Puss in Boots*

Yesterday I went to see my obstetrician for my normal 5 month check-up - happy to report baby is fine.
What follows is a post about me visiting the ob/gyn. If you don't want to go there, turn away now, as there is exactly where I'm going.

I am also interspersing this post with completely irrelevant pictures from our garden as the alternative is to use relevant photos, and no one wants that.

As this was my third time at the ob/gyn, I had the routine down pat - I wore my long skirt and boots. The first time I visited I wore jeans; big mistake. But let me back up a bit and tell you what going to the gynaecologist's in Australia entails (just so you can understand what my expectations were).

I have been to three different obstetricians and about 8 different gynaecologists in my life (no, I don't have a problem, I just move a lot). They all went something like this:

Come in, shoot the breeze a bit, doctor ask a few questions about contraception, births, etc to establish history. Then you head over to the examination table, which has a curtain all the way around it. You go in, shut the curtain, take off your clothes from the waist down, lay on the table and cover your nether-regions with the provided towel/small sheet. The doctor asks if you are ready, then comes through the curtain, lifts the business end of the towel and does what they need to do.

It's a little different in France. After our initial chat we went into another room behind the room with his desk, filing cabinet etc. First thing I notice is the chair. No examination table, it's a chair, with stirrups for holding your legs up and open in a most embarrassing way.

Beyond the chair is another small room, which I can see is an ensuite bathroom. The doctor tells me I can go in there and strip from the waist down. I do so, and look all around the bathroom for a towel, sheet, anything. I entertain using the paper hand towel to make a little mini skirt, then just open the door a crack and ask him if there is a something I can use to cover myself. He smiles and says no, adding les françaises don't bother with that.

Right. Excellent. So, I open the door and there I am, bottomless in a small room with a man I have just met.

With poise I walk to the chair, before which the doctor is now seated on a rolling chair of his own. His chair is low. Fanny height you might say. The chair I have to sit on is high. So high there is a step I must negotiate before then getting into the examination chair. Have you ever climbed up onto something high while wearing no pants and a stranger sits on a low seat in front of you? Well, I've never worked at Shanahan's All-Night Beef and Titty Bar, so it was a new experience for me.

I told myself not to worry, this man looks at ten va-j-js a day, just sit down and get on with it.
Once I was settled, legs hooked over in the 'hello boys' position, the doctor told me my first ultrasound with him would be an internal ultrasound.

What in the what now? Ultrasounds so far (please note I have had three, count them, three children already) entail some gel on the tummy and a transducer run over my belly. Nothing internal about it.

The doc then picks up the wand which is attached to the ultrasound equipment.  My God, that thing looks like a relay baton.

Alright, maybe I'm embellishing a bit.

He pulls out a latex glove and work one of the fingers over the end of the wand. He gives it a healthy squirt of lubricant (because there is ALWAYS time for lubricant**) and then advances toward me. At this stage I'll admit I thought about running. Then I remembered I was not wearing any pants.

Well played, monsieur, I thought, as I squeezed my eyes shut. You win this round.

It was as awkward and uncomfortable as you might expect, but greatly offset by seeing my baby for the first time and hearing that racing little heart beat.

'Everything looks wonderful ... normal', he said as he retreated, not even offering me a cigarette.

Later, with my clothes and dignity restored, he told me something equally awesome. 'No, you don't have to stop eating cheese. All cheeses are fine; soft, ripe, whatever, just make sure they have been properly refrigerated and handled." All was forgiven between us.

Now, I wear my long skirt and boots to my appointments. I can whip off my undies in the bathroom and stroll to the chair fully covered, hiking the skirt up once I have myself in the position.

Much better.

* Do you get it? Is that title too risqué? It is isn't it? Sorry.

** There's always time for lubricant:

Show and Tell: Serendipity Quilt

Another finish! What a great way to go into the weekend.

The quilt pattern is Serendipity, designed by Jennifer of That Girl...That Quilt.

If you would like to make one of your own you can buy the pattern from her shop.

I wasn't sure how this one would turn out as I had trouble sourcing fabric with the exact colour characteristics I'd pictured in my head. These were the closest I could find. Even though it's not exactly as I'd imagined it, I'm still really happy with the finished result.  

For the quilting I went with outlining each of the hexagon blocks and then decided to run a diagonal along the length of each shape.

On the back I put together a disappearing nine-patch piece with some of the left over fabrics.

How cool is the disappearing nine-patch? It looks like you've done heaps of work when you really haven't. I see more of these in my future.

After I had pieced the whole top my daughter informed me she didn't really like the bees. As you can see, I took her advice in mind. (I love the bees.)

Hand sewing the binding went really quick this time. I usually use a fairly fine needle when I do my bindings, but this time I accidentally picked up a much thicker needle. By the time I noticed I was ensconced on the couch, quilt on lap, and couldn't be bothered to go back to the sewing room to change it.

Just as well because that needle just charged right through it.

'You see,' said the mister with a lascivious grin, 'bigger is better.' Indeed, dear.

It's nice that all the kids have their own quilts now. Just the bump to sew for now. 

It's Friday again! No video, just a nice photo of Bradley Cooper because:

a. Eva loves him

b. Sara Louise is married to him (I can see a conflict looming here).

I have these abs: your argument is invalid. (Source: Douglas Curran)

And this one is for Marg, who loves her some George Clooney and I'm tipping has about 5 Nespresso machines secreted around her house.

I was standing around, camera in hand, when this piece starting showing on our television. George recently made the news when he told Newsweek he couldn't run for president (of the US) as he had 'f--ked too many chicks and did too many drugs, and that’s the truth.' 

The honesty's refreshing even if the language is very un-Clooneylike. This is what France thought of his statement:

Hot rabbit? He's smokin'.

Phew. I need a cigarette*.

Have a great weekend everyone!

* Figuratively, figuratively. Keep your pants on.

Show and Tell: Windmill Quilt

Firstly: Thanks to Keith for giving me the highly coveted Blog of the Week Award over on A Taste of Garlic. I'm pretty sure it was my Roman lingerie shot that put me over the edge. I will enjoy basking in the Award's glow all week as after that there's no where to go but down.

I finally finished binding this quilt before we headed off on our recent ski trip.

This quilt is for my eldest and is the third quilt I'd ever made. For some reason I got up to the binding and then put it on the shelf, where it lay languishing for almost a year.

The fabrics are all by David Walker for Free Spirit.

There are a few mistakes in it but none of them affect the quilt functioning as a quilt. In fact they show me how far my quilting skills have come, which is nice to know (no laurel-resting though, still a long way to go).

These windmills join quite nicely, as they are supposed to.

There are a few like this though - what on earth was I thinking about when I sewed these two together? 

Oh, that'd explain it. Carry on. (source: Vanity Fair Italy)

My 6 year old loves the quilt and it has pride-of-place on his bed, which is all that matters. I know my years of having children who enjoy handmade things are limited, so I'm making the most of it.

Next up: finally quilted and with binding machine sewed on, this one just needs hand sewing to finish it off.

Blogapalooza in Provence

There is a little known physics theory that states when too many bloggers exist within a particular radius, irresistible centrifugal forces will build forcing the bloggers together at the vortex's centre.

Happily, that happened here in Provence this Saturday. Seven English-speaking bloggers, including me, met for lunch in Aix-en-Provence, and I'm happy to report I had a great time (hope they did too!)

Sweet Aidan was the instigator of the meeting, and it was so lovely to finally meet her in the flesh. Another blogger I'd followed for a while, Sara Louise (and her husband Brad Cooper*) were there too. Best of all, I got to meet some new folks and find out about their blogs: Tanya, Charley, Piglet and fellow Aussie B.

Some spoke French fluently, some did not; some had French husbands, some did not - we had plenty to talk about and that we did over a lovely meal.

The food, you know I meant to photograph the food but completely forgot with all the gas-bagging. There was duck risotto, salmon pasta, warm goat's cheese salads and veal. Not to mention the all-you-can-eat carpaccio platter, one of which Mr Cooper devoured in two forkfuls and went on to enjoy another three platters (apparently 7 is the record to beat).

Platter No. 3

The bread basket. All that was left by the time I remembered to pull out the camera.


A picture of Roman lingerie for Keith. 

Everyone looking happy after a fab meal. 

Thanks so much to Aidan for organising the occasion and to all those who came - it was so wonderful to meet you!

On Sunday, Aidan and her lovely family came over to our house for morning tea so that our kids (who are similar ages) could get together and have some fun.

It was a glorious day and before we knew it the kids were wrestling on the trampoline while the adults quietly slid into a few beers and a cheese platter.

What can I say? Provence can do that to you.

*Not really, but he's a dead ringer. And even better, he's French.

Birthday Fabric and other Shenanigans

Thanks for the coffee mat and cushion love in my last post. I wish my house looked like that all the time, but with three kids photos involve moving much crap from one side of the room to the other and judicious post-processing cropping!

Another week of school holidays is coming to an end, kids back at school Monday. We have been keeping busy with tea parties.

And I've been busy sewing a back for my daughter's quilt and then basting it.

We've also had some fun with the gas company. They left a little note in our mail box one morning this week saying we had 48 hours to pay our bill or the gas would be cut off.

'Oh my stars*,' I said, as our bill had already been paid. After some ringing around it was determined that our bill had indeed been paid, much to my relief. At 4 o'clock that afternoon, they cut off our gas.

'Oh those cheeky bears* have cut our gas less than 8 hours after giving notice,' I said, 'even though we have paid our bill.' Some more ringing around ascertained that indeed the gas company knew the bill was paid and they'd cut the gas in error. They would send someone out in the morning to turn it back on.

No heating and no hot water for the night? In winter and after all three kids had had haircuts that morning (and needed a bath)? I think you can do better than that gas company.

The gas company said they could send someone out now to turn the gas on, the same gas they had cut off for no reason, however we would be charged an after-hours call out fee. 'Fiddlesticks*,' I said, 'send the fellow* out.'

Once the gas was reinstated at 7pm, the gas man could not get our heating unit to start again. After 15 mins he sheepishly admitted that cutting the gas had probably put air in the lines and caused a problem. If the unit didn't start tonight we would need to call out our heating repairman and have it seen to. This would cost us about 70€ ($100). You can probably imagine what I was thinking.

There was a happy ending. The heating unit did start after I messed around with it for a few minutes, and luckily the mister's work has a special 'Have You Been Done Over by French Bureaucracy' fund which paid for the call out fee. But I must say, I was astounded by what they think they can, and obviously do, get away with in terms of customer service. The French should really rise and revolt against that.

* I may or may not have used words somewhat stronger than these.

And on to some good bureaucratic news: France Post came through with two big and one little self-bought birthday parcels for me. Yay for birthday money (thanks Mum and Dad!)

Here are some gratuitous fabric shots:

What I'd really been coveting: Robert Kaufman's Metro Living. Still missing orange though. 

Some fun spring-ish colours, varying lines

Great neutrals and awesome dots. I accidentally ordered 1.5 yards of the herringbone, lucky it's so useful.

My pick of Patty Young's Sanctuary line.

Some local linen, which was proving elusive (finally found some, Diana!)

And lastly, I bought a Chrysalis charm pack and some yardage for backing/binding.

Now, I need your honest opinions.  I had originally looked at the butterflies and flowers and thought this would make a girl quilt. However, now that I have it in my hands and I see all the colours (chocolate brown, orange, dusty blue, olive green) I am thinking boy, if teamed with 'boy' solids.

What do you guys think - would this make a boy or a girl's quilt? Would you find it too weird to have butterflies on your little boy's baby mat? The whole line can be seen here at this Fabricworm link (where I bought my two yardage pieces), just click on the pic for a larger view.

Thanks for your input, you're all just so darned clever. Have a great weekend!

P.S. All fabric found at Fabricworm and Hawthorne Threads; charm pack from CottonThreadFabrics on Etsy.