The following is because the incubus is playing with my bio rhythms, so while I’ve been snug in bed asleep since about 9.15pm, its now 1.25am and I’m as bright as a button. So much so, I just knew Felix was awake (which he was), have hung out a load of washing and thought of myriad things for Glamorouse.
Firstly – have you ever noticed in the top right corner of our site it says, “Next Blog”? Finally, curiosity got the better of me, and I’m pleased to introduce germ. For some reason it seems highly fitting that our neighbour blog has a title that encaspulates various microbes, bacteria and viruses as really, the life of a parent, particularly one of small children is basically ruled by them. So Jeremy in Cincinnati, I hope we can live in peace and harmony.
Secondly – I have further proof that I’m not deep, at least not all the time. I realised this evening that my last fall into the abyss can be largely attributed to the fact that Go Fug Yourself and Snarkywood were remarkable tardy at updating themselves and providing me with any inane material on the American rich and famous (and ideally skanky) to indulge in. There was also little going on (short of the male incantation of skankyhoe Shane Warne – who, I’ve decided is the Australian answer to Kevin Federline – and really that is a poor substitute for cheap but well deserved shots at Britney, the Olsen twins, and anyone in between) in the realm of celebrity gossip. This week however, brings us the delights of Jude Law – someone I have missed the train for in the whole swoon, he’s so gorgeous kinda way. Now we find out he slept.with.the.nanny. and after feeling immense remorse (according to her dutiful note taking, something to be commended I say) after the first deed, felt the need to do it all over again – in.the.same.night. – and then, after the horror of his child walking in and discovering them – doing.it.again. Sadie Frost must be feeling sooo vindicated and glad she is outta that bedroom. We can only hope jilted fiancee Sienna who is only 23, gets the hell out as well. I mean sure, it is impressive he can go three times in one night, we sure as hell haven’t been in that realm since our early 20s, and I’m sure Sadie and Sienna could confer with the nanny’s musings he was a good lover and made her ‘tingle all over’ but there comes a time when sharing is just plain wrong.
and thirdly, in closing, a word from our sponsor…
Lets take a moment to bask (sp?) in the glory that is not listening to me wail on and on about the ills of the world unchecked anymore.
WELCOME BACK BEC! You have been sorely missed.
I take offense at the notion I am deep on any level – particularly as I regularly critque those I work with for what they wear and their very personalities and, with my growing girth and the fact no denim will probably ever grace this body again lest it forms a tarpolin, it is a real case of throwing stones whilst standing centrecourt in a glass house, just for kicks and a giggle with the snappy dressers I work with.
I also take real issue with the zoo. The zoo blows. There, I said it. Firstly, its built on a cliff face. Secondly, my children insist on what I call impulse viewing – ie, in no logical start at the top work to the bottom order of animal sightings, but “lets see the tigers!” “lets see meer cats!” “lets see the giraffes!” blah blah blah – and screaming tantrums if we attempt anything less energy sapping and mountain climbing.
Seriously, there is someone sitting in a control room somewhere, watching zoo CCTV and laughing all the day long as parents as stupid as us indulge our children in these various whims of ambling all over the mountainside.
Finally, you are really setting a bad bad example for the rest of us with kids who actively avoid physical intimacy, let alone in.the.morning.when.the.kids.are.sleeping. I’m not shocked as I know what you two are like, but I’m disappointed. You know its that sort of activitiy that results in incubi…
Having said that, and not one to ever be outdone, AB is quietly, well actually quite publicly, rejoicing at the pregnancy hormone flow-on effect in that area of our lives and is using it as the main reasoning behind him believing the incubus is a boy.
Back to rouse up Glamorouse after two weeks with NO INTERNET ACCESS. Have almost caught up on Kim’s postings which are, as ever, insightful, thought-provoking, intelligent and deep, deep, deep – especially the hornbag one about Robbie Williams: girl, I hope you had the grace to blush for the sake of your 26 week incubus.
There’s no better way to make a holiday feel longer than it really is than to spend it with your three children, and I mean that in the nicest possible way, I really do. I can feel a list coming on; let’s make it Holiday Highlights:
- The professor brought me coffee in bed EVERY morning, because I didn’t have to get up first
- Most days I also got breakfast
- Some days, when the kids slept in, I got even more, which was strangely relaxing and confirms that Mother Nature knew what she was doing when she invented recreational sex (ahead of red wine and Prozac)
- I got to read the newspapers for fun
- Some days I did BOTH the Sudoku AND the cryptic crossword in the Herald
- We went to the zoo – man, how I love the zoo
- My Dad came for an unplanned vist, which could have been manic but was actually really nice
- The two littlies saw their first ever “big movie” – Madagascar – and have ever since been entertaining us big people with lemur-style duets of “I like to move it move it”
- We packed picnic lunches and took them to the park
- The first time we picnicked my gorgeous nearly-three boy suddenly realised that instead of our usual playground routine, the holidays meant unlimited access to rice cakes, the slide AND his mum and came strolling over to me (and the rice cakes) with a huge smile, saying “It’s a perfect day, mummy”
So now I’m back on line, but technical problems (the Prof’s lost the cable) mean that I don’t have access to my work connection so I feel free to play around with the Glamorouse and have been trying to work out the image uploading by putting a pic on my profile box.
Ah, which pic to choose? The one I really wanted was the shrouded in steam pic Kim’s photographer took when Kim was being a glamorous (no E) foodie magazine editor, because shrouded in steam, or fog, or thick black plastic, is my best angle these days. Can’t find that one though (kim, help?) so went for the next best thing – a favourite pic from (ahem) some years back…
I think it’s transparently obvious to anyone reading this blog – myself included – that one of us is meaningfully engaging the world in all its large and small parts, and the other is just wishing her own large parts could fit back into those jeans.
PS – I should point out that I was secretly six weeks pregnant with my first child when this shot was taken and while I didn’t want to drink the wine, it would have been too obvious to others that I was pregnant if I’d just sat there with it … so when the Pea Princess misses out on her university scholarship by 1 mark we can safely trace the fault back to this gestational moment.
Friday night went off hitch free. (See my post about procrastinating) I’d even call it a raging success considering I walked through the door at 5.15 and nothing was prepared or ready. Not bad eh.
My thanks to a colleague who used this phrase earlier today when we were talking about Australia’s appalling performance in regards to Timor and us basically trying to shaft them out of what is legally theirs. There is a great article in The Monthly on this – and what a bully we’re being in regards to oil and gas fields in the Timor Sea that it just made me feel so ashamed to be Australian.
- as we face the most antiquated puritanical, draconian IR reforms – all in the name of progress of course,
- as we adjust to a life that decisions made on behalf of us by our government now mean we are not safe in any public place on any public transport or at any large event or venue,
- as we try to work out how to right the wrongs of the past and basically show some humanity and common human decency to nations that struggle basically because of the way they have been treated and ruled (by people or parties inflicted or imposed upon them or supported or kept there by us,
I say, in the worlds of my colleague…
Stop the world I want to get off.