Reminders: Bruschetta

It's broo-sketta NOT broo-shetta. Think: zucchini, Pinocchio, chianti. 'Ch' is pronounced K - K - K - K - K!! (while 'cc' is pronounced 'ch' but only when it comes before an 'e' or an 'i', think: cappuccino; okay, this is just getting confusing now...)

Sorry, but this drives me nuts, especially when a waiter corrects me after I've said bruschetta CORRECTLY. Hello! (Or should I say... buongiorno!)

Buon appetito! Mmm - feel like some toasty bruschetta now.

Reminders: Anyfink!!!

It's "anything" NOT "anythink" and for goodness sake - NOT "anyfink"!!!!!

Reminders: Ice in an Emergency

I’ve just been perusing gorgeous blogs, as I am want to do, and caught this little piece on babyccinoblog.com – about ICE. That is: In Case of Emergency.

I remember hearing about how important it is to store emergency contacts in our mobile phones, but every time I go to do it, I am distracted and forget (hmm… seems like a lot of things in my life, like exercise and housework).

So, just a little gentle reminder to put your emergency contact under ‘ICE’ in your mobile phone so paramedics or anyone else knows who to call in an emergency. You can also put more than one contact by entering ICE1, ICE2, ICE3, etc.

Get busy with it before the idea melts!

Reminders: Greens!

Oh yes, it's reminder time. Time to torture your children and scar them mentally for life - with greens.

It can be broccoli, thyme or zucchini. Beans or peas, oregano. Lettuce, parsely, spinach or bok choy. Just don't forget that part of your motherly role entails green torture at any given opportunity.

For me, last night - it was this little batch of coriander sneakily snuck into a massive pot of lentil and vegetable soup. I figure if it's small enough...

And added bonus? Little, unknowing tongues secretly begin to fall in love with coriander, even as they don't know it.

If you want to learn how to hide other really sneaky healthy things into milkshakes, click on this delicious looking thing, post-haste...

Reminders: Do your pelvic flaw exercises!

That pesky trampoline is wrecking havoc on my nether regions.

Who doesn’t like a good bounce?

Along with twirling and swinging, it surely must be the stuff kids’ dreams are made of.

And it doesn’t dissipate as adulthood descends – I still love a good bounce and a swing, although I must admit, twirling and spinning agrees with me no longer lest I want to heave up my breakfast all over the lawn. How sad that it makes me nauseous rather than giddy with delight.

Damn Aging Process.

Anyway, I was really super happy when we got the Trampoline (one of the long-awaited things in our house – like a BBQ). I was so excited, I leapt about on it with the kids for a few minutes before whizzing myself.

I’m not incontinent. Let’s just say the network of stretchy muscles supporting my pelvic floor ‘aint what it used to be. And trampolining sure brought that fact out into the open YET AGAIN, thank you childbirth. Each and every leap felt like a watermelon was on its way out.

Not a good feeling.

I’m off to read this book by Mary O’Dwyer. Again.

Damn age.

TIP: If you ever do get caught in a twirling session, jump straight up and down or nod your head up and down vigorously (or both!). The reason we feel nauseous after twirling is that the blood in our veins quite literally whirlpools, giving that giddy feeling that descends into nausea as we age. By jumping or nodding, you are helping to realign the flow of your blood into an up/down motion and the nausea will dissolve faster. Useless facts - love 'em!

Reminders: Fire!!!

Get one of these (above). NOW!

About a week ago, I went for a whiz early in the morning. The kids were just up and my husband had left to go to work. As I stood from my morning business, I glanced out the window and saw smoke rising in gentle poufs outside.

Not wanting to panic the kids, I pulled up my tracky dacks and very calmly and surreptitiously flung myself out the back door in a mild sprint with a restrained look of utter terror on my face. Alas, Ella said "What's wrong, mum?"

"Nothing!" I screeched as I disappeared around the side of the house. "Eat your cornflakes!"

When I got to the heating engine box (don't know the official name for this) attached to the side of our house, I stopped and stared, gasping and thundering chest. What appeared like steam was rising from the box. I relaxed slightly, then leaned forward in the morning silence, stuck my nose into the steam and sniffed.

Burnt rubber.

I tore inside again, flailing a little more this time. "What is it, mum?" said Ella. "Nothing, darling!!! Eat your yoghurt!!!!" I grabbed the phone. Called my husband. No answer. Naturally. Ran outside again. Hovered my thumb on 000. Wondered what the fine was for calling emergency when you're just a stupid, panicked housewife who doesn't even know what her heating engine box is called, let alone that steam coming out of it is normal.

"Hello? Emergency? I have steam coming out of my heating engine box!"

"Right, madam. That'll be $2,000 for a false fire report, thanks very much."

I hesitated. I called my husband again. No answer. I ran around the yard wildly, ran inside and turned off the heating. Ran back out to check the burnt rubber steam. Stopped.

All this took about eight seconds, PS.

I dragged myself back into the house and wrote on my To Do Today pad - "get my heating engine box serviced" and "buy a fire extinguisher".

Please buy your family a fire extinguisher. Today. Even if you do know what a heating engine box is called.