As I write this I am watching the Olympic opening ceremony. I’m loving it. Okay it is a couple of weeks late (we taped it on our TV) but I”m loving it nonetheless. It’s so creative and exciting. JK Rowling just appeared and now they’re making the stories come alive. The 101 Dalmations, Harry Potter characters. Of course I loved the Queen scene which everyone’s talking about. It’s just so much fun. And I’m in need of a bit of fun, considering everything that’s been going on. It feels like the three weeks again. All I want to do is spend time with the Princes. So this is lovely quality time, as we chat through the opening ceremony.

Loved James Bond and the Queen. What a Good Sport she is!!!

Below is some thoughts I penned down last week during the Olympics.

This has been a busy week indeed with all the Olympics to watch. At least that’s the way it’s been for the Princes and my hubbie. Every night it’s been another evening of watching the athletics, 100m semis, 200 m finals etc etc etc. Now I’ve never been very much interested in the Olympics, however in order to spend time with my family I had to join in the Olympic watching. Now guess who’s reaching for the control and demanding to watch the synchronised swimming. Prince No. 1 complained the other day that he wish he hadn’t called me to watch.

Here’s why I love the Olympics

1. Good quality time with family. We have something to talk about that’s fun and interesting.

2. Follow your dreams – every athlete has trained for hours upon hours. Seeing the tears run down Chad Le Clos’s face was such a lovely, inspiring moment. A person who’s given it their all and has conquered their dream. It inspires me and I want it to inspire my children. We can achieve anything we set our mind to, as long as we have the courage and perseverance.

3. The human story of try and try again. When you see that runner have a false start and be disqualified from the race. When you see the human stories in the Olympics. Of Felix Sanchez from the Dominican Repubic who was a gold medalist in Athens, 2004 but wasn’t considered as a potential gold medalist when he came back as the 400 m gold medalist  and see him sobbing his eyes out (making Le Clos’s tears look robotic  in comparison) For my hubbie it’s all about the stories. And we learn from other peoples stories and weave it with our own. Inspiring us to better ourselves, just like the SA rowing team were inspired by Le Clos’s gold to row beyond what they believed possible to gold too!

4. There is such a thing as good television

We only allow our Princes a limited amount of TV per week. An hour on Friday, a movie or an hour on Sat night and an hour on Sunday. Sometimes they watch more than this, sometimes less. We want to teach them that there is such a thing as positive TV, and I think the Olympics falls into that category. It’s about teaching them that everything can be used for the good rather than bad.

5. We Are All Gold Medalists

We just need to find what we specialise in. I realised how we all have our unique talents and how specialised they are, when I watched the women’s 200 m finals. My hubbie explained that it’ll be interesting who wins, the 100 m or 400 m gold medalists. It turned out that the 200 m was won by neither of them. It was won by a 200 m runner. If each distance is specialised, how much more so with everything else in this world. Each of us are so unique, and contrary to the way school subjects are taught, it’s better to be brilliant at one thing, rather than average in everything. When we excel in what we love, we are unique, special and often win GOLD.

6. Geography

It’s a wonderful opportunity to learn about the different countries with their flags, cultures and anthems. Prince No. 3 has already asked me, ‘How do they make the anthems?’ It’s something I never thought about. Thank God for google.

Just to conclude, the down side of the Olympics that Australia didn’t do so well, but South Africa did amazingly, especially compared to the Beijing Olympics, where they only won a silver medal. London shone, it made me realise what a fun city it is. I want to go… but that’s where my hubbie puts his foot down. No more traveling for quite a while with Prince No. 4.

(Speaking about my hubbie I need to relate what he said after he read one of my blog entries. He said he’s going to start his own blog and it’ll be all about the princes and his drama queen. )

Mr Bean just appeared he is hilarious. Apparently you can watch it on UTube. GO watch, laugh with your loved ones. Smile, smile, smile, life’s too short to do anything else.

Love and Light to everyone. Have a wonderful weekend!

Love British Humour!!!!

I have to smile at the heading of this blog because this week I’m burning out from ‘can do’.

Anyway last week I had a hectic week of ‘To Dos’ which included some writing and teaching prep. I felt totally, absolutely overwhelmed. Working plus mommying a small baby and three small lads is no small feat. I don’t know how working moms do it with a 9-5 job. I’m not brilliant at handling stress, especially when my times not my own and I don’t know where my next spare half an hour is going to come from. So why do I do it to myself? Why take on jobs when my plate is already full? The truth is I love to write and do. If I just mommy I feel like I’m not truly in the world, fulfilling my potential. I know a lot of mothers battle with the same issue. We love being mothers but we don’t want to give ourselves up.

So here’s where the heading comes in. My dear, sweet mother-in-law phoned me up and heard the frantic tone of my voice. Instead of saying, ‘Why do you take so much on?’ She said something that helped me breathe easier and understand why I put so much on my plate. ‘The more you do the more you can do. The less you do the less you can do.’

And she’s so right. I may not do everything I take on perfectly – wait there’s no such thing as perfect so let’s just say as well as I’d like to. On disrupted sleep and a rigorous breast-feeding schedule thanks to Prince No. 4, I’m not completely myself. Yet I’m doing what I love, and as my heart rate goes up at the thought of my deadline and another lesson to prepare for, this keeps me going, keeps me breathing, keeps me sane.

So cheers to all moms out there doing what they love. Cheers to all moms out there who may not be doing what they love, but are supporting their families. There is such value in being responsible and raising a family. However another important point that was raised for me is NOT TO FORGET TO HAVE FUN! When I just work and mommy and forget to smile and laugh, do silly things and get in touch with my inner child, my stress levels rise further. My inner child is clamoring for a release, for time out, for  mind free fun, like kicking a ball with Prince No. 1, or going for  a walk, or baking a cake.

Which brings me to my Ferrero Rocher Cake – I baked it last week on a total whim. It was from the internet so quite a risk really, and that’s where the fun was. So take a risk and make it too, it’s quite fun! Plus its gluten-free. (For those who are intolerant.)

Delicious Ferrero Rocher Cake – Well Worth It

Ferrero Rocher Cake

Ingredients

300g butter

300g sugar

2 tsp vanillasugar (I think you just put vanilla in sugar. I left it out.)

8 eggs

400 groung hazelnuts (I used almonds, which worked very well.)

2tsp baking powder

Cream Ingredients

26 Ferrero Rocher (This makes it quite expensive. I would say you could probably blend another chocolate with nuts and it would do the trick perhaps. You could really play with it. Further I had left over cream filling so maybe you could just do with 20 Ferrero Rocher balls.)

700 ml cream

Instructions

1. Preheat the oven to 180C

2. Grease cake pans. (I should note here that this recipe is intended for two cake pans so that you have a layered cake. I rather made one cake and used the cream with the chocolate as the icing. I think it would be amazing to make it into two cake tins though and use the cream as the filling. And then cover with a chocolate ganache, you could google a good recipe. I’ve never made a ganache.)

3. In a large bowl, cream the butter. Add the sugar and vanilla sugar and beat until light and fluffy.

4. Beat the eggs to the butter and sugar mixture, one a time, beating well after each addition.

5. Set the mixer on low-speed and add the hazelnuts and baking powder to the egg mixture.

6. Pour the batter into the prepared pans (they use 32cm, I think any decent round pan will do) and bake for 45-50 minutes.

7. Cool the cakes

8. Crush Rocher balls with a fork or blender. (But don’t crush too small.) Whip the cream until stiff (but watch it cream is so easy to over beat and curdle), mix with chopped Rocher.

9. Option 1. Fill the two cakes so it’s like a sandwich and put in fridge so it can harden. Cover with chocolate ganache or buttercream.

Option 2. If you made one cake, frost it with the chocolate cream and decorate with chocolate as you see fit.

And enjoy this decadent, yummy cake. Everyone who tried it loved it. It’s worth the risk!

I’ve just woken up bleary eyed at 4 o’clock in the afternoon. We’re away for winter break and all I want to do is sleep. A holiday of family quality time and all I want to do is sleep. So I slept (finally) this afternoon and have woken up quite disorientated. It seems like such a waste to sleep on holiday. And yet I feel so much better physically.

Can you hear the pressure that I put myself under - ‘Spend quality time with Princes so they don’t feel hard done by because of Prince No. 4, or else….’ Being super mom is just draining. So I’ll try to stop again!

It’s such a relief to take this time out and type on my computer in the quietness of the kitchen. Downing 70 % Lindt chocolate because a banana just didn’t do the trick. The boys are at the beach, and the baby Prince is sleeping. Thank goodness. I’m on edge here as I wait for him to wake up any moment and that’s the end of this peaceful break (which has been for ten minutes so far). Why can’t I just relax and enjoy it???

I’m just sharing these dilemmas for anyone out there who has ever felt the same. Life cannot continue in the same way with a baby and if I get by with the essential stuff that has to be done I’m doing well. This is where my time management skills are very suspect. Living in the moment has never been so hard. I blame the latent tiredness.

On the upside. It’s lovely to be away from cold Johannesburg (although I’ve heard the weather has improved). A jersey here is an after thought. We did manage to have some lovely quality time. I had the genius idea that we must cook together on this holiday. My hubbie bought into the idea and that’s how he found himself with floury dough to his elbows yesterday, making pizza. I googled a Jamie Oliver recipe and he followed it with the boys. He courageously said that he didn’t want my involvement because I knew how to cook. That lasted as long as it took to tipple the yeast water into the mould of flour on the bench which then sploshed onto the floor like a waterfall.

We saved the dough. The boys had a lekker time running around like dough monsters around the kitchen. I just managed to save the lounge. It took hubbie ten minutes to chop almonds and then brazil nuts for the brownies in the blender. He managed to switch it on with the lid off. I told him at least it wasn’t a smoothie. Our house keeper could not believe what the kitchen had turned into.

We all helped clean up. The Princes set the table. And I don’t think my hubbie could believe what he had accomplished with his Princes (two scotches later he was in a brilliant mood). Yes, we had to tell the Princes to ‘calm down’, ‘stop whining’, ‘stop crying’ etc. etc. but at the end of it we fell into (almost) silent reverie as we breathed and ate up the steaming hot mozzarella pizza with onion and olive, according what each of us preferred. They loved the pizza and the process. They didn’t really love my chocolate brownie that I whipped up, I think the Lindt was too sophisticated a taste for them. (Although my hubbie thought it was yum – although was that the whiskey talking?) They loved the Woolworths vanilla ice cream and custard. And by the end of it all we agreed that cooking a meal together was a lot of fun. ‘Now can we watch cartoons,’ the Princes said. I shook my head, I think the quality time was lost on them. Oh well, at least we had a good meal.

I highly recommend cooking with the family as a great holiday activity. The links for the pizza we made and brownies are:

Pizza -  www.jamieoliver.com/recipes/pizza-recipes/basic-pizza

Brownies – http://www.jamieoliver.com/recipes/chocolate-recipes/bloomin-brilliant-brownies

Meanwhile I’ve read a great article that a friend sent to me that’s worth sharing. It’s written by a ‘reform’ psychiatrist about the danger of turning to drugs to treat every ill in our society. It’s very harsh and I just want to say that I think there is a place for drugs in very desperate cases. (Such as serious post natal depression.) But I do think that in general drugs are prescribed too often, especially to our children. This is of course a big discussion, and I will discuss it further. It’s a dilemma that a lot of us mothers face every day!

.

Dr. Peter Breggin

reform psychiatrist

Our Psychiatric Civilization

It has been a routine week in my clinical and forensic practice. I evaluated a malpractice case involving a woman on the West Coast whose family doctor from a decade earlier kept prescribing Prozac to her for ten years without ever seeing her again. When she ran into emotional difficulty, she called this doctor who simply raised the dose and added a new drug, still without seeing her for a decade. This woman, a respected professional and parent in her community, then landed in a hospital where her adverse drug reaction was mistaken for a mental illness, more psychiatric drugs were added, and she soon killed herself in a most horrendous fashion.

In this same past week of routine events, one of my own patients came to the office for an emergency session. He had sought my help to come off a cocktail of psychiatric drugs that had been prescribed for him during a personal crisis. We had recently cut back on his tranquilizers and he had become unable to sleep all night. He was feeling anxious and scared. “Am I going crazy, or is it drug withdrawal?” It turned out to be a withdrawal reaction that was easily handled by a slower taper of his medication. A very bright, creative young man, he had a series of traumatic events in his background. He needed counseling and encouragement, not a psychiatric diagnosis and drugs.

Meanwhile, my wife Ginger has been handling the flood of mail we get from our books, websites, and public appearances. People email and call the office identifying themselves as “bipolar” or “clinically depressed.” Or they describe their children in the same terms, as well as “ADHD.” By the time they contact our office, their lives or those of their children have been deeply complicated, compromised and sometimes ruined by psychiatric drugs. They can no longer separate their original emotional problems from their complex array of drug side effects. They devote themselves to adjusting their diagnoses and their drugs instead of addressing their lives. After yet another week like this, Ginger tells me, “You’ve got to write about our Psychiatric Civilization.”

The culture is so imbued with biological psychiatry — which is to say, modern psychiatry — that self-defined patients diagnose themselves, sometimes with the help of a one-minute TV ad. They visit their family doc, give him the diagnosis, “I think I have an anxiety disorder,” and get the appropriate drug. If they arrive a few minutes early, or the doctor is a few minutes late, they’ll get a chance to get educated by a flat screen TV in the waiting room which instructs them about the symptoms of the psychiatric diagnosis de jour as well as its treatment with a propriety drug.

I can’t tell you how many times a new patient has looked at me with a mixture of apprehension and eagerness, and asked, “Do you think I have bipolar disorder?” We all hope to find a magic key to this hard business of being human. And if we cannot find community through our shared humanity, we will find it through our shared diagnoses.

This rampant diagnostic labeling puts an end to all other human considerations and concerns. This labeling does far more than imposing a pseudo-medical diagnosis on you, it defines you as a person. “I’m bipolar.” Not “I’m full of life” or “I have trouble managing all these marvelous passions” or “I need to find a way to direct my creative energies” or “I’ll have to find the courage and make the effort to make my dreams come true in the real world.” No, never mind about all of that, “I’m bipolar.” Your diagnosis becomes your personal final solution to your most vital challenges in life.

In the Age of Aquarius, we greeted each other with “What’s your sign?” In our more mundane and pseudo-scientific times, it’s “What’s your diagnosis?” As our definitions of normal get squeezed tighter and tighter by the increasing breadth of the official Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Woodstock could never reoccur. All those 60s weirdos would be sitting around taking psychiatric drugs and diagnosing themselves with borderline personality disorder.

In the sixties, if you panicked on LSD, your friends knew it was a “bad trip” and they “talked you down” from it. That bit of wisdom is lost in our Psychiatric Civilization. Doctors rarely acknowledge it when they cause a horrendously disturbing reaction with one of their psychiatric drugs and it won’t occur to anyone to keep you company while you recover.

Want to experience how deeply psychiatric our civilization has become? Go to any minister, priest or rabbi — even your most conventional Catholic priest or Orthodox rabbi — and explain that you’re feeling “depressed.” Forsaking the most important role of any spiritual consoler, to help those in emotional anguish and despair repair their lives with meaning, even your most orthodox minister, priest or rabbi is likely to send you off to a psychiatrist for a diagnosis and a drug. It is dismaying to see how the leaders of our religious faiths so eagerly sacrifice their flock before the altar of psychiatry.

What does this say about our shared values as a culture? Are we ultimately a society of rugged individualists? No more. Are we members of a Judeo-Christian community and tradition? No one dares to say that in public. So if we are not seeking to promote our own self-interest nor seeking salvation through God, what is our first and last resort in time of need? Psychiatric drugs. We want, above all else, to be pain free and emotionally undisturbed. At the first inkling of an existential crisis, we seek to be … less full of feeling. We’re not the dumbed-down society, we’re the numbed down society.

Psychiatric diagnoses reflect the lowest common denominator of humanity. We lose ourselves in our diagnoses. Psychiatric drugs, by blunting our spirit, level our experience of our souls.

Patients ask me, “Should I join a bipolar support group?” If I were flippant, which I never am with patients, I could respond, “Only if you want support in believing you’re bipolar and need to take psychiatric drugs.”

So what is our sense of community? It’s not religion and, except for occasional moments when we feel gravely threatened by outside events, it’s not politics. Is the nation becoming one gigantic psychiatric support group?

Depersonalization has become the norm. Bare yourself to others — your family, friend, your teacher, your minister, your doctor or your therapist — and they will urge you to “get help.” Of course, you were trying to get help from them when you shared your feelings; but they mean, “Get help elsewhere.” Everyone will shunt you off to a pill provider. Even psychologists, social workers and other therapists are taught that they cannot handle a patient’s more powerful emotions without first dampening them down with psychiatric drugs. It is said that this facilitates therapy; but there can be no effective therapy when people are afraid of their emotions or have lost them in a drug-induced fog.

We can’t get close to our own emotions for fear of thinking we’re abnormal and in need of diagnosis and treatment. The Psychiatric Civilization reinforces our worst tendencies to be out of touch with our selves, to be burdened down by self-diagnosis, and to seek false solace in drugs, prescribed or otherwise, rather than in the comfort of each other’s company.

We human beings have always found life difficult. Indeed, we’re born, we struggle, and we die. But how will we struggle? With passion, creativity, love, and principled living? Or confined within our diagnoses and our drug-impaired brains?

Our children are the worst victims of our Psychiatric Civilization. They are being taught they have broken brains instead of broken families, broken schools, and broken communities. Feeling disempowered as parents and teachers, we leave our children looking for love in all the wrong places, and when they flounder, we send them off for “medication.”

Psychiatry and the mental health care establishment won’t reform itself. Its power, identity and income are inextricable from our Psychiatric Civilization. Any change must be imposed from the outside by people like you and me who hold to higher values than our diagnoses and our drugs.

Peter R. Breggin, M.D. is a psychiatrist in private practice in Ithaca, New York, and the author of Medication Madness: The Role of Psychiatry Drugs in Violence, Suicide and Crime (2008). With his wife Ginger, he is the founder of the new Empathic Therapy Center. His website is www.breggin.com. He can be phoned at 607 272 5328 andpsychiatricdrugfacts@hotmail.com is his email.

For the realists amongst you. Yes I’m back from the clouds of baby euphoria and have landed with a thump into the reality of three hourly feeds, bum wiping and burping. (I can’t believe a nurse said that babies don’t need to burp, it’s not true. Prince No. 4 posits [that’s the polite word for vomits] without a burp. Why does it take forever though? In the end I lye him down to hiccup and posit in peace. [They’re very little posits])

Thank God baby blues is not post natal depression. I function through thick and thin (usually). Although in my pregnancy I had a huge fear of post natal depression, and for a moment thought I had prenatal depression. From what I have learnt from all my friends who’ve had post natal, it’s not something you can control. Just like birth really. Just like a baby’s burps. All out of our control. Maybe, and I’m thinking aloud here, that’s the lesson of a baby. Suddenly my life is (once again) run by a little baby’s very demanding schedule, which has nothing to do with my wants necessarily. I can’t exactly change the schedule unless I stop breast feeding or get a night nurse, or both. And I don’t want to do that. I love breast feeding (besides the unquenchable thirst and increased appetite. I’m one woman who does not lose weight breast feeding!) and I want to be with the baby at night (although I don’t like the disrupted sleep and I am grumpier and more tearful for it).

I’m finding myself flailing as I figure out how not to burn out. Of course I don’t figure it out and I do burn out. I have the flu, beginning a few days ago with my classic symptom – the grinding sore throat which have ended in the sniffles and sneezes. I don’t know how to put the brakes on. I thought I was doing well and I was. But somehow doing power hour after not just one night without sleep but 2 and a half weeks of broken nights is not a good idea. I’m short tempered and exhausted and it’s not quality with the Princes. So the good news is I’ve given up. If their homework isn’t done properly and if they go to sleep too late, or are late for school. SO BE IT. If it was up to me I’d have no homework for children and if a family has had a baby I’d give a two month amnesty from school strictures. Of course we all know that school is the best contraception – but that’s another blog…

So back to the topic. Yes I’ve had a couple…okay a few… maybe more than a few tearful breakdowns. I’ve almost refused to get up to feed some nights from sheer exhaustion – but how could I??? So I got up and kept going. But I have put in some survival strategies which I’m going to share.

1. Sleep in the mornings – Every morning I wake up shattered after a night with Prince No. 4 lying on me nursing on and off through the night. Literally. I feel like I can’t face the day. My hubbie is very sweet and brings me water as I’m completely dehydrated, being too tired at night to get up and drink. If it’s not a school day I cajole him to change the baby’s nappy (which is too full, because again I’m usually too tired to get up and change it in the middle of the cold wintry night). I then feed the baby and feed myself breakfast and put us both to sleep until the next feed. I lie down even if suddenly I’m not feeling that tired, and invariably I zonk out. Without the caught up couple of hours I cannot imagine what I’d be like (psychotic probably).
2. Dress for Success – Getting dressed after having a baby, no matter how much or little weight you put on can shatter the best self-image. I’ve pulled out my fat wardrobe which thankfully fits. And I made sure to get myself outfitted for Prince No. 4’s bris so that I wouldn’t feel daft as I did at the other Princes’ brises, where I didn’t get myself so organised. It made a world of difference to how I felt. Wearing clothes designed for your body shape – whatever the shape is the trick. And I still assert a lovely scarf or shawl can go a long way to hide a multitude of sins or as in my case ‘baby fat’.
3. Eat Muffins – This is quite an idiosyncratic comfort, but it’s helped me tremendously. My very kind friend Adina baked me the most delicious banana bread, wheat free, sugar-free from this wonderful American vegan baking book called, ‘Baby Cakes’. (Which another friend gave us – I do have such lovely, lovely friends!!!! Thank God.) It was delicious and felt light and healthy – although I’m sure my overdosing on it isn’t recommended. But it was so nice, and so comforting, it became my treat with tea. And when it was finished I had to make more. So blueberry vegan muffins it was. And again it got me through a few days until they too were finished. And so I made banana chocolate chip muffins. And alas I’ve eaten the last one just this moment! I’ve eaten six muffins today. Yesterday I managed just two, but then I did have Haagen Daz Chocolate Caramel Praline ice cream, my new official favourite flavour. It’s an utter indulgence but it’s giving me that sweet comfort that I’m needing. And it’s healthier than the amount of chocolate I ate when Prince No. 1 was born. Speaking of which he’s been reading over my shoulder as I blog and has joked that I’m going to get so fat that people are going to say I’m pregnant again, only this time with muffins. Ha ha ha… although he’s not far from the truth… so I will watch this indulgence. Maybe I’ll stick to zucchini muffins which my friend Naami introduced me to. I never thought I’d like them but to my surprise I loved them!
4. My other vice – Coffee- go out for it. Since Prince No. 4 was born three weeks ago I’ve gone out for two cups of coffee each time was utterly heavenly. Just to be out and feel normal, after hours of baby imprisonment. Today we went to Melrose Arch for a cappuccino at Woolworths (the best) it was sunny and warm and we took our little cappuccino (Prince No. 4’s nickname) with. As soon as he got there he woke up to feed, and having no problem with breast-feeding in public (under a blanket of course) it was fine. I felt human again, part of the race of wonderful cappuccino drinkers and not part of the lonely rite of being in one room majority of the day with the repetitive task of maintaining baby. I guess at that moment we compromised me and baby. He entered my world after I’ve been so consumed by his. We both enjoyed it!
5. Entering Baby’s world and banishing ghosts in the nursery. I’ve mentioned in a previous blog psychologist Mano Naidoo’s talk about ghosts in the nursery. How what we feel and experience as we hold our babies echoes back to when we were babies. I’ve been watching myself with Prince No. 4 as I hold him Watch myself as I feel myself disengaging, looking away, my mind floating somewhere else when I feed him, instead of looking him in the eyes and connecting. It’s humbling, frightening and at the same time healing seeing what I do and then correcting it. One of the things I’ve stopped doing is reading whilst I feed. I used to do this all the time with the other Princes when they were babies. I’ve been told that this is a no no. For attachment you need to be completely present as a mother. It’s been quite an effort not to read whilst I feed and I do find myself reaching for my phone only to have to catch myself, put it down and refocus on the baby. Look into his eyes and fall completely in love again. Or not. Although it is mostly a yes. I don’t believe there’s such a thing as perfect mothering or perfect attachment. And I have been reading Blink by Malcolm Gladwell in between feeds. This cuts into my sleeping time, but at least my mind is actively engaged and entertained (I love Malcolm Gladwell’s books. Highly recommend Outliers as well.)

So for now those are my mothering a new baby survival tips. I’m sure a lot of them work for all mothers with children at any age. It’s about taking care of ourselves so we don’t burn out, something most of us aren’t that good at.

Healthy Delicious Vegan Blueberry Muffins

This is a recipe from a lovely vegan cake book called ‘Babycakes’. It’s a bakery in New York that sells vegan goodies to celebrities (I think they also have one in LA). It’s perfect for that snack that hits the spot, and the Princes love it in their lunch boxes.

Ingredients

2 1/4 cups Spelt flour

2 teaspoons Baking Powder

1 teaspoon Baking Soda (Have once left it out because I didn’t have it in the house and it tasted MUCH better. So rather leave out Soda)

1/2 cup Coconut Oil (I use Canola Oil)

2/3 cup Agave Nectar

2/3 cup Rice Milk

2 teaspoons Pure Vanilla Extract

1 teaspoon Pure Lemon Extract (I just use fresh lemon)

2/3 cup Fresh Blueberries (I use frozen blueberries from Woolworths. Do not exceed recommended amount. There is such a thing as too many blueberries in a muffin. I learnt this the hard way.)

1/2 a cup or more quality Chocolate Chips (What I mean by quality chocolate chips is that it’s American. I used Hersheys that I got from Oaklands Fruit store, or use 70% Lindt chopped up. This is by far my secret ingredient that makes these, other wise healthy, muffins border on decadent.)

Method

1. Preheat oven to 325C that’s about 170C.
2. Line a standard 12 cup muffin tin with paper liners.
3. In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt.
4. Add the oil, agave nectar, rice milk, vanilla and lemon extract to the dry ingredients and stir until batter is smooth.
5. Using a plastic spatula gently fold in the blueberries and choc chips just until they are evenly distributed throughout the batter.
6. Pour 1/3 cup batter into each prepared cup, almost filling it.
7. Bake the muffins on the center rack for 22 minutes, rotating the tin 180 degrees after 15 minutes (I never do that).The finished muffins will bounce back slightly when pressed, and a toothpick inserted in the center will come out clean.
8. Let the muffins stand in the tin for 15 minutes, then transfer them to a wire rack and cool completely. Store the muffins in an airtight container at room temperature for up to 3 days.

Note: She’s very strict on using proper measuring cups in order for her recipes to work.

And Enjoy!!!!

There is nothing more exciting than having a baby. Of course there is nothing more tiring either. But it is so exciting! Once upon a time I thought that having babies was a matter of course. That you just had them. That somehow they weren’t neccessarily important. Don’t ask me why. That they were just a number. Maybe that’s what happens when you grow up in an environment where people are having lots and lots of children. Of course for them I’m sure it wasn’t just a number. But as a girl growing up it felt that way…

Now I know different. Having number four has cured me of that. And Prince No. 4 at that.

I did find out what I was having. Early, early on in the pregnancy. I was told I was having a girl. Which felt too too perfect. Of course it was, and at 16 weeks I found out I was having a boy, and I was devastated. Combined with the fact that I felt ill for the first three months from the word go, I was not in the best state. It’s hard to admit that now because as soon as Prince No. 4 was born, and I mean the very second he came out and I saw him, I thought to myself, ‘What was my problem, he is exactly perfect, exactly the baby I always dreamed of without knowing it.’ (Okay I also thought, why is he SO covered in white, and still looking a bit blue. But he was fine his Apgar was 9, thank God.)  And why am I admitting all this? Because having a girl was my issue, my ego and my fantasy. Having Prince No. 4 was reality and a really wonderful one at that. It was about having another child, spreading the love (a friend of mine swore a fourth increases love in the house – and it does. It also obviously increases tiredness and mommy irritability but more on that another post) and a leap of faith (or insanity, you take your pick).

I’m not just gushing about my new baby is perfect, blah di blah di blah. I’m being honest and saying that contrary to all the ‘shames’ that I get when I say I have 4 boys (I won’t comment on people who say shame like that) I really couldn’t take off my silly grin of utter delight. Would I still want a girl. For sure. Whether it’s good for me or not is a whole other topic and a great psychoanalysis session. But for now I’m the rose amongst the thorns, as my husband teases me.

Now onto more important things. The birth. I feel guilty saying this, and my close friends say, ‘No don’t, why should you.’ So I’ll take their advice and in the hope of inspiring any one out there that there is such a thing as an ideal birth, I’ll tell you a bit about mine. This fourth birth was my best so far. By four I and my midwives knew how my body works in labour. I have a high pain threshhold, which means that I labour quite nicely on my own without realising how far I am. The danger is I can have the baby in the car if I don’t get to the clinic early enough. Not okay. So my plan was to get to the clinic as soon as I felt any contractions. The only problem with this plan was that I have too many false alarm contractions, which just stop by the time I get to the clinic and get checked out. I also needed to make sure to get to the clinic in time to have antibiotics because I’m a strep B carrier which can endanger the baby’s health during natural birth. (Google strep B in birth, it’s worth being checked for it in pregnancy. In the States it’s a routine check up.)

So anyway after a false alarm midnight visit a week before Prince No. 4 was due I sat tight and waited and waited and waited. Prince No. 4 chose, yet again, to be different to his brothers (who arrived early) and decided to come three days late. By which time I was convinced that he was never coming out and I was going to be pregnant forever. When I went into labour Saturday night I thought they were false contractions. So much so I insisted that we go out for coffee even though every 10-15 minutes there was yet another contraction. And that night they continued some sorer than others. But they weren’t coming closer together and they’d stop long enough for me to get a decent enough sleep, as my midwife advised me to do, so that I’d have enough energy to push.

The next morning the contractions were still pretty much the same amount of time apart and I called the midwife to ask if I should come in because maybe I was in active labour, but maybe not because they weren’t really coming closer together. She said she was at the clinic and to come in when we were ready. We were all relaxed, after all this could be another false alarm. So after breakfast and giving a kiss to all the Princes we left as calm as you could be to the clinic.

It was Mothers Day by the way…

We arrived at the clinic and were given a room. (We didn’t even bring our bags from the car because we thought it may be a false alarm.) There was a woman screaming in the distance, and we chatted to the Doula about how the woman was progressing with her labour. She’d been pushing for 40 minutes. The shouting was enough to stop anyones contractions. Mine didn’t stop however. They were getting quite intense, although they were still quite far apart. So after about an hour, where my dear hubbie was chilling, blakberrying and snoozing and okay he did chat as well, we called a midwife who had birthed Prince No. 3 to come check me, because my midwife was still birthing the other woman (who did finally have her healthy, beautiful little girl). She did and I was 8 cm dilated. So that was most of the labour done. My hubbie ran to the car to get my bags and called his mum to tell her it’s the real thing and she’d better come to the clinic.

To say I was relieved was an understatement because by then the contractions were pretty intense. And if I was 2 cm dilated then I understand why women go for epidurals. Words cannot describe contraction pain, however all I can come up with is ‘intense’. My midwife came soon after and my gyny arrived (I’m one of those people who like their gyny to be there so I begged mine to be present and she agreed. Further I don’t like strange midwives checking me, which is why I go the personal midwife route. Genesis clinic is lovely by the way with excellent staff. The only downer is no neonatal unit, but they do have facilities to stabilise baby if need be.) so my support was there. My midwife produced a birthing stool which I had never tried before. It was a wonderful thing because my hubbie could sit behind me and hold me and support me and it was very comfortable. (He also loved it and said it was his best birth to because he was so involved.) So we chatted between contractions about this and that, Dr Haushka products and heaven knows what else, and the midwife kept checking the baby’s heart rate and position. And the contractions grew more intense. I got up at one point and then had to go straight back onto the birthing stool. When there were contractions it was just hectic intense, like I could concentrate on nothing else. My midwife and gyny just said to breathe and follow my body. Don’t think. And that’s what I did. So my body decided it was time to push and push it did and the baby popped out. Literally. Of course I was told to hold him back and breathe so I wouldn’t tear and heaven only knows how I managed any of it, because by that time I was convinced I was going to die, or at the very least faint away. I also thought to myself what in the world had I got myself into and maybe it wasn’t the best idea getting pregnant after all. But as I said he popped out and thank Goodness because I wouldn’t have lasted another moment. And suddenly it was a wonderful idea having a fourth, a fourth Prince with a lusty cry. ‘I am blessed.’ repeated through my mind incessantly.

And I still thought that even with the post contractions. And even with the placenta having to be birthed. (It was a big shock when I found out with Prince No. 1 that I had to birth another thing after the baby. It felt ridiculous.) And even with the sleepless nights since. Although there has been jaundice, there has been tears, and there has been a lot of nappies and water fall performances hitting the feeding chair and practically everywhere. But the bris is done (on my birthday too) and he’s healing and we’re all back to normal. Although the Princes are never going to get to school on time again until I get back into the swing of morning mania – which I may never – it’s rather nice staying in bed and ignoring the bedlam.

So for now until the next feed…

This week has been like summer. I know that there’s no need to weather report, but I can’t help it, because I’m finding it deliciously warm. Maybe that’s what’s toasting my brain. Although it’s more likely this end stage of pregnancy. My brain is going to mush. I feel like I’m on some low-level drug which numbs it so that nothing really matters. From the shelf that’s standing smack bang in the middle of the passage, to what’s for dinner tonight (takeout). It’s like I’ve gone very strangely inward and introvert. I can’t even bring myself to leave the house today. Luckily for a couple of contractions last night my hubbie agrees. So finally I’m getting a day of maternity leave, real maternity leave. I could do this more often. No lifts, no cooking and…well I did try shop online, but Pick n’Pay has a new website and I couldn’t log in, so no shopping too!

I’ve been keeping my mind a bit busy though reading a book that my sister-in-law highly recommended, along with Oprah. Child Sense – How to Speak Your Baby’s Language: the Key to Successful Parenting from Birth to Age 5, by Priscilla Dunstan.

Her two main themes are – BABY LANGUAGE and the SENSORY WORLD OF CHILDREN

I’ve had children for the last eight and a half years and I haven’t explored these two topics seriously at all. Even though every single Prince has sensory integration issues.

So for all moms with babies out there – BABY LANGUAGE. You can decipher what your baby is saying if you listen out for 5 ‘pre-cry’ sounds that signal babies 5 most important needs. (EG. Neh is ‘I’m Hungry’.) Dunstan identifies them and you can look them up on this link – http://www.asseenontvvideo.com/512022/Dunstan-Baby-Language-as-seen-on-Oprah.html where she appears on the Oprah show. It’s a fun link and really worth watching and spreading to anyone with babies. (If the link doesn’t work just google key words Priscilla Dunstan Baby Language Oprah.) It’s worth a try. PLEASE comment if the baby language works or doesn’t work for you. It’s every mothers dream to understand what their baby is actually crying about. How many times have I wished that I could understand what my babies were saying when they were screaming their heads off.

Next, and this is the special emphasis of Dunstan’s book, is the dominant sense which babies and children interact with the world. It could be Auditory, Tactile, Visual or Taste/Smell. She goes into great detail outlining each of these senses so that you can place which one is your child’s dominant sense. So for example my two Princes are Tactile dominant. This means that they learn through movement (surprise, surprise). They need plenty of touch and I know (now) if I want them to listen to me, they will hear me a lot better if I place my hand on their shoulder and give them a gentle squeeze. They’re very social and love active sport. They learn and explore through touch, so if I want Prince No. 1 to learn his Hebrew words, he’ll learn it better if I give him the hebrew word as a tangible object eg. a carrot. They would learn their letters by making them out of play dough rather than just reading them off a board. It’s a very different way of learning to the Auditory, Visual or Taste/Smell child.

Prince No. 2 is Auditory I’ve discovered. Which is why he’s so crestfallen when I raise my voice sharply. It’s also why he can be overwhelmed by lots of noise and things going on and therefor withdraws inwards when this happens. Being an Auditory child he loves music, song and dancing, and when he’s out of his shell chatters non stop with a running commentary. He learns through hearing, an ideal child for our school environment.

Of course there’s a lot more detail in the book. And I do think children can be strong in a couple of the senses. I know that Prince No. 1 is also very visual. But he’s definitely dominant in his Tactile sense.

The book also has a quiz for parents to see what their dominant sense is. It’s not so easy to place oneself however. I can’t figure out if I’m predominantly tactile or visual. It helps to know what you are because Dunstan goes into how the different senses can clash, for example a tactile parent who shows love through touching to an auditory child will not reach the child, because the child wants to be listened to. This can lead to clashes. She covers this all in great detail, with great tips and practical advice. From how to put your child to sleep, to their eating and playing times. I highly recommend this book to all parents. I’ve certainly gained a better understanding of myself and the Princes.

I’ve downloaded Play School songs (Play School is a wonderful Australian children’s program which I used to LOVE as a child) off iTunes for my Auditory Prince, and I’ve been hugging and kissing my Tactile Princes with great success, it certainly calms them. I’ve learnt to sing instructions to my Auditory Prince and to throw balls to the Tactile Princes when I want their attention. Little things like that make things run smoother. (But don’t worry Power Hour is still a stress, I’d cancel homework to make those couple of supper, bath and bedtime hours go smoother. I think it’s definitely worth looking into the benefits of making children have long school hours plus homework. If there are any that is.)

So book club Child Sense. Look up Priscilla Dunstan. Her story alone as a mum (an Australian mum btw) and what she discovers is interesting enough. I love it when moms find their way through their children. A bit like me really, a bit like all of us…

Today is a day out of Jane Eyre. Gloomy and grey. And yet I love these days…as long as I’m warm. Which I am. I’m wearing a lovely bright green cardigan which has been Blitzed. That means with a hole. Quite a big one. Wrought by our new Labrador puppy, Blitz. In fact I have a whole pile of Blitzed clothes ready for the tailor to mend. This is what happens when you get a cute, black Labrador. The Princes race into the kitchen (Blitz was kicked out of the rest of the house when he continued making his territorial business on the rugs) and jump onto the counter to avoid his clutching jaws. They eat their supper on their haunches high up on their chairs. And we put him outside just so that they can clear the table. Would we change anything – never. (Although I’d like my jerseys back. Hence I think getting a puppy in Spring is probably the best time, when you can just wear jeans and a t-shirt that you won’t mind getting blitzed. Of course you won’t look presentable in public again…) I never imagined having a puppy would be like this. The holes, the guilt of maybe not spending enough time with him, and the pure terror and frustration as my ankles get nipped. I never knew what to expect as I never had a dog before. It was the unknown, the feared, and to be honest if my mother in law had not gone ahead and booked Blitz, I don’t think we ever would have gotten beyond that fearful procrastination. Which is what this blog is all about.

Jump into the unknown, who knows what will happen, but jump anyway. I’ve had a weekend of this. Sunday to be precise.

Sunday was the day of the Princes’ Judo tournament. It was their first one ever. Prince No. 1 wanted to back out from the moment he woke up. We cajoled him and convinced him to go and do his best, which he did. They all fought with a lot of heart. (Or so I was told as I had a sugar low of some sort and ended up spending the afternoon in bed.) They all lost their fights. Prince No. 1 was in tears. And that’s when our role as mentoring parents kicked in. Where it was okay to lose as long as you turned up. When you didn’t get that gold medal you wanted but you tried your best and learnt along the way. Where it’s the process not the goal that counts. I told them they were all winners – because winners never quit. That’s what Sensai Irv (their Judo coach) teaches them. (Us parents who manage to sit and watch learn a lot in Judo.) We went for a celebratory pizza supper, with waffles and ice cream. And their self esteems lifted. They were proud of their medals, even if they were silver and bronze. The main thing really was that they faced their fear, got through their first tournament, and learnt that it was okay to lose.

Ouch – how many of us are okay with losing. How many of us would rather not try, then lose, or make an ass out of ourselves. I raise my hand to that. What I have been challenging myself with is doing things, even though it makes my anxiety levels soar to the moon. And so I found myself on Sunday night giving a talk on meditation to the Rosh Chodesh Waverley Women’s group.

Instead of tearing myself up in side with my lovely, critical voice, ‘Who are you to do a meditation talk, when these days you can barely get out of bed for the school lift, let alone meditate.’ I ignored it. I said to myself, ‘Who am I to back down? I’ve certainly done enough meditation, deep breathing, yoga in my life, as well as reading every book out there, numerous courses etc. etc.’ And so I did it. Armed with a lovely meditation by Natalia Baker, called  ’Three Fold Flame’. (You can google her, she’s based in Cape Town and her CD’s are lovely.) and an introduction on relaxation, deep breathing and their benefits.

The evening went well, very well. And the best part was I’d challenged another part of myself that I hadn’t used before. Jumped that chasm of fear and come out the other side.

If I had lost that would have been another story… but at least I’d dared to try. I quoted that evening Nelson Mandela (who was quoting someone else apparently please comment and tell me who????) from his 1994 inaugural speech. He said:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? 

Actually who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn’t serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.

We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us. It’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear our presence automatically liberates others.”

I may have quoted this before. I have it framed in my study because for me it is a powerfully true message about our deepest fears and issues.

I’ve been told this week to stop ‘trying’ and start ‘doing’. Stop ‘trying’ not to be anxious and have negative thoughts. Stop ‘trying’ to stop procrastinating, be present for the Princes, play with Blitz. Just do it! Deal with it. Live it. I guess when we die and God says to us ‘So what did you do with your life?’ we can’t exactly say, ‘Well I tried to live it.’ Trying is not quite the same as actually living it. Being the best we can be no matter what.

For me that was a sobering thought. A freeing, sobering thought. One that I understand is a life journey to fulfill.

But anyway…that may all be a bit heavy. On a lighter note. For those of you concerned – we are taking Blitz to puppy training classes. (He’s been the best thing for Prince No.1)

And I also want to relate how I’m putting the Princes to bed these day. With a meditation called ‘Bedtime Meditations for Kids’ by Christiane Kerr. It’s a set of three magical journeys that helps them relax as they go to sleep. It’s made putting them to bed such a pleasure, and they usually fall asleep half way through. A win-win-WIN. You can download it on iTunes. So anyone who wants to help their kids relax before bed, I highly recommend it. The Princes love it!

So we’re in the midst of Pesach. The time of freedom. Freedom from bread, but not freedom from food. My theory on Pesach is to make lots and lots of cake. It fills me up with a cup of tea, and whilst we don’t have much cake during the year, it’s a great snack for the Princes, who feel very  deprived without their crackers. So let them eat cake.

Below I’m posting 2 fabulous Pesach cake recipes and Pesach rolls. I’m also posting tonight’s meal, which goes to show how simple food can really be. I don’t have time for fuss these days. I barely seem to find time to blog…so excuse the shortness of the post…but please DO make cake. (I always forget to take photos of my cakes as I make them. I will try to take photos tomorrow when I begin my pre-festival baking spree.)

Just to add before we go onto cake – I was thinking of how I could make the Princes relate to the concept of slavery and freedom and I had the bright idea that I should make them into slaves for a day. Real slaves, where they have to do my beck and call or be whipped (no not really). Then I thought of something even better. I should make them the parents for the day, and I could play child and shout ‘MUMMY’ every five seconds. I still might do it. Freedom and slavery are still very real concepts in today’s modern age!

Pesach Coconut Chocolate Cake

This is my mother’s cake that I clearly remember eating on Pesach ever year. It was always delicious and filling.

Ingredients

6 Eggs

1 1/4 Cups Sugar

1/2 Cup Matza Meal

1 Cup Coconut

100 g Grated Dark Chocolate

2 Tablespoons Red Wine

Method

1. Beat Egg Whites and Sugar until fluffy.
2. Beat Egg Yolks until fluffy, add Wine.
3. Mix Egg White mixture with Egg Yolk mixture by hand.
4. Mix Matza Meal + Coconut + Chocolate
5. Add to Egg mixture
6. Bake for 1 hour in greased round spring pan at 170C. The cake tends to rise at the sides and tip in the middle.

Bon Vivant Cake

This recipe is a Hungarian wheat free cake (again from my childhood in Sydney), which is a wonderful dessert for all year round. It is a decadent, delicious treat, perfectly served with a dollop of  fresh cream!

Ingredients

For Base

8 Egg Whites

1 Cup Castor Sugar

250 g Hazelnuts (I use Almonds)

Chocolate Topping

8 Egg Yolks

125g Margarine

3/4 Cup Castor Sugar

200g good quality Dark Chocolate (I sometimes increase to 300grams)

Method

Base

1. Grease large, round, spring cake pan (the kind that splits) and put baking paper on the dish.
2. Beat Egg Whites until stiff, adding 200 grams of sugar gradually.
3. Mix in Hazelnuts by hand.
4. Put in cake tin and bake on 160C for 1/2 an hour.

Chocolate Topping 

1. Melt Chocolate with Margarine until cool (I melt my chocolate in a pot that’s on another pot of boiling water. That way it doesn’t burn.)
2. Beat Egg Yolks and Sugar
3. Pour cooled Chocolate mixture into Egg Yolks by hand. You can add a bit of cocoa or coffee for extra taste.
4. Pour Chocolate Topping over Base and cook in the oven for 20-30 minutes.

Enjoy!!!!

Pesach Rolls

This is a lifesaver for those of us who actually do need to eat something akin to bread and butter on Pesach. (ME!)

Ingredients 

1 Tablespoon Sugar

4 Eggs

2 Cups of Matza Meal

1 Cup of Water

1 teaspoon Salt

1/2 Cup Oil

Method

1. Bring Water and Oil to boil and take off the heat.

1. Mix in Sugar, Matza Meal, Salt
2. Beat in one egg at a time
3. Let stand for 15 minutes
4. With Oil shape into a roll. Not too small! Cut with a knife a line in the middle of each roll.
5. Place on a greased baking pan and cook at 180C for 35 – 40 minutes

A word of advice. If your sim card in your cell phone suddenly stops working, call your provider right away, and ask if an illegal SIM swap was performed. On Thursday it took me six hours and five phone calls to MTN to discover that an illegal SIM swap had taken place on my phone. I took it in my stride. Cancelled the SIM and thought that was the end of that. Until I discovered, thanks to a tip off by a gentleman who heard my SIM swap fraud story, that I should check my bank account. Low and behold he was right. My internet banking was blocked. Upon phoning the bank I discovered that ALOT of money had been transferred out of the account the previous day on which my SIM had been swapped. With access to my phone number this fancy syndicate not only stole money from my account but managed to draw a loan of 30, 000 rand from the bank. Bizarre!

What does this little story have to do about gratitude. Well usually when something like this happens that costs me a whole morning at the bank and a whole afternoon at the police station I’d feel pretty sorry for myself. I’d fume at my precious lost time, cancelled meetings and in general feel very hard done by. But I practiced a bit of composure and looked at the big picture. Things could be so much worse. There are so many sad, terrible stories circulating. The community even called a half day fast this week. In the big picture a stolen SIM card and a broken into account and probably identity theft (that really is freaky to imagine someone has all my details – anyone with advice about what to do about this, please give it), doesn’t measure up to the real tragedy that can and does happen.

And this is where gratitude comes in. Life is so precious and yes we squander it in our small worries, finger pointing, inner critiques, and general unconscious living. We forget to breathe and feel the rise and fall of our chests, to hear when our child speaks to us, really hear and be present for them. We forget to look into our partners eyes and see them as they are, as we first saw them so long ago. We forget to walk without shoes on the grass and feel the earth as we once did as children. Feel the sun on our face with pure joy. (This is a recommended daily practice for at least 20 minutes before 9am and after 3 or 4 pm.)

With every tragedy I hear I don’t want to enter into a miserable, helpless zone. Because that’s not helping anybody. Instinctively I want to run and hide and not face life, but that’s not the response to tragedy. It’s to take note and see, how can I have gratitude for what I have and more than that, as Mano Naidoo says, how can I honour the thing I have gratitude for. If it’s your children, how can you honour them, spend that extra bit of quality time with them. How can you honour your house, spend more happy times in it. Honour your body, take care of it. Honour your friends, family, staff, work, world. There is so much blessing and so much to honour. The more we focus on our blessing, please God the more blessing we will receive and spread to others.

On a whole other topic – although it’s something I’m very grateful for. This week we got a puppy labrador, whom Prince No. 1 has called Blitz. He’s been with us a week and it’s been very FUN, FRUSTRATING and LOVING. On the one hand he hasn’t been crying that much at night, actually not at all. So that has been a big blessing, especially for my husband as I told him, it’s his job at night. Meanwhile I’m afraid to admit that the house reeks of Bolo Blitz, he thinks the rugs are his place to make his business. So I go around closing doors and carrying this puppy outside as much as possible. The Princes LOVE him and wake up to feed him and play with him, although they are scared of his biting (which he does a lot of). Prince No. 1 has been super responsible with Blitz, as it is his dog, and is like a mini man as he wipes up after him with a vinegar and water concoction. It is like having a baby and every other moment one of us says with a rising anxious note, ‘Where’s Blitz?’ Often he’s just lying in a corner fast asleep. So the adventures of Blitz has begun, and never a dull moment shall reign in this house again.

I apologise. I haven’t written in the longest time. The main reason being I was away. Skipped the country to Italy for two weeks (okay 12 days to be precise). Of course I’ve been back for about another two weeks and in that time I’ve wanted to blog about Italy, but felt to daunted by the task of describing a trip which was so wonderful, magical and relaxing. Furthermore, after a certain time of the day my brain is too porridgy to really put finger to computer and write sensical paragraphs. Believe me, I’ve tried, and I’ve erased all that I wrote.

So here I am and I will try to do justice to Italy, for the sake of everyone who one day wants to go. (It’s a worthwhile holiday goal.)

We planned – at least my hubbie did (He did absolutely everything to be honest. I chicken out in anxiety and the hectic, pre-holiday, leaving the Princes arrangements, which are immense.) to go to Rome, Venice and Florence. He booked hotels off Trip Advisor, and booked through this company Jewish walking tours – walking tours. (Surprise, surprise.) And we were off. Me with my pregnancy, compression stockings that I ditched halfway over Africa because they were way too hot. (Horrible, horrible things. I didn’t wear them on the way back and admittedly my ankles doubled and swelled like a generous serving of gelato.)

Now the best thing about going away without the Princes was spending twelve days straight with my husband. It was the biggest gift for both of us. We discovered new things about each other and away from the Princes, we could just relax, have fun and focus on each other. So before I launch into the to do’s of Italy, I really want to repeat one of my blog themes. Go AWAY!!! Be it a night (my friend went to Cape town for one night for her tenth anniversary and she smiled for a week), a weekend, a week. It’s quality not quantity that counts. And it is hard to leave and I don’t think my Prince’s teachers are ever impressed when we go away, but sometimes life has to be lived by all of us, not just by our children.

Anyhow onto….

ROMA

Our first day in Rome we did typical, touristy things. We went to the Trevi Fountain (above), to the Spanish steps and just walked around, our noses in the guide book. (Again not my idea, but my husband proved very right in buying a guide book at the Johannesburg airport. We loved our DK Eyewitness Travel book on Rome, and we bought one on Florence too. It’s detailed and very visual and easy to use. I would buy one for any country I travel to now.)

When we got our guides though, we began to learn exactly how to tour a country. First you begin with its history and that’s exactly what we did by starting our Classical Rome walking tour at the Colosseum. Now I’m going to be completely honest here and say I was fully prepared to be bored. Since when was classical anything interesting? I lay the blame at my schooling for this boorish attitude. The history of ancient Rome turned out to be fascinating, and inextricably linked with Jewish history. The emperors of Rome were the very same emperors discussed in the Talmud. Our guide introduced the Colosseum to us, as the amphitheater Emperor Vespasian built-in 72 CE with his Jerusalem spoils from the Temple’s destruction in 70 CE. I read elsewhere that the Colosseum was built by the Jewish slaves brought  from Judea into Roman captivity. It puts a whole new spin to seeing and standing under the Colosseum’s massive Roman archways and sitting on the very steps where Roman spectators sat to cheer on the gladiators. This was my history too.

NB – Book before hand for the Colosseum. Even though we were there during low season it was PACKED and the queue extremely long. In general, especially if its high season it’s a good idea to pre book for the major sites.

We also went to the Palatine which is where the Roman Forum is as well as the Arch of Titus. Without our guide we wouldn’t have really got it. It would have looked like a bunch of decrepit, old building. This is what a lot of Rome can look like. And it’s beautiful and ancient, but essentially meaningless unless you have some understanding. So I really recommend guided tours with an enthusiastic tour guide. We learnt that everything has a story, and often the stories are very interesting. But I don’t have space to tell you all…

Italian Coffee

I learnt on my first day in Rome not to order a caffe orzo out of curiosity. It’s barley coffee and it was disgusting. We learnt that Romans are sitting, chatting and gulping down expressos at our tourist hours. My  mother in law smsed me when I said I was enjoying an Italian cappuccino, ‘Only foreigners drink cappuccino after breakfast. Italians drink expressos.’ I gently reminded her that I was a foreigner, and asked our guide the next day if it was true that she’d only drink a cappuccino for breakfast. She said, ‘Yes only for breakfast, and expressos for the rest of the day, because it’s difficult to digest the milk.’ Well I stayed a foreigner and drank mucho cappuccinos the whole trip because Italian coffee is in a league of its own.

Roman Food – FOOD GLORIOUS FOOD

We learnt pretty quickly that whilst Italy is one country, each city and region has its own unique identity and pride. If you’re from Rome you are a Roman, and we were to eat unique Roman food in Roma. This prideful difference is understandable when you consider that Italy was only unified as a country in 1870. Now we went to the Jewish Ghetto where all the kosher restaurants are. I was nervous as kosher does not always mean good. But in Rome I needn’t have worried. The quality of food was AMAZING. I don’t think we could have ordered badly, everything was delicious. This was not Jewish Rome that I remembered when I was twelve, when there was but one kosher meat pizza, stand up and eat place, and a dodgy family run business with no certificate. (In those days from Australia to Israel, we’d stop in either Greece or Rome for a couple of days to break up the 24 hour journey.) Now it was a buzzing street with not one meat restaurant but a few, from burgers (no thank you) to fine Italian, Roman dining.

Now the main Jewish Roman delicacy is fried artichokes. I never knew there was more than one way to make artichokes. I always boil mine. But no artichokes appear in almost every dish. Artichokes in pasta, pizza, Roman and fried. And all delicious! One restaurant had a woman sitting by crates of artichokes sorting them out. I’ve never seen so many artichokes at once.

I’m not sure I can go back to normal pasta, having tasted homemade pasta. It feels like a sham, like play play noodles in comparison. And the Italian sauces were so delicious I’m afraid to say my mouth is watering at the memory of it. Which is ridiculous. So if you want amazing kosher food Rome is the place. They’re also really healthy eaters. I was surprised when my pasta came with nothing but pasta. No salad or accompaniment is brought  with it. It seems the Italians eat lots of courses and don’t mix their food as we do. And like the French they eat salad only after the meal. We did that and it did feel healthier. Their salads aren’t a couple of lettuce leaves either. They’re full of fennel, cabbage, rocket and all sorts of veggies. I now knew why Italians are known for their food, it’s not just the taste, it’s the quality, and the care in eating it. They don’t have fast lunches or meals.

Jewish Ghetto

This is a MUST tour. The Jewish ghetto in Rome at the moment is a trendy, beautiful area by the Tiber river. As much as we hung out there to eat, it was only when we did our tour did we learn of Roman Jewish history. Surprise, surprise it was a hard one. The ghetto used to consist of narrow alleyways and was strategically surrounded by churches. They weren’t even allowed to build synagogues. Rather they had one building in which there were five synagogues. The Popes forced them to go to mass and when they left the ghetto the men had to wear joker hats and the women the scarves that prostitutes wore. They weren’t allowed any trades besides selling second-hand clothes and money lending. Needless to say they were dirt poor. And that’s just a summary. Now it has a beautiful, grand, cathedral style synagogue which was built by 1904 and is still in use.

Of course this was made more real to us because our guide was a Roman Jewess, who expressed the pain and indignity that the Jews suffered with real feeling. She spit out her disgust at the Papacy in World War II for redeeming the 10 Catholics who were accidentally rounded up with 1270 Jews in the ghetto. Of the 1035 Jews sent to Auschwitz, only 196 returned. One of them was her great uncle. And she introduced us to them, telling us what an honour it was. And it was an honour and I love how the survivors in Rome are honoured. Even the synagogues first pews are reserved for the survivors. Coming from Sydney, where there were so many survivors, I felt humbled. We should have honoured our survivors as much. They should have had their own reserved seats in synagogue. In Rome they knew the holocaust, in Sydney, everyone was trying to forget it, get on with it. It’s so important to commemorate properly, and give honour where honour is due.

Now there are so many more stories. But I’ll be quick now. I’m over my words. But not over my pictures. I must comment on the Vatican tour. I didn’t think I’d find it so interesting. But it was fascinating. We began in the Vatican museum and my appreciation for Classical Roman art that influenced the Renaissance grew. (Actually before the trip I had no appreciation whatsoever.) It’s a light bulb moment when you see a classical artifact of a man who Michelangelo saw and was influenced by. He is now my favourite, favourite artist. I didn’t know anyone could vie with the Impressionists, but he does. Michelangelo’s frescoes in the Sistine Chapel is worth googling. What’s more seeing the rude signs he painted into them, insulting the Pope (behind his back of course, and once you’re there and see the fresco, you can understand how the Pope wouldn’t have noticed the angel pulling what was the finger in those days, behind the back of the Pope’s likeness. The intricate messages in the The Last Judgement  of who was going to hell and heaven, is most revealing. He paints Jews in heaven amongst many other messages. Not very conventional for those Catholic times, I dare say. I’ve always loved a rebel. It’s worth looking up.

Of course if it wasn’t for my tour guide I’d have walked through and said very nice, beautiful and all those adages of the ignorant. But I’m running away with words again.

Venice

Training through Italy is a great option for seeing the countryside and getting around fast. Venice was a surprise of water. It really is a city on water. I don’t know why it takes seeing it to properly believe it. There are no cars, or scooters, or bikes. It really is a walking, boating city. We took a water taxi to our hotel. We were to learn that the water bus is just as good and effective and a tenth of the price.

Again in Venice the best thing we did was book a walking tour. It gave us such an insight into Venice’s history with a tour of the Doge’s Palace in San Marco square, a boat tour through the canals, and a Jewish Ghetto walking tour. Everyone says get lost in Venice, and we did!

Shabbat in Venice

We were told Shabbat in Venice is a great option. And it was. The chabad are amazing and run complimentary Shabbat meals at the Gam Gam restaurant. The food is decent, the company is great. We met Jews from all over the world and when you play Jewish geography, we’re all more interrelated than we think. So one guy from LA, who was traveling Italy with his daughter, knew my Uncle in LA. Another girl who was from London, on a weekend away with friends, (oh to be able to hop anywhere in Europe for the weekend) told me her father was Iraqi, so we had a fine old conversation about Iraqi cuisine. I met a lovely girl from Spain and charted my next destination – Espanola. It was a lot of fun. And sitting for Shabbat lunch in the sunshine by the grand canal, serenaded by a violinist busker - who had no idea that we couldn’t pay him for his services unfortunately, was magical.

The Sephardi service in synagogue was lovely. It’s worth going for the melodious liturgy and of course the beautiful architecture. And just to add, after Shabbat the Gam Gam restaurant is a great place to get Kosher meat food (I had an excellent homemade pasta spaghetti Bolognese, they also have awesome milk pizza at their takeout branch down the alley. (And I mean really excellent, perfect pizza. I’m sorry I don’t have a photo.)

Washing hanging – just outside the Venice Ghetto

Florence

Florence as the home of my favorite artist was just as magnificent as it was foretold to be.

Highlights

- Michelangelo’s David at the Galleria dell’ Accademia is a must see. And his Prisoners leading up to David are powerful sculptures of slavery indeed. I felt my own inner slave bursting at the seams of my own marble rock, trying to break free.

I really recommend the museum’s audio guides.

Must Do – Tour Tuscany

We did a half day wine tour. Needless to say I did not have wine. But it was an exceptional experience visiting a medieval castle and learning all about extra virgin olive oil and wine. I didn’t know that extra virgin is really when the olives are pressed within 24 hours of their picking. This means most of us are not consuming good quality extra virgin olive oil. Tips the guide gave us was, dark bottle or tin, buy the youngest made by date (ignore expiry), and yes the more it costs the more likely it is better quality. On wine I learnt that the grape makes the wine, and Tuscans are very proud of their grapes and wine. I also learnt the importance of smelling wine to see what fruity flavour it has. I was too shy to ask if I could smell without actually tasting the wine. Who wants to drink wine out of  a glass that someone else has smelt. And yeah, hold your wine glasses by the stem not the cup of it, because you’re smudging the glass otherwise, and can’t see the colour correctly. You see there’s a lot to learn in this world.

Italian Economy

I must say I was bemused by the lack of toilet seats through out Italy. We may have copper cable thieves in Johannesburg, but they have toilet seat thieves. Which isn’t funny when you have to go to the toilet every five minutes.

Another small hint at the situation was that one of our guides heard I was from Sydney (originally) and said she and her family are seriously considering moving to Sydney. Needless to say I was surprised.

One shop I entered shooed me out, saying, ‘It’s one o’clock and we’re closing for lunch.’ I don’t think that would happen anywhere. Make a buck or lunch…. You can see where the Italian’s priorities are good food, wine and laughter. They’re really a lovely people. It’s a lovely country to visit and SO MUCH to learn.

Hope this helps anyone thinking of going to Italy. It’s worth practicing your Italian beforehand because it’s a lot of fun to speak with the locals. (Of course my Italian and accent is abysmal.)

So for now Arrivederci!

Walking Tour Details

Jewish Roma Walking Tours – Micaela Pavoncello – info@jewishroma.com