Sophia turns ONE next month and her Mama bear is looking for party ideas. Here’s one that would be awesome:
At-home sushi conveyor belt via Kidcrave
Aaaaand I just know you’re rolling your eyes at the idea of serving sushi to children instead of the chocolate and cake and sugar they await. I will answer your collective eye-roll with this:
Sweets that look like sushi via Dinner: A Love Story. Yes. amazing.
This past Christmas was extra special for our family as it was the first one with little Sophia. I was excited to make it home to see her again after five long months – she had doubled her age in that time! It all happens too fast. One of the nice things about having a baby around at Christmastime is that children’s gifts are always the most fun. Sophia got Lego from Santa Claus, lots of musical instruments (drums are her favourite) and even a baby-sized Mini Cooper from her Uncle Richie.
If I had seen this IKEA hack before Christmas, I’d like to think I could have made it happen and delivered the best present of all.
How awesome? Have a look at the before.
I love the little details, like the subway tiles and chic lighting.
Fiona, we have to attempt this sometime in the next year.
I’m hesitant about posting on the topic of life advice, particularly at this time of year when every blogger is publishing their resolutions for the shiny new year. You don’t need my two cents. You can assume (correctly) that I have similar list of predictable intentions. Anyway, this isn’t that kind of advice.
This article, with excerpts from a “Dear Sugar” column by Cheryl Strayed (author of Wild) , was one of those thoughtful pieces that I read, read again and then decided that it might be just the kind of soul-soothing guidance that your January self needs.
Here are my favourite bits:
On how to treat your parents…
One Christmas at the very beginning of your twenties when your mother gives you a warm coat that she saved for months to buy, don’t look at her sceptically after she tells you she thought the coat was perfect for you. Don’t hold it up and say it’s longer than you like your coats to be and too puffy and possibly even too warm. Your mother will be dead by spring. That coat will be the last gift she gave you. You will regret the small thing you didn’t say for the rest of your life. Say thank you.
On love
I recalled a time fifteen years ago, when I was sitting in a café with Mr. Sugar. We’d only been lovers for a month, but we were already in deep, thick in the thrall of the you-tell-me-everything-and-I’ll-tell-you-everything-because-I-love-you-so-madly stage, and on this particular afternoon I was telling him the harrowing tale of how I’d gotten pregnant by a heroin addict the year before and how I’d felt so angry and sad and self-destructive over having an abortion that I’d intentionally sliced a shallow line in my arm with a knife, even though I’d never done that before. When I got to the part about cutting myself, Mr. Sugar stopped me. He said, ‘Don’t get me wrong. I want to hear everything about your life. But I want you to know that you don’t need to tell me this to get me to love you. You don’t have to be broken for me.
On being a (female) writer…
How many women wrote beautiful novels and stories and poems and essays and plays and scripts and songs in spite of all the crap they endured. How many of them didn’t collapse in a heap of 'I could have been better than this' and instead went right ahead and became better than anyone would have predicted or allowed them to be. The unifying theme is resilience and faith. The unifying theme is being a warrior and a motherfucker. It is not fragility. It’s strength. It’s nerve. And 'if your Nerve, deny you –,' as Emily Dickinson wrote, 'go above your Nerve.' Writing is hard for every last one of us — straight white men included. Coal mining is harder. Do you think miners stand around all day talking about how hard it is to mine for coal? They do not. They simply dig.
On becoming stronger with change…
Real change happens on the level of the gesture. It’s one person doing one thing differently than he or she did before. It’s the man who opts not to invite his abusive mother to his wedding; the woman who decides to spend her Saturday mornings in a drawing class instead of scrubbing the toilets at home; the writer who won’t allow himself to be devoured by his envy; the parent who takes a deep breath instead of throwing a plate. It’s you and me standing naked before our lovers, even if it makes us feel kind of squirmy in a bad way when we do. The work is there. It’s our task. Doing it will give us strength and clarity. It will bring us closer to who we hope to be.
The lil’est member of our family, my niece Sophia, was born one month ago today. More than ever before, I wish it were possible to hold time still. It’s all going too fast. The letter below, via I wrote this for you, is entitled The First Day on Earth, so I’m a little late (as always), but I reckon most of the advice still applies to little Sophia.
First, you need to relax. I know it's not as warm as it once was but you get used to the cold and warmth can be found in the people around you.
Secondly, do not get used to crying to get things. Some people never grow out of it. Avoid them. Spend time around people who smile in the face of despair. Learn from them all you can. Everyone is a lesson. A story. A unique and wondrous perspective on the chaos that is human existence. The more people you talk to, the more you understand it. But never speak if you have the opportunity to listen. Especially if you want someone to like you. There's nothing you can say that'll endear someone to you as much as really and truly listening to them.
You are on day one of a sometimes remarkable, sometimes terrible, sometimes beautiful, strange and always completely unknown journey. Be ok with this. Worrying about what happens next will ruin the surprise. You will meet strange people along the way, some good, some bad. This is a pattern that will more than likely repeat constantly as you grow up. Some things will be good, some things will be bad. Neither will ever last forever. Nothing will stay the same. Appreciate every moment of happiness and remember it when you despair. Hold them close. And when you are happy, remember the moments of despair and think to yourself, "I told you so."
Never let someone else define you. You are your own creation and only you decide how you feel, who you are and what you want. This can be scary at first but it is liberating to truly and utterly embrace your own identity. People who hate you for not being like them are not worth hating back. Please, let go of hate whenever you can. Accept love whenever it is given and give it out freely. It is the most powerful force on earth.
Enjoy your stay.
For those of you who are not Simpsons fans (really?), Homer first worked at the Nuclear Plant to earn enough money to repay his debt. Once he had done that, he quit his job to work at the bowling alley: his dream job. Then Marge got pregnant with Maggie and he realised his new gig couldn’t support them. Depressed, he had to beg Mr. Burns for his old job back. Mr.Burns granted him the position and put up a plaque that read “Don’t Forget: You’re Here Forever.” In this episode, when Lisa asks Homer where all Maggie’s baby pictures went, Homer explains that he keeps them where he needs them the most.
This is The Simpsons, so why is my face wet?
I did it! At the weekend, I made the Barrack Obama of ice-creams. I’d like to thank my Sister, Fiona for her unwavering support and encouragement and God for not letting the custard curdle.
The whole tub has been consumed, exactly 24 hours after I started making it. Of course.
Recipe here.
€5 has been donated to UNICEF Ireland for the completion of this ‘thing’. Click here if you too would like to donate online.
Here’s the tradition: a family picnic for Ferragosto, an Italian holiday celebrated on August 15. My family claim no Italian roots and my Italian friends tell me I can’t even pronounce it properly. Pffft, I sound exactly like this. Anyway, I have no idea why this is the tradition, but it is!
Ferragosto 2012, Inistioge, Co. Kilkenny (I blogged about it here). I love that photo of Jamie and I anxiously taking photographs of the food. My family like to reminisce of a time when they were allowed to just eat their food without anyone taking pictures of it first.
Ferragosto 2011, White Gap, Curracloe, Co. Wexford
Both years, the celebrations have coincided with my return to the UAE for a new school year so it’s always been bittersweet. This year, it will make a nice change to not have to say goodbye to everyone afterwards!
€5 has been donated to UNICEF Ireland for the completion of this ‘thing’. Click here if you too would like to donate online.
“My daughter died of a brain aneurysm when she was thirty. She wasn’t a baby but she was my baby” via Humans of New York
Have you heard of the awesome tumblr Humans of New York? I might be the last person to find out. Brandon asks random strangers if he can take their photograph and posts them on his blog alongside a caption with a quote or a short story from the person. This one (above) got me all choked up.
On that note, I hope you had a nice Daddy’s day? For me, it was another one spent 6,000 kilometres away from my Pop. We’ll be reunited in one week… right before his 60th birthday… time is an unstoppable beast!
A quick google search tells me that Arsonphobia is the fear of fire, but what is the opposite of that? What’s it called when you have a weird fascination with fire? Not necessarily setting things on fire (don’t be afraid friends…), but when you find yourself in a state of tranquillity while watching things burn? I have that, whatever that is. Have I gone too far? Did things just get weird? You’re afraid now. Rest assured that most of the time, logs are the only thing I’m watching burn.
How do I find my way back from this tangent?
Candles are a fun (and safe) thing to watch burn.
There we go.
I love candles so I decided it might be a nice idea to make my own. My brother Richie bought me the materials (such a thoughtful gift!) and I sort-of followed this tutorial, substituting two old pots in place of a double boiler, glass jars instead of teacups and ignoring the need for a thermometer. It all worked out just fine.
I think this would make a sweet DIY gift. I’d wrap it up with cellophane and a little ribbon and attach a card with this quote from the book One Day, by David Nicholls:
You’re gorgeous, you old hag, and if I could give you just one gift ever for the rest of your life it would be this. Confidence. It would be the gift of confidence. Either that or a scented candle.
€5 has been donated to UNICEF Ireland for the completion of this ‘thing’. Click here if you too would like to donate online.
Earlier this month, Damien and Fiona (my sister) got married in Taormina, Sicily. It was the most beautiful day. I’m going to share some pictures on here soon, but every time I look back through all the photos (which is often), there is one that always makes me smile:
After the wedding ceremony, we drove around to a few picturesque locations in the town for photos. The wedding car was a teeny Fiat 500 that could barely fit the newlyweds, me and the driver so my brother, Richie (who was also the photographer) had to jog alongside the car to each place. As we motored through the narrow streets, all we could hear were shouts of Auguri! Auguri! from friendly passers-by. It’s one of my warmest memories of the day.
This is Liwa Desert, Abu Dhabi. It is also my home, for the next eight weeks at least. And the last eighty nine. Ugh. Really, what was I thinking?
It’s been a whole year since my Dad, Mam and my sister Fiona came to visit and I showed them around this strange little country that I’ve come to know so well.
Staycations have some major advantages. There’s no time wasted getting your bearings, dealing with jet-lag, adjusting to the heat or the culture shock… you already know the bakery for the best early-morning croissants and the barman who will mix the best late-night Tom Collins.
If you remember, I also had a plan.
Dubai Marina at night
Dubai Fountain and a (surprise) fireworks show
Afternoon tea and birthday celebrations at the 7-star Burj Al Arab
Views of city and desert from the Burj Khalifa (the tallest building in the world)
Shopping at Dubai Mall, the biggest mall in the world.
Dune bashing in the desert
Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque, Abu Dhabi
See my full guide to Holidaying in the Emirates here.
€5 has been donated to UNICEF Ireland for the completion of this ‘thing’. Click here if you too would like to donate online.
I turn 27 on Sunday and I’m okay with that. Totally okay with it. I’m definitely not going to freak out like last year! I’ve come a long way…
Here’s are some things I’ve done at some point in the last year that mean I’m finally beginning to act like an adult:
I could have made a list of things I’ve done that mean I’m still acting like a childish fool, but that would have taken a lot longer!
Anyway, happy birthday to me and my sister, Fiona! Cheers to another year of sometimes acting our age and sometimes acting our shoe size.
In my kindergarten class, I like to think of us as a team of 31. There’s me, my classroom assistant Irene and 29 smaller people. Being a part of that team is fun, for sure, but 7 hours a day is tough on us too. We deal with it by packing a good lunch and trying to remember that we’re all in this together.
Then comes a time of day that I find grossly unfair. It’s affectionately referred to as ‘Mama Time’ (or time to go home). When I announce Mama Time, I smile and cheer along with everyone else but its all just an elaborate ruse while I try to hold it together for one more day.
My Mama Time comes but twice a year: Christmas and Summertime. I can’t even get the concept that I have a Mama into these 3-year-old brains I’m working with, let alone the idea that I don’t get to see her every day. I want them to understand, though. I want them to appreciate their Mamas, like I do mine. I think that the older I get, the more I appreciate the woman who raised me. Living away from her might have something to do with it too.
When I do go home, it is a sense relief, rather than excitement that I feel to be reunited with my Mam. I cling like lint to our old and familiar routines. We don’t even spend a lot of quality ‘just-the-two-of-us’ time together (like American sitcoms have told us we should), but there’s no doubt in my mind that she is happy that I’m there and that she savours it just as I do. Even though I’m 26 years old, it still feels reassuring to know that there is someone in the world so reliably happy that I exist.
Last Summer while I was home, my Mam took a week off work to hang out. A whole week! I can’t say we spent the entire week together. Other stuff got in the way and the house wasn’t going to clean itself… Mam knows about my list though and every time I took out my laptop, she reminded me it had to be a whole day. I did the same every time she reached for the hoover.
One day that week, we decided on a whim to drive to Avoca café (an hour away) for an early lunch. Then we lazily shopped for bargains at Kildare Village, mainly staying in stores to avoid the rain. At around 3 p.m., my mind drifted back to my usual work routine (when I’d usually be finishing school) while we were strolling around a photography exhibit by John Minihan. Mama time never felt so good.
€5 has been donated to UNICEF Ireland for the completion of this ‘thing’. Click here if you too would like to donate online.
It started, as it always does, with an off-season trip to Curracloe Beach. Usually, I stay on the sand wrapped in layers, letting the December wind touch only my nose and fingertips. This time around, I took it all off. First my hat and scarf and gloves and coat. Then my jumper and pants and top. This was no regular striptease. It was the annual St. Stephen’s day Charity Swim!
The funny thing is this: I am a pussycat when it comes to the cold. I routinely complain when the temperatures drops at all here (in the desert!). The AC is never on in my apartment and when I visit friends, I’m always armed with slipper socks and a hoodie. Temperatures are creeping into the 30s at this time of year, but I still go to bed with a hot water bottle every single night. I also have this circulatory problem called Raynaud’s Disease that causes my fingers and toes to turn completely white (like a corpse’s) in the cold…
…so, I was expecting this to be hard.
What I wasn’t expecting was how amazing it would feel too. There was this buzzing atmosphere where everyone was nervous but psyched to be there. My brother, Richie and a bunch of my relatives decided to do it too and an even bigger bunch showed up to clap us on the back afterwards.
I had tried to imagine what the water would feel like a hundred times before the day (I fretted so much- it consumed me!). I was surprised that when the time finally came, stripping off was actually the coldest part. The sand is icy-cold and I distinctly remember the feeling of the wind biting my ribcage. But after you do a crazy-girl run into the sea, the water feels strangely warm once you’re submerged. Anyone who knows science might explain this to me?
It is (one of) the most invigorating natural highs I’ve ever experienced. Honestly, I didn’t even want to get out when we did. I could have swam and whooped and high-fived for at least another five minutes. When we did, there was our Mama Bear holding out my trusty hot water bottle wrapped in a fluffy towel. And there was our sister Fiona with a flask of delicious hot chocolate. Hooray for nice people! And hooray for raising money for a great cause (Wexford Hospice)!
Let’s be clear about something here: ‘have a barbeque’ and ‘host a barbeque’ are two entirely different things. I had a barbeque because that’s what was clearly stated on the list and by having a barbeque, I mean that I turned up at one with a shop-bought cake (the fancy kind), played Jenga with the burger toppings and over-complimented the chef. That’s what having a barbeque means to me.
I like to imagine I could be the host. I like to think of myself as the type of person that should you show up at my apartment unexpected, I’d be able to greet you warmly while flicking on the kettle with one hand and taking some baked delicious thing out of the oven with the other. I’d like to think I’d be wearing a pair of socially acceptable pants. But some of these things we like to think about ourselves are not always real.
So I had a barbeque, compliments of some real-life hosts, Dee and Tim. Dee always has something tasty on the stove. Tim knows how to man a barbeque. They just have those kind of faces that you want to see every time you’re hungry. Together, they are a power couple, foodie-style.
This was major. Dee and Tim live on Dubai Marina (right on it!) so we got everything set up on a balmy evening with only the prettiest of views. Then, the food! Everything tastes better off a barbeque-grill, right? But I’m always most excited about the accompaniments- there was a whole trestle table full of them. There was homemade Pimm’s and the most amazing coleslaw and even chilli (because there are no rules about what you can bring to a barbeque). Someone brought homemade carrot cake that knocked me right off my dessert-providing high horse. When I eventually get around to getting the recipe, I’ll be sure to pass it on to you.
Anyway, this post was sort of all over the place. Just a little real life me coming out. I’m okay with not being the host, and so so grateful to those more competent in that role.
€5 has been donated to UNICEF Ireland for the completion of this ‘thing’. Click here if you too would like to donate online.
Oh yes. This exists!
In exactly 10 weeks’ time (but who’s counting?), I’ll be watching my sister, Fiona take Damien as her lawfully wedded husband in a beautiful little church in Taormina, Sicily. All our family can talk about right now is how excited we are.
The part about it being in Sicily makes it even more exciting. It means that on dull Wednesdays in January, I can get all wanderlusty looking at pictures like this one. Even though the Hotel Citta Del Mare is on the opposite side of the island, and it won’t exactly be swimming season in April, we’re still planning a brief trip to check this out.
Have you ever been to Sicily? I’d love to hear your suggestions on what to do while I’m there. I’ve heard The Godfather Tour is a must.
This year, I’m trying to live my life right and pretty much do what Oprah (and Thumper’s Father) tells me to!
My Grandmother used to always say “If you can’t say something nice about someone, say they have nice teeth”, which led to confusion in my childhood self as to what to say if they didn’t have nice teeth either. Of course she meant that you could always find something nice to say about anyone if you looked hard enough.
This is Curracloe strand in Co. Wexford, Ireland and the location of an annual charity swim on St. Stephen’s Day (December 26).
The reason I’m telling you this is because my brother and I have signed up to do it this year. Usually, we go just to watch and show our support for a very worthy cause, the Wexford Hospice. It can even be pretty cold cheering from the side-line, dressed in layers of our best thermal-wear. This year, I’ll be wearing a bikini. A small one. The same one I wear regularly on the beach in Abu Dhabi.
I have mentioned before that I live in one of the hottest climates in the world- to which my general body temperature adjusted a little too happily. I feel cold now when the temperature drops anywhere close to 20°C. I can’t even imagine what the Irish sea will feel like in December.
It is going to be tough. But wait, who was that person who said the best things in life are also the easiest? No one. People don’t say that because it’s totally not true. This is not going to be easy. No siree. But, will it be totally and completely worth it? Of course it will. I’m pep-talking myself now. Feel free to pep-talk me too. Or, if you happen to be in the area, come along in a month’s time to take on my usual gig as cheerleader.
P.s. This is part of my Day Zero List. I’d love to know how you’re doing with yours?
Ask me my age and 90 per cent of the time I’ll hesitate before answering. Not because I’m embarrassed to admit the number- I’m 26- but because I have to think about it to make sure I’m getting it right. In some ways, I feel like nothing in me has really changed since I was sixteen. Where did those ten years go? And why can I still not see myself as a grown-up?
Back when I was 16, as chairperson of our school’s branch of Toastmasters International (yes, I still had friends!), I wrote and delivered a speech on Adulthood as part of an end-of-year concert. I spoke about being in that key stage of transition between child and adult, but the speech centred around a bunch of seemingly ordinary things that in spite of how I thought I had developed, I couldn’t see myself doing anytime soon. They were things that, to me, only my parents did: budgeting for health insurance, procrastinating over floor tiles, incorporating all the major food groups into an evening meal, scrubbing the toilet… I remember my father cringing at an acute description of my mother fishing a stray spoon out of the rubbish bin with her bare hands! Things like that, I admitted, were still foreign and to me, what symbolised adulthood in a real, everyday sense. Once or twice recently, in the midst of a Saturday-afternoon hoovering frenzy, I’ve stopped myself to acknowledge that ‘Yes! I am indeed growing up!’, but for the most part, the sentiments in that speech still apply today and I find myself caught in limbo, waiting for my grown-up instincts and sense of responsibility to kick in.
That’s why I put this ‘thing’ on the list- part because I wanted to prove to myself that I have grown up in the last ten years, and part because if I haven’t, its about time I did. Taking your parents out to dinner- instead of the other way around- is a big step towards adulthood. In my books anyway. My 16-year-old self would have neither the money nor the inclination to do that.
We all went to Friday Brunch (an institution in Dubai) at the Rotana on JBR when my parents came to see me earlier this year. The rite of passage I was expecting by completing this ‘thing’ was underwhelming but the food served was out-of-this-world good. Friday Brunch in Dubai could be a ‘thing’ all on its own. We left groaning after grazing for almost four hours on some very beautifully-presented, coma-inducing food, served alongside bottomless alcoholic drinks! A combination I could easily adapt to. As for my own development into adulthood, I guess I’ll have to work on some of the icky spoon-in-the-garbage-type-things too.
€5 has been donated to UNICEF Ireland for the completion of this ‘thing’. Click here if you too would like to donate online.
Before I headed back to the UAE last month, we took a picnic to Woodstock Gardens in Inistioge to celebrate the Italian festival of Ferragosta. None of us are Italian, or claim any Italian roots- but sometimes its nice to have an excuse for pretty bunting, vintage paper straws and excessive amounts of home baking!
Since the weather is never predictable in Ireland, we decided to pick a date and just stick with it. We only considered changing plans when the weatherman predicted thunderstorms, but my Dad insisted that they don’t know what they are talking about. On the day, it only rained in pockets and we were well prepared when it did!
Picnic time is the best kind of family time. Everyone brought something different to the table and each took very special care with their offerings. Fiona and my Mam baked up a storm (like you wouldn’t believe) the night before. I made a cake (of the peanut butter variety), my Aunt Dee’s version of potato salad and bought the fancy San Pellegrino orange. Jamie brought Fresh Wexford strawberries and homemade brown bread. Claire brought Katie- the best gift of all.
My mam’s quiche is an adaptation of this one, but she ingeniously substitutes puff pastry for the usual shortcrust!
Fifi’s Fusion Salad (a deconstructed Caprese Salad with cous-cous) and Franks in Blanks (mini sausage rolls made with Frankfurters) served with a tangy mustard dip. Tasty-town central.
More of Fiona’s creations: blueberry cornmeal muffins and homemade date chocolates. Fiona loved Bateel dates so much when she was in Dubai that she decided to make her own version. This girl is cray-zee talented.
After eats, we wandered around the gardens, played on the swings and got up to all kinds of tomfoolery.
Thanks for making my last weekend at home so lovely, peeps! xx
€5 has been donated to UNICEF Ireland for the completion of this ‘thing’. Click here if you too would like to donate online.
