Dear Olive

Dear Olive,

This has taken a long time, I know. Here you are, already nearly six weeks old, and how you must have been shivering away up there in Toowoomba without your cardigan. I had a few false starts - wrong pattern, wrong gauge, wrong needles, you know the sort of thing. But at last it is finished. Ta-da!

You have been born into a fine family, with a gaggle of siblings and fabulous parents. Your mum is my oldest friend and, as you're probably finding out, she's a woman who knows what she wants. She had three requests for this cardigan.

1) White or cream in colour - check!

2) Long sleeves - check, check!

3) A single button at the top - check, check, check!

I had to make some adjustments to meet all of these requirements, given the pattern is a short-sleeved cardigan with three buttons, but I'm quite pleased with the result. And it's always a treat to work with Baby Cashmerino. Oh, such lovely yarn.

It's been sitting here for several days drying from the blocking, and each time I look at it I think how lovely you'll look wearing it.  Can't wait to meet you, little one!

Mass Hysteria

Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd ever be the mother of twins. There was no reason to expect it and, unlike a bunch of friends who have since confessed to always wanting them, I certainly never, ever wished for it. So much about having two babies at the same time is crazy. Sure, it's wonderful and amazing and a miracle and I'm the luckiest woman alive and, aww, aren't they just the cutest things etc etc. But it's hair-tear-outingly, mind-jellyingly hard work most of the time with moments that would break the most stoic of souls.

I know temperament has a lot to do with it. If I'd been given two placid, self-sufficient creatures, things may have been different. I'm sure there are twin families out there who have a dream run. I got one baby who was a brilliant sleeper but has grown into a needy little thing during the days, always wanting to be held and usually only by Mummy. And the other baby was - thank God WAS - a dreadful sleeper, yet will pass most of her day pottering around minding her own business, happily flicking through books, nursing her dollies, arranging things. But when she's sad, she's really sad. Heartbreakingly sad. Weeping real tears, burrowing into your chest, arms around your neck kind of sad.

And together, they're a mixed bag. I've caught moments of beautiful sisterhood, sharing and genuine concern. They bring each other toys, sit together on the step, exchange sultanas. They even (very) occasionally kiss and cuddle. It's beautiful. But for the larger part, they're like the teenagers I expect they'll become, fighting over clothes and chores and space. Pearl, my sweet, tiny, delicate Pearl, has recently begun to get great delight in marching over to Stella and whacking her on the head. Or pushing her over. Or, most recently, pinching her. And any reprimand by me is met by her gutteral giggle, followed by another whack/push/pinch and another giggle. Meanwhile, Stella melts into tears of honest-to-goodness devastation.

And sometimes, like today, they're overcome with a kind of mass hysteria, working together like a terrifying unit of destruction bent on torturing me. As I tried to cook dinner, they turned their joint attention to emptying every cupboard and drawer in the kitchen. I can keep up with one of them, but I've only got two arms. No sooner did I get them out of there and clean up the mess, they were taking turns climbing onto the couch and jumping on it, laughing hysterically until I raced to move them - over and over again.

And then the tears. Sometimes, for no apparent reason, one's despair will be matched by the other just because. Stella cried throughout her bath. Pearl joined in. Then at bedtime, Stella was having her once-in-30-nights meltdown at bedtime, crying her eyes out. Pearl appeared to be asleep, but as soon as she noticed me comforting her sister, she decided to join in, screaming like someone was pulling her fingernails off. The cry-off went on for over an hour.

And now they sleep like a pair of matching angels in mismatched cots.

This afternoon, amidst the chaos of the cupboard emptying and couch bouncing and whacking/pushing/pinching, I sat down on the step to pause. Instantly, two little girls turned as one and ran to me, leaping together into my arms for a cuddle. It was a fleeting moment in a madcap day, but ultimately what it's all about, I guess. I would never wish for anything but this pair, these individuals. It's just, in my fantasies, I get them one at a time instead of the bulk delivery. 

Mountains

I took my littlest girl on a trip to the Blue Mountains today to meet an even littler girl - five-week-old Edie.

She's quite lovely, a perfect, snuggly koala. Note her beautiful green vest.

We had lunch, drank coffee, wandered through the shops, drank more coffee.

It was all too much for some.

this moment

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

Via Soulemama.

Hat

There's been a little bit of knitting going on, and a tiny bit of sewing, but not much finishing to speak of. Today I needed to work on something I could complete in one sitting. So I made this hat. In the pattern it seemed to have a much lower brim. Perhaps it's my fabric choice (Ikea), but it just looks like an everyday sun hat. I was aiming for something more wintery, enigmatic...noir? 

Anyway, she models it well, don't you think? And, even better, now she matches the cushions on our couch.

Bribery/Reward

We made a deal.

And she was rewarded.

this moment

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

Via Soulemama.

Wide Load

If we don't want to take the car, this is how we travel, me and my three. Our Mountain Buggy Duo is a tough machine. Fully laden, there's 10 kilos of baby in each seat, plus another 18 on the footrest when the Showgirl tires of scootering, which is often. Not to mention the shopping, the scooter, the travelling snacks...

We get some funny looks. Bumpy roads are tricky, as are local footpaths on garbage bin day.

Autumn Love

What an incredible run of perfect autumn days we're having here in Sydney. Blue skies, colourful leaves, crisp air. Loving it.

Chocky Rocks

As she gets older, it's getting ever so slightly less frustrating cooking with the Showgirl. I try to channel my calm inner-earth-mother as packets of flour get dumped on the floor, eggs are cracked onto the benchtop, and fingers and a certain tongue are dipped in everything. But how can I resist when she insists on helping, pulling her little chair around into the kitchen to stand at the right level to mix and stir and learn and create.

Today we made Chocky Rocks. This recipe is handwritten in the book I left home with - a selection of recipes to take with me into my adult life. I made them over and over in my teen years - they're basically chocolate chip cookies, with the addition of cornflakes.  Some are mixed into the batter and become chewy with the moisture, then the cookies are rolled in more cornflakes resulting in a lovely crispy coating. And, as we learned today, the cornflake coating job is just perfect for not-quite-four-year-old hands.

Chocky Rocks

250g butter, softened

1 cup caster sugar

2 eggs

1/2 teaspoon vanilla

2 cups self-raising flour

200g dark chocolate chips

4 cups cornflakes

Preheat oven to 180 degrees Celsius.

Cream butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add eggs one at a time and beat. Add vanilla. Stir through flour, then mix in chocolate chips and 2 cups of the cornflakes. Form into walnut sized balls and roll in the remaining cornflakes to coat.

Arrange on a lined baking tray with space between - these babies spread. Bake for 15-20 minutes until lovely and golden. Eat soonish - the cornflakes go a bit chewy within a day or so and make them seem staler than they actually are. Still yummy, though.