the fifo wife

I made bread rolls yesterday. Yes, I did. I felt all Martha Stewart like I even donned an apron. I made bread after I started out wanting to make something out of Rachel Khoo’s book for afternoon tea. I wanted to make Pain Brie, and it requires some fermented dough obviously I didn’t have it on hand, so I thought why not; let’s bake bread. You can seriously tell we are still in week one of swing because I have power and organisation. This baking shenanigans will not last along with the clean house, sanity or regular shaving of legs.

I used bake to once upon a long time ago when I was younger, and living with a fellow. I would make focaccia because well he liked it, and I was trying to make him happy and without blowing wind up by bum it was good. However bloke came and went and so did my need to make focaccia’s and raw steak as a face mask, things you learn.

So needing to make some fermented dough I made some bread rolls. I only had plain flour; the reciepe called for bread flour and tried to find a substitute, but didn’t have wheat gluten on hand {obviously}. Using the plain flour they turned out lovely. The difference in case you want to know is that bread flour has a higher protein content. Its just a fraction less something like 4% but this only causes it to rise little less; these rose just a wee less I was happy.

Now if I’m honest I don’t generally like home-made bread because what I have had I didn’t like; simple. For me, it turns out heavy which is why I can never be gluten free I like my bread and home made bread they go stale so quick obviously I like my preservatives too. However this morning the rolls are still good and they aren’t too heavy to eat but in between. And because I’m finicky about bread and its been awhile I researched some techniques to refresh my memory and learnt a couple of extra things so not to suck more but baking is like riding a bike. And this is a super easy recipe.

1. The recipe here calls for 4cups of flour, but I needed a little more. Add your flour half a cup at a time until the dough is right {pulling away from the side and not sticky – like play dough}. I have always been a stickler for amounts, but I added some more, so the dough didn’t stick to the bowl when mixing. The dough was perfect. It wasn’t a sticky mess something that had always put me off making bread.

2. To determine if the dough has been kneaded enough, break off a small, walnut-sized ball of dough. Stretch the dough, much like stretching a balloon or a piece of bubble gum. If the dough has been kneaded enough, it will not tear easily and a translucent membrane will be visible. This is known as a gluten window in case you’re ever on Millionaire Hot Seat facing Eddy risking half a mill over a question on gluten windows; now you know you can thank me later.

3. Don’t use the fan in the oven it dries it out.

4. Have an oven pan on the bottom and when putting the bread in to add a cup of water.

5. The rolls are ready when they sound hollow when you tap the bottoms.

6. When pulled out to cool place a tea towel over the top to absorb the moisture

Bread Rolls 

What you will need:

1 1/2 cups warm water {to hot and you will kill the yeast so around 40C}

1 tablespoon active dry yeast
2 tablespoons white sugar

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

1 teaspoon salt

4 cups bread flour

How to:

In a large bowl, stir together warm water, yeast, and sugar. Let stand until creamy, about 10 minutes.

To the yeast mixture, add the oil, salt, and 2 cups flour. Stir in the remaining flour, 1/2 cup at a time, until the dough has pulled away from the sides of the bowl. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface, and knead until smooth and elastic, about 8 minutes. Lightly oil a large bowl, place the dough in the bowl, and turn to coat. Cover with a damp cloth, and let rise in a warm place until doubled in volume, about 1 hour.

Deflate the dough, and turn it out onto a lightly floured surface. Divide the dough into 16 equal pieces, and form into round balls. Place on lightly greased baking sheets at least 2 inches apart. Cover the rolls with a damp cloth, and let rise until doubled in volume, about 40 minutes. Meanwhile, preheat oven to 400 degrees F (200 degrees

Bake for 18 to 20 minutes in the preheated oven, or until golden brown.

Enjoy with as much butter as you can slather..

XD

{image with thanks to here}

‘Are they your children’ she asked me?

‘Yes’, I said slowly handing over the bank deposit looking behind me.

She sat behind the counter behind the glass looking at my children sitting in the chairs provided by the phone banking section. They sat or stood waiting while chatting amongst themselves while I filled in a deposit slip waited in line and where I was currently being served.

I had spoken to them just the once which was on entering and told them where to wait.

I looked at her and said ‘why is there a problem’.

‘No’, she said ‘there just behaving’.

I was a little surprised given that we had never visited this branch before.

‘What’s your secret’ she asked.

I looked down at my deposit slip. I hesitated and said you want to know the truth I said.

‘Yeah, what’s your secret?’ she said rearranging her blonde fringe.

Honestly, I said my children are a little scared of me, and they are it’s the honest truth.

Do they fight amongst themselves? She asked.

‘They do’ I replied ‘but not in public it’s mainly the two younger ones who bicker’ I said quickly counting as I went.

‘I would never do an errand with my two’ she said leaning back in her chair so we could see each other.

I didn’t know what else to say but ‘my husband works offshore, so we have to work together we have to be a team.’

‘Ahh.. Good for you’ she said.

I replied with ‘thank you’ and left.

I always hesitate when I tell people my kids are somewhat scared of me because despite it being true it’s not interpreted right these days. My kids aren’t scared of me that they fear for the lives or safety rather something else. They are well and truly aware of what will come should they do something we as a family may consider wrong they simply go without. The motto in the car goes like this you are good for me I am good for you.

Respect is the correct word but saying my kids respect me sounds like I have something shoved up my rear end and as I have found implies to those asking the secret that they are doing something wrong. And they aren’t they just parent differently.

My kids do respect me their father and each other. They understand the concept of family and teamwork. They know the boundaries, they know the consequence, and they know it will happen should they go ahead and make the decision to cross it. I take pride in knowing that I have raised three boys who I can take anywhere. That I can leave alone for short periods of time and I can trust them at their friends house where said, ‘friend’ is less than what we considered behaved we have achieved all this while FIFO.

When we made the decision to have children and were FIFO, I was told on several occasions that I wasn’t mother material and that they feared our decision. FIFO never affected our decision when having children. Yet when the time came despite their concern their fear they never appeared to help. Typically however their concern and instruction was always offered via the phone or in the briefest of visits. Complete strangers or those that barely knew me felt imperative that they tell me that our decision to do FIFO and raise young children this way would be detrimental to society and my boys.

That as FIFO families we would be raising a bunch of scared and naughty children and unleashing them as a burden to future society. Children that were confused about who they were {meaning boys being raised by women} and yet wartime children, children of truckies and defence personnel, all have seemed to have turned out just fine. We are no different to any other industry who has someone working outside the home. So it was with that thought that made me silently say bugger you and your opinion. I will never ask you for a hand, and so I never did. Instead it drove me to be the best parent possible and perhaps sometimes too hard and I missed out, but hindsight is an awesome thing.

The pressure I felt as a young mother was unbelievable. The pressure we felt as a family worse still but still we went on our way. Routine, love, talking, boundaries, discipline, and consequences. And yes we believed in smacking when every other avenue exhausted. Husband and I were on the same page the goals for what we wanted for our children the same kind respectful and loving. I was always bound to be a little harder and expectations higher on them because of my, parental fear factor but it seems to be paying off.

So as tired as I was as hard as it was I think I have parented well, and this is the result, respect. They do as I ask most times {they are children after all}, they understand the importance of teamwork, time, working and reward, how their behaviour affects others and consequence. Parenting and managing FIFO and life in a positive way have contributed to that. FIFO has contributed to that.

However to say it has been all Huggies commercials would be a lie and nor am I an expert on anything. I learnt early how hard the fall is from that high riding horse called my way is the only way, and it’s been no smooth ride. I have made a shitload of mistakes, I own them and yet I have well-behaved mannered boys who care about what I think and what their father thinks. My boys, they pick me flowers tell me they love me. They beam when they see me and I them hardly the result of fearing for their lives.

Am I gloating? Yes. Will it last? I like to think it will and given that I will not stop parenting ever I’m hoping with the enormous roller coaster ahead it might. I know what could be because I’m not naive and yet I can’t wait to see what sort of men I can help them become.

And to those in society {society isn’t evryone} who doubted us FIFO and all I thank you for your continued non-support. So far it has made me, my kids, my family who we are now and who we are becoming. For that, you can thank me us we later when our good sons walk your princesses be it boy or girl down the aisle.

xxDeb

I woke up a few nights ago because of something someone had said to me via social media. There is no need to repeat it wasn’t nice, and if I hadn’t been wearing my big girl pants, I might have got a bit Nancy about it. But since starting the blog and using social media big girl panties are my knickers of choice they do nothing for my love life but my skin has amazing buffering qualities because of them.

Social media is amazing. It creates so many good communities online often leading to greater ones offline it’s the modern day personal page, and we have created one the most amazing community ourselves. The FIFO wife Facebook community runs a Support Sunday each Sunday and is social media in all its beautiful technological glory. It’s exactly how social media is meant to be used. There it has made the world a smaller more familiar fun creative place it has demonstrated the good and human in people but alas it can allow people to get their meanness on.

The flat words that appear on the computer screen seem emotionless it stops people thinking a human is on the other end of what’s being written. They think meanness is just part of social media, its to be expected and its free speech. They think that what they type into their electronic device doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t stick a little to the person on the other end, or perhaps they know it does, and that’s the whole point I’m missing.

And yes when you post its the same theory online as a celebrity and the paparazzi to a point. You and your opinion are open fodder, and I am open fodder here and on other sites. I’m not so naive I know it happens. Well maybe I am naive but I like the idea of opinion its how we evolve as humans. I like that my opinion isn’t yours, and yours isn’t mine you learn stuff that way. What I don’t like is opinion is being mixed up with meanness or meanness is getting in the way of a very good point of view. And meanness is contagious take it long enough it’s hard to shake off. It incites more meanness and for those previously unaffected its hard to fight. Its sticks or takes just a little good from you. It weakens your defense until you have caught a case of the mean.

It happens like that it’s like catching an unwanted herpes virus not that herpes is ever wanted but neither is the mean because two weeks ago I was mean to a girl on Instagram. Not my proudest moment but the past few weeks have been first world problemish for me on social media; such a great excuse for being mean, my problems naturally become yours. So when I saw something I thought ‘wrong’ I heckled her because as I typed those words into my phone in the middle of woolies to her on the other side of the world I felt better. However as soon as I posted my comment I hung my head with the word fuck what did I do that for because it didn’t achieve anything. It was like eating the entire block of Cadbury. It felt good at the time but when inhaled did nothing but make me feel sick and regretful. She posted back rightly so telling me to get my facts straight. I commented back with an apology because I was wrong. She in turn apologised for being mouthy and needless to say we are now following each others accounts, and I have since learnt you can delete comments on Instagram.

So what to do about this nasty virus? The cure? Just stop being mean. It’s a choice so just don’t be. You know when you are so just stop it. My naive theory here is that if you stop it then it will stop elsewhere. It’s not hard to choose good over evil. Meanness will not get someone to change their opinion if anything it will turn them off not only you but your opinion. Think about the words as you type them because without the meanness are your words something to be considered? Would you type these same words to a friend, your mother your son your daughter someone that you love?

I doubt it and yet if after all that considered you still hit the enter key with conviction then you need take yourself out to find some loving, serious lamp smashing loving. Some loving to heal the whole world of hurt you got going wrapped up tight in all that meanness and if that fails Big W currently has a great special on 2000 piece jigsaw puzzles.

Image is with thanks to here.

 

 

 

We climbed Mount Baldy today. I friggin hate that mountain it brings to the surface everything I currently loathe about myself yet I climb it still perhaps it’s the fetish in me. Yet today as my husband and boys took off from the base I could see them waiting for me from a point. This game of catch up continued for half an hour and till I said just go on without me, so they did.

It was about half way up that my heart started to hurt some more, or perhaps it was my lungs. I don’t know, but I stopped turned to pretend to look at the view then realised that I was alone. They had gone like I said to {naturally}. I could no longer see them they were so far in front that there were possibly at the top. I started to cry that I was extra weight to them. That my extra weight was holding them back; then in between the panic of holding them back the hurting of heart and lungs I found myself in the middle of an anxiety attack.

An anxiety attack that I was holding my family back. That because of me that perhaps my husband would be a lot further in life than what I allow him to be. All that came from telling them to go on ahead and them doing so. You see it’s a running joke in my house that husband would be a billionaire if it weren’t for me saying no to all his grand schemes and great ideas. Suddenly at that moment it wasn’t a joke I was. For those that have never suffered an anxiety attack its hard to describe but for me my heart races, I can hear it in my ears. I want to run, but I can’t my feet are stuck, I can’t think or I think too much, I cry and I want to hide.

However stuck on the side of a mountain in a fluoro purple jumper there was no hiding. There is no tree big enough now to hide me. I could have run up the hill to my family but at this point my heart was already racing, and I was sure I was on the verge of a heart attack. I was hurting and I was cold. So I waited because the thing is when I stopped taking that little white pill twelve months ago the one to control the anxiety of myself I knew this would happen one day. I would get mad, I would get anxious I would get scared but these are feelings, and I control them. I understood then like I did today that like all things, these ‘feelings’ would pass I just had to learn how to deal with them at the moment when it happened. I had to remember that was in control. I decided back then that if I didn’t learn how to handle them then I would never learn and continue to rely on those little white pills forever something I didn’t want.

{It has to be mentioned those little white tablets saved my life once. And if I or my doctor didn’t think I was in the right space I would still be on them now but through self-care I am}

It’s been a long time since I had one of these ‘moments’, and I often wondered how I would cope. So getting one on the side of the mountain I waited there was no room to excuse myself too so I waited. I knew what this was because I’m honest enough now to accept that anxiety doesn’t make you some flitting weak creature that people need to treat like some fragile material it makes you strong. So there in the now I waited for the sensory overload to pass. For the over thinking to give. For my breathing to calm and my crying to stop because that’s what I have learnt. That they will pass and I’m uglier after the uglier cry and a trek up a mountain.

All these things pass. If you can just remember that in that moment of eternity but all these feelings go with time. It might mean your stuck where you are for little longer than you need to be but you will soon be on your way. On your way knowing that you survived, and it didn’t get the better of you.

I made it up that sucker Mount Baldy my husband and children made it a good ten minutes before, but I made it.

You okay my husband said.

Yeah, I had a moment I said. I had never told him before that I had a moment.

Want to tell me? Initially I shook my head as I tried to control the lump that had formed in my throat.

If you don’t tell me we can’t fix it, I nodded.

So that mountain today it didn’t get the better of me both in body nor soul.

One of the first recipes my kids learnt to cook was French Toast. The thought and smell of it bring back memories of my B1 toddling over to the cupboard to pull out the big silver mixing bowl to make the mix comes every time. A mix of pride and hot burning as the lump raises in my throat even now as I think of him as a baby and how much I desperately love him brings me to tears, french toast will forever do it to me, it’s the neurotic in me.

French toast provides just the right amount of cracking of eggs, stirring of mix and sizzling for a kids first recipe. It’s quick and the mess is minimal perfect for the developing motor skills and shortened attention span.

French Toast can be a savoury or sweet affair. It can be eaten for breakfast or as dinner. Its one of those classics you can do with what you like.

French Toast.

What you will need:

1/3 cup low-fat milk
8 slices toast sliced bread
4 eggs
crumbled Philly cheese {optional}

How to:

Whisk eggs, philly and milk in a bowl. Heat a non-stick frying pan on medium. Dip a slice of bread into egg mixture to coat both sides. Cook for 1-2 mins each side, until golden. Repeat with remaining bread and egg mixture.

Traditionally French Toast is served with Maple syrup but in our house BBQ or Tomato Sauce rains supreme.

xx Deb

Image is with thanks to Serious Eats.