The Baynhams

There is a fund-raising initiative called the 40hr Famine. It is a charity that encourages teenage kids to give up something for 40 hours in return for sponsorship from family and friends. It should come with a serious health warning. This fund-raiser puts family members at risk of heart attack or even death. I'll tell you how.

Sian decided to give up talking. Not an easy thing for a 12 year old. She was communicating in hand gestures and facial expression. She came home from a friends house wearing casual clothes and with her school uniform in a bag. When I spotted the bag on the ground I tipped the contents into the top-loader washing machine that had started 5 minutes before. She went to walk upstairs to bed and I reminded her to "park" her iPod touch in the charger downstairs (No Internet access allowed in the bedrooms for cyber safety etc etc) Sian nodded then looked at me and pointed at the empty clothes bag. My interpretation? That I had tipped the iPod into the washing machine along with the clothes. Cue me screaming and running into the laundry, opening the lid and submerging my upper body in the suds frantically seaching for expensive electrical gadget that she had saved so hard for. All unnecessary because Sians nod and shrug was meant to convey that the iPod was already parked and she just wanted to know where to put the empty bag...

That's the risk of heart attack explained.

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I'm not a big nail person. I work as a nurse where you cannot have nails longer than the pad of skin on your fingers and nail varnish is forbidden because it contains sugars that support bacterial growth blah-blah-blah. Also I have naturally short stubby nails that refuse to grow long so I just leave them as they are.

When a friend gave me a manicure as a gift to say Thank-you for something recently I didn't know when to redeem it. It sat in a drawer and went out of date. I felt awful when I realised it and rang the salon and asked if they would extend it. They told me no problem, just book in that week. So I did!

I went off to the salon after I dropped the kids to school on a recent Friday that I wasn't working. I never knew there were so many things that could be done to my hands. Over the next 90minutes I was soaked and ex-foliated, buffed and shaped and massaged into hand heaven! Towards the end I was asked would I like my nails varnished. I was handed a colour wheel of glossy choice and chose a daring red. I once heard that Rolls Royce hand paint their cars with 722 layers of paint (I exaggerate, it's probably 5!) Well my nails felt like a car showroom by the time I left. There was a base coat then two layers of colour, then a topcoat. I felt glamorous and gorgeous for about 24 hours and even went shopping and pretended to try on trendy bling.

That's when I noticed the first chips. My Rolls Royce was falling apart. By that evening I admitted defeat and got out the nail varnish remover. It was fun while it lasted but I can't help thinking it must be a hard life being gorgeous all the time. Too high maintanance for my liking. I'll leave you with an appropriate bad joke...

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Rhiannon is gone to camp. A rite of passage for all Aussie kids in year 5. You pack them up and then send them off into the bush with a couple of teachers for two nights and hope they return...

The kids seem remarkably unperturbed by the whole idea. The Mums wring their hands nervously and repeat unnecessary information to the teachers over and over. The teachers smile and nod reassuringly and repeat how they haven't lost a single child...yet...


The concerned mothers dab their eyes and look mournful as the bus pulls away. The other ones wave at the departing bus then race off to the local cafe for a cappuccino with an extra shot of juicy gossip! Which was I ?

Clue: I sent Sian off two years ago and had her return dirty but alive and happy. I have no worries that we will pick up a similarly happy Rhiannon on Wednesday. Yes, that coffee was great!

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*Disclaimer*

Be warned.

These muffins are very dangerous. They are packed full of chocolate which will go straight to your hips. If eaten warm the chocolate will be melted and will drip down your chin and will make you look like you have fallen into the river in Willy Wonkas factory.

One will not be enough.

If you are still reading you have an addiction: I suggest you visit here www.ineedthehelpofchocolateanonymous.com

If you are not ready to confront this demon yet then join me in making the best chocolate chip muffin you will ever have eaten in your entire life! Afterwards we can join rehab together....

125g Plain Flour
25g cocoa-powder
1tsp Baking Powder
1/2tsp Bicarbonate of Soda
50g each of Dark, White and Milk chocolate, chopped into chunks.
1 Egg, beaten
150ml Sour Cream
50g Brown Sugar
40g Butter, melted then cooled
Extra chocolate chunks to sprinkle on top before cooking


Preheat oven to 180C (350F)
Sift flour, cocoa, baking powder and bicarb of soda in a large bowl. 
Stir in choc chunks. 
In a separate bowl combine egg, sour cream, brown sugar and melted butter. 
Beat with a fork and add to dry ingredients. 
Fold together gently, don't over-mix. 
Mixture will be very dense and sticky.
Fill paper cases in a muffin tin.
Sprinkle extra choc chunks on top and bake for about 20mins or until well risen and cooked through. 
Cool in pan for about ten minutes.
Eat. 


If you are unable to eat them all straight away they can be kept but must be reheated in the microwave for 5-10 seconds before eating to melt all the chocolate chunks again!

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Sian is crazy about all things Coconut. When this recipe appeared in a Donna Hay magazine she cut it out and stuck it in my recipe folder. Today she made them almost entirely on her own, including piping the yummy white chocolate icing!


















Here is the recipe:

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I love nothing more than sitting in my cozy red armchair and spending an hour on my little net-book editing the days photos, reading my favourite blogs and updating our own. I much prefer taking photos of the family than actually being in them. I think we are all our own worst critic. I always said I would grow old gracefully. That I love the look of a face that shows it's history. I'm not big on make-up. I love a bit of lip gloss and often wear a tinted moisturiser with sunblock. I love that when I need to I can use my full arsenal of my make-up bag to hide the imperfections. I also love that people are used to seeing the me with bare skin more than the made-up me.

So why do I not let the kids take photos of me more often? Why do I hide behind my side of the camera? I tried to transfer some images from my camera to my net-book today and clicked the wrong device. Instead of choosing my cameras memory card I clicked a different camera icon. It opened the webcam on my net book and took a photo of me.

So this is me.

This is what I look like as I sit reading your blog, or up-dating mine. There is nothing quite like a bit of sun-flare to distract the eye away from the wrinkles and yes, that is a big spot on the left corner of my mouth!

What about you? How do you feel about pictures of yourself ? Which side of the camera are you most comfortable on...??

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Today was the last day of the 2010 Rugby Union season. It was an early start for a Saturday morning. A 7am alarm to be all fed and driving by 7.30. We drove for an hour and a half to watch the kids play against Singleton under 8's.

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It's my birthday later on this week. We went shopping at the weekend and wandered around lots of different stores with the aim of finding me a present from Byron and the kids.

I couldn't think of anything I wanted. I had a blank brain. The shops were busy and all around me were shelves of "stuff". Dare I say it was almost overwhelming. I stood in the middle of the shiny department store surrounded by tempting displays, modern lighting and eager sales staff and told Byron I really couldn't think of anything I wanted.

Even as I said it I realised it sounded crazy. Gina, the former shopaholic. If Cathy or Josie, my former shopping buddies from the UK could have been there they would have slapped me sharply across the face and waved smelling salts beneath my nostrils.I felt a strange Zen calmness as I thought about how I had Byron and the kids, my health, a beautiful house and all the material possessions I could need. I thought that this must be what you feel like when you meditate deeply and smell incense for long periods of time. Happy, weightless, full of  goodwill to all men....

And then Byron got all masterful and realistic. He told me to hurry up, snap out of it and chose something or I would have no wrapped parcel on my birthday morning in a few days time. He reminded me of two things I had hinted at over the last few weeks.

One was a hot pink electrical device which zapped the hairs on your legs and promised that with regular use and multiple new blades that the hair growth would reduce to 30% (ish)



The other was a fire-engine red electrical device that would sit on my kitchen counter and promised to help me to make cakes, bread, anything that required mixing or kneading.





He told me to hurry up and chose one so he could buy it and we could go home.

I deliberated and agonised and finally decided to hand over the decision to the kids. I sat down cross legged on the shiny marble tiled floor and informed them that they could choose. They could have a Mum with smooth hair-free legs who never baked and therefore stuck to her healthy eating regime.

Or a Mum with hairy legs who baked cakes and cookies every day and got plumper by the month. One chose the smooth hair-free version, the other two chose the hairy baker. The shops were closing in 5 minutes.

Which would you have chosen...?!

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