this moment

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week.

Via Soulemama.

Sew Vintage

The vintage sewing pattern collection is growing. And the first little dress made has been well-worn and well-loved. Here is number two - Style pattern 3821, size 2, copyright 1972. Otherwise known as a little red dress, as requested by my littlest girl.

The instructions were a little light on detail, but that's OK - I find it easier to wing it with these older patterns. Something about something written recently makes me stand up and follow orders. But 1972, with all its talk of basting and seam binding and double-fold trims. Meh! Just sew already.

I love the shirred cuffs and gathered skirt, and though the buttonholes and collar were a bit of a fumble, I quite like those too. And it has to be said, my very special new machine has made the inside of the dress so professional and tidy, not to mention how easy it makes turning and sewing the hems.

I'm joining in with Creative Spaces for the first time in a long time.

High

A bunch of knitted hats, stacked high for the photo.

About as high as the stress levels here today, despite our efforts to get out and enjoy the sunshine.

Not nearly as high as the high-pitched screams every few minutes from any/all of my girls fighting over this or that or nothing really at all.

Substantially higher than the amount of hours sleep I'm getting each night lately.

Far, far, far higher than my patience levels as a result of said sleep deprivation and said relentless bickering.

Overwhelmingly higher than the number of pages I'm managing to read each evening of White Tiger by Aravind Adiga.

And roughly as high as the glass of wine I'm about to pour myself right now.

Summoning one last burst of energy for the Yarn Along before collapsing for the night.

A Little Sewing

My new overlocker has been thrown into action. It calls to me when I walk past its room. "Turn on ABC Kids and come to me," it beckons. I try to resist. It's hard. 

Together we've created another of those sweet, and easy, little dresses, and a pair of pocket pants from this beautiful book. There'll be more of these in our near future. It would seem pockets are quite popular with at least one little girl in the house. 

The cuff and binding on the pants were the last scraps of a pillowcase I loved, so how fortuitous to come across a big double sheet in a similar print. The red chambray was a lucky op shop find as well.

I've since been busy with some of my growing collection of vintage patterns. Hopefully there'll be something to show for my work later in the week.

In the Garden: Tomatoes

So many of the delights of parenthood come from watching your little ones master new skills. Rolling over, sitting up, those first beautiful, tentative steps. As much as you may want to hang onto that squishy little possum they handed you on day one, seeing them mould and shape into real live humans with real live human superpowers, well, that's the stuff of life, yes?

Except when the newly acquired skill is the ability to hoist and shimmy out of one's cot, accompanied by growing - a) tall enough to reach the door handle or b) smart enough to find a piece of furniture to stand on to reach the door handle.

And all of a sudden, what was once a family who slept in till a reasonable hour, usually 7:30, often later, is now a family rising, en masse, when there's a 6 on the clock. And we are a grumpy bunch. 

So what to do with revolting children, and a revolting mother, when the afternoon slump hits with full force? Gardening. We tried this little trick a couple of years ago, and while our seedlings were a great success, we were a bit lax on the follow-through and none of them made it into the garden. This year will be different.

To make the seedling pots, take a square of newspaper a bit wider than a plastic cup and roll it over the cup, tucking it up against the base firmly. Tie with a piece of string or kitchen twine (or cheat like I did last time and use sticky tape). Remove the plastic cup and repeat until you have as many as you need. Nestle them all together in a tray or box, then half fill with seed raising mix. Sprinkle in a seed or two (or 17), top up with a bit more soil, then water well.

If all goes to plan, once the seedlings are established, you can pop them, newspaper pot and all, straight into the garden. I'll keep you posted on our progress. We chose cherry tomato seeds because I have it on good authority that there isn't enough sun in an average summer around these parts for the bigger varieties. We planted some basil seeds as well. I'm dreaming of summer pesto. Tomato salad. Homemade mozzarella. Some sleep. And the sometimes delightful, almost always well-rested children who used to live here.

To the Bloke They Call 'Dadda'

Happy Father's Day, old man. You know it's love xx

Photo A Day August

After the fun I had in July, I decided to join in with Fat Mum Slim's Photo A Day challenge again for August, over on Catch Photography's Facebook group. I missed a few this time, but here are some nifty collage thingos (via Picmonkey) of the ones I managed.

1. outside

2. one

3. coin  5. logo

6. writing  7. 8 o'clock

 8. glasses

9. messy  10. ring

11. purple  12. spoon

 13. simple

14. arrow  15. ready

16. food

 17. faces

18. inside  19. hole

21. cool  22. home

23. pair

24. path  25. fresh

26. dream

27. tap

29. down  30. card

31. hidden

Almost

Before it swung back to bitter, we enjoyed some almost-warm afternoons in the garden. Spring momentarily within reach.

Pink Enough

It was the jumper that jumped the queue. And then the queue got its own back, and toilet-training sisters caused unforeseen delays. 

But then it was done, and it was lovely, and all was right with the world.

And there was dancing to prove it.

The pattern is Rubble by Alison Brookbanks. The yarn is Cleckheaton. The colour is pink enough to please her and not pink enough to displease me.

I'm reading a novel. About something other than parenting. It's good.

Ravelry notes here.

Yarn Along here.

Speaking of 'queue jumping', are you (Australians) watching Go Back to Where You Came From on SBS. Throat-constrictingly powerful stuff.

Our Homemade Yoghurt

Back when we were dreaming of this country life, top of the list of things I would do once we moved was make my own yoghurt. I'm not sure why I felt I had to relocate in order to begin. I'm sure in even the sleekest designer city kitchen with the most fast-paced, peak-hour lifestyle, it would be possible. But it just feels like a country thing to do.

We used to go through one, sometimes two, 2kg tubs of natural Greek yoghurt a week, at $10 a pop. My girls eat it every night for dessert, I often have it at breakfast, and it makes its way into cakes and alongside our favourite pitas and cheesy triangles quite often.

Apart from the first couple of weeks, since moving here over eight months ago (eight!), I haven't bought yoghurt once. And I've read all around blogland of people who use yoghurt makers and powdered starters, or who strain their yoghurt to thicken it. I do none of that. This really is so easy. I referred to Soulemama's method the first time, and just adapted it slightly as I went along. My original starter was an organic yoghurt from the health food store. I added powdered milk in a few batches at the beginning because I read somewhere that it helps thicken it. In the end I decided it made no difference.

The thing that does make a huge difference, I've found, is the milk. I tried once with a supermarket brand (before I learnt all about permeate and the woes of dairy farmers - we don't buy that milk anymore) and it refused to become yoghurt. I also had a failure once with a major national brand, who recently started emblazoning its labels with a bright yellow 'permeate free' banner. But after reading this post at Little Eco Footprints, I clicked along and discovered that the milk sold at my local general store, and at the supermarket in a nearby town, is local, ethical and additive free. And it tastes better. And it makes beautiful yoghurt.

For this method, you will need a thermometer, an insulated cooler bag (or esky) and two hot-water bottles.

Heat two litres of milk in a saucepan until it reaches 90 degrees Celsius. Remove it from the heat and allow it to cool to 40 degrees. I speed this process up by putting the saucepan of milk into the kitchen sink filled with cold water. It still takes about 10 minutes.

Once it has reached 40 degrees, whisk in about a quarter of a cup of your last batch of yoghurt. If it's the first time you've made it, choose something unflavoured, natural and organic with live cultures. Pour it into your chosen container. I know lots of people use glass jars (and I will soon when I get around to finding some the right size) and sterilise them beforehand, but I just use the old 2kg plastic tubs we used to buy our yoghurt in, and run them through a hot dishwasher before storing them.

The next step involves keeping the warmed milk at 40 degrees for several hours. Soulemama puts hers on an electric heat pad. Others put it in a thermos, or into an esky filled with warm water. I've had faultless luck with an old insulated bag I got from the fish markets a while ago (designed to keep fresh fish cold) in which I place two hot-water bottles filled with boiling water. I snuggle the tub of yoghurty milk in with the hotties cuddling it, zip up the bag and put it in the warmest part of the house. And it rarely takes longer than five hours to set.

Then I put it in the fridge to cool before we eat it.

There's always a bit of whey in the tub but not enough to bother any of us, so I've never tried to strain it. And by the time we get to the bottom, it's generally a lot runnier and sloppier - all the better for stirring your frozen raspberries through to make it pink. But for the first few days, when scooped from the top, it's the most delicious, tart, creamy, thick yoghurt, as good as, if not better than, any I've bought in a shop anywhere.

Enjoy!