Sunday was perhaps not my finest moment.
Starting with before I even opened my eyes – my first thought was that my neighbour had broken the 8am rule and that I was going to have to go over and rip his head off.
In case you’re wondering what the 8am rule is – due to circumstances that took place about two years ago when I was completely exhausted and his four children took to the garden outside my bedroom window on their trampoline (welcome to Sydney urban living) at 7am – we instituted the 8am rule. NO CHILDREN ALLOWED OUT OF THE HOUSE UNTIL 8AM. Period.
So, back to Sunday morning, I heard the chirping of little voices and realised it couldn’t possibly be 8am as my alarm for gym was to go off at 7.45am. I lay for another 6 minutes stewing. Like a good casserole. With Chillies.
I carefully opened one eye – to consolidate my rage – and found myself looking at 8:06 on the clock. After much WTF’ing and underwear being chucked everywhere we established that someone’s fat fingers when setting the alarm had moved the am to pm. The Artist had been wondering about the change of routine but was too afraid to wake me. See I have my edge of November on. And as previously mentioned, I’m not at my finest.
I managed – despite the half hour sleep in – to get to the gym and get my shit together and get to indoor soccer afterwards, on time. However, telling Miss13 to put the oven on for the frozen pizza for lunch proved to be another unexpected rage evoker when I arrived home to find the temp at 120 when I had asked for 220. D&T at school has not pointed out to them that NOTHING cooks at 120. NOTHING. Bearing in mind that I had eaten a banana all day and exercised, not having a hot oven provoked some yelling about limited intelligence. Again, not my finest moment. Miss13 declined to go shopping with me later that afternoon for new denim underpants to replace her current denim underpants that are being eaten by her bum, slowly but surely. A really classy look by the way.
There was some exhaling at Swell Bar in Bronte when I was given one of these. In case you were wondering, a caprioshka fixes everything. Absolutely everything.
The conclusion of this day of my stellar self has to be about prepping for school lunch (a mother’s most soul destroying activity). I realised that I was out of pretzels. And if you were wondering what’s so special about the pretzels – here’s a little secret. They’re the lazy mother’s way of providing something “baked” not “fried” for a snack in the lunchbox and hence avoiding criticism. They masquerade as healthy options. Unfortunately despite searching my pantry cupboard like a bastard there were no pretzels to be found. So I gave corn chips instead. And I threw in some Timtams for good measure. Because I figured I’d go for gold on this one. I’m brave with my edge of November on.
It reminds me of a framed quote that used to sit above the desk of the father of one of my first bosses (the powerboating legend Peter Lindenberg). Bill’s quote said this:
And as I walk through the valley in the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil. Because I am the meanest bastard in the valley.
I reckon I’m going to give myself a wide berth for the next few weeks. And I request that no comments are made about the length of my hair (yes really, a child at school asked Miss10 when I was having a haircut – her mother wanted to know), what I feed my children or what kind of sushi I eat (that was a pearler – ask me about the grilled salmon tartare).
We’re on the home stretch now – like those fillies in the Melbourne Cup will be today – barrelling like a rocket towards 21 December (well I am anyway).
In conclusion, be kind, otherwise shut the fuck up – because no-one, no-one cares about random commentary. Mouth brain coordination. Very important. Very, very important.
Love and light x