Random, random…

Random notes tonight, and accompanying them, this random pic that popped out when I was fooling with the Picasa ‘collage’ function. Some I’ve posted here before but some are new. I love the best buds one of the Pea Princess and her bestest friend, the Whale Rider (two down, two across). These two have spent much of the year in each other’s pockets and are going through all the usual girly things that seven year olds do.

We recently had a WHOLE weekend without the Whale Rider coming over, or the Pea Princess going there, and the moaning, and the wailing was unbearable. Yes, remember the speculation I had recently about a fourth child? I’m thinking the real answer is to pick up a handy pre-approved sibling like the Whale Rider and just not send her back home this time…

  • Also, Harry the Attack Cat? Yep, he finally makes an appearance here and obliged with a nicely evil slanty eyed glare for the camera. Is he as bad as we make out? Just how vicious can a big fat slob of a moggy be? Here’s one of the most common ways we reply to those questions and I’ll put it in a sentence that even the littlest kiddies can understand:

“OW -Stop biting my leg you fucking monster.”

On to more randomness:

  • Kim, you never had a lovebite? Never woke up the next day and scraped your hair over the side of your neck to get to the bathroom so you could cover it up with toothpaste? Never turned up your school shirt collar for non-preppy reasons? Never got that hot and sweaty as a teenager?

You have my pity, blossom.

  • But on the other thing? The assignment thing – AWEsome. To quote that great spiritual leader of parents everywhere, Crush the Turtle, “You so totally rock, dude”.

I’m still technically on deferral of the remaining almost-two-years of a three-year Masters that I thought I’d be able to accelerate while on maternity leave with the Pea Princess, now seven. Did you hear that? A-C-C-E-L-E-R-A-T-E. Yes, make go faster. As in, take extra units while baby slept under the desk. Ha! And again, Ha!

  • Our washing machine died. Sigh. It’s almost the last relic of my first marriage and was the subject of a late custody bid by my ex-husband who, having destroyed my self-esteem, bank account, family relationships and any chance of a decent run at my 20s, then apparently thought it would be okay to renege on the agreed whitegoods split and hit me for the washing machine and drier since his parents bought them for us as a wedding present. Sadly for him, he left his bid a little late and enough of the self-esteem had crept back in to tell him to get nicked. And no, he couldn’t have the special crystal dolphin bowl that his weird work friend bought for us in Japan, either. So there.

Still, since the machine is no good to me any more, and since it’s going to have to go out on the street when I book the council clean-up, maybe I’ll just let the ex know the date and address and tell him he’s welcome to it now?

  • My lovely Friend, mother of the divinely cute Alexander, has done a huge load of our washing – much more than I had intended she should do when she offered (ie, the Pea Princess’ four school shirts) but there, that’s what happens when you leave a bloke in charge of such social transactions (Yes, Prof, that means you – consider yourself glam-o-roused upon).

She is the Laundry Goddess and I remain mere lint in her rinse cycle.

No more randomness from me. Am in bed at stunningly early hour, must be something in the blog tonight hmm Kim?



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