Pink and purple moon sand

This week's Messy Play for Matilda Mae linky marks the arrival of themed posts.

A special week demands a special theme and Jennie has plumped for pink and purple.

The perfect choice to remember Baby Tilda.

I must admit I struggled to come up with something exciting and original within the confines of a busy week.

So I tweaked an old favourite.

On Wednesday, having enjoyed our Caterpillars class and a picnic in the rainy park before dropping Jasmine at nursery for the afternoon, Sonny and I found ourselves at home, making moon sand.

We tipped our sand into the Tuff spot and added some construction toys - diggers and tractors, etc.

Here we happily played; raking and digging, scooping and pouring, pushing and dragging, sifting and smoothing, making tracks and, all the while, talking about what we were doing.

 

 

 

 

After many peaceful minutes spent like this, I added the colours. 

 

Pink and purple paint!

 

"Paint in the sand?!"

Sonny was incredulous.

But very pleased nonetheless.

 

 

He pushed rescue vehicles and construction toys through the sand and the paint, combining the two, mixing the colours, covering himself in the process.

He made beautiful pink and purple tracks, which, in turn, made him one very happy little boy.

We had such fun with this.  Granted, the clean-up wasn't an easy task, but it was worth it.  It made the boy smile.  Paint and sand?  His two very favourite messy play materials! 

All in memory of Matilda Mae.

 

Very theatrical

 

I spent the majority of this evening at Jasmine's soon-to-be primary school, talking about education, expectations and biscuits.

 

When I returned home, the children had a show to perform for me. 

 

Earlier in the day, they were gifted a lovely little puppet theatre and they love it.

I have not seen such helpless laughter outside of our tickle fights.

Watching one another "perform" proved endlessly hilarious.

I couldn't help but chuckle along.

Some of the things they came up with!

Jasmine began with a sketch by a homemade rabbit puppet.

Sonny was the perfect audience, laughing loudly even though I suspect he wasn't really listening to his sister.

Jasmine's rabbit talked (inexplicably) about Thomas a Becket, at which point Sonny held up his Thomas engine and asked if this was Thomas a Becket.

 

Next came a segment of Snow White. 

 



 

Then came a rather unexpected interval, during which Jasmine reenacted various adverts, did some ballet moves and then told me that there was "free coke and popcorn downstairs".

That we live in a ground floor flat only made this funnier.

Following the brief interlude, Sonny took over as puppet-show host...minus any actual puppets.

 

 

Evidently, he was very funny.

 

Of course, trains simply had to feature somewhere.

 

Sonny "read" us a Thomas story.

 

"Thomas caused floosion and delay and the Fat Controller didn't like it, the end."

 

Soon, Jasmine convinced Sonny to move along and made us all laugh with a very sneezy dwarf.

 

Before, finally, acting out Room on the Broom with the help of the witch, a Chinese dragon, and a remarkable memory.

I foresee many a happy afternoon spent playing with this - we love it already.  Which brings me to my huge thanks for Vicky and the twins.  Thank you for passing on the smiles!

Slow-cooked Caribbean chicken casserole with coconut fried rice

 

I enjoy cooking, particularly when it comes to trying out new meals.  Recently, though, I've lacked time, energy, inspiration, whatever.  The result has been rather bland, quick meals that are just not blog-worthy.

Today, I snapped back into my cooking mojo and made something so beautifully colourful that I wasn't sure whether to serve it or photograph it.

So I did both.

To make this Caribbean-inspired stew, I used the following:

400g chicken breast pieces
2 large carrots, cut into ribbons using a vegetable peeler
2 red onions, cut into wedges
3 peppers, cut into strips
100g spinach
14g (half a standard packet) flat-leaf parsley
200g coconut milk
400g chopped tomatoes
2tbsp jerk seasoning paste




So many wonderful colours.

The absolute beauty of this recipe lies in its simplicity.

Throw the aforementioned components into a slow cooker for 4-6 hours (you may wish to omit the spinach until the final hour) and they are transformed into a gorgeous casserole packed with flavour and goodness.  In fact, one portion of this delicious meal counts as 4 of your 5 a day!

Serve with rice, boiled for 8 minutes and then fried in 200ml coconut milk, and a 400g can of kidney beans.

Lovely.

The Gallery: New

I know, I know, it's a tad obvious and perhaps a little lazy, but I think the word new will always, to me, conjur up images of babies.

This is Jasmine, on 3rd December 2008, at a little after three in the afternoon.  Less than five hours old.

So new and so perfect.

It's funny, I've mentioned newborn Jasmine twice today already.

Once to Jas herself, when we were walking to Caterpillars and (as always) we were running late.  I checked the time on my phone and it said 10:51.

"Amazing!" I remarked.

Which led to a conversation about the day Jasmine was born, via my telling her that I always seem to look at the clock at 10:51.  Daily.

The significance?

It was her time of birth.

Later on, I mentioned to someone that Jasmine had looked slightly Chinese as a newborn, which immediately brought me to this picture.

I remember, clear as anything, James laughing that she resembled Chairman Mao.

On the day that this photo was taken.

Back when she was new.

Dear Jasmine, on the days that you amaze me

Dear Jasmine

There are so many things that I never want to forget about you as you are right now.

This evening.

The richness of your imagination and creativity.

Your vocabulary.

Not just your vocabulary but your conversational and debating skills.

I never want to forget your indignation at not being allowed to go to Brownies because of your age.

I hope you read this when you're older and know that you are the most incredible four year old I have ever met.

I am so very proud of you.

Am I vain?

Not really.

I take little credit.

I attribute your intellect to your father.

You remind us of him.

Fiercely intelligent.

A beautiful child, too.

The golden blonde hair that turns white in the summer.

The big, blue, all-seeing eyes.

The cheeky, knowing grin.

This is all your father, too.

The temper, that is perhaps mine.

Ask your grandmother, she will tell you the well-worn stories.

All are true, I am afraid.

The sarcasm, also.

That is me.

But the good bits?

The things that make me sit up and wonder how you are only four years old?

They are your father.

Your interest in science can probably be traced back to his mother.

As well as the sometimes-dry sense of humour.

And the penchant for a pot of tea and a slice of carrot cake.

Your metabolism also has nothing to do with me.

Your energy, athleticism and enthusiasm for all things active are pure Daddy.

As are your taste buds.

I would not eat sushi, for one.

Your love of, and aptitude for, language is down to Nanny Jan.

Perhaps your interest in books comes from me.

Your suntan, however, most definitely does not.

Oh, Jasmine, I am so very proud of you.

I hope it shows.

My words do not do you justice, my darling.

I love you.