The Sadie Phenomenon

I have always dreamed of coining a phrase that describes a moment in time, a craze at a point in history. And here I am. I have reached the pinnacle of my writing career, only fifty-three blog posts in!


Wait for it...


The Sadie Phenomenon. I think it has a poetic ring to it, and I am sure it will catch on. It will on this blog, anyway, and that's enough for me.


So what is it?


I have been noticing lately that roughly every second person I speak with (therefore, I have a statistic to back up my fancy phrase: fifty percent of the Australian population) has a cleaning lady. One friend even has a cleaning man.


How has this come about?


I think it goes hand-in-hand with the busy lifestyles everyone is leading. Trying to find time for partners, children, careers and other interests, as well as cooking and cleaning, is a handful. Just ask any woman from our grandparents' generation, and they will tell you that raising children and running a household is a full-time job in itself. 


So something has to give. And it can't be the family, the career, or the interests that hold the sanity together. It must be the housework. The problem, then, is that the choice becomes living in a revolting mess or hiring some help.


Help, it is.


I have found that most people who do this are a little reluctant to tell others that they do so. They feel a little awkward about having a cleaner. Embarrassed, perhaps about needing help, or maybe more of feeling 'above' themselves. 'It just sounds so self-indulgent', said one lady I know. And, let's face it, having a cleaner used to have a certain ring of upper-class snobbery about it.


Not anymore. One friend of mine hired a cleaner a couple of years ago and was out and proud about it. And so she should: she works hard, spends time with her children and enjoys life. She just chooses to spend a little of her hard-earned money each week (and I must admit, I was very surprised when she told me how little it costs) to have some help around the house. Surely that cannot be faulted?


Me? I would love to have a cleaner. But how on earth could I justify it? I work from home (with very casual hours), spend most of my time here with my little girl, and we live in quite a small house. Surely I should be able to keep it clean. My husband even does some cleaning (refer to the 'ten things I don't have the guts to do' post where I admitted to my 'fear' of cleaning toilets).


But I do so want to be a part of The Sadie Phenomenon. 


Megan

Boys, Scarecrow Tiggy And The One-Thumbed Teacher

My two nephews are about to start school (one tomorrow, one next week).

As their favourite Aunty, I am choosing to share my memories of primary school with them here. In a forum where they cannot run off or tell me I am silly and old. So here is an account of my early education, which took place 'back in my day':

I used to walk to the school with Dad (I am not so old as to say I did this in the snow, with cardboard boxes as shoes), to pick up my sister. I would ask her what she did that day, hoping for all the details. School life seemed so glamourous compared with kindergarten. Her response, though, was always the same: 'Oh, not much'. I was so excited to go to school and experience it for myself. And my Prep year did not disappoint. It was my show-off year. I could read chapter books and relished in declaring this to anyone who would listen. I also kissed my first boy in Prep (behind said chapter book) and spent the rest of my primary school days writing his name on my pencil cases. (On second thought, perhaps this is best not shared with my nephews?)

In Grade 1, when my sister was in Grade 4 and my brother in Year 8, I asked my teacher to give me some homework. It sounded like such a grown-up thing to do and besides, having time to play after school when my siblings were doing school work wasn't much fun. So my teacher gave me some colouring to do. It only took one night of 'having' to do homework to realise that instead of moping about having no-one to play with, I really should be teasing my brother and sister. I could play and they couldn't - ner ner!

Grade 2 was the year I had a very musical teacher. I soon learned that I was no good at music or singing. Once again, I received some male attention, sitting between two boys who took turns telling me how 'cute' I was.

Grade 3 marked lots of time ill with Tonsillitis. I felt so special that all my classmates signed a card for me, and having them ask what it was like being in hospital made me feel important. I also crashed into a boy's very hard head whilst playing Scarecrow Tiggy. I received a black eye for my trouble and never again played Scarecrow Tiggy.

In Grade 4, I was the teacher's pet. She was passionate about spelling, grammar and punctuation. And so was I. Being on the right side of the teacher was a great thing that year; she was well known around the school for giving the naughty children 'milkshakes', consisting of being dragged to the front of the class, grabbed by both shoulders and shaken. The 80s were obviously a time of relaxed political correctness.

My only memory of Grade 5 is of having a teacher with only one thumb. 

Grade 6 was the year of the sporty teacher. And, therefore, the year I spent dreaming up reasons to be excused from playing those sports, in favour of staying in the classroom reading.

I wonder what memories my gorgeous nephews will have of their time at school. I will be thinking of them tomorrow as they head off in their uniforms that they will 'grow into' and their shiny black shoes. I wish them the best of times in their school years.


To L and H, with heaps of love,


Aunty Megan
xo
xo

Portrait Of Two Ladies

This is one awesome blog: Beyond Snapshots, specialising in showing amateur photographers how to use their fancy cameras to their full potential. They set a challenge that I straight away knew I wanted to enter: to post a photo of yourself (with your child as an optional extra).


Here is my entry - a portrait of Abbey and me, taken today.

Megan

Are You Australian Today?

Have you noticed that in recent years, it appears to be possible for an Australian person to actually be 'un-Australian'? This label (which really makes no sense as its meaning contradicts itself) has become the highest insult one can receive. It comes from the most powerful person in the nation - the Prime Minister - so it must be really, really bad and involve some type of punishment. Perhaps banishment from our great land?

However, after much research (or not - come on, that would be un-Australian), I have found that this removal from our nation takes place metaphorically. And temporarily. Almost like the 'naughty corner', where you are placed until you do something to redeem yourself, at which time the powers that be (in that case, your parents) once again call you a good girl/boy.

Un-Australian-ness is judged on a case-by-case basis. And the length of time you remain an un-Australian varies, being dependent upon your next act.

Here are some examples:

• It is now un-Australian to get blind drunk. However, if you yell out, 'It's my shout!' then you're once again Australian.
• 'Selling out' is un-Australian, ala Peter Garrett. But if you get up on stage and sing a massively bogan tune to a crowd, then you're back in.
• Vegetarians are un-Australian. We want meat-eaters in this country. Until such time that you prove a vegetarian dish, such as pavlova, is worth eating. Then you're a legendary Aussie.
• Meat-eaters, like Sam Kekovich with his lamb chops on the barby, are un-Australian. But when they cook a steak to perfection and serve it with mushroom sauce and chips... well, they are almost given the Australian Of The Year award.
• Being named Kevin was un-Australian. Until one was voted in as Prime Minister. Then all Kevins began celebrating their new-found Australian-ness.

You know what? I think it's un-Australian to call someone un-Australian. Controversial, I know. Strange and nonsensical, yes. But so is the whole 'un-Australian' concept.


Megan

Taylor And Abbey

This is the story of how Taylor and Abbey - an aging Labrador and a baby girl - came to be friends. (As a side note, it's a pity we didn't name Taylor 'Jasper' because then I could be like K-Rudd with his new story-book... actually, no, on second thought, I'm quite happy to avoid the similarities).

Once upon a time, not so long ago, there was a puppy called Taylor. Taylor lived a peaceful life with her adopted Mummy and Daddy. Her days were spent running around in her backyard, going for walks, being patted and playing. Taylor liked to get into mischief, especially with food at Christmas time, and made her Mummy, Daddy and grandparents laugh.

Then, all of a sudden, Taylor's Mummy started to get fat. Mummy became tired and a little bit grumpy, and her stomach kept growing and growing. Taylor would come and cuddle up, with her head on Mummy's tummy, but stopped doing this when the tummy strangely started kicking her in the head.

One day, Mummy looked like she was in pain. She cried and Daddy drove her away in the car. Taylor thought that Mummy might have gone to a fat-camp to slim down again. But Daddy started coming home with items of miniature human clothing that smelled sort of like Mummy, but of something else as well. This was becoming very strange to Taylor.

Then Mummy and Daddy brought a little person home. Taylor did not know who she was - she thought that maybe she was a visitor - but she stayed. She cried, she spewed, she had smelly nappies. She cried some more. She took all the attention. Mummy and Daddy called her 'Abbey' and gave her lots of cuddles. Still she cried.

Taylor was worried and did not know what to do with this Abbey who had come into her home and taken over everything. Taylor liked to smell Abbey and touch her with her paws, but Mummy always stopped her from being too rough. Taylor just wanted to play, but she was much bigger than Abbey and did not know her own strength.

Meanwhile, Abbey grew bigger and bigger. She loved to look at Taylor and learned to point, say 'dog' and make a strange kind of animal noise that made her sound more like a devil-child than a pretend dog. But she did not like to be close to Taylor. In fact, she would scream and clutch to her Mummy if Taylor came near her.

Mummy decided to give Taylor and Abbey some time to get to know each other through the fly-screen door. Abbey held her hand up against the door and Taylor would lick it. Abbey laughed. Then Mummy started holding Abbey while she touched Taylor. Abbey liked to pull Taylor's fur, but Mummy taught her how to be gentle and pat Taylor.

Abbey decided that Taylor was not so bad after all. And Taylor thought that now Abbey did not cry all the time, she was all right too. And she realised that Abbey was the source of all the food that now appeared on the floor. This was a wonderful thing for Taylor. So the two adopted sisters played nicely together in the backyard and inside. Mummy or Daddy was always there with them, just to make sure they stayed happy and gentle with each other.

And they lived happily ever after.

PS - You can read about introducing babies and pets from Dr. Katrina Warren: here and here.


Megan

The Greatest Love Story

As you all know, this week my Nanna passed away. Grandad went eleven weeks ago.

But this emotional time is about more than my family and me losing grandparents, parents, great-grandparents. Their passing signifies a generation leaving us; a generation who experienced pain like we will never know, made sacrifices that we need never make and held values that we must endeavour to remember and hold on to.

I wanted to share this with you: the greatest love story I have ever heard.

The story of my grandparents, Neil and Iris, meeting and staying true to each other through the toughest of times, as a reminder of the strength of the human spirit. As a tribute to those who have left us, but who still have so much to teach us and to contribute to society.

(This story has been documented by author Cameron Forbes, and published in the book Hellfire: the story of Australia, Japan and the Prisoners of War).

Neil and Iris "had met in a pretty village... on the north-west coast of Tasmania... They went out a couple of times, and Iris thought probably nothing would come of it... She went to Western Australia in 1939 for a short holiday and when war broke out she was marooned there because of travel restrictions. Neil enlisted... He wrote to her from training camp, surprising her with a proposal of marriage. On Christmas Eve, she received another letter. Enclosed was an engagement ring.

"On August 23, 1942 Iris took up her pen, reached for a sheet of foolscap paper and began writing a letter, a love letter. When I say it was a love letter, I don't mean that it was passionate. It was decorous, as was Iris herself, but it had warmth and it had, so importantly, steadfastness. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.

"Two years later Neil received the letter in a prisoner-of-war camp along the Thai-Burma railway, the sole letter to reach him from anyone during three and a half years in captivity.

"My dearest Neil,

This is my first attempt at a letter to a prisoner of war, and am following directions closely, hoping it will get through to you. First of all, my dear, let me tell you how thankful I was to hear from your mother that you were safe, after all the months of waiting and no news and while it could have been better, still the main thing to us is that you are alive and safe. Hope you are well, and trying to keep your chin up, as I know you will, though I suppose it's easy enough for me to tell you to do these things. When, or if, it is possible for you to write to me, let me know if there is anything at all I am allowed to send you, dear, and if you can't write to me, just put a little message in your mother's letter, and that will have to do. As you will see Neil, I'm still in the West, though at a different address, and hoping to go home for good some time this year and will be there waiting for you when you come back. What a day that will be for all of us. Anyhow, till then think of me now and again, won't you. Neil, I shall be waiting and praying for you till we meet again. Keep smiling, darling. All my love. Still your fiancee, Iris."

Lest we forget.


Megan

My Beautiful Nanna

My Nanna passed away on Sunday, just shy of her ninety-third birthday and only eleven weeks after my Grandad, her husband of sixty-four years, left us.

For my brothers and sister and I, every childhood family holiday was to Hobart, staying with Nanna and Grandad. Later on, we would see them more often as they took their caravan to Far North Queensland each winter, with a long stop in Melbourne each way. On those trips, Nanna would take charge in our home to help Mum - she would be straight in cooking some meals to freeze for us, ironing all the clothes, making sure we were stocked up on fruit cake and other goodies.

She would dote on us, bring us presents, warm our towels over the heater to snuggle us up in after a bath, and sneak sweets to us when Mum left the room. When we were in Hobart there was always considerable thought into what each of us liked to eat. Coco Pops was the usual treat that we were only ever allowed to have at Nanna's, and she would also make sure my love of eating leftovers for breakfast was taken care of.

Nanna was never happier than the times her house was full of family - and that was quite often. Everyone knew the door was always open and the biscuit tin would be full of lemon slice and Anzac biscuits. Jokes were flung around the room, amid non-stop laughter.

My most recent memories of Nanna are from when we took Abbey to Hobart to meet her and Grandad. They loved her, of course, and couldn't believe how strong and determined she already was. Nanna had a couple of quick holds (they were brief due to Abbey's desire to escape from anyone trying to cuddle her!) and we managed to get a couple of pictures: the one above, and this one of the four generations (Nanna, Mum, me and Abbey):

To Nanna and Grandad, family was always number one. It is something that hit me with unbelievable force at Grandad's funeral, and comes back to me now: they both lived long lives and were surrounded by family who love them and hold memories of countless great times and so many laughs, as well as support and loyalty through the not-so-great moments. What more could you want from life?

I certainly couldn't ask for a better role model than Nanna, and I intend to continue to make her proud.

xo

Megan

Cook, Share... Lamb Shanks In Tomato Chilli Sauce

I know, it's summer. And lamb shanks are not a summery meal. But I am in Melbourne, where we are taking a short break from summer so that when we return to warm weather we can be grateful for it.

Besides, I just love lamb shanks, cooked nice and slowly so the meat falls off the bone. Mmmm....


4 lamb shanks (we use 2, which just means more sauce)
1/2 cup plain flour (Gluten Free flour can be used)
1 teaspoon curry powder
salt and pepper
1/4 cup oil
1 onion, finely chopped
1 small chilli, finely chopped
1 clove garlic, crushed
1 can chopped tomatoes
2 teaspoons sugar
1 tablespoon tomato paste
1 cup red wine
basil

Preheat oven to 140 degrees.
Remove any excess fat and sinew from lamb shanks.
Combine flour, curry powder, salt and pepper and toss lamb shanks lightly in the mixture, tossing off any excess.
Heat half the oil in a pan and brown the lamb over medium-high heat. Drain on paper towel.
Place lamb in a large, shallow ovenproof dish.
Heat the remaining oil and cook onion, chilli and garlic for 5 minutes or until onion is soft.
Add tomatoes, sugar and tomato paste and cook for  2 minutes.
Add wine and season with salt and pepper.
Pour the sauce over the shanks, cover and cook for 2 1/2 to 3 hours, or until shanks are tender.
Serve with rice* and a sprinkling of basil.

*Or it's also great with Jane Kennedy's 'cauliflower rice' from her book, Fabulous Food Minus The Boombah.

Enjoy!

Megan

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Point And Shoot: My Weekend

Chantelle at Fat Mum Slim set another Point And Shoot challenge: to take a photo of part of your weekend. My weekend was split in two: Saturday was fun, happy and carefree, while Sunday was incredibly sad. I'll post about that another day. For now, I'll stick to the happy bits...

On Saturday, we day-tripped out to Lake Eildon and waterskied. It was hot, sunny and the water was beautiful. We spent the day taking Abbey in for dips at the side of the lake and going out on a friend's boat, having some fun fun fun!

At one point, we left Abbey with some friends on shore and Steve and I both went out for a ski. It was the first time he had seen me waterski since my lesson a couple of months ago when, after years of trying (which Steve had seen all of), I finally did it.

He took this picture of me:

That's me! On waterskis! Standing up!

Megan

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Tagged! 10 Things I Don't Have The Guts To Do

The lovely Ami over at Puff Pieces tagged me in this latest blogging list. So, with some help from my husband, who came up with things I don't have the guts to do a little too easily, here are my confessions:

1. Deal with spiders. Some people prefer to leave them there, some take them back outside, and others kill them. I cannot bring myself to do any of those things. I can't look at them, touch them, or get near enough to move or kill them. Spiders are revolting and, although my husband also hates them, he has that job in our household.
2. Go underwater without blocking my nose. I know, this is ridiculous, but I've never learned to go underwater without water going up my nose. So I block it. I once told my little girl's swimming teacher this and, after she stopped laughing, she said I could learn with Abbey. Problem being that, at six months of age, Abbey could do it. And I still, sadly, cannot.
3. Clean toilets. Another job that goes to Steve. It's just gross and I can't handle touching the toilets, even in my own home.
4. Skydive. I made Steve do it, as a surprise for his 30th birthday. When we got there, they had a couple of extra spaces on the plane and asked if any observers would consider doing it. I thought about it. Seriously. But I just couldn't bring myself to jump out of a perfectly good aeroplane.
5. Time travel. OK, so Steve came up with this one (he likes sci-fi). And the list didn't say anything about being realistic, did it now? But I wouldn't time travel, even if I had the opportunity. Sure, it would be interesting, but what if something happened and I couldn't come back to my family? No thanks.
6. Go in lifts (unless I have no choice). Especially in unreliable-looking buildings (to be determined at my discretion). And the whole family must endure several flights of stairs if I deem a lift to be unsuitable. This stems from being stuck in a lift for two hours a few years ago.
7. Wear a bikini after having my baby (I know I've mentioned this in a few posts, but she was almost ten pounds... hello, stretchmarks!). It just wouldn't be pretty, so I now have a one-piece.
8. Eat sauerkraut. Have you ever smelled that stuff? My mother-in-law is Swiss and cooks it a bit. I have never tried it, but when you lift the lid of the pot, the whole house is encased with the smell of cabbage.
9. Cut Steve's hair. He always asks me to cut his hair with the clippers, but I hate doing it. That's what hairdressers are for.
10. Watch science-fiction or annoying action movies. I just don't get them and spend the whole time asking Steve what's going on.

So, without any further ado, I hereby tag these ten people to take this challenge and share their cowardly ways:


Chantelle at Fat Mum Slim
Jade at She Is Jade
Naomi at Under The Yardarm
Jodie at Mummy Mayhem
Lana at Sharpest Pencil
Emily at Emily The Strange
Taryn at Taryn Rucci
Thea at Do I Really Wanna Blog?
Bern at So Now What?
Sarah at Living La Vida What The

Megan

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Do You Believe In Star Signs?

I'm not one to read star signs in magazines. I guess I find it hard to believe that everyone who was born at a particular time of year has similar traits. It just seems a bit... unlikely? But sometimes, annoyingly correct.

When I was pregnant, telling people the baby's due date I often met with this response: 'Oh. A Virgo. You poor thing.' What did they mean? I have Virgo friends, my Mum is one and so is my mother-in-law. And they are all fine. What would be wrong with my baby? So I looked up the characteristics of a Virgo.

I soon found out that Virgos are generally organised. VERY organised. Neat and tidy to the point of annoyance. But I still didn't understand one thing: why would that annoy me? I myself am a very organised, neat person. I would struggle with a messy child, but a tidy one? That's cause for celebration (but don't say the word 'celebrate' to a pregnant woman; it just reminds her of her inability to drink champagne).

And the verdict on Abbey so far? At sixteen months of age, she is beginning to show signs of tidiness. But not in the traditional sense. No, far from it. As I look around, I see a lounge room scattered with toys, items from the kitchen cupboards and clothes from her drawers. Her current understanding of her Virgo-ness is to take things from one place and rearrange them. Which, as a fellow organised neat-freak, annoys the hell out of me!

This apparent instinct to organise also distracts her from doing other things. The other day, I gave her some crayons and butchers paper to practice drawing. She drew one squiggle and then spent the next two hours putting the crayons back in the box, looking at her handywork, then rearranging them, taking them out again, putting a couple in other spots (later, I found some in the freezer!), until she was finally satisfied with their placement.

So, with the combination of star-sign insights and her character so far, I think I can read my future: I see a lot of mind games between Abbey and myself. I see a LOT of arranging, rearranging and re-rearranging, trying to out-organise each other. I also sense a feeling of frustration from Steve.

But it'll be fun. My little girl is perfect just as she is. Sorry, that was just a tinge of protectiveness and loyalty from a stereotypical Cancerian...

Megan

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Celebrity Twitter

UPDATE: Jane Kennedy was alerted to her appearance in my blog by the lovely Taryn Rucci and wrote this on Twitter: "Oh Lordy! Do I count in the celeb stakes? Not much celeb action at moment with me and 5 kids in pjs and 3 loads of washing to do".
So I wrote: "Do I detect a hint of Ms Jane Kennedy having read my little blog?! Oh, I'm stoked! Thanks"
Her response? "Why yes, excellent blogging and I am one who is stoked! Xx"

First, there was the Facebook resistance. When friends started talking about it, I would tune out until they asked me: 'When are you going to join?' Then I'd get all vague - 'Oh, I don't have time for that', I'd say. Or this old one - 'If I want to talk to someone or know what they're doing, I'll speak to them'. How self-righteous does that sound? Especially for someone who now has to make a concerted effort to remember to catch up with friends who aren't on Facebook.

Then, Twitter came along. 'Well, that's just silly,' I'd say (never one to learn quickly from my own mistakes), 'I mean, who cares what you're doing at every minute of the day?' So here it is - this is so predictable - I'm now on Twitter. And addicted. Sigh.

The thing with Twitter is, I was right - no one really cares what you're doing all day. You don't want to hear people saying, 'Just cooked my toast', 'Now I'm buttering it!', 'Cutting it in half - in triangles'. But, if you put your life forward in an interesting way, it's a different story. Therein lies the challenge: mine is not the most exciting of lives in the world, but if I can think of a funny or vaguely interesting comment about my day-to-day stuff (in 140 characters or less), then I've hit paydirt. Others will respond with even funnier or wittier comments and there you are, laughing at each other. A conversation, of sorts.

There are also lots of celebrities in Twitter-land. Yesterday, Mia Freedman announced the arrival of Jane Kennedy (code name @minustheboombah) to Twitter. Jane is someone I've actually been meaning to contact. Not in a weird 'ooh I love you' kind of way, just more like 'ooh I love your cookbook'. So I went onto her site, hit 'Follow' and wrote this:

Oh Jane Kennedy, I am in LOVE with your cookbook! @minustheboombah Have made lots from it, and not one thing has failed.

Done, I thought. Now I feel good letting her know that I love her book. But a couple of minutes later this popped up on my screen (@MegsyJC is me):

 @MegsyJC. Thanks Megan! Rapt the dishes have worked for you...working on book #2 now!  

Very excited, I said to my husband, 'Oh my god, Jane Kennedy just replied to me!' (yes, I spoke the whole sentence in italics). His response: 'Cool. Can you tell her I had a huge crush on her during The Late Show? And that my head appears in one of the DVDs?'

Um, no. That would just be weird.

Megan

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'They' Have A Lot To Answer For

There was an article on The Punch website the other day (view the full story here) about the things they never tell you before you have kids. You know those moments - the ones where you think, 'They never told me this would happen'.

I have some theories on it. I think we are all too scared to tell people the truth, because (a) it means admitting we're not perfect, (b) we don't want to scare others out of having children, or (c) some of these things are just way too embarrassing to mention.

I'd like to add some things to the list from a female perspective (sorry if I give a little too much information, but that's kind of the point - they're the things no one seems to want to talk about):

After giving birth, you can't sit down with any level of comfort for weeks. Or without an ice pack on your hoo-hoo.

The bleeding also lasts for weeks. I thought it would be a little bit for a few days, like a period, but no. It was heaps and lasted for ages.

Everyone gives you different information, including especially the midwives at the hospital. I say take the advice you like the sound of best. For example, one midwife told us to wake Abbey every three hours to feed her, while another advised us to let her sleep. Guess which one I listened to? (refer to this post where I mentioned my baby weighed close to ten pounds - she wasn't going to fade away overnight).

Whilst some people tell you to sleep when the baby is sleeping, not everyone shares this view. I had an older nurse in the hospital telling me to stop being so lazy, when I curled up on the hospital bed with my 24-hour-old baby asleep in my arms. Gee, sorry.

It is actually possible to sleep through your baby crying. Sometimes you are so exhausted, you really do sleep through anything (well, I am anyway. Luckily for Abbey, she has a light-sleeping father.).

Everyone says that breastfeeding can be difficult to establish, but no one ever tells you it's also possible for it to be really easy. Especially when you want it to be hard so you have an excuse not to do it.

Lots of people will judge you. They will judge whether you breastfeed or bottle feed, cuddle the baby or use other sleeping methods, use a cot or a cradle or choose to co-sleep. But the judgments seem to become worse as the child gets older. You just learn to care less (hopefully).

Your values may change. You do grow as a person. And you are surprised by the love you feel for that little person, who is completely dependent on you. (OK, maybe I was told this part, but I didn't really believe it, or know the extent of it).

Megan

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Cook, Share... Flourless Chocolate Muffins

Before I started trialling a Gluten Free Diet, I made sure I could still find some yummy treats to bake. I turned to the flourless variety of cakes and muffins. Donna Hay's flourless chocolate muffins are so scrumptious that I thought I'd share the recipe with you all:

180g butter, chopped
220g dark cooking chocolate, chopped
1 1/4 cups caster sugar
3/4 cup almond meal
1 cup cocoa powder, sifted
5 eggs

Preheat the oven to 140 degrees Celcius.
Place the butter, chocolate and sugar in a saucepan over low heat and stir until melted and smooth.
Place the almond meal and cocoa into a bowl and whisk in the chocolate mixture.
Add the eggs gradually, whisking until well combined.
Grease 12 1/2 cup capacity muffin tins.
Spoon in the mixture and bake for 30 minutes or until firm.
Allow to cool in the tins.
Serve with double cream and fresh berries if desired.

One word: YUM.

Megan

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About Us

This post is borrowed stolen from Jade at She Is Jade. I think it's doing the blog rounds, but I loved it so thought I'd do it too...

What are your middle names? Mine is Jane, his is Michael.

How long have you been together? Married for seven years, together for just over eleven years.

How long did you know each other before you started dating? We started going out as soon as we met.

Who asked whom out? He asked me. We had met through a mutual friend, at a pub. We kissed and then he called me the next day and asked me out to dinner the next night. I said, I'm busy then, so he suggested the night after that. I said, I'm busy then too, so he said, how about the night after that? I said, OK. (What a bitch!)

How old are each of you? I’m twenty-nine, he's thirty-four.

Whose siblings do you see the most? Mine. All my siblings live in the hills as well, so we see them quite often.

Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple? Probably having Abbey was the hardest thing for us. It's been a big adjustment. When she was born, Steve got really busy at work, then with the fires last summer, and he wasn't home much. That was hard and I was constantly at him to spend time with Abbey. He was being pulled in all directions, but I just didn't want him to miss anything with her.

Did you go to the same school? No. I went to a girls' school in the suburbs and he went to school in the hills. We also figured out once that when he was in Year 12, I was in Grade 6... ewww!

Are you from the same home town? Pretty much. He's spent all his life in the hills and I was born in the suburbs not far from here, but moved up here when I was 12.

Who is smarter? We're smart in different ways. General knowledge: him. Academically: me.

Who is the most sensitive? Me. Definitely.

Where do you eat out most as a couple? We used to frequent local pubs and restaurants quite a lot, but not so much anymore. Now, we're probably most likely to be seen out for breakfast or lunch in Belgrave.

Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple? Europe.

Who has the craziest exes? Him. I don’t have any exes.

Who has the worst temper? Anyone who has met us would be able to see straight away that it's me. I have to work REALLY hard to get him to lose his temper!

Who does the cooking? Both of us. Some meals he's better at cooking, and others I do. He does off-the-cuff cooking without a recipe really well, while I'm more of a dessert baker.

Who is the neat-freak? Me. Most definitely me.

Who is more stubborn? Most would think it's me, but we're actually as bad as each other. Steve in a more quiet way, but neither of us will give in on something we feel strongly about.

Who hogs the bed? Me. He tells me every morning. I tell him to push me back over, but he's too nice to do it.

Who wakes up earlier? Him. He's gone to work before I even wake up.

Where was your first date? At an Indian restaurant. I was sure I didn't like Indian food back then (turns out I actually do now), plus I had butterflies in my stomach so couldn't eat anything. Food-wise, our first date was a disaster, but it didn't matter because we talked non-stop and just... clicked.

Who is more jealous? It hasn't really come up.

How long did it take to get serious? It happened gradually. We were young (I was eighteen, he was twenty-three when we met), so we weren't looking for seriousness. Then all of a sudden, we were saving for a house and talking about getting married. At one point, it just kind of dawned on us that we didn't want to be apart.

Who eats more? Him.

Who does the laundry? Both of us, but usually me now that I'm home.

Who’s better with the computer? Him. He loves technology.

Who drives when you are together? We share the driving.

Megan

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