Lifestyle Archives - Page 6 of 11

Are You Trapped In A Weekend Rut?

The Weekend Slow Down

(Trapped In A Weekend Rut) I found my happy place this morning. Lately, it’s been missing. Most days lurking just within reach but not quite comfortable.

It turns out it was at the Saturday produce markets. Of course my happy place would be hanging out wherever a little bit of culture could be found. I should have known.

Slowing down and un–winding at the markets had not been my plan for the weekend. Twenty-four hours ago my plan had been the same as it is most weekends. The routine of getting up early, enjoying a quick coffee and hitting the study books to maximise my time and kick some goals is usually how it goes. It has become the norm, so much so that when people ask how my weekend was, it takes me a moment to remember what I actually did.

You could say I’m trapped in a bit of a weekend rut. I’m sure you know how that goes, being stuck in a rut. The burden of being required to do certain things because they have to get done, but never really wanting to do them. The problem being that because you don’t really want do them, nor appreciate them, it never really feels like you accomplish much of anything.

Luckily for me and my happy place, I came across two interesting snippets of information yesterday that helped me forge a new perspective. As I was reading Sophie Hansen’s ‘Friday List’ from Local Is Lovely, she reminded me that the local North Sydney Grower’s Market was happening. And sow the seed was planted (pun intended), because, how I do love the markets and a little adventure!

The second snippet was this article from Blog Society, another great resource I’ve been reading lately. She simply summed up how I’ve been feeling about being trapped in a weekend rut. It being something that comes with working full time and studying a degree whilst sustaining a relationship and attempting to create a fulfilling lifestyle.

Because, as I’m sure you know, it turns out that once you have a finger in too many pies, you find yourself being pulled in so many directions that you can’t quite decide which pie is your favourite. No less which pie you really want to choose. I mean please, I want to have my pie and eat it too. I don’t think that’s too much to ask for, do you?

With my sights set firmly on the markets, the sultry allure of a vibe that fosters creativity, awakens the wanderer inside and offers the chance to discover something new, I decided to follow the words of Blog Society and let myself take a break. I remembered that my body and soul needs a rest too.

And guess what happened; I found my happy place!

There was live music, fresh cut flowers, crisp French pastries, and crates of over-flowing colourful produce all wafting in the aroma of roasted coffee beans. For me, the Saturday markets was a little bit of paradise in the midst of everyday surrounds.

I toted my big woven basket bought specially for this kind of produce foraging and stocked up on my favourite organic lemon myrtle soap, some lovely blooms to lighten up the dining table and picked up some specialties for a creative and inspired weekend dinner.

But mostly, I just sat.

I sat, and I smiled, and I took it all in. I revelled in the moment and the beauty of life, appreciating that it was all a part of my life. I let myself enjoy the weekend in its purest form, the way it should be.

Naturally, it helped that the strums of a flamenco guitar could be heard in the background that was later joined by an electric fiddle. It gave the setting a unique gypsy vibe, something that’s often found in abundance in places like Byron Bay but not always so easily found in the busy hustle of Sydney city.

Suddenly the creative juices were flowing. The priorities seemed to organise themselves. The decisions no longer difficult, and the tasks no longer arduous. I returned home with a spring in my step to the beat of some sexy salsa, my tummy full of delicious food, a little sunshine by way of a bunch of gorgeous yellow sunflowers, and brimming with fresh resolve.

It was the perfect antidote to what was a busy week. Live in the moment and happiness abounds.

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>>> Do you find yourself trapped in a weekend rut every now and then?
>>> What do you do to ‘get away’ and live in the moment?

The Gift of Giving & (That) GoldieBlox Ad

‘Girls Toys’ vs ‘Boys Toys’

Purchased: A trolley load of Christmas presents.

‘OK, I’m going to stop you all right there, because I think I know that you’re thinking’..

It’s only November!
An (entire) shopping trolley load? That’s a bit excessive don’t you think, materialistic much?!
Who cares? Why are you telling us this?

Well, valid points. So to explain,

the presents weren’t for me, nor for the tribe of kids I have hanging off me everyday.

They were instead bought to be given to a charity. Miss Charlie’s school has a sister school, a less fortunate school overseas, who they sponsor and support. Her school sends over old library books, previous edition text books, school uniforms, stationary, sporting equipment and a bunch of other stuff. They also suggest that the school community get involved with extra fundraisers and give what they can.

Miss Charlie, being the full-of-ideas and generous-of-heart ~~little~~ big girl who I’ve come to admire, has decided that this Christmas she wants to give the kids of her sister school presents. She wants them to be happy and thankful and lucky just like she is and seeing as she’s in Year 1 at an all girls school, she has decided that the presents should be for girls around the same age as her. ‘Sorry boys, I guess you’re either still on the naughty list or you’ve still got cooties’.

Great idea we thought, so I went out and loaded up with a fairly major selection of toys, games, craft sets, pens & pencils, books and more. That afternoon when she came home from school, Miss C went straight to the dining table, now heavily laden with shopping bags. I had thought I may run into issues at this point, now that the toys were there for all to see and for the temptation to be ignited. Because it was all very good for her to suggest such a charitable idea, but would it still be so easy to support when faced with shiny, brand new toys and the promise of hours of fun. ‘It appears however that I had underestimated her, yet again.’ She proceeded to inspect each item, giving a running commentary of its uses and appropriateness. She was filled with genuine excitement knowing that other girls her age would soon be giggling and smiling as they played skip rope or charades or crafts.

We sent them off and happy days.

However, my little shopping experience had re-highlighted an issue that has been on my mind for some time now (and it seems on most other people’s minds after the seriously impressive advert from GoldieBlox went crazy on social media this past week). The idea behind it being to fuel the minds of our young girls, to provide them with toys and creative opportunity that goes beyond the cliché of dolls and Barbies, ‘to disrupt the pink aisle and inspire the future generation of female engineers‘. For anyone who hasn’t seen it, you can watch it here.

Because, as I perused the aisles selecting gifts, I saw first hand just how selective the market for ‘girls toys’ really is.

I thought, just because my criteria (girls, aged 3-6 years-old) was set, did that mean I couldn’t buy the shiny hot wheels car, or a football, or the magicians set that had a picture of a grinning boy on the front?

Why did I have to limit my options to pink and purple?

Why did I have to stick to the glitter and beads, colouring pencils and secret diaries?

Why could I not choose the DIY Garden Set or the Real-Life-Telescope?

And why must they have pictures of boys on the packaging?

It was made personal when I saw the SuperSoaker Water Gun marketed as “the ultimate boys warfare”… – Pretty sure I spent hours challenging my brother with these growing up (and still do!) and ‘hey, I love my pretty skirts and makeup just as much as the next girl!’

The same goes for Miss Charlie, she’s no-little-princess-with-pretty-pink-bows-in-her-hair. She’s got a firing curiosity for all things science, DIY, animal related, creative, inventive and imaginative. Anything that holds the possibility of a “Why Question” is hers for the taking. And take it she will. Yet, despite this, she’ll also quite ferociously beg me for anything pink, sparkly and/or sticker related if given half the chance.

So, where does Miss Charlie fit in this demographic of carefully marketed toys?

I’m still unsure of this answer, because within the realms of the children’s toy market, I don’t like the answer implied. Luckily for me, I already found her Christmas present months ago. I took the chance when I happened across the perfect gift, knowing full well that I’d be left with little choice amongst the pink aisles when Christmas approached. What’s rather telling, and rather worrying, is that I had to take this necessary action. And so I’m left with these questions,

Why have we happily allowed it to become so black and white?

What is a ‘boys toy’? And who says girls can’t play with it?

Why do we let the powers of marketing sway our purchase choices?

More so, why do we give them the power to decide what our kids should play with?

And, why is (anyone) dictating what our kids should play with? Shouldn’t they decide? They are after all, the ones who will be playing with them!

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The Essential Coffee Ratio For A Perfect Coffee

The Essential Coffee Ratio

I would say that I have a love for coffee, but I think I must admit to it being an addiction. I first began drinking coffee when I was fourteen. It was my first job and the status of ‘dish pig’ in a café at $14 an hour seemed highly appealing to me. Before then I’d been slipped the occasional $50 from grandma (and made it last weeks and weeks) but always dreaded having to wrangle some cash out of dad before pleading to go to the movies with friends. The idea of financial freedom was it for me, it’s where it all started. Off I went every Saturday and Sunday to work from 8am to 4pm. To slowly introduce myself to the taste of coffee I would drink mochas, those horrible half cappuccino, half hot chocolate drinks. I then progressed to drinking a cappuccino and over time evolved to drinking a cappuccino in the morning and a macchiato in the afternoons. Such as the italians do.

After that first job as a very good but over worked and seriously under-paid dish-pig, I went on to forge a career for myself in the hospitality industry. Silly me, the over-worked and under paid problem was clear from the very beginning and it took me years to finally give up and move over to a more rewarding career. I guess I’m a slow learner! But I did learn a few valuable things in that time. Like how to manage a restaurant, and how to work with people you don’t like, and how to pretend to love customers even though you don’t. I also learnt how to make coffee. I discovered an important ratio. It’s a sturdy old reliable friend when in search of good places to keep on my ‘will return’ list.

25% coffee beans + 25% coffee machine + 50% barista = The Perfect Coffee

This essential coffee ratio reminded me of a note I wrote to baristas about the difference between a cappuccino and a flat white. Speaking of this ratio and places I will return to. I was discussing this method for getting the perfect coffee every time over my morning coffee at my favourite local café. It’s my favourite because it’s within stumbling distance in the mornings, it’s got a laid back vibe with friendly service, and they make great coffee. Which is saying something. I don’t come across many places that can get the mix just right. As with the ratio above, it’s not always easy to keep up a perfect average. With the slightest change in variable, your entire end product can be less than standard. But this café manages to serve it up every single time. So I go back, every day. Did I mention they remember my name and my order and know how to coax me into a fresh-out-of-the-oven muffin? Yep, they do. They’re that good!

School Yard Politics

The Mummy Snobs.

My important task yesterday was to go in search of some great new toys to keep Baby Viv entertained now that she’s becoming more and more active and engaged. Well, some more toys to make up for the rare times when I’m not throwing her around like an aeroplane and making her giggle that is. The two of us went off and popped into the shops to fulfil our duties. Now, I don’t really mean that we just popped in like it was nothing, in an out in a flash. Because anyone who’s had the pleasure of kids will know that when you’ve got a baby and a pram, the possibility of multiple trips back to the car to drop heavy items off and you’re arriving close to feed times, it’s going to be anything but quick.

Together we managed to find some great new toys – there may or may not have been this really awesome looking purple elephant with dangling thingy-bobbies (yes that’s a word, OK) that rattled and was so super cute that I almost got one for myself also. No really I promise, I’m not two-years-old, I’m twenty-TWO-years old… I even got Viv involved in the all important decision-making process. Each item was handed to her, anything that elicited a giggle and/or ended up in her mouth was appropriately vetted and deemed a winner!

Afterwards I needed energy to fuel my new title of heavily laden “pack-horse” so we stopped for coffee (and OK, guilty, it also became my substitute lunch. I’m defying the rules of The Summer Challenge. Naughty!) As we were waiting in line, I most surprisingly ran into one of the School Mums.

Ordinarily this wouldn’t have happened. Not because there aren’t any, or because there’s zero chance of us both frequenting the same places, but simply because most of the School Mums would not have made it possible for us to run into one another. That is to say, (most) of the School Mums seem to act as though I don’t exist. I am the invisible woman who drops off a child each morning and picks her up again each afternoon, complete with another child in tow. I’m also the invisible woman who just so happens to know the names of each of their children; their allergies, their food intolerances, their likes and dislikes and even the names of their imaginary friends. And yet, come 3pm pick up time, I’m the invisible woman whom you must not make eye contact with.

Source

So it was despite this (rather amusing) conundrum of school-yard politics that I was happy to have run into perhaps my one and only School Mum friend that I’ve successfully made. Like me, she also has a little one not much older than Baby Viv. Like me, she also has a vibrant and tenacious little girl in the same class as Miss Charlie. Like me, she is one of the last to arrive (frantically and rushed) at school each morning. And perhaps most significantly, like me, she seems not to pay mind to the fact that she is a “mum” and I’m a “nanny” and therefore in accordance to strict School Mum convention we must not associate.

We stopped and chatted over coffee, discussing the upcoming play that the girls were involved in, the extravagant plans for the Christmas concert that us “parents” are expected to help plan and joked that some day the school might lock the gate on us if we keep getting the kids to school after the first bell. That’ll teach ’em to dawdle at the pedestrian crossing!

I really enjoyed our shared coffee break. As a nanny, it can get a bit lonely at times. Whilst I absolutely adore Viv with the entirety of my heart (and the other kids of course!) their conversation can be lacking depth from time to time. Also, just an FYI, desperate conversations with the dog can be fairly one-sided too, just so you know. Given this, a little adult chit chat is very much welcome and appreciated and it was lovely to be able to lose myself for an hour or so in a tête à tête with someone over the age of 12. Shock horror I know.

Later, as I waited diligently for Miss Charlie to bounce down the footpath from her classroom, bidding au revoir to her teacher, I couldn’t help but wonder as to:

Why all of the other School Mums kept me on the outside?

Yes I know I’m (just) a nanny, quite a few years younger and that I don’t always share the same tendency to forego gym clothes and nikes for stilettos and designer sunglasses, but would it be so difficult to share a smile and make small talk? After all, I’ll likely be seeing you in a few short hours when I drop your kids home to you, kids who’ve been in my care, at (insert random sports practice) activity… Go figure.

Anyone else had to deal with the School Mum convention?

Is the Tooth Fairy selective?

Outsmarting the Nanny. Again.

Charlie and I were chatting in the car yesterday en route to the shops. I’d brought her an apple to tide her over until we got to our destination which she was munching gingerly on – her first tooth is almost out. Yay! (She’s only the last one in her class to lose her baby teeth and has been waiting with not much patience for months now). She then asked me this gnarly question:

“Why doesn’t the Tooth Fairy come to adults?”

Stumped, I stalled for a couple of seconds, blabbering nonsense. How could I tactfully say that adults didn’t believe in the Tooth Fairy any more, so soon after I’d just successfully convinced her of their factual existence a few months prior!

Thankfully (or so I thought) Charlie jumped to my rescue: