I woke up at the most ridiculous hour this morning, and had every intention of leaping out of bed to get a head start on the working day. Of course I didn’t. I usually manage to do that two mornings out of seven, at most (but it’s enough). Not this morning, though – I hope that’s not a portent for the rest of the day. I’ve got a lot to get through!
Going away for a week and illness, illness everywhere has meant I was falling behind a bit. I spent a lot of yesterday morning failing at balancing work and two small children who didn’t give two shits I had stuff to do and were absolutely not co-operating in the slightest. I mean, why would they? Four and two year olds aren’t exactly bastions of logic.
After a few false starts I gave up entirely, played with the kids a bit, and then we sat outside in the only sun we’ve had in 47 years with some snacks and a cup of tea. They happily played with each other for the rest of the day and I hunched over my laptop, periodically throwing them sustenance, until their dad came home from work and I finally surveyed the carnage around me. The sight of a day well-played, the mornings grumbles behind us.
We’re definitely over the worst of the illness, thank you all for your kind thoughts. Smalls did end up at the hospital last week for x-rays and a proper diagnosis, but has pulled through mightily. I definitely had that smug feeling that we’d made it through two Melbourne winters without getting sick, but as they say, pride cometh before a fall! No more pride for me.
I’ve finally been going through my photos and things from the Portland trip, and it seems a as though I went a million years ago but it was only a couple of months. I’m still traumatised from the 15-hour flight home… they were actually the best international flights I’ve ever had, but there’s still something claustrophobically horrific about being stuck in a small seat penned in by sleeping people that one can’t quite come to terms with. I remember the lady next to me, who was incredibly polite and kind busting out with “how many hours left? 11? Oh… that’s really rather depressing, isn’t it?”… yes. yes it is.
Father’s Day was a very quiet affair around here, and the weather was miserable (what’s new?!) so we decided to have a bit of an afternoon movie situation. My four-year-old is quite sensitive, and has been asking me about death and dying lately (and periods, heaven help me, I thought this shit was years away) so I picked the David Attenborough documentary that would have the least amount of wildlife massacre, and a Disney movie that was about robots, and robots can’t die. Well it turns out that PLENTY OF PEOPLE CAN DIE/GET BLOWN UP/DISAPPEAR INTO HYPERSPACE AND SEND THEIR FATHERS CRAZY, and whales really do rip each other apart in the ocean, turning the water into a turbulent, red mess. We rounded it out with everybody’s family favourite, National Lampoon’s Vacation where Aunt Edna proceeds to cark it in the back seat and suddenly Biggie’s asking me what happened to their granny? Did she die? Yes, honey. Everyone’s died today. Everyone. I am horrifically crap at choosing appropriate viewing material.
I am excellent at making salted caramel cheesecakes, so I banged one of those out. And also jalapeno bagels, except minus the jalapeno because I couldn’t get the lid off the jar. I also gave some choc chip cookies a go and craftily hid chopped almonds in them, that smalls craftily picks out. I’m done with cooking this week, I wish food would magically appear on plates until I regain my mojo.
A small and incredibly cute elf has appeared at my side, drowning in a too-big robe, so I’m off to squeeze her til she pops. Have a good one, y’all!