Sleepless Nights

Author: Veronica

  • How I ended up running my hands up and down a large phallic object repeatedly, while my husband laughed

    I made soap the other day using PVC pipe as moulding.

    It will be FINE I thought. I’ll grease them well. What could go wrong? I’ve done it before. NO DRAMAS.

    HAHAHAHAAA.

    Ahem.

    So, there I was, two pipes filled with soap, cooled and hardened enough to handle.

    I tapped them on the sink. Nothing. I shook them. Nope. I pushed my palm up against the bit I could reach. Not going to happen.

    Whose idea was it to buy pipe my fist can’t fit in? Tell me that.

    (It was mine)

    So I put the pipes in the freezer for a few hours. This is not going to be a problem. I thought. Freeze for two hours, hot water on the outside of the pipe, little push, voila!

    Two hours later, I was at the sink running hot water over the pipe, trying deperately to keep hold of everything while my gloves got slicker and slicker. Using a shampoo bottle (DON’T JUDGE ME) I got the soap moving. Like a giant push pop, up it came. But slowly, so slowly. And it was hard work.

    Now, yes. I should have stopped right there, left everything alone for another 24 hours. But I am impatient, and I pick at things and poke at them until everything explodes.

    So I kept pushing.

    This is where the problem arose. With the soap three quarters emerged from the pipe and still determined to stick, I ran out of leverage. My shampoo bottle was not long enough to push the entire thing out.

    Nathan came into the bathroom as I was considering my options.

    “Would you like some help?”

    Only twenty minutes ago HONEY, I growled inside my head.

    “Please.”

    And that’s when it happened.

    Nathan, taking a firm grasp of the pipe held it out to me. Soap, like a giant tentacle emerging from the end.

    My gloves were slick as I pulled the soap cylinder. And over and over my hands slipped, until I found an excellent rhythm, reminiscent of masturbating a giant zucchini.

    Thirty seconds later, and with a slight pop, my soap emerged, looking hardly the worse for wear.

    I smoothed the edges, white lather foaming around my gloves.

    Nathan couldn’t help it.

    He laughed and laughed and laughed.

    And that’s when I realised I needed a better way to remove soap from pvc piping.

    —

    If you’re keeping track, I had soap in 2 moulds, and have successfully managed to remove the soap from 1 mould. Using the power of mathematics I can prove to you this equals one soap mould still full and steadfastly refusing to give up its treasure.

    Whose idea was this?

  • The problem with soap making

    There are a lot of problems with taking up soap making as a hobby.

    First: So many soaps. So little time.

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    Lemon soap – pre gel phase. It went an interesting translucent green colour after gelling.

    [Gelling is when a soap heats up through the magic of science. The process of saponification speeds up, changing the oil water emulsion into soap a little faster. You can avoid gel and many soapmakers do, but it takes longer for your oils to saponify and let’s face it, I’m impatient.]

    The thing with gelling, is it can make a previously pretty soap an ugly colour for a bit.

    Like this, which is the yellow soap post-gel:

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    Luckily I have a soap I made previously which was this same colour, but since curing has gone yellow again.

    SCIENCE.

    Also, water evaporation.

    This one is my favourite to handle and smell at the moment. It’s a honey chai soap, coloured with red oxide.

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    The other problem with soaps is finding somewhere to cure them all. They’re in Evelyn’s bedroom at the moment, because she has the in-built cupboards.

    This means that mostly Eve’s room smells awesome. But at the moment, the current curing smells of lemon mixed with apple mint are a bit headache inducing.

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    The apple mint soap smells amazing, but it’s also really strong because it’s so new. In another week, it should have mellowed a little. In the meantime, I’m keeping her door closed.

    She however, adores the smells. Requesting to smell all the soaps every day and sighing happily. Clearly she’s not really my baby and hasn’t inherited my sensitivity to smell.

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    The final problem with soap making is it’s actually a bit of an expensive hobby. Between moulds (I’m using a lunchbox, and since I went to the hardware store yesterday, a length of PVC pipe cut in thirds, but I lust over a custom built wooden loaf mould), and fragrances, and colourings, and additives, it all adds up.

    Thankfully, there’s a large cross over between ceramic ingredients and soap making supplies, so I’ve managed to just raid Mum’s studio a few times for added colours. Thanks Mum.

    But seriously, it can be expensive. Especially in the beginning where you can’t sell anything yet because you don’t know how your recipes will hold up with regular use.

    Also, there’s a fair amount of governmental red tape to jump through if and when I decide I do want to sell soaps. I have to register with NICNAS as a chemical manufacturer, which is technically correct, but makes it sound like I’m cooking up meth in my bathroom, not soaps. As well as product liability insurance.

    It’s a fun hobby though, and I’m thoroughly enjoying myself.

    I made a red and yellow swirled soap today which I am praying both works (it should totally work) and comes out of it’s mould (first use of the PVC pipe and I’m TERRIFIED). No photos yet, it’s been put to bed to insulate until tomorrow.

    But fingers crossed, right?

    Also, how adorable is that photo of Nat and the two younger kids?

  • Does solar save you money?

    I’m asking here. We got solar just before summer and so far, while it’s made a bit of a difference, it’s not a huge difference.

    Firstly, we bought our solar panels on a payment plan. This was probably our first big mistake, but not having a large sum of money tucked away, it was our only option. With the maths we were provided, it all looked amazing on paper. (It always does, right?) What we were repaying each fortnight was equal to what we’d been spending on Pay As You Go power, so we weren’t going to be any worse off.

    Our first power bill after having the panels installed therefore, was a bit of a shock. We’d expected a small bill, but $300 for 50 days?

    I think my jaw fell open and stayed there for days.

    We enquired some more. Why weren’t we covering as much power as we thought we would? What was going on?

    Had we made a giant mistake?

    Read the rest at Money Circle.

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  • This baby ate strawberries. You’ll never believe what happened next.

    YOU GUYS. The upworthy headlines drive me crazy. So crazy of course I had to use one, because IRONY. Or something.

    (This isn’t ironic, it’s just annoying.)

    Yesterday was supermarket day and Coles had strawberries on special. When we got home, I shared the strawberries with Evelyn and YOU’LL NEVER BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED NEXT.

    Oh wait, yes you will. Because of course she’s allergic to strawberries suddenly.

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    I put her to bed shortly after these photos. 45 minutes later she was awake, screaming, with a sore tummy and a even splotchier face. No breathing problems or swelling though, so thank god for small mercies.

    After panadol, cuddles and lots of love, she let me put some soothing cream on the angriest of the red bits.

    Strawberry allergy. Grumble grumble grumble.

    She had a bad night and today seems like her tummy is still causing a bit of pain, but the redness has eased, leaving behind a big eczema flare up.

    On the upside, strawberries are much easier to avoid than peanuts or eggs.

    And she’ll probably grow out of it.

    And it’s not that big a deal in the scheme of things.

  • On not paying writers (again)

    Around the time Evelyn was born, I began turning down PR requests left right and centre. I’m sure I burned a lot of bridges, and all I did was politely ask to be paid for my time.

    Amazing how the PR requests dropped off after that.

    But they didn’t stop entirely, and each time I politely ask to be paid, I am politely told in return “We don’t have a budget” or “We don’t pay for comment.”

    People, you’re paying me for my time. For the time I take out of my life to write about your product. For the time I spend ignoring other things in order to focus on YOU and your product.

    Now, let’s be clear – I’m not talking about the work I did for The Shake, which was unpaid, and enjoyable. This is because I KNOW The Shake didn’t have a budget to pay me. There was no one person sitting at the top of the pile making money from our work and refusing to pay.

    But other publications, other companies, they’re different.

    When a large multi-national company tries to tell you they don’t have a budget to pay you, you’re left laughing maniacally in the corner. Because REALLY? REALLY?

    Bullshit.

    There’s money somewhere, but it sure as hell isn’t being spent on the bloggers doing actual work for you. Which is crap, frankly.

    In any case, I wrote about this for Money Circle this week, and it is something which makes me a bit ranty. You wouldn’t refuse to pay your plumber, or your electrician, so why refuse to pay your writers?

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