourriceandnukeitandeatitfortenminuteswithoutnoticing!"  I opened the bag of cheese and what greeted me was a bag of very moldy cheese that I had just zapped in the microwave - AND EATEN!

Now I know that many types of cheese have mold.  I also know that it will not kill you and probably not even upset your stomach, but knowingly eating moldy cheese (of the non blue veined variety) is not nice when you come to the realization.  Surprisingly - I did not get sick.  Not surprisingly - I did drink 5 large glasses of water and brushed my teeth 6 times all the while saying the mantra "itsnotthatgrossitsnotthatgross".

I woke up this morning with what felt like a ball of lard in my stomach.  I have not eaten yet today because my body is still digesting the fist size ball of melted cheese mold that I ate last night.  The thought of cheese is making me ill right now.  I think I have found the cure for all addictions.  Cover your addiction in mold and eat it.  You will want to stop - immediately!  The addict in me right now is trying to justify a situation where cheese might be acceptable.  Tonight folks - that situation is not coming to mind.

And so I go to bed tonight on an empty stomach with visions of cheese mold dancing in my bowels!

Pancake Mirth

Mardi Gras is right around the corner and every year reminds me of why I love my husband so much and why I agreed (practically on our first date) to marry him.  Matt and I met around Halloween in California and got married just before Christmas of the same year (judge all ye like, it was love at first sight and I am convinced that I was not drugged in any way).  You may then wonder why Mardi Gras came into my decision to marry him, being that it was about 5 months away.  I will tell you the story.

So there we were sitting in a breakfast cafe in Ocean Beach on a lovely October morning.  We had recently kidnapped each other from a costume party that he had crashed and I was ready to leave and thought breakfast sounded appropriate.  At this restaurant (I use the term loosely it was really more of a greasy spoon), Matt was staring at the menu with wonder in his eyes.

"I can't believe a breakfast menu is 6 pages long - we have like 4 choices at home"
"We Americans like our breakfast"

More page flipping, more wonder and then his mouth turns up in the largest grin I have ever seen which turned into him spurting out in fits of laughter...

"This is the best place ever!  They actually serve pancakes for breakfast - I have never seen that!"
"What - you have never seen pancakes on a menu before?"
"Not really, no."
"Don't they eat pancakes in England?"
"Of course they do - but it isn't an every day thing!"
"Why - when do you eat pancakes - Pancake Day?"

I am trying to be cute, flippant, funny and cool all the same time and am satisfied that I am pulling it off when he replies in a deadpan voice...

"yes"

To which I actually start choking on my coffee in fits of laughter, trying not to roll off the side of my booth bench and knock myself out on the cement floor.  I was LOVING his sense of humor.

"Nice one - wait - seriously?"

Okay - I actually thought he was pulling my leg and then I realized - he wasn't!

"So, when is this so called 'Pancake Day'? Do they have a 'muffin day' and a 'bagel day' too?"
"Don't be ridiculous"
"Sorry - so Pancake Day - the celebration of pancakes then!  Do pancakes mean a great deal historically in England?"
"No - Pancake Day marks the start of Lent"
"Ahhhhh - you mean Mardi Gras"
"What?  I don't think so/"
"Mardi Gras is the start of Lent.  Also known as Shrove Tuesday or Fat Tuesday."
"Must be then.  We just call it pancake day"
"And do you eat pancakes all day?"
"That's just silly - no - we just make a batch of pancakes and eat them."
"I am liking your country more and more my friend!"

This actually led to an entire discussion about food including:

Pancakes versus Flapjacks
Flapjacks versus Granola Bars
Pigs in Blankets versus Sausage Rolls
Bucks Fizz versus Mimosas
(more on these at a later date)

Ever since that morning we have celebrated Pancake Day and still have a laugh about that first breakfast eight years ago.  BTW - The pancakes they use here are really more like crepes (very thin ones).  They are traditionally served with lemon juice and powdered sugar.  Here is a recipe in case you too would like to make some pancakes to celebrate Mardi Gras.


Pancake Day Pancakes:

• 150g plain flour
• 2 large size eggs
• 300ml milk
• 150ml water

• 1 teaspoon vegetable oil
• Butter to grease

Method

1. Sift the flour and make a well in the centre. Break in the eggs and mix in the flour with a wooden spoon.
2. Gradually add the milk and water, stirring well so that it becomes completely smooth. Add the oil and leave to stand in a cool place for 3 hours.
3. Lightly grease a heavy-bottomed frying pan. Heat to exactly the right temperature, but not so hot that it smokes the fat or burns the pancakes.
4. Cook a tablespoon of the mixture at a time, spreading it over the pan. You may need to loosen the edges of the pancakes from the pan before you toss them, and allow a minute on each side to cook them through. Stack on pieces of greaseproof paper before using.

A Weekend of Firsts

This has been an overwhelming weekend of FIRSTS for us in the Davies' household.  It involved a trip to the hospital, a missing binkit and a hair trim.

To start, my husband Matt is from Portsmouth and lurves him some football.

Being from Portsmouth he supports Pompey Football Club with every fiber of his English being.  His brother Stew does as well (also hailing from Portsmouth).  Stew's wife Sue and myself are honorary Pompettes and both made a pact during the marriage ceremonies to respective brothers to live and die by the mighty Pomps (I get gifts so it is cool).  This weekend Pompey was playing Man United in Manchester for £50 a pop (no small price).  Matt really wanted to go and asked about a month ago if I also wanted to go and see Sue and Stew and the big game.  I was really excited to see Sue and Stew at their house in Buxton  (nearish to Manchester), but was not so excited to sit outside in February to watch Pompey get crushed (sorry fans) by Man U with my 3 year old for 50 quid a ticket.

A plan was quickly hatched - Let us all go to Buxton for the weekend.  Matt and I  would take separate cars since Matt was spending the next week away at a training course not too far away from where we would be staying.  We would get there Friday night and have some drinks, eat some snacks and catch up.  Saturday morning Matt and Stew and Sue would get the train to Manchester to watch the game while Maddie and I hung out in Buxton - a great town with probably the best park EVER (the pictures here are the park/gardens/pavillion).   An extra plan was hatched on Friday night that Sue and I were going to go out on Saturday night while the boys watched Maddie and then Sunday we could chill out (and stuff ourselves sick on Stew's Indian cuisine) until it was time for us to go.  What a better way to spend a weekend!

Here is how it played out:

After finally making it to Buxton in the snizzle and fog I was looking forward to re-lax-ing!  It was just when my tension headache from driving whilst squinting went away that I realized I had left something very important at home.  That's right folks - I left my daughter's Binkit (blanket) on the couch!  She has not been apart from this stinky piece of mango colored fluff since she was about 9 months old.  Explaining to my overtired child that she was going to have to cope without it was:

1. heart breaking
2. headache making
3. exasperating since she was rapidly trying to convince me that driving the 2 1/2 hours back to get it would not actually be much of a sacrifice if I really loved her.

She did actually manage okay, after I explained about mistakes and forgiveness.  In all fairness she had just broken a cat magnet of Sue's (who had forgiven her) and I did use this as ammo.....

Saturday the whole crew left for the big game and Maddie and I were left with the whole glorious day spread out before us.  What would we do?  We decided that we would walk to the park/pavillion, perhaps do a bit of shopping, get some crafts to make homemade Valentines cards and then make a slap up Mexican feast for the crew on their return.  I can tell you how the day went:

1.  Walked to the Park/Pavillion
2.  Played on the Playground
3.  Rushed to find a toilet because Maddie had to go
4.  Were about to go shopping after we found a toilet because I was getting cold
5.  Got manipulated into going back to the play area
6.  Went 36 rounds on the rope bridge before it won and sent Maddie head first from 6 feet up
7.  Called 999 for an ambulance
8.  Rode in my first ambulance with my 3 year old strapped up to oxygen and BP monitors while trying t    to call my husband who was at a football match and couldn't hear me.
9.  Hung out in the nearest hospital to Buxton (40 minutes away) until the doctors were convinced that Maddie was not concussed and would be safe if taken home.

Sunday, Maddie and I had an uneventful drive home to Lincoln, stopped for lunch where I almost had to give her the heimlich (sp???) maneuver to remove a lodged french fry from her throat. Seriously, whenever Matt is gone we can not go more than 24 hours without something paramount to a Greek Tragedy happening.

After finally making it home in one piece we unwound ... and at bath time I decided that Maddie really needed a haircut.  This one may not sound like a big deal but she has never had a single head trimmed from her head. This might not be entirely true as I am fairly sure Matt has had to cut crap out of her hair on more than one occasion and I am fairly sure as well that he has admitted at least one instance to me out loud.    Let me explain Maddie's hair.  She has a strip of baby hair that is about 4 inches longer that the rest of the blonde curly tendrils that flank her head - and it lies on the top of it like dead straw.  I am not sure why I chose tonight to do it but was on a mission: the rat tail had to go.  I convinced her to let me trim it and although she was a bit apprehensive, she actually let me do it.  I would like to say that I lovingly draped her with a towel and snipped it off lovingly in tiny bits.  Truth was, I saw an opportunity, grabbed the 'tail' with my fist and chopped it off in a oner.  I am happy to report that she now has a gorgeous shoulder length bob and the rat tail has been lovingly tied in a ribbon and stuffed in her baby book.  The 'haircut' completed our weekend of firsts.

I am exhausted and hope not to have a week of seconds (left behind loved things, ambulance rides or missing hair)!  As is typical, however, when Matt is away surely:

1.  I will end up in the Emergency Room
2.  My car will break down
3.  The dog will need to go to the vet
4.  Maddie will get ill

Did I mention that the above four things happen in three's?!?  Send me some good karma kind peoples - I really need it right now ;p

Welcome to the Workend - Cocktail?

It came to me a few workends ago, that we have been robbed as a society (at least amongst my peers) of proper weekends.  I can not remember the last time (while not on vacation) when my husband and I both had a weekend off - completely off - to relax, catch up and just BE!  I am thinking it has been AT LEAST 17 years.  Okay, since we've only been married 7 years that may bit a b-i-t of an exaggeration, but it seems like that long.

Usually workends go something like this:

Friday
Pick up Maddie from school
Entertain Maddie after school
Cook dinner for Maddie
Cook dinner for us
Freak out about the amount of paperwork I didn't finish during the week
Collapse from exhaustion

Saturday
Wake up at the crack of dawn with Maddie
Realize that I am going to be late for work if I don't jump in the shower
Jump in the shower
Run out the door
Work
Work some more
Come home to the realization that dinner needs to be cooked and the weekend is almost over
Collapse from exhaustion

Sunday
Wake up at the crack of dawn with Maddie
Put on a 2 hour puppet show for her (okay these usually are fun)
Do 13 loads of laundry
Go grocery shopping
Clean the house
Finish up all of the paperwork that I didn't do during the week
Go into the gym to clean
Make dinner
Sit and wonder why tomorrow is Monday already...

In the past my weekends used to go:

Friday
Finish work with happy hour with friends
Order a pizza and watch a movie
Sleep

Saturday
Whatever - sometimes errands were involved, sometimes not
Meet up with friends for a night out or in
Sleep

Sunday
Sleep
Brunch
Catch up with emails
Watch crap TV or shop
Sleep

Okay - so all of my weekends of yesteryear did not play out just like that (their were roadtrips thrown in and even a couple of working days).  Many of the reasons my life has changed and brought about a lack of personal chill time, I am grateful for.  I have a wonderful business, I love most of the responsibility my work brings and adore my family (most of the time).  Sometimes I just lust after the bygone years of wasted and wonderful weekends.  This year I am going to try to get one weekend a month to shamefully throw away into the abyss - are you in?

Mole Hill Hell

Okay, so we just got back from the States on Friday and I stopped over to see our neighbors that night  because our pipes had frozen and we had no water.  While trading banter about the holidays, the weather, our water problems and the like, my neighbor lamented about the moles that had molested her back garden.  She pointed out the back window to show me the damage, but as there have recently been about 123 snow storms that have come through, I couldn't really see much more that a couple clods of dirt laying on top of the snow.

Side Note to Americans:  When one refers to one's back garden over here they mean their backyard - not necessarily a flower or vegetable garden.  Calling someone's back garden their 'yard' is kind of an insult I remember reading somewhere that it stemmed from the days when a yard was literally the amount of outdoor space you had if you were a lower classed city dweller.  Since I hate to make a statement that I can't back up I decided to do a bit of research on the subject.  Sadly, I can find nothing to support this 'theory' that I was taught somewhere.  Now that I think about it, it may have been in a pub and involved a few pints.  Anyways - people here do get a bit funny about the whole yard issue and from this point forward I shall call it the garden, but please do not confuse this with something planted in bedding.

So there I was listening to our neighbor's mole woes and feeling sorry for her.  Her husband loves his garden and is very proud of the fact that he maintains it faithfully, has a gorgeous lawn for their kids to play on and has created a nice little space in a new development on the edge of an old village. (He is also out of the country for the next 3 months and hasn't actually seen it yet).  The mole(s) had dug up 4 holes and had destroyed portions of their back GARDEN.  The next day I retold the woeful story to my husband who agreed that it was a shame and that our neighbor's husband would indeed be up in arms when he saw the mess.

A couple of nights ago I was taking out the garbage when lo and behold - I see a couple clods of dirt in our garden.  At this point it was still really covered in snow so it didn't look like too much.  Then the rain set it, the snow melted and our once snow covered back GARDEN was free of the white stuff.  Strangely it was also almost free of the green stuff  - as in GRASS.

23 mole hills in our back garden.    23!!!!!

I don't know if you have ever seen the destruction those little effers can reap, but let me tell you it is not pretty.  Our back garden is basically destroyed.  I am actually praying for more snow to cover it back up.  Several more holes pop up each day - what to do???

We got a tip from a friend who told us to bury glass bottles in the ground because the wind blows over them and makes a scary noise that they don't like and they will bugger off.   This is either scientifically sound and the person who told us will be my new messiah, OR he is just messing with us because he wants to see the crazy American burying glass bottles in her GARDEN.

Any thoughts on this before we land mine our grass with glass?

When She Gets Big

My 3 year old and I had a very serious conversation tonight over dinner about all of the things she is going to do when she gets bigger AND older.  I thought I would get them written out so that:

1. She has a set of clearly defined goals to work toward
2. I have something to embarrass her with later in life (when she gets big AND old)

Her is her list so far:

1. Drink Tea
2. Drive a Car
3. Drink Diet Coke
4. Make Dinner Herself
5. Open the Door by Herself
6. Be a Baby Again
7. Be a Puppy (I told her this one was probably not possible since, once born human we kind of stay that way.  She said if she changes her mind about being a person she should get to re-choose what she is).
8. Take the Dog for a Walk
9. Chew Gum
10. Play with Knives

The list, I am sure, will continue to grow but I think this is a pretty good start, don't you?  What do you want to do when you get bigger AND older?