Away we go with another snack sized dispatch.

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I had a great day yesterday making macarons, all of which turned out AMAZING (if I do say so myself). Big thanks to the tried and true Australian Women’s Weekly for the recipes, which were easy to follow, didn’t use any hard-to-find fancy ingredients, and relied on techniques most cooks can manage. Unlike the so-called Sydney dessert king, Adriano Zumbo. Yes, his desserts are truly inspired works of art. Yes, he is a dessert genius. But seriously, don’t waste your bucks on his cook books. They are not actually intended to help you make anything. The ingredients read like a National Geographic documentary, there are thermometers involved (shudder), and the directions go for pages. What his books actually are is expensive advertising for his shops. You buy a book of his, try the simplest thing you can find, it doesn’t turn out, you give up and say “what was I thinking, I’ll just go and buy it instead.” Too bad you just paid $35 for a cook book you will never open again. And thank God for Ebay. (That’s where my copy ended up. Snapped up in a couple of hours. Poor sucker).

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It dawned on me today that there is a serious gap in TV shows. The female handymanwoman. This occurred to me as I was in the midst of pulling apart two large beds, a chest of drawers, two desks, and while cleaning walls, windows, and blinds. And then carting all the furniture downstairs. Misters Seventeen and Four share a room, and with it bursting at the seams we have ordered a queen/king single bunk bed combo. So I figured, let’s empty out the whole room, give it a lick of fresh paint, and put everything back, just neater. Great idea, I just forgot that everyone is at work or school and that I would be doing it myself. But I have certainly had the practice. Off the top of my head I have put together or taken apart cots, beds, drawers, entertainment units, desks, and book shelves. Just give me an allen key and away I go.

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I am happy to report that as promised, I tackled the large supermarket chain that employed Mister Seventeen. I informed them that he would not be coming in to work until his pay dispute was resolved, I also reminded the bitch manager that she was dealing with me now, and not a teenager, and if that didn’t suit her she could deal with my lawyers instead. She replied that it wasn’t her job to deal with employee’s pay problems, to which I said, “well it is now”. And? Five days later he recieved a lump sum including full back pay. Lesson: don’t mess with my kids.

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I have been wanting to write for ages about how much I hate the term “mummy blogger”. It just sounds too cute-sey for my liking. I also feel that it belittles women who enjoy expressing themselves via their blogs. Not all women who happen to be mothers write ad nauseum about snot, poo, and tantrums. And even those that do are more than just Mums who blog. There is something patronising implied beneath the term that really rubs me the wrong way. Yes, I am a Mum. Yes, I blog. But’s lets not reduce all women who have children and blog to one stupid simplistic term. We are all so much more.

Yep, that’s me for sure.

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And while I’m having a rant, whatever happened to customer service? Seems like it has just about disappeared. In one certain large department store (rhymes with “buyer”), it seems that a customer standing at the counter waiting TO BUY something is invisible. Many times have I stood and watched the salesperson who seems to think it’s more important to walk around pretending to be important than to help someone leave their money in that store. I worked in retail a long time, and the manager made it very clear that when it wasn’t overly busy, no customer should have to wait more than THIRTY SECONDS to be acknowledged. Simply saying “hi there, won’t be a moment” is enough to let a customer know that they have been noticed, and will be taken care of as soon as possible. But waiting while salespeople finish their conversation, and then being made to feel that you are rude for interrupting them? Simple. I just take my money elsewhere.

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As a final note to a post I published earlier this week, I just wanted to thank everyone who left such supportive comments. The fall-out has been far worse than what I imagined as my finger hovered over the publish button. I hoped it would put my side across and open up some communication and understanding. But unfortunately not. I do understand that there are people who read it and who know my family well, but I took great pains to be very discreet so as to give no indication of who I was discussing. I don’t think I aired our dirty laundry, I am not ashamed of myself, and no thanks, I’d rather not go f**k myself.

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Have a good weekend folks.

Love, Ana.