The weekend (give or take)

Friday: Bought my birthday present. These:

They’re Nike Frees. Isn’t that ironic. Something from Nike branded as free. Anyway, they’re all about feeling like you’re running barefoot. I’m not sure about this but I do love them – even if I had my first ever runner’s stack in them, going arse over tit due to next door’s dog (who I take running. I know. I don’t know who I am anymore either) cutting infront of me AGAIN in front of about six people bidding farewell on the nature-strip to some visiting friends. Awesome. Skin off knees, palms, seriously winded and dignity lost mid-air. All class.

Saturday: party with some of Oscar’s friends from school. The first for the year but look, we got invited to one!

THEN: family gathering for my nephew’s birthday.

There was a chocolate fountain.

I saved everyone from chocolate tainted with extra-virgin olive oil but was then one of the group who completely farked the chocolate.

Did the mercy dash w/ my SIL to the local shops to procure the correct oil (the chocolate has to be runny for such dalliances as a fountain) and MORE chocolate.

Let the fountain flow.

I may or may not have eaten a shitload my bodyweight in melted chocolate on wafer biscuits and strawberries.


Baking: fruit mince tarts (I gave myself a hiatus from making these last year and now wonder why on earth I did so – so very very good) and two types of shortbread: orange and Christmas spice.


Up due to paining feet and mild panic attack that perhaps my feet are turning more arthritic rather than less what with all the running and weightloss. Maybe recreating the sensation of running barefoot at 38 is not such a good idea.



Sunday: UP. Packed up ice-cream Christmas pudding and various edible gifts (Christmas cakes, jams, layered peppermint bark, shortbread, fruit mince tarts) and headed off on two-hour drive to my Dad and stepmother’s.

Lovely day of eating, drinking and hanging out. Including sitting under a brolly by the pool in rather heavy rain as the kids swam. Not sure who was the bigger idiot, me or them.

8pm: Left for home – via Chef’s work where he was getting merry at their Christmas Party gathering.

Somewhere closer to 11pm than reasonable: HOME.

Migraine at the ready, multiple drugs consumed for headache, worsening hayfever and various other meds normally in my daily routine.

Monday: 6am – up – lunch and snacks packed for Felix’s first day at golf camp (I hear it’s a great way to meet cocktail waitresses). Brekkie made for consumption in the car for three children and two adults. Medicinal drinks involving caffeine made. Off to drop Chef at work.

Into Chatswood. X-rays of Oscar’s back done. Off for early-morning reviver of milkshakes (them) and tea (me) then to the chiropracter.

Oscar has a scoliosis in the lower back showing and a major mal-alignment in the second vertebrae. Wouldn’t it be good if this explained the appalling behaviour from him of late. Perhaps it does.


Lunch and debrief of last 24 hours with mum.


Up, catch-up on correspondence and the like. This post.

Now away to collect Felix from golf camp (I hear it’s a great way to meet cocktail waitresses).

Can someone please come and arrange dinner for the family? Otherwise it could be a buffet of shortbread and fruit mince tarts. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.


Almost Wordless Saturday


Birthday celebrations (It’s on Wednesday people. I’m accepting gifts of any nature.)

Spontaneous beers with the neighbours.

Oh yeah.

Saturday so far

I keep pondering that surely it’s not just because I am not suffering at the hands of the Red Ninja can this Saturday be so much more pleasant than the last. I mean, we’ve all been struck by some dastardly cold involving snot and coughs but still, there has been no yelling, no fighting, no, well, minimal tears.

Go figure?

I mean, this morning was Special Olympics Bowling – with two little fellas in tow who did not melt down and whinge and wail when I informed them there was no budget for drinks or treats.

And since then there has been playing and building Lego ships and being incredibly chilled.


OH sure, Grovey is now screaming at Japper about some such but that’ll blow over.

I made quesadillas for lunch. I would have to say that quesadillas make everything better.

Dinner is oven-baked fish and chips with salad.

I may even go for a run.

The weekend

Those of you who have followed this tale of rampant fertility and the red hot mess that is my life may faintly recall that a few years back weekends were the bane of my existence. A treasure trove of demanding kids, a pesky mother and an absent husband. Oh how they challenged me.

Then there were the halcyon days where Chef was only working Saturdays or even better, Saturday nights so he would not disappear until the early afternoon.

But those days have passed. The positive is that Chef is somewhere he loves, working his butt off as people queue – QUEUE! – to eat the sublime eggs he prepares, the remarkable omelettes, the incredible chicken sandwich, the delectable beetroot salad and everything in between.

The negative is not so much a negative but a weekly challenge. A quest if you will. For me.

Stay positive!
Watch your tone!
Get out of the house!
Make plans!
Be spontaneous!
Say yes not no!

And so on and so forth.

It is getting better. I am re-adjusting to the solo parenting gig. I am consciously just ‘being’ with my kids, ‘hanging’ with them on the lounge or out the backyard.

But lordy me it is exhausting. Good, funny, exhausting, brain-snapping, anger-management case-study materialling, rewarding, did I mention exhausting.

There are episodes like last night, when our beautiful neighbours invited us over for pizza. The boys had a ball playing with their mini fire-pit thingy, collecting leaves and twigs and basically creating their own smoking ceremony.

And then we came home. The coming home bit was fine, it was the having to have a shower (Jasper had not had one since Wednesday and his arse-crack odor was rivalling that of his father after a 14 hour shift at the height of summer in front of the burners) that saw them unleash the fury of the dogs at the gates of hell (is it dogs? or some three-headed beast or some such?). Seriously, people walking by may well have thought some serious domestic violence shit was going down. The screaming kept up as I man-handled them into their beds and lasted all of about 45 seconds before they both fell fast asleep.

But that shit is draining and emotional and all that this-is-what-being-a-parent is all about.

Or the hour and a half like this morning when Grover went from being perfectly happy to Screamy McScreamy Pants due to Jasper waking up and taking up some of the three-seater lounge he had been occupying. OH THE HUMANITY!

The screaming over the lounge then spread to not enjoying the show on TV (don’t worry Little Buddy, I HATE as in H.A.T.E. those hideous kids TV hosts too. ALL.OF.THEM.) and then, THEN to the fact I had made him a (fluffy) pancake (as he’d requested earlier before the screaming started) claiming he wanted the same sort (crepes) that Jasper had.

Yes yes, I make two versions of pancake batter. Get over it.

So then I made him some crepes. All while remaining calm. All while telling him to stop screaming, to use a nice voice, that I did not appreciate him yelling at me, that that voice was unacceptable and so on and so forth.

Then the crepes were all wrong because, from what I could gather, I placed them on the dining table as opposed to the lounge.

And so on and so forth.

That sort of sums up the weekend – and so on and so forth.

Everyone was having fun then someone got hurt/embarrassed/reprimanded and so on and so forth.

Everyone was fighting and then something funny happened and they all forgot what they were fighting about and so on and so forth.

Mummy was happy and then she was cranky and so on and so forth.

Today I am taking them to the nursery and we’re going to do some gardening.

And so on and so forth.


Oh, and in other news, I never really got the follow box either but everyone else was doing it and I thought it was something you were meant to do so now I’m taking it down because it annoys me in terms of making me worry about something that doesn’t matter in the slightest.

playing fields all over Sydney

You all know how much I hate weekend sport. Organised sport of any nature in fact. You know those teams they form at work – for indoor basketball or soccer? GOD could the fact we have to work be made any worse ??? Sure! Let’s add getting hot and sweaty with people you then have to sit in a meeting with. Stupid stupid idea.

Anyway, I got out of Felix’s soccer this morning because I got to And I was all quiety, passively agressivly stubborn about it because I endured boys playing in.the.freakin’.hallway from about 6.30-8.30 in the first place. Plus, Chef has to work tomorrow (Mother’s Day being the biggest day in the restaurant world) so I took my sleep in today.

But I took Oscar to a soccer for special needs kids open day this afternoon because the soccer obsession? Only rivals that of Star Wars. It was actually a lovely one and a half hours, as there were three families there who I knew from either therapy or one support service or another. And Oscar? Just loved it. Hung out with the coaches, scored a gazillion goals, etc. It was much better structured than the soccer we used to go to- which was all game orientated. This did skills and drills and then had a quick game at the end. Perfect.

Also, we were one kid down – I wonder if I’m one kid down when there’s four of them it will feel easier. Felix went to soccer, went home with his best friend for his birthday party, had the birthday party and then stayed for a sleepover. His best friend – L – is an only child – there was the time he had a play-date with us and when it was time to go home cried because Felix had Oscar and Jasper and all he had at home was his ‘stupid toys’. Priceless. Anyway, it was only when Mum pointed out to me that tomorrow is Mother’s Day and Felix will be “so upset” when he realises. Me? I just enjoyed the two child afternoon and evening (when they were both in bed at half seven!).

Dessert was bread and butter pudding. Delicious. (I did find it quietly ironic that the recipe is tied to when I didn’t get the promotion at work.)