Embarrassing Music

“Mum, that music is so embarrassing!” declared Master Ten, winding up his window as we were driving into town.

What the heck?! We weren’t even in the vicinity of anyone hearing, we were driving on an 80km straight. And since when did the roles reverse?

It seemed like only yesterday I wrote about Master then-Five embarrassing US with his music. Here’s an excerpt:

I must say, they have good taste. Admittedly all the music is mine and the Jump Around one’s a bit embarrassing, especially when Master Five insists on rolling down the window 

at the lights and turning up the volume.

Apparently he did this to his father, much to his horror.

“We were going through Cameron St Mall and someone opened their window and turned up the music really loud,” he reported when they returned.

Why is he telling me this? I wondered. Teenagers do that all the time.

Then I realised he was talking about our son.

To be fair, the song I was playing this week wasn’t too flash but I’d left my ipod at home and resorted to an old cd found in the glove box.

We were on our way to visit Kiwi North at the time. Miss Seven’s Brownies was spending the day at the museum in preparation for ANZAC day and visiting the Kiwi house at the same time. I decided to take us all up there for the day. The boys, usually at odds with one another, bonded over this, being surrounded by ‘disgusting’ girls and all.

Master Seven is at an impressionable stage where he will gauge his response to most situations off his older brother’s. The two of them spent the first part sniggering away in the corner until we entered the Kiwi house where they lost their inhibitions at the first sighting of a kiwi.

The Kiwi house, itself was fascinating. Despite there being around 50-plus children, they remained in a unanimous silence as all eyes stared transfixed to the glass windows. Inside, two kiwi were scurrying around in the dark going about their business, seemingly unaware that over 100 eyes were watching their every move. Adding to the thrill, it was feeding time and we got to watch as they hid from the man placing their food by the glass windows and as soon as he left, emerged, coming right up by us to eat.

Once back outside in the light, the boys resumed their pink-cheeked giggling in the corner before we headed into the museum to look at the impressive ANZAC display.

Then it was home time so, to the boys’ horror, I wound down the windows and cranked up my embarrassing sounds as we drove past all the girls.

Chocolate Overdose

There are two golden rules to prevent overindulgence when grocery shopping: never shop hungry and always stick to the list.

I always avoid the biscuits in aisle two, averting my eyes while simultaneously speeding up the trolley. However, last week, I was on a mission and purposefully went off-course, making a beeline for probably the most decadent there is and it’s all because I got lured in by some excellent marketing.

Great imagery coupled with enticing cocktail names had me from the get-go. The worst thing was that it came on the tail end of Easter and we needed more chocolate in the house like a hole in the head.

The kids cleaned up this Easter. I mean really cleaned up. On top of their usual haul, the three of them won prizes in their school Easter raffle with Master Ten taking out the top prize – a hamper filled to the brim with goodies.

They were rapt of course and, as a result, we’ve had chocolate coming out our ears.

To help save the kids’ teeth, like any good mother would do, I usually gorge the night before holidays end which simultaneously removes temptation from myself enabling me to start afresh on the exercise/eating healthy front the following day. This year, there was just too much so I ended up freezing and hiding it until all that remained in the fridge was a bunch of boring hollow rabbit body parts and a trail of chocolate crumbs and tinfoil.

Wednesday morning, with the kids back at school, and in exercise gear ready for my morning run, I switched on the computer. And what do you think should pop up but a new range of Tim Tam biscuits, sculpted into chocolate cocktail glasses no less!

It was only Wednesday – the equivalent to a Monday, it being the first day back – but already I was drooling. Strawberry Champagne (I love strawberry champagne!), Pina Colada (I love Pina Colada!) – what were Tim Tam trying to do to me and my drop the two Easter kilos plan?!

Reluctantly, I scrolled past this imagery and cast it from my mind. Until the following morning when it appeared again. In addition, later that night, I opened up my Woman’s Day and turned to a whole page devoting a recipe to Strawberry Champagne cupcakes, using said Tim Tam biscuits. The Tim Tam marketers had lured me in and I was sold. I tore the recipe out, and the next day jotted the ingredients onto my list and headed for the biscuit section.

There they were, twinkling at me like they’d known all along. I huffily dropped them in my trolley and looked for the next item: freeze-dried strawberry powder, now this would be a challenge. No doubt it would be situated with the likes of gelatins and polentas and other unknowns.

Breaking my own rule, I strayed from the usual stop-offs and spent a good ten minutes scrutinising every item in the baking needs. Oh I found all sorts of alluring items and it took all my will, not to fill my trolley up with them. Instead I turned away unscathed, apart from a packet of tempura beer batter mix which I’ve subsequently questioned, and rolled up to the lady stacking shelves.

Predicting the blank stare it would generate, I asked if she knew where the allusive frozen strawberry powder was.

I was already regretting embarking on this recipe as she stared back blankly and I turned away and continued down aisle three. It was halfway down that said lady found me.

“I was just thinking,” she said. “Perhaps you could try strawberry yogurt powder. It might work and you will find it at the beginning of aisle two.”

Now that was service and she didn’t even know what it was for. I bet if I’d waved the recipe in front of her, she too would be drooling and asking for a copy.

Back home, Miss Seven and I rolled up our sleeves and got in baking mode. She was soon joined by her brothers and the three of them licked the bowl like piggies while I popped the cork to the Lindauer Fraise and had a serious bake-off. (The Lindauer Fraise was for the frosting but the rest would come in handy later.)

They stopped licking the cake batter bowl long enough to chop the biscuits in half ready for me to place in the centre of each cup cake, before they tucked into the frosting bowl with their three spoons.

Anyhow, the yogurt powder worked a treat and all the fancy marketing wasn’t misleading: the end result was the best little cupcakes I had ever tasted, even if I do say so myself. I had two, then felt sick so, after giving several away, stuck the remainder in the freezer with the rest of the Easter stash.

Now I just have to trick my brain into forgetting that it’s there.