Author: xoxoshoppinggirl

Magazine issue #1 (nostalgia)

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It’s the little things…..the small details that etch their way into people’s hearts, imprint their memories. It’s the gelato coloured cotton wool balls in a glass jar on my grandmother’s dresser. Her Elnett hairspray. And her scent – face-powder and Clinique cream blush. Her bedroom had such a distinctive smell: a combination of her, the furniture, the briny Sea Point breeze…..I keep thinking if I breathe deeply enough I will smell it again.

There is something so unbelievably evocative about scent and taste. While I was at Coles last week, I bought some Fox’s Glacier Mints and Glacier Fruits. I love the idea of having a bowl of wrapped sweets on the lounge room coffee table for when guests are over. I like the look of it during the week. It makes us look like a fun, lolly filled house. My own little Wonka’s chocolate factory. The problem is that we have a whole lot of Oompa Loompas in the house too. 4 to be exact. They know I won’t say no when they have their Oompa Loompa friends over. No-one wants to be the mean mummy (I use up all my meanness saying no to sleepovers and shouting at them to clean up their mess when they do “experiments”). So my lovely little bowl of lollies has been offered to my own guests once and the Oompa Loompa’s guests approximately 43 times (they are quite social, my Oompa Loompas).
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The other problem with the lolly bowl
is that, like Willy Wonka, I too am
partial to a sweet or 10. So perhaps the rapid decline of the bowl is not entirely the Oompa Loompas’ fault.

Up until last week I had only bought Fox’s mints. On Wednesday I added the fruits to my bounty. As I emptied the packets into the bowl, I unwrapped a blackcurrent one. It was my childhood in a hard boiled lolly. You have to understand I was weaned on Ribena. That and Strawberry Quik. I seem to have scores of sensory memories of blackcurrent pastilles and the lack of responsibility that came with that time. One suck of that blackcurrent, and just for a moment I felt a million miles and hours away.

This week I bought the Donna Hay Kids’ edition #11. It comes out once a year which means I have been buying it since Firstborn was born (possibly I bought the first issue on back order). I used to absolutely hang out for the kids’ issue. This year, more than anything, it just made me feel nostalgic.

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Partly, it was the recipe for homemade musk sticks. My taste buds sprang to attention. Just the thought of a musk stick, or some Musk Lifesavers, has me hankering for that taste, and a few minutes of that time of my life again. I scoured the internet for kosher musk essence so I could, thanks to Donna Hay, make my own musk sticks, but so far I haven’t found any.

But the nostalgia was not just for a long ago taste. When I used to buy the Donna Hay Kids’ issue (DHK), I was convinced that in its folds I would find the perfect meals for my preschoolers and toddlers. That somehow the key to getting them to eat healthy, balanced meals was in the pages of the magazine (yes I am a marketers dream). All I needed was the right recipes. Now that my kids are older, I know, through trial and error and hours spent making snubbed dishes, that no such recipe exists. Even though I know this, the quest for the holy grail of cooking magazines / cookbooks continues. My kids aren’t even that fussy any more (well Master 6 is, but he gets told each night – you can have what we’re having or your can have cereal. He often chooses cereal but I don’t care – I OFFERED the well balanced meal and that’s all that counts on Planet Mum).

A couple of months ago I bought a new “family cooking” magazine called One-Handed Cooks. Full of expectations, I thought that I would find pages of healthy lunchbox, dinner and snack ideas that would leave my kids begging for seconds, that I could easily whip up with one hand, whilst the not insignificantly sized Baby N sat nestled in the other. It’s a clever name that, One Handed Cooks. The magazine is beautifully laid out, and there were a few recipes I will try…..but not surprisingly it did not fulfil my (unrealistic) expectations.

The other reason I used to yearn for the new issue of DHK was parties! There are always gorgeous pages of perfectly styled kids’ parties. I got plenty of ideas and recipes from these pages. There were years when I would take out a stack of back issues and tell the kids to pick their birthday cake. There is one word why this is less exciting than it used to be and that is Pinterest. And Internet explosion. We have access to kids party porn (yeah that really sounds wrong…..but so wrong it’s kind of right) 24/7……the pages of the magazine just don’t hold the same allure anymore because now I see this stuff all the time.

And so paging through the magazine I felt less excitement and more…..just nostalgic. Nostalgia for that time when I would note down in my diary the release date on the kids’ issue. When I eagerly read through it and envisioned all the well eaten dinners I would create, all the brilliant kids’ parties I would bake for, style and host (now I just buy my way out of them). When the kids were all small and the days were hectic but relatively simple because when your oldest child is in preschool, your children’s needs may be endless, but they are relatively simple.

I can’t go back in time, but if I can find that musk essence I might, even if it’s just for a sensory based flash.

XOXO Shopping Girl

Shopping with baby: the 5 best and 5 worst things about it

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Five best things about shopping with a baby.

1. Heavy bags.
You don’t have to carry your shopping bags, or even your handbag. When my pram basket is full, I hang the extra bags off the bugaboo’s brake.

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(Disclaimer: that is not my finger)

2. Friendliness.
People are nicer to you when have a baby. Strangers talk to you. The world is a friendlier place. AND people compliment your baby (or maybe it’s just when you have as cute a baby as *I* do) which as all parents know, feels like you personally are being complimented.

3. Excuse.
If you bump into someone who you don’t feel like talking to, you can use the baby as the excuse to keep moving. “He hates it when the pram stops”. “He has limited patience in the pram, and I’ve just got to get through my errands”. Having the baby as an excuse to get out of anything you don’t want to do is actually one of THE best reasons to have a baby at all.

4. Ears.
My personal favourite – you have someone to talk to. You don’t have to walk around the shops muttering what you need to do to yourself. Your baby has no choice but to listen to the fact that “first we need to take back J’s pants, then we need to do daddy’s banking, then we need to check out the new things in Country Road and THEN we’ll go to Coles and get milk!”. Even just “I LOVE this” sounds better directed at a person (no matter how small) rather than thin air. As someone who feels the need to comment aloud during my shopping trips, baby-as-pair-of-ears is a useful addition.

5. Coffee.
Babies get hungry and need to be fed, food or milk. This requires being seated. Sometimes it requires the assistance of hot water. This means you must stop and have a coffee.

6. Numbers.
I know I said 5 but we should have one more positive than negative, so number 6 is it’s just the baby with you. Not all 4 children. Just thinking about that makes you happy you’re shopping with (just) the baby.

You don’t have to have the most vivid imagination to come up with a list of reasons why shopping with a baby can be problematic. It takes a special kind of positivity to appreciate the flip side. As you have seen, I am that Optimist. I have easily told you the five (well, 6) best things about shopping with a baby, but I have also BEEN shopping with a baby so here’s the reality check…..

1. Throwing.
Baby N has a throwing habit. If he dislikes the taste of something, or even if he just doesn’t absolutely love it, he throws every last scrap across the room, or just onto the floor at the very least. Last night at dinner he threw a corn cob directly into my face.

In the pram, it’s socks. The second he sits down he starts pulling hard at the toes of his socks. Once they are off, quick as a flash, he extends his arm horizontally, opens his hands, and then instantly pulls them in again, in a movement so fast it’s barely perceptible to man. Or woman.

Lost socks aside, this throwing habit is completely out of hand as I discovered at Coles two days ago. Once the goods got to a level in the trolley that he could reach, everytime I put something in the trolley, he turned around, picked it up and threw it onto the floor. Every single time. The shop took me twice as long as normal. I don’t think I can go grocery shopping if this is how it’s going to be now.

2. Not so friendly after all.
People insult you when you have a baby. And all parents know when they criticise your baby they are really criticising you. That’s why sometimes I want to say “So are you!” when people
say in faux adoration “Your baby is so fat!”. Or they say “I just want to pinch his cheeks!” and I think “I want to pinch you too. Hard”. Because the next line is “What are you FEEDING him????”.

And yes, you think people are being friendly but really they just want to give you unsolicited advice. Like “Your baby’s feet are cold”. Actually they aren’t. As we have COVERED ALREADY, he has an internal heating system called baby fat and if I let you touch his magnificent feet you would see that, actually, they are warm. Besides which, it’s bloody irrelevant because he just threw his socks out of the pram when I wasn’t looking. There is no point putting socks on these feet.

3. Momentum.
If you DO bump into somone you want to talk to, you can’t actually do so. That thing about liking the pram to be moving is true, and Baby N will only stay in it stationary so long before he starts getting cranky. And that’s about 10 seconds.

4. Impatience.
The limited patience thing is also true. I list my shopping / errands on my shopping app in order of the levels and shop placement in the mall because time is at a premium. Going to the shops with baby is not a leisurely, meandering browse. It’s an exercise in time & risk management. Babies don’t always have a great appreciation for the need to get things done. And they have a habit of voicing this loudly. Or sometimes they just want to be held, which, with 14kg in one arm, and needing to still push the pram with the other, is equally restrictive.

5. Lack of coffee.
Yes you have an excuse to stop for coffee but you don’t actually get to drink it. The baby’s hunger comes first (I’m not game to ruin everyone else’s peaceful coffee with my baby’s screams) so you’ve missed the hot stage of your coffee (only temperature I like to drink my coffee at). The coffee has to be out of reach of the baby, too.

Once the baby is fed, you now have a wriggly, grabby baby on your lap, who is all like “Okay I’ve eaten, what are we sitting around for? Proceed with the walking tour of the mall!”. And as you regretfully strap the baby back into the pram, and he alternates arching his back with planking even though he clearly wasn’t enjoying sitting at the cafe, you regret not asking for your coffee to go.

XOXO Shopping Girl

Shopping with baby – love it or hate it or neither-it’s-just-life?

What I bought today # 1

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When I was younger, in the late eighties, “matching” was where it was at. I matched my (roll down) socks to my top. And my earrings. And my eye shadow. I loved to match.

The seeds of matching were planted in me young.

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Dresses courtesy Marks & Spencer – looks like around 1981/2

I’m the one on the right, with the haircut like a Mario Bros mushroom and the Hello Kitty bag. Please note how my sister and I are some 30 years plus fashion forward, rocking the sandal and sock look.

Somewhere along the way matching lost its credentials. “Too Matchy Matchy” is a scathing fashion insult. Black bag no longer means black shoes. You can clash prints, red & pink, black & navy – the list is endless. The less you match the better. I can no more imagine wearing pink eyeshadow (which is supposed to “wake-up” your eyes in incidentally) because I’m wearing a pink top, than I can imagine wearing 4 different colour roll down stocking socks, 2 on each foot. And yet once upon a time I wore it all. Together.

I tend not to dress my kids in matching clothes either. This is not because I have something against it. It’s more that when you have 4 kids of the same gender, and are passing down clothes, you get sick of them. The last thing you need is for your son to finally grow out of the green Seed t-shirt with the the map print dog, and low and behold, there is the next size up waiting for him. I never want to see those dog t-shirts again. Sorry Seed. They did look quite cute at the time.

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But today I went against my grain and bought Master 6 and Baby N matching tracksuit pants. Both needed a pair, I really liked the print, I didn’t want to spend Baby N’s limited pram
patience hunting for another pair I liked…..and I knew Master N would get a kick out of it. I was right. He is thrilled. It will be 5 years before Baby N wears the size 6 pants – I think that’s
plenty of time for me to forget about them and like them again.

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Jack and Milly tracksuit pants from Myer

Unlike my mother, whose motives I assume were intentional (I can’t imagine any other scenario where we could all wind up in the same dress), what I DO tend to do is unintentionally dress myself and my boys matching. I dress myself first; there is a mood that contributes to my choice, or a look i am trying to achieve. When I lay my kids’ clothes out, subconsciously that aesthetic is lodged in my brain. It is embarrassingly not uncommon for people to say to me “oh cute you match!” And I will look at myself and my offspring both dressed in Breton stripes and grey denim and realise, indeed we do.

It happened again this morning, again without me even thinking about it. I put on my long grey Maison Scotch dress, and, to break it up a bit, added my white furry gilet.

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I had a few things to do at school (check lost property, uniform shop, visit beloved ex-pre-school teacher) and cogniscent of the apparent SUB ZERO morning temperatures in Dover Heights, I popped a Seed white fluffy bunny (it has ears) snow suit over Baby N’s pyjamas, to keep him cosy in the icy winds. Our school, I swear, is 5 degrees colder than the rest of Sydney. So there we were, both in white faux fur, without me even noticing. Until it was pointed out.

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I bought a school jacket too today. For my son. I don’t have as much to say about that, though it is in keeping with the theme. Uniform is about as matchy-matchy as you can get.

XOXO Shopping Girl

Shopping: style

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As I alluded to last week, our dryer died in a somewhat dramatic fashion.

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I was out with the kids when Working Boy called to tell me that the house fire alarm was going off. I wasn't too far from home, so I packed the kids into the car and made my way there. I opened the front door……there was not any billowing smoke but it was hazy and there was a very strong smell of burning plastic. I ran back to the car (where I had left the kids) and made my first ever 000 call. The boys were thrilled although Master 6 had grave concerns for the iPad.

The firemen arrived, and after I quickly briefed them to head to the laundry, in they ran. They emerged a few minutes later to inform me that indeed the dryer motor had been on fire and that I should always clean my lint filter. I told them I absolutely do. They said the smallest amount of lint can cause a fire. Personally, I think that's a problematic feature for a dryer.

So now we have no dryer. We have also had 5 extra people staying at our house (read 4 sets of bedding, 5 sets of towels), and J came back from camp last night (read: a full suitcase of washing…..). We generate a lot of washing anyway (my last machine, 5kg, died after I belted it on average of 3 times a day). To complicate matters, it is not warm outside.

In this situation my instinct is to simply go to Harvey Norman, and buy a dryer. Working Boy has a slightly different style.

First, he consults his (other) bible, Choice magazine. He looks up dryers and reads the article carefully. He uses their filter and compare function to narrow down which machine we should get. 7-8 kg …..check. Under $2000 – check. He points out that though the one that is closer to $1000 is obviously cheaper than the one closer to $2000 (4-unit maths comes in so handy), the running costs over time are significantly lower than the more expensive model, so ultimately it may not be the better financial solution.
He asks me to read the article and consider our options. I start reading it and then baby N wakes up and it's all over. By the time baby N is asleep (which ends up being a 2 hour process), J is back from camp and wanting to catch up on all the news and eating of the last 5 days. By the time HE is in bed (and the other two too), I have no energy to choose dryers.

So that's where we are now.
And it's not over……once, somehow Working Boy and I have chosen the machine, WB will see where he can find it cheapest. This is not a straightforward process either. A quick google will not do. He will spend hours comparing. Once he has found the cheapest available price he calls the Advantage Shopper service and asks them where they can get it cheapest. They take 24 hours to come back to you, but it is often significantly cheaper.

And then, finally, we will order the dryer. Sometimes in the middle, I start googling reviews and Working Boy and I argue about the merits of Choice magazine over Whirpool.

Meanwhile, my towels have air dried like cardboard, and my washing is hanging in all sorts of places.

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By day Aero Saerin puppy.

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By night, clothes line.

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Working Boy likes to know he has gathered all the available information and made the right choice. I do too…..but I also like clean, DRY washing, and especially towels that don’t have the added benefit of exfoliation.

What’s your shopping style?

XOXO Shopping Girl

Buy-buy

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Yesterday he left for camp.
My body responds to stress and worry the same way it responds to exhaustion. It shops. Of course, I can’t furnish a house every time I am anxious or tired. And truth be known, being happy has the same effect on me too. The only thing better than a celebration is celebrating the celebration with a shop. In order for me to stop shopping, I think I would need to maintain a state of complete emotional apathy. Without getting bored because then I’d once again feel compelled to shop.

The camp bus left around 8.30am. By 9.30 I was at the supermarket. I may not be able to justify a new set of shoes but with 5 men (even small ones) in the house my pantry always needs restocking.

I got all the essentials. Chocolate. Ben and Jerry’s. Caramels. The icecream (and it’s delicious brownie chunks) got me through until 3.30pm when their bus finally arrived safely at the campsite. The chocolate came in handy today when our clothes dryer caught on fire……but that’s a story for another time (a new dryer has bumped it’s way to the top of our “to buy” list).

In some ways, my second born, J, is the glue that holds together the relationship between my oldest, and third born, who are 4.5 years apart. Without #2, I have three kids separated by 4.5-5 year gaps…..instead of 3 kids with 2-2.5 years between them…..and a baby. It is a big difference. J has left a size 9 gap that needs filling, and this costs money.

$30 to be exact. That is what we bought yesterday. School holidays polyfilla. One hour for both of them at the inflatable slides / castles / mazes at Fox Studios (EQ never caught on). Like everything else, jumping castles come at a premium in Sydney’s Eastern suburbs.

After an hour of happily clambering about, they came out. As we walked off, N threw an arm around Master T’s shoulders and said “We’re best buddies, you and I”. $30 very well spent. Who said money can’t buy friendship?

Camping

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My second born is off to camp this week. Voluntarily. It’s a youth movement camp, 5 hours out of town. Tuesday until Sunday. The weather forecast is for 1 degree nights. He is 8 and stubborn. He doesn’t take a jacket with him when it’s cold. Getting him to brush his teeth and shower daily requires the sort of negotiation skills more appropriate to, say, Camp David. I have been told by more experienced camp mums that in the issue of hygiene I am going to have to get my Idina Menzel on and let it go. Let it gooooooo. Let. It. Go.

But the cold is something else altogether. And whilst I can’t physically make him layer up (in my own house let alone 5 hours away), I can send him with the ability to stay warm, if not the will.

Enter the camping store. Not my regular domain. I don’t do camp. Well I DO do camp-camp…..Glitter! Sequins! Musicals! Pink!! But camping camp? Not even not so much….not at all. Tents (shudder). Toilets blocks (SHUDDER). Polar fleece (The horror. THE HORROR).

I hadn’t been in a camping shop since 2002 when Working Boy and I needed to get some travel towels and sleeping bag liners before we went on our PKWT (pre-kids world trip). I somehow came out with a polar fleece jacket. I am still not sure how this happened. But let me tell you, no matter how warm it is, walking the streets of Barcelona and Paris, I felt like a right idiot wearing clothing that should only be found outside of metropolitan cities (and even then it’s questionable). Unlike ski-wear, there is no such thing as camp-chic. I upgraded to a coat from Zara, and sold that polar fleece on eBay on our return.

But I digress. Kathmandu is having a great sale so off I went. (Actually it wasn’t so easy – there was a tired baby and two unenthusiastic children to drag along, as well as one enthusiastic child who didn’t want to be tempered by the lack of enthusiasm shown by his siblings).

ANYWAY. I am completely out of my depth in camping shops. Everything is ugly. The staff speak in terms of practicality. I don’t speak that language. The most practical I get is not wearing a fur gilet when my child has a cold. Or wearing my Hunters over my suede boots when it’s wet outside. I don’t know what the benefits of polar fleece over wool are (or wool over polar fleece – who the hell knows – or whether that is even cause for comparison) and I don’t want to. Everyone in the shop is rugged and outdoorsy. I like the beach as much as anyone (sometimes even more) but Westfield Bondi Junction is my mothership.

Money can’t buy you love, but it can buy you warmth. Despite my misgivings, we came home with this beanie

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and scarf, gloves and a plain coloured thermal top with change from a $50 note. Two days later I ventured into K-mart and got him ugg boots for $4. Four dollars. They may well get trashed or lost or both at camp. And I won’t care.

So that’s it all. The shopping is done. The suitcase is almost packed. With hygiene and warmth sorted, that just leaves me with only 10000 other things to worry about. I don’t know much about the stock market but if you could buy shares in kosher cab sav, my tip would be to buy up before Tuesday.

XOXO Shopping Girl

Broken

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If you’re up for an amusing read, this is not the post for you today. No Shopping Girl. I am mourning the kidnapping and subsequent murder of three innocent, beautiful Israeli boys at the hands of Hamas. I am crying, my boys are crying, Jews around the world and most especially throughout Israel – we are all crying.

From the moment these boys went missing, we prayed. At home and at school, my boys said Tehillim (psalms) for the safety of the three missing boys. They were never far from our minds. One night when my own sick baby would not sleep, I sat holding him and cried – not for lack of sleep but for those 3 mothers in Israel who once held their babies in their arms, and who may never again. And, so cruelly, this is exactly what has happened.

I know life will eventually get back to normal. Much, much sooner for me than for the families of Naftali Frenkel, Gil-ad Shaar and Eyal Yifrach, whose lives will never be the same again, whose families will always now be incomplete. Broken.

I will continue to write. But for now I am too sad.

2 minute make-up routines

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A couple of weeks ago, beauty expert extraordinaire, Zoe Foster-Blake, posted a pic on her Instagram, which I follow. Having recently had a baby, it was titled the Oh Shit The Baby is Starting to Cry 2 minute make-up routine.
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Personally I like to think of myself as somewhat of an expert in this genre of make-up application.
And so I present to you the Oh no (I had to cease swearing looooong ago) the baby is starting to cry, the 6 year old wants to do his reader which he should have done last night, the 8 year old is refusing to get dressed, the 10 year old needs his diary signed, and the 39 year old left for work at 6am two minute make-up routine.

Mine differs from Zoe’s in that she utilises a BB cream. I have not yet found a good BB cream (not for lack of trying), so I use the old fashioned moisturiser-primer-foundation combo. I’ll probably give her Clarins recommendation a go – I pretty much listen to anything Zoe says.

Anyway, this is my face:

Clockwise from the top:
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ASAP Ultimate Hydration – as I am inhaling my first coffee, and if Baby N is playing happily for a few minutes, I run into the bathroom and rub this all over my face. While it’s sinking in, I go and prepare breakfasts / get the lunches out of the fridge / start helping Master 6 get dressed / find the bits of uniform that have inexplicably gone missing.

At some point, in amongst all this (and more) I go back to the bathroom and smear a thin layer of Napoleon Auto Pilot Skin Primer. I am almost 100% sure my foundation stays on longer than without it.

I give Baby N breakfast (that is a whole separate blog post). I try and interest Baby N in continuing to play with his toys. But by now he is getting fed up with being fobbed off and wants some ATTENTION.

I take Baby N to the bathroom with me. I put him on the floor so I can apply my foundation (YSL Le Teint Touche Éclat). I pump it into my hand and start smoothing on with my fingers when I notice that Baby N is gripping the toilet bowl (and of course, with 3 older boys our seat is always up) and pulling to stand.

I abort the foundation application. Pick up Baby N, wash his hands, disinfect them, dry them. Not only does the rest of my make up have to now be applicable in under two minutes, it also has to be done one handed, holding a 14kg baby whose sole object is to grab whatever I am holding and to capture my attention so I will look at him, and not the mirror. You’ve got to know it’s a pretty foolproof routine.

Hourglass concealer
This step is crucial. 4 kids = dark circles.

Napoleon Amazing Lash Mascara. This came free with a magazine. I love magazines. I have a lot of free magazine mascara. I actually quite like this one.

Estée Lauder Pure Colour cello shot
Can’t go wrong with this. Quick rub with my fingers and it gives me a pleasant, subtle rosy glow that makes me look as alive as my second coffee makes me feel.

Benefit Watts Up illuminator. According to the magazines, an illuminator gives you that “lit from within” look. I like the idea of glowing like a nightlight. So I plop a bit of that on too in case it works. Maybe I just look strangely slightly sparkly. You can tell me next time you see me.

I run an old kids’ toothbrush through my brows. You know how kids don’t really rinse their toothbrushes? So the first time I did this I ended up with dry flecks of used toothpaste in my brows. Oh yes I did. Nina, stop laughing. Anyway now that I have overcome this problem, it really does do a decent, quick brow grooming job.

A squirt of Chlôe (I’ve always wanted a signature scent and I think this is it), and I’m done.

If for some reason I need to put in a token extra effort (Preschool concert, Mother’s Day morning tea, really REALLY bad night where the only thing that will make me feel remotely human or alive is painting my face) I add these in:

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Estée Lauder Bronze Goddess. This neither turns me bronze (it can’t work miracles), nor into a goddess (again with the miracles), but it does give me a less ghostly appearance and sometimes even gives the impression that I have relaxed in the sun.

Revlon Colourburst balm stain (if I really want to look like I’ve made an effort) or Clinique Chubby Stick in Heaping Hazelnut (for a more subtle, generally polished look).

Chanel le crayon kôhl. Doesn’t have to be Chanel – anything smudgy and black will do. This is good when I am sick of looking like someone’s mum and luckily this looks GOOD with messed up hair because as you will notice my routine does not include a hair brush. Sadly I don’t think anyone is fooled by my rock-chick liner. The baby on the hip and the 7 seater car is just too much of a give away. And then, of course, there’s the handbag.

And that’s it.

XOXO Shopping Girl

Optimism

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There is something about exhaustion which makes me spend. I’m like an adrenaline junkie. Or any junkie really. Sometimes sugar and caffeine is just not enough of a buzz to get me through a tiring day.

If we didn’t have a baby the
house may not be as furnished and decorated as it is so far. There’s just no shopping like 3am Internet shopping. Or it’s 10am and 4 coffees seems excessive. Some people jog. I don’t.

Anyway, today I bought hand beaters. Mine broke a few months back. I was putting off the replacement purchase as I had often said that if my hand beaters, Kenwood and food processor all broke simultaneously I would think about a Thermomix. The Kenwood and the food processor haven’t been in the best of spirits so I thought I should give them some time (to die). Not having hand beaters has been really annoying. Why do I need so many appliances? It’s a kosher thing. Look it up.

The longer time went on, the more I realised that regardless of the health of my appliances, we simply do not have $2000 spare for a Thermomix. Buying furniture will do that.

So I replaced my handbeaters. And I did it in style. KitchenAid. Hot Pink. It’s that 4 boys things again. I take all my pink where I can get it.

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If Baby N had not had an ear infection (and molars breaking through I just discovered) who knows how long it would have taken me to replace my beaters. Always look on the bright (pink) side of life.

XOXO Shopping Girl

What did the postman bring today? #2

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Not all shopping is fun. Sacrilege, I know, but hear me out. Yesterday I bought this:

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3 nights ago, Baby N woke no fewer than 10 times. Probably closer to 15. He didn’t sleep. I didn’t sleep. He cried. I cried. In the morning he was a bit sniffly. “Baby N has another cold,” I told Working Boy in the morning. “Don’t have any expectations of me today,” I also may have added.
On Wednesday night I put him to bed at 6.30pm (it had been a loooong afternoon). By 7pm he was up again, hysterical. This went on for a few hours. At about 10.30pm I texted Working Boy and said “I’m beginning to think maybe it’s not just a cold”. A few hours later Baby N woke up for the day. With fever flushed cheeks. “Please check his ears before you go to work, Working Boy”, I said. (WB conveniently happens to be a paediatrician). Working Boy had a peek and said “yep they are pretty red. I think he needs antibiotics”. Now, WB is quite conservative when it comes to ears and antibiotics. So I am pretty sure Baby N’s ears must have been a somewhat spectacular shade of flaming scarlet.

Later, after battling with Baby N to nap, I waited in the mostly empty pharmacy for 20 minutes holding 14 kgs of crying ear infection. Like most shops (with the exception perhaps of pet-food stores) I really enjoy going to the pharmacy. But this was not fun.

However this was also mostly my own fault because no fewer than 3 gorgeous friends had offered to pick up the script for me* already (one deserves a special mention – EG – she arrived on my doorstep bearing coffee and a pain au chocolat). No, no I said. Baby N is a 4th child. I need to go to Woolworths anyway. We’re FINE to pick up the script. Except I should have accepted because it was a miserable experience. There are very, very few things money cannot buy but true friendship is one of them. I love you girls.

Or, if I felt bad to accept the girls’ offers I could have paid a small premium and a local pharmacy would have DELIVERED it. I am a huge fan of delivery. Huge fan. Not so many months ago Baby N went through a phase where he was too big for the Baby Bjorn, couldn’t sit up in the trolley but didn’t want to be lying in a trolley capsule. He also cried in the car and pram. A lot. I discovered that there is virtually NOTHING that you cannot have delivered to your doorstep. I did Coles on-line (delivery free on Wednesday), had fruit & veg delivered (2 great options here – one does sushi too!), the kosher butcher delivers for a small fee ($4.40. Worth it. Sooooo worth it), the kosher grocery store delivers, clearly all the online shops do……and the pharmacy. I love knowing that if things are going truly badly, the only thing I need to leave the house for is fresh bread. And as one of the above friends can testify (who picked up my bread for me on more than 3 occasions), sometimes you can have that delivered too. This is my tip to you: have your shopping delivered. Any of it. All of it. Whatever makes life bearable for you. I haven’t slept for three nights. I have Nespresso Indriya pumping through my veins (which, yes, can be delivered. The pods, not my veins). Delivery is my friend.

Speaking of deliveries, my other friend the postman came yesterday too. He delivered my bronze cushion:

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(Yes, you can now follow Shopping Girl on Instagram).
Gotta love you and leave you…..there’s a body imbalance I need to address. Too much blood, not enough caffeine….
XOXO Shopping Girl

* Working Boy also offered, saying that he would be home early. I know no such thing is true, so I declined. I was right.