well not quite, but this is my mate Muz – so all you crazy Americans just sit back and go gahgah over his accent.
The rest of us are busy dealing with impure thoughts about male friends with sparkly green eyes and some serious tatts.
And no, not that sort of dealing.
Geez, you lot. So predictable.
Felix saw the bowls of nuts at the supermarket and asked if we could buy one. One of my main memories of childhood Christmases, apart from generally being in a state of anxiety about all.the.people. was the bowl of nuts on my Nan’s table and that sense of satisfaction with a pile of broken shells in front of you.
I bought some
cheap-arse cute little Christmas cards on the highly unlikely off chance the boys might like to write cards to their classmates. I don’t do Christmas cards. They irritate me irrationally. Anyway, I mention it in passing to them and oh.my.lord. did they think it was a fabulous idea.
Oscar sat there, with his school photo, and pointed to those he wanted to write cards to so I could then show him how to write their names.
Bless his cotton socks, there were many cards written to surnames. Of the kid sitting beside the kid he wanted to give a card.
This was only exacerbated by his enthusiasm for the task and the sealing of all cards in un-named envelopes.
I had the patience of job on this one as people, I don’t think I could ever EVER truly convey to you how remarkable this whole moment was.
I wish I could be there tomorrow when he hands them out.
(It was also very interesting to see who got a card in his class. Erin, Sophie, Tamika, Dean, Luke, Bon and Harry – I hope you all know how remarkable your cards are.)
We thought today was a good day to get the Santa photo done.
Time spent in shopping centre car park? Outrageous
Quality time as a family spent in queue? Taxing
Jasper’s reaction to seeing Santa? Endearing
Jasper’s reaction when it was finally time for us to all have our photo with Santa?
Ha. Haha. Hahahahahahahaha
Cracked it people. Absolutely freakin’ cracked it. The flopping, the flailing, the screaming, the throwing himself on the floor. All infront of the eleventy gagillion other people waiting to have their photos. It was impressive. Awe-inspiring. Bewildering.
There’s a whole post about our little ray of sunshine who I think is a prime contender for fully fledged OCD which could be embellished by his reaction tonight when we took the boys out the front of our place to watch fireworks in the sky, off in the distance, which were part of an annual summer festival. Not near us. Not overly loud. Quite lovely to see. And yet he got all anxious about it. And when we came inside we realised his heart was going pitter-pat at a hundred miles an hour, he was pale, his breathing shallow and the anxiety was palpable. He just kept pointing his cute pudgy little fingers outwards and upwards about these freakish things we’d just exposed him to. Was there radiation involved? How could we all be appearing so fine about this event of clearly almost heart-stopping proportions? He kept looking at us all as if to say ‘you FREAKS! Are you not the least bit concerned about what we just saw? I mean PEOPLE, the sky? it was EXPLODING.
At least that cleared our diary of any NYE plans to go and watch fireworks ANYWHERE.
Conversation with Felix when the question of what he was going to ask Santa for this year:
F: A Nintendo DS with Thrillville NO the whole Star Wars SAGA
Chef: I don’t think Santa does electronic devices
Me: We don’t think Santa does electronic devices
F: Well we’ll see Mum, we’ll see.
Yes, indeed we will.
(Q: is seven too young to have your heart broken by Santa not bringing what you want? Even if Santa might be bringing you a BMX instead?)
I made ranch dressing today (thanks Joke). So easy. So much nicer than store-bought stuff. Although I still hanker for that ranch dressing dip an American friend of mine serves with crudites, which is apparently made from a ranch dressing powder. I put this in the same category as my occasional hankering for Kraft macaroni cheese.
I found out yesterday that my dad has had a number of threats made against him and my stepmother of the less than life-celebrating sort.
They were serious enough to warrant police involvement.
Apart from the ‘oh my god’ reactions, I am still left sitting here thinking ‘how the hell does my Dad get himself into these situations’.
My MIL had some exploratory procedures etc this week to determine a sudden onset of breathlessness.
My brother has just been diagnosed with psoriatic arthritis and is in pretty horrendous pain with it (it’s in his feet)
Mum is due home later this week from the whole hip replacement saga.
The less said on all these matters the best I feel.
I was going to do a whole post on mental health but Heather at Dooce beat me to it and said it about a hundred times better than I would have mustered.
That and she’s got over 1,000 comments on the post, which I find just a tad overwhelming while also being deeply envious.