Rosy Jam

I’m being pampered with a guest post from Jacky (and so are you)

Hi,
I am a home edding mum who loves all things of a foraging/self sufficiency nature.  Actually, my love borders on obsessional!
Recently, my foraging adventures have combined 3 of my favourite things: roses, foraging and preserve making!
I took the sprogs with me on a little excursion (along with my field guide, Richard Mabey: Food For Free handbook!) to a nearby public right of way footpath that is festooned with wild rose bushes.
We collected a quantity of pretty rose petals (about 2 mugs full when packed in) … leaving the rose centres intact for the future hips, of course!
We brought them home and sorted them out, liberating any critters that had the misfortune of hitching a ride home in the bag.
Then we, or rather I, as the sprogs had now taken up electronic devices, dissolved 2 cups of sugar in half a cup of water and a couple of tablespoons of lemon juice.  The rose petals were then tumbled inside the liquid and stirred for 30 mins.
Cool slightly then pour into sterile jars.
As you can see from the picture, you may either leave the petals in or remove them.
If you leave them in, they float to the top and look pretty as a picture!
All you need to do now is either drizzle the rosy gorgeous loveliness over fresh pancakes, ice-cream or hot, buttered toast!  It is the most delightful jam I have made to date.
Hope this inspires some of you to try nature’s bounty that is both fresh and free!
JJ x

And You Know I’ve Tried A LOT of Brownies

Simple Homeschool has a post that fits Connie’s journey to culinary competence. Here.

When she began asking to cook (age nine or younger) I found it hard as:

1. she didn’t want help

2. she didn’t want recipes

3. my kitchen is MY KINGDOM!

Also she made grimace inducing food, it felt wasteful. I was negative and anxious.

I coped by nixing certain ingredients, demanding she clean up before and after and shutting the door and walking away (returning only to place dubious cake mixtures in the oven)

First her baking became edible. Then delicious. She never wrote anything down but seemed to remember which amounts and combinations went well. Then she began using recipes. Age 11 she could make a three course dinner for six. Age 12 she bakes the best brownies I have ever tasted.

 

The Surprising Upside

The benefits of learning to read early are effortlessly apparent. It’s a powerful thing to be able to edify and entertain yourself. The merits of late learning are less obvious, perhaps invisible if you are in a literacy heavy school system.

Patience is eight, she has a good grasp of how reading works but she is far from fluent. To compensate she has developed heightened focus and discernment. Sometimes she sits still with her gaze fixed on the speaker, sometimes her eyes are down as her hands fiddle in her lap. A question is asked and she springs up with a pertinent phrase plucked from the reading or a reflection on how she sees the subject in her own life. The ideas are complex, her comments mature.

I asked her how she does it. She says as she listens she picks out words she thinks there might be questions on and she tries to remember them.

By comparison my brain seems sluggish, slumped on the print, never having to stand on it’s own.

Fire Breathing Life Lessons

Took tots to the circus, the yin to television’s yang. No “If you need me, I’ll be in the winnebago drinking champagne with my reflexologist” for these guys. Albert (winner of “Russia’s got Talent”) has an impressive balancing act but is also the interval photographer. Antonio Candela eats fire and works the box office. Everybody helps out everybody else.

Some of the team are young, slim and beautiful but others are older, average looking and carrying an extra pound or two.

Instead of a product ruthlessly filtered down to synthetic perfection, you get baited breath reality. At times a ball would be dropped, but it would be picked up and the trick tried again. I’m happy for the children to see talented people not being perfect, seeing that being great at something takes perseverance and humility.

Small Handmade

 

Thanks to ruthless packing, the only toys that made it across the Channel were Sandy, the sand filled doll and a handful of cars. After a whinefilled day or two, the tots have proved contentedly resourceful, especially when making dolls and jigsaws from G’s castoffs. Inspired by Eve Arnold I show you the tiny hands responsible.

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No One Has To Cry For This To Happen

Only one room in our house (the tiny toilet) has less than fifty books on the shelves, several rooms have hundreds. When I thought about teaching the children to read I didn’t have a set method in mind but I did have two convictions:

1. It must not be an ordeal. For either of us. Nothing dampens the prospective pleasure of reading more than a tear soaked Roger Red Hat.

2. It must have context. Stuff that’s connected to an experience, story or conversation is easy to recall and therefore use. Random facts are harder to absorb. The whole point of this agreed code of written language is communication. It has meaning. Getting my child to learn combinations of sounds in isolation would feel like writing vowel pairs on helium filled balloons and letting them loose to float around the Albert Hall.

C picked it all up latish, she was about 9 before she could muscle through the average sentence. It didn’t happen gradually, a switch was flicked and abruptly all made sense to her. Before that, any attempts to teach her felt like trying to communicate through plate glass. It seems to me that she just needed more data, information was constantly being unconsciously assessed and sorted, it’s patterns deduced, until one day she just knew. Now she’ll get through a 400 page book in a couple of days. Later doesn’t seem to mean less efficient, more efficient if you take into account how frustration free the path was.

This is something to do with my 12/2012ing. The switch has flipped in S’s brain and when he sees a word he knows what to do, he’s very good at connecting new up with known. P’s still groping around in a fog.