Jenny Rudd

Daddy's little girl

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Thu, 02 Feb 2012 23:46:00 +0000

wee blog post at www.jennyrudd.co.nz

unanswerable questions

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Sun, 15 Jan 2012 08:46:00 +0000

blog has moved to www.jennyrudd.co.nz

Glam or pikey? You decide

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 04:48:00 +0000

my blog has moved to www.jennyrudd.co.nz

He who talks loud says nothing

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 01:08:00 +0000

see the post on my blog's new home
www.jennyrudd.co.nz
you can subscribe to updates from there

Camper van holiday. Check the small print

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 01:39:00 +0000

see the post at my new blog www.jennyrudd.co.nz
if you'd like to keep reading my blog you can subscribe to it at the new website. Thanks, Jenny

I nearly died. This is how it felt.

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 04:25:00 +0000

My blog has moved, please see this post at
www.jennyrudd.co.nz
You can subscribe to my blog on the new website. I hope I see you over there x

new blog at www.jennyrudd.co.nz

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Thu, 24 Nov 2011 22:27:00 +0000

my blog has moved to www.jennyrudd.co.nz
come and join me over there. You will be able to subscribe to the blog over there too.
see you over there xx

Dear Giacomo Puccini

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 03:35:00 +0000

Dear Giacomo
A few years ago living in London my cousin and I went to see the Tosca at The Royal Opera House in Covent Garden. We shuffled in amid glances at our scuffed trainers and ripped jeans and found a spot on the floor in the bar to sit and drink our Cokes. I don't know what your expectations of decorum were in the early 1900s and I apologise if our dress and giggly behaviour didn't quite meet the mark but we felt silly and end of term-ish as we were fish out of water. I couldn't believe my eyes when we looked through the programme and saw that a boy we went to school with, Toby Stafford-Allen, was in the performance. I'm sorry to have to tell you that our skittishness continued as I regaled my cousin with stories of snogging Toby Stafford-Allen in the laundry cupboard at a party when I was fifteen.

Sitting in the rather grand seats at the Royal Opera House we dug out 50p for the opera glasses and gazed round at the navy velvet and gold. Luckily the sense of occasion got to us and we managed to exercise some self restraint, calming down to watch the opera you had scribbled down in your villa in Torre del Lago some hundred years previously.

I have to say, we were both overcome with tears during the gorgeous duet Qual Occhio al mondo. We walked out at the end wiping our faces and attempted to haul ourselves back from being bathed in a beauty of such magnitude I didn't really know existed before to the reality of 10pm on a Saturday night in London. My cousin and I have always been very close friends but we felt so much more connected to each other by your music.

A year later my highly adventurous cousin decided to cycle from John O'Groats to Lands End. A mere 1188 miles or so, she wanted to raise money to fund an upcoming trip to Nepal were she'd live in a village and help set up a school (yes, I know, she is an absolute twinkling star). She told me that within a day she was crying and complaining about some fictitious ankle injury as the vastness of the task ahead sat like a mammoth monolith in her mind. She listened to Tosca on her walkman all the way as she cycled. She arrived in Lands End in, I think, 13 days. I can't tell you how proud of her I was. I can feel my heart swelling like a balloon as I tell you.

I spent much of my time in my tiny 1 bedroom flat on Gloucester Road singing at the top of my lungs along with Maria Callas and when the opportunity to see Tosca presented itself again, I jumped at the chance. I went with a friend and spent the entire time aching with emotion. My friend told me I had ruined the performance for the man in front, I hadn't noticed but he kept turning round and tutting in annoyance as I hummed along.

This morning I dug out the CD and felt that love and passion steal into my body like smoke. Thank you, Giacomo Puccini for giving me some of my most cherished memories with my cousin but I really, really just cannot thank you enough for the beauty of Tosca. I wonder what you had experienced in your life to be able to express such love in that way.

Love Jenny Rudd

First day at school

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Mon, 24 Oct 2011 21:08:00 +0000

Today lad started school. He scampered off to his teacher very happily so fingers crossed it's a smooth transition for him. Change has never bothered him and although he prefers to observe before trying out new things like big slides, swimming and games with children, he has always happily gone to new places: friends' houses, new countries, school and kindergarten. I felt very proud of him this morning, chatting to his mates in the class and informing his teacher of his weekend activities. He barely turned round to say goodbye to the husband and I until the last minute when he gave us both a big cuddle and a huge smile. It's a wonderful, sunny day and I'm so excited for him. I hope school is as happy a place as it was for me.

Taking clothes off with one arm

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Wed, 19 Oct 2011 06:56:00 +0000

I have always been hard wearing on my clothes - like most people I wear the same stuff over and over again. Jeans and t shirts fall to pieces within 3 or 4 years. Being able to use only my left arm means that the stress on clothes is quite specific. My jumpers have little holes just below the label on the back where the threads have worn thin. This is the place my left hand grabs to yank jumpers over my head.

Shirts and jumpers end up with a patch on the left elbow. I often steady my hand by resting my elbow on flat surfaces. The newest area of weakness is on the seam at the back of my knickers. I had a look through my undies draw this morning and found 4 pairs had suffered the same fate. The seam has detached itself from the rest of the material. I thought it was a manufacturing fault until 10 minutes ago. I stood up from the sofa and my jeans were sagging slightly so I hooked my fingers under the waist band at the small of my back and hitched them up. This rather unsophisticated and slovenly adjustment was accompanied by the sound of ripping material. Another pair bites the dust.

Old and young

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Mon, 17 Oct 2011 20:33:00 +0000

The children are all in kindy and I have 5 minutes before interviewing a seriously fascinating lady called Judith Bell who wrote a book called I See Red. She changed her name to Steven Tindall - the owner of a huge company in New Zealand called the Warehouse which sells everything under the sun very cheaply. She makes all the costumes by hand for a vintage costume catwalk show every two years and looks like a movie star from the 1920's. Extremely graceful and clever, it will be an interesting way to spend the morning.

Then it'll be back to kindy to pick up the troops plus a friend of lad's who is staying over tonight. I really love that sharp contrast between the energy created by different people and by the hormones rushing round us at varying stages of our lives. Little children tend to inspire you to be a bit more interested in simplicity. "Mummy what's rain?" and "why don't we lay eggs?"

Spending time with someone older than me starts off all sorts of questions in my head. I especially like the questions which challenge my opinion and start off a completely new chain of thought.

Here's to variety. What's not to love?

Fuel those removing Rena's fuel from our beach

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Thu, 13 Oct 2011 23:47:00 +0000

Clearing up the oil on the beach is a bit tricky with the children and my gammy arm so instead I'm helping Larry's Tea House coordinate the feeding of the masses of determined, cheery volunteers who are generously giving their time to clean up our beach. If you are handy with an oven glove and a kilo of flour, or even just adept at throwing a bag of apples into your supermarket trolley then this is how you can help.

The worst environmental disaster ever seen in New Zealand and it's right here on our doorstep

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Wed, 12 Oct 2011 07:25:00 +0000

One of the many wonderful characteristics of New Zealanders is their love for the planet. They treat the earth we live on as a beautiful being with a soul all of her own. I first noticed it overhearing a knowledgeable conversation about the weather and the physics behind its effect on the ocean's swell. All this went on between two sun kissed teenagers in board shorts as they stared out at the waves, discussing the potential for surfing over the coming days.

A few days ago the container ship Rena struck the Astrolabe reef a few kilometres off our coast. If you walk to the end of our road and look out at the ocean you can see the ship. Hundreds of tonnes of toxic oil have been pouring from the ship killing animals and coating our beautiful, beautiful, precious beach. Watching the devastation unfurl is so awful. Knowing how New Zealanders feel about the earth it is heartbreaking to see the effect this is having on them. Locals are on the beach all day scooping oil into bags, desperate to do whatever they can to help. The oil is sticking on boots and being traipsed all over pavements, through shops and houses. The nauseating oily fumes have permeated our whole town and its impossible not to well up with tears when you go to the beach and see the black smear stretch for miles. In the last few hours a large crack has appeared down the side of the ship as it lists in the stormy weather. Containers have fallen into the ocean. One leaves a trail of chemicals in its wake as its potentially hazardous contents react with the water. It looks like the ship may break in two. This horrifying environmental nightmare is just beginning and its effect will be with us for years.

That love and respect this spiritual nation have for their country will stand them in good staid. They know how to look after nature and I know they will nurse our little corner of the world back to health with strength and tenderness.

Jurassic festivities

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Mon, 10 Oct 2011 08:14:00 +0000

Although we have always thrown birthday parties for the children, they have involved parents, booze and barbeques so end up being more of a family shindig. Yesterday lad turned 5. We went for the full blown childfest. A dinosaur themed party complete with games, face painting, pinata, party food and no parents. My mum made three fantastic dinosaur outfits. Lad and twin1 refused to wear theirs.

It was such a joy to watch the children rush madly around, cheering and chasing each other, blowing bubbles and laughing. They were all so pleased to be together and hugged themselves in delight at the sweets and cakes on offer. They threw themselves into each game, some with a more developed sense of competition than others but all in good spirits, keen to get as much enjoyment from the festivities as possible. Glorious.

Goodness knows what kind of chemical reactions went on inside lad's body between the spurts of adrenaline and globs of refined sugar but he slept badly after his party. Sobbing, wandering round the house and asking to watch TV at 2am he eventually drifted into a restorative sleep. This morning the three of them are slightly hungover. I am feeling pretty deflated too. My parents leave to go back home to the UK tomorrow.

No hole too big or too small to emit stuff

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Wed, 05 Oct 2011 22:29:00 +0000

The twins both have florid patches of weeping pox all over their perfect little bodies. Twin1 was in our bed crying and and scratching all night. The husband slept in twin1's bunk to tend to the equally itchy twin2. Twin1 insisted on cuddling up close to me which meant poking and jabbing my bad arm to the state where it feels like a shredded flutter of palid, useless flesh held together by its hyper sensitive coating.

My parents have taken them out for a walk, tucked up in their pushchair so I can get some work done. If my parents weren't a) here and b) as generous as they are, I'm sure my fingernails would be the only things keeping me attached to the crumbling cliff by now. Since my return from the UK 3 weeks ago the children have lost liquid from orifices and pores in a steady stream of matter not suitable for print. Their absence from kindy and the mess this stream produces would have sent me over the edge but ma and pa have hosted sleepovers, provided countless park and beach trips for the children and helped keep my house in some kind of order. Grateful isn't the word.

This weekend lad turns 5. I had a quick scan down the invitees to see who I need to call and tell of the girls' pox but all the children coming either have chicken pox at the moment or are recovering from it. Perfect. Let the games commence.

same, same but different

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Mon, 03 Oct 2011 06:17:00 +0000

This morning I crept out of the house at 6am and flew up to Auckland for a meeting. Mid morning I rang the husband who'd taken a day off work to step in as duty manager.
"Hello darling, how's it going?"
"I don't know what all the fuss is about. I've hoovered everywhere, am just going to finish folding this washing then I'm off to Tay St to have a boozy lunch with the girls."

I spent a magical couple of hours chatting to the editor of the kind of magazine I'd love to write for. I saw tulip skirted girls in opaque tights and matt red lipstick march through busy offices with self confidence and furrow browed concentration, neatly stepping round the table football in strappy platforms to grab a coffee.

There was an equally high level of industriousness at home when I got back - the husband cooking tea, twin1 lifting up her t shirt to show the fresh little pox which have popped up on her chest since last night, twin2 swatting twin1 over the head and whooping with laughter and the lad screaming at the girls to be quiet so he could concentrate on cartoons. Same, same but different.

twat of the week award goes to.......

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 20:56:00 +0000

Since the children were tiny the husband has left for work before 7am, so I do the morning breakfast and get ready routine during the week on my own which I rather enjoy. For the last month or so he hasn't had to leave the house until 8am. At first I found it quite annoying - a massive disruption to the little chain of events I have set in stone in order to get them all out of the door for kindy and the housework done before I work. I have tried to relax my inner uptight witch and not snap at the husband when he does things like dishing out cereals AND toast AND yoghurt AND drinks all in one go thereby increasing both the length of breakfast time and the clear up needed. We have been eating breakfast as a family every morning and dropping the children off at kindy together. This little extra hour in the morning is such a great way to start the day. Starting the day as a unit instead of lots of little factions has had a tremendous effect on our connection as a family and as a couple.

There is a downside though. The husband was still here this morning when the new phone I ordered online arrived. I had lost one a couple of days ago and bought a new one, but that one's crap and I don't like the way the buttons work so I bought another, hence the the friendly message he left me on the blackboard.

Scared of the dark

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Tue, 27 Sep 2011 22:59:00 +0000

Last year I was keen to move the children into one room and have the other bedroom as a playroom. The husband was quite opposed to this on the grounds that lad needed some space to get away from the screaming, glitter-ridden world of twin girls. I pushed for it for a while then in a move which will shock my friends and parents, I decided to just leave it and go with the husband's wishes.

Lad has been struggling to go to bed on his own, pleading for one more story or Daddy to come back in and kiss him goodnight or me to stay in his room with him. In the night he has been asking to sleep with us or watch TV and we noticed he lies right on the edge of his bed as far away from the wall as possible. The husband reckons the blame for lad's fear sits firmly in my gene swamp as my fear of the dark is such that I insist on tucking the duvet under my feet so that 'monsters' can't creep in.

In the car yesterday the husband piped up "do you think if lad shared a room with the girls it would help him sleep better at night?"

My calm "hmmm, maybe" covered up inner fireworks. A few hours, expletives and an allan key later and bunk beds have been erected. Last night lad hopped into his top bunk happily and I admired the new play room. Who would have thought that just by keeping my enormous cake hole shut we would avoid an argument and I'd end up with a favourable outcome? Astonishing.

The Cloud

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Mon, 26 Sep 2011 07:55:00 +0000

I love a road trip as much as the next man so it was a happy 3 hours on Saturday afternoon which found my Dad and I motoring over the Bombay Hills and into Auckland excited about spending a weekend together where the the focal points were the New Zealand v France game on Saturday night and Fiji v Samoa on Sunday.

We ditched our kit in Mt Eden were we were staying and headed down to the Queen's Wharf on the waterfront, keen to get hyped up for the match and sample the hospitality Auckland had laid on. On this large stick of concrete jutting out into the harbour we went to The Cloud, a temporary structure where you can watch bands and try delicious tapas sized bites from stalls set up by some of the best restaurants in New Zealand, each accompanied by a wine chosen especially to match. I chose kingfish ceviche marinated in salt and seaweed which was set off by a vodka, feijoa and pear cocktail, venison and watercress pesto with a spicy pinot noir and seared beef with tamarillo on brioche which brought to life the most fruity little red as I tipped it down.

We left this impressive culinary oasis and headed to Shed 10 to sink Heinekens. The long hall crisscrossed above us with enormous rolled steel joists and what looked like hundreds and hundreds of ancient railway sleepers. My Dad told me this was the first building he set foot in when he arrived off the boat with his parents and sister in 1963 to live in New Zealand for 6 years as a teenager. I can't imagine how evocative it must have been for him to stand and drink beer with his daughter and son in law (the husband was up in Auckland watching the rugby with a separate crew) and cast his mind back to being a fresh little 13 year old handing over his passport, ready to start life on the other side of the world.

Warmed by the food and beer we all headed up to Eden Park and watched New Zealand lay to rest the ghosts of the last two World Cups. The match on Sunday was fantastic. Is there a friendlier, more relaxed nation than the Fijans? The big lad behind us shouted words of encouragement to his home country but when they faltered or lost possession he hooted with hilarity and shrugged his shoulders deeper into his Fijian flag.

We had a close shave with the petrol running out on the way home (Daddy said 'I suppose there's no point in asking you not to tell your mother, this'll keep her going for a good 30 years') and, as always when I'm with my pa, brilliant chit chat. We relived the good old days, drummed up a few businesses sure to rake in millions, told silly stories and laughed.

Next weekend we are off to see England v Scotland. I'm going to go all out with my supporter's kit. Feel free to make suggestions.

My new crush

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Thu, 22 Sep 2011 10:46:00 +0000

X Factor America has just become the only thing on our TV on Thursday nights. The first programme has left me feeling like I've been through an emotional tumble dryer for the following reasons:
1. I cried numerous times at the 'is this dreamer going to be left crushed in the gutter with or will we hear those sweet words "we have just witnessed the birth of a star" from the high waisted, sparkly toothed billionaire' conundrum.
2. Blokes chose to sing women's pop songs (step forward queen Adele).
3. I kept pressing rewind to see the intense, sexual magnet that is LA Reid. Don't even get me started.

waiting for Hollywood to knock down the door

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Thu, 22 Sep 2011 03:05:00 +0000

Quinn from www.qophotography.co.nz has done a masterful job of filming and editing this little piece of video which is going on my new website (which will be up and running at the end of next week). Thanks Q xx

I wonder whether the PM is a tomato sauce or a brown sauce kind of chap?

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Tue, 20 Sep 2011 22:59:00 +0000

The Prime Minister is going to be here today. I could go down and watch him load pasta and tomatoes into a trolley at The Good Food Trading Co but I won't. If I got the opportunity to talk to him I'd probably cry as I'm feeling quite weepy today. Coupled with the lake of green snot my head is producing and ramming down my nostrils I'm not sure I'm in the mood to make much small talk and I'd probably make everything about me. "Hi John Key, how are you? My son has chicken pox, my twins are crying incessantly and want my attention above all things, my limbs are aching and I can't sleep at night because I can't breathe properly through my bunged up nose and when I do drift off my troubled dreams are pierced by the wailing of twin1 or requests from the lad to change yet more vomit soaked sheets."

Yes, I'm sure the Prime Minister would be fascinated to hear of the minutiae of my life while he ponders the reconstruction of Christchurch and the strength of the New Zealand dollar but I'll spare him the worry and stay at home.

A pox on thee

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Tue, 20 Sep 2011 01:37:00 +0000

There is barely a four year old left in our town who hasn't got or hasn't had chicken pox. The lad proudly showed me the blooms of scabby blotches on his torso a few days ago. This answered the question of why the husband and I had been changing puke soaked sheets each night last week and begged another: how do you work when your child is unable to go to childcare? Luckily my parents are here to help and the lad's best mate has chicken pox too so his mum and I can tag team looking after them as they lift up their t shirts and compete for the title of most pox ridden. I'm thinking more about the parents who see the telltale spots and have to dress their children in high necked, long sleeved t shirts and trousers and pack them off to school with strict instructions to stay fully clothed regardless of the temperature. It must be incredibly stressful worrying about your poorly child whilst maintaining a professional, collected air at work.

How can something so beautiful produce something so disgusting?

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Mon, 19 Sep 2011 00:58:00 +0000

It's unlikely (depending on how you get your kicks) that before the birth of your first child, you've ever seen faeces in the freshest form possible: as it disengages itself from the manufacturer. The first time you witness in fascinated horror cables of chicken korma exiting your baby's arsehole and forming neat piles atop your duvet/clean laundry/sheepskin rug/whatever you have left your naked child on, it's all you can do to tear your eyes away to rush for wipes and a plastic bag.

The twins are nearly 3 now and often call me as they perch on the toilet to marvel with them at the wonder of the huge logs they can produce. I have to say, ambivalent as I am to the sight, I am often impressed that such a beautiful little bottom can produce something which smells so awful.

a crack on the hindquarters

noreply@blogger.com (Jenny Rudd) — Sat, 17 Sep 2011 02:38:00 +0000

I just took twin1 for a bike ride on my trike. As I blew my red cheeks out and puffed, hunched over the handlebars she screamed 'faster, Mummy'. If she'd had a whip she'd probably have given me a few cracks on the hindquarters. Two weeks of eating and drinking without any little rascals to chase has settled in lumpy form round my middle so I thought a few bike rides would transform me into Gisele (a girl can dream).

It's very exciting seeing all my chums in NZ again. Girls are brill. They always have endless supplies of news and gossip to impart. The husband is off to Auckland this afternoon to watch Australia v Ireland so I'm looking forward to spending the evening with my mum and the children and watching the kind of crap TV the husband rolls his eyes at.