family affair

My Mom and Dad have landed at Heathrow, undoubtedly with a suitcase full of presents for Jack. There was an email from British Airways in my inbox this morning suggesting that due to "recent issues" (i.e. sacking 600 catering employees), passengers should either eat before their flights or they may be able to receive some food at the gate before boarding. Personally, I'd bring my own picnic with me (do they allow you to bring food on flights?) and enjoy an airline meal-free flight. The flight over here was an overnight one for Mom and Dad, so they likely wouldn't have eaten anyway. Hopefully the baggage handlers haven't gone on strike again or else Jack's suitcase of pressies will sit at the airport for a good long while. At least planes are actually landing and flying today.

We're having Jack's naming ceremony on Sunday. For those of you not in the know, this is like a non-denominational christening for unwashed heathens like us. We felt it would be hypocritical (and offensive to those who attend the church) to go to a church and make promises about Jack's religious upbringing, when neither one of us is religious. Although christenings are "the thing to do", I don't see a point in them if you don't hold any religious beliefs. Luckily for us, the modern world has brought us naming ceremonies. It's led by someone from the registry office (like our wedding). We will make promises to Jack, explain how we came up with his name, do some readings (a Celtic blessing and another poem about children), name his "supporting adults" (Godparents) and they will make promises to Jack, we sign things while my fabulously lovely friend Heather plays "Summertime" on the violin, and then we scamper off to stuff our faces with cake, scones, and sandwiches for an afternoon tea. Around 40 people are coming, and thankfully this time, I don't have to worry about my corset digging into my baby bump.

Think sunny thoughts for us, please.

an important word from our sponsors

I'm passing the keyboard over to Jack for today's entry. Jack would like to say:

omy 6gtbgikmlkm,jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjsx vcvnio t ij r nb hfhyplkl80om,j8uyt 6 gt47 ij6 iikbk. 'ou pl' k]=#l'##\0 .
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I'm not entirely sure what this means. I think it's some sort of newfangled hip kid shorthand, like the indecipherable teenage text and instant messages. My kid is a genius, I tell you. Genius!

lightweight

So I had a cup of coffee recently for the first time in at least ten years. I met Heather and Becca at Starbucks and I had a hankering for a cafe latte. And it was good. Feeling a new enthusiasm for the bean, I bought some coffee yesterday and whipped up a cafe latte at home. I think I may have gone a touch overboard with the coffee or the brand I bought has added crack in it, because at 1.00 this morning, I was wide awake and could hear my own heart beating. I slept sporadically, waking throughout the early morning from various bad dreams. Even now, hours later, if you jumped out from behind the door and shouted "BOO!", my heart would very likely burst out of my chest like a baby alien.

Note to self: three scoops per small Bodum could kill me. Less coffee, more milk next time. Or decaf. Or go back to tea. Ow, my head.

that bites

Before I start my usual ramblings, here's a picture of Jack having a jolly ol' time at our company's summer party last week:



Jack's now built up a large repertoire of veg, so I can now actually make him something more interesting than peas that have been whipped within an inch of its life with my Braun hand blender. His first exciting foray into a proper meal was a hearty bowl of vegetable soup (whipped within two inches of its life). Tomorrow: risotto. Oooh aaaah.

On a more serious note, an "acquaintance" of ours follows a raw food diet and has been feeding her daughter raw food only. Let me clarify this for those who may be confused (I know I certainly was the first time I heard about this type of diet) - she only eats raw, vegan food. No meat, no dairy, nothing cooked or even slightly heated. Her daughter has just turned one and apparently she's only been fed raw food (and breast milk). How on earth can a child (and a very young one at that) survive on raw fruits and vegetables? It's one thing to follow a diet in which you can ensure a child gets all the essential nutrients (e.g. Kosher or vegetarian), but to inflict an extreme diet like this on your child seems selfish to me. You chose this lifestyle; your child is incapable of making this decision herself. Words fail me.

veggin' out

Tesco makes me hate food shopping. Actually, any major supermarket makes me want to run screaming these days. I used to loathe grocery shopping during the evenings and weekends because it was always so busy. Hurrah, I thought to myself. I can now go shopping during the day when it surely must be a lot quieter. I've come to the conclusion that every supermarket in my county is a mass meeting place for the Very Annoying and Idiotic. At 2.30pm on a Thursday afternoon, Tesco was absolutely heaving (and I purposely use the term "heaving") with people. No matter what section I go to, someone always stands in front of me as I'm just about to go for an item, and remain perfectly motionless until I shout out "EXCUSE ME!" and squeeze through the 2cm between their lifeless body and the shelf. People like to stop suddenly in front of me for no apparent reason or abandon their trolleys in the middle of the aisle as if they suddenly remembered that their houses are on fire. People stop to have a chat side by side, causing a traffic jam of small screaming children and confused old people.

The problem is, I am passionate about food and cooking, so grocery shopping should be a treat for me. Why is it that every other country in Europe still has markets, fish mongers, butchers, green grocers, and bakers while we're stuck with aisles upon aisles of plastic-wrapped hell? Granted, markets etc. do exist in this country and there are probably some excellent ones lurking somewhere, but they are far from the norm. I am fortunate enough to have a fantastic local butcher but for everything else, it's supermarket city. So in an attempt to get something both local and decent, I have signed up for an organic box scheme. Imagine my joy and delight when this was delivered to me today:



Every week, we will receive a beautiful box of local organic fruit and veg from The Cambridge Organic Food Company.

Feeling much better now, thanks.

happy days

This afternoon we headed into Cambridge to Glaze to Amaze, a place where you can paint various ceramics yourself and then they will glaze and fire them for you. We needed presents for Jack's "godparents" for his naming ceremony, so we set out to put Jack's footprints on something. We made a mug for his "godfather" and a tile for his "godmother" and to be honest, I was quite happy to sit there and paint for the afternoon. I started a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree way back when (before I switched to the ever-useful BA in English Literature) and I haven't done anything remotely artistic in ages. With a sponge in hand, I merrily dabbed paint in a decorative manner and carefully placed the text around the designs (I'm better with text than illustration, which is why I was in graphic design eons ago). I can't wait to go back to do some more for Christmas. Truly, I am one step away from gluing macaroni to paper plates and enjoying it.

Jack's journey into the world of solid foods continues to go well. So far, everything has been met with smiles and open mouth except for apples (I think they're too acidic) and regular peas (petite pois are fine, though). I'm slowly getting smarter about this baby food thing, like realising that there's no point in buying special baby porridge when I've got organic rolled oats in the house. I blitzed the oats up in a food chopper, cooked them, then blitzed it up again, and Jack thought it was fabulous. Now I've got a bazillion little ice cube-sized portions of various purees in the freezer, and a long list of things he's eaten so I can throw the ingredients together to make him something more interesting.

Tomorrow we're off to our company's summer party at our Chalfont office, where several of my female workmates have threatened to kidnap Jack. I'm checking your pockets and bags before you leave, ladies! Anything wriggling and smelling like Johnson's baby wash is going to be confiscated.

who the what now

Yesterday at the gym, an ad came on TV for something which should be applied to the "intimate feminine area". Now to me, this is one of two places: my shelf in the medicine cabinet where I keep my various creams, potions, and elixirs, or the cupboard under the sink with all the cleaning products.

I have no idea what smearing Vagisil on either one of these locations is going to accomplish, though.