No offence to the Mexicans but surely we can find Aussie Garlic?

Last night my bookgroup discussed Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver. I chose the book, so I had to lead the discussion. This book follows the experiences of Barbara and her family as they attempt to eat only what they can grow on their property or source locally for 12 months. It also extends its discussion to the state of food production in the US generally and tangentally to experiments such as the 100-mile diet.

Being the ever dedicated bookgroup host I spent many hours (ha) researching the topic. This consisted of:

• Querying Fairlie on her buy Australian food campaign
• Reading the book
• Sifting a dodgy research fact or two off the Internet (there's a rumour that the contents of the average Aussie shopping trolley have travelled over 70,000 km to get there)

and then I tallied up how many of the ingredients from last night's Spag Bol were from Australia.

Oops. I didn't do well:

Tinned tomatoes - Aussie

Tomato paste - Aussie

Mince - Aussie

Onion, carrot, zucchini - Aussie

Garlic - Mexico

Oxo beef cube - England

Barilla Pasta - Italy

Dried Herbs - Local and imported

Parmesan - Italy

The salad wasn't crash hot either:

Salad Greens, tomatoes - Aussie

Balsamic Vinegar - Italy

Mustard - France

Olive Oil - Australia

And the thing is - I could easily find an Australian alternative for each of these things. Except the Parmesan. I am fussy about Parmesan, it only comes from Italy. And it can travel here by Hummer for all I care.

So (and here's the point of my story), I go down to my favourite reputable vegetable retailer and look for the Australian options and I could only find garlic from China or Mexico. No offence to the Mexicans and Chinese - I'm sure your garlic is excellent - but surely we can grow garlic here?

I eventually found Aussie garlic but I used up an extra tank of fuel to find it. Would it have been better to buy the Mexican one?

IN WHICH Blossom's perfectionism is tested

On Wednesday morning, 8.45am, I went to Blossom's parent-teacher conference at school. As I sat down Blossom's teacher (let's call her Ms Frizzle) beamed at me and said "aaah, here is the mother of the girl who runs our classroom".

"Ha Ha" I say "She runs our house as well. In fact she thinks she's Padawan Learner's mother".

I look down on Ms Frizzle's hand-written notes and read the word "Perfectionist?".

"Are you telling me this because you think this is a good thing or a bad thing?" I ask.

"I- I'm not sure" says Ms Frizzle. "I think mostly a good thing. I think. Is she super tidy at home? I mean because children at this age usually don't notice mess"

I think for a moment and the truth is, I don't know. I've always grumped at her to tidy her room so it's always been spotless. But is she naturally like that?

So, I'm conducting an experiment. I'm not touching Blossom's room. I'm not going to ask her to tidy it. For as long as I can bear it. Here are the results so far (apologies to true scientists I forgot to take the control picture but believe me she had a VERY tidy room to start with):

Day 3

I can't tell you how relieved I am to see that mess. I think she's fine.

edited to say: Oh God, it's getting worse. Now there's Saturday Mess. I.must.keep.strong.

Breakin' all my rules for a Dare

Well here you are Sussanah, because you dared. And Tracey and Stomper Girl, because you emailed.

Sussanah made an excellent point in a recent post that we Mums don't like having our photos taken. That's me. Hate photographs of me. She dared us to post a self-portrait.

My son says in the morning "Mum, why do you put that stuff on your face? I like you without it". He's a good boy that one. My daughter doesn't like photographs of herself. I'd rather that she was comfortable with her image. So this one's for her.

Blossom, if Mummy can put her face out there in all its seasons, so can you.

So here, at great expense to my photos.on.blogs.rule, is a collage of about every photo I have of myself in the last year or so. I'm usually on the other side of the camera and actively avoid photos of me.

I had to scrape around a bit. (I hope you like the shot of my ear. I really did have to scrape around a bit ot fill the collage.)

The first two photos were taken last night. They are out of focus because I was using the timer thingy on the camera and stuffed it up. It was 11.3opm, I'd just turned off my computer and I'm still in the clothes I walked out of the house in at 8.30am (this is what I wear to Pilates). At 8.30am I had mascara and lip gloss on. By 11.30 it was long gone.

The other photos of me were mostly taken by my children.

Beauty Circa. 1982

It may amuse you to learn that, in 1982, I was awarded a prize for being the "overall top student" in my school's Grooming & Deportment class. Some of you may need a moment to pick yourselves off the floor and stop laughing. Ha ha yes, very funny.

The prize was the above book. A bible for those young women who were about to go out into the world. Women who were encouraged to choose the largest shoulder-pad available and break through the glass ceiling.

But not before being passed a few time-honoured messages:

Start thinking thin early. Obviously we are not bombarded with dieting books early enough. Kindergarten is clearly the go. Perhaps there should be home readers on the subject?

Oh, and by dieting we mean constant dieting lest we allow a single "fat cell" to be born.

And, of course, the most important message. Put down that strawberry sundae, there's a size 6 dress waiting for me. In an alternate universe.

I imagine I was reading this while lying on my dorm room bed eating a bag of mixed lollies from the corner shop.

Help! My son won't ever, never, eat a vegetable!

Padawan Learner is 7 1/2 and still will not, never, ever eat a Vegetable. Or a fruit. Or the crispy bits on chops. Or the skin off a sausage (but that's an entire separate post).

• I have tried hiding vegetables in food.
• I have put them on the plate in appealing arrangements.
• I have made vegetable skewers.
• I have covered them in sauce.
• I have given lots of choice.
• I have given restricted choice.
• I have read him books about other children eating vegetables.
• I have deep fried them, mashed them, diced them and provided dipping sauces.
• I have forced him to eat them.
• I have not forced him to eat them.
• He doesn't care about missing dinner, dessert, his favourite tv show or having computer time restricted.
• He doesn't care about stickers, star charts or pats on the back.

In short I have followed every reasonable and crack-pot idea in every book. I have followed sage advice, and not so sage advice. He just won't budge. The other mothers are starting to notice. And you know how that can be ("ooh, my son has always eaten his vegetables, but you know it's all about discipline").

And this is from a boy who until he was 2 years old ate EVERYTHING. I rejoiced that I had a child who would simply eat mushed or chopped versions of whatever Firegazer and I had for dinner while our daughter sat with her mouth clammed shut to all food. Daughter now eats everything. Mmmm yummy avocado mum. I love the way you do the broccoli mum.

Who or what is playing a trick on me?

And before you ask...no, he doesn't prefer junk food. This boy is not a fan of the pie or sausage roll. He hates chocolate. He only likes vanilla ice-cream. And when I gave him gorgeous bunny-shaped gingerbread for Easter he picked off all the glace icing before he ate it.

So my question is? Did you have a picky eater? And I mean a real picky eater not just a slightly stubborn one. My daughter was just slightly stubborn and all the usual enticements simply worked, after a while.

If you had a picky eater and then turned them around I want to know your secrets. Please. Now.