There have been moments of great pride in the last week that I’m going to share with you here – random and unrelated as they are. I guess if I had more time I could build a comprehensive story around each and post individually but as I said, if I had time.
The Artist opened a Twitter account on Saturday. Being as phobic about social media as he is this was akin to a landing on the moon or an alien sighting. It was not without incident however. A few hours after he was tweeting his heart out about the cricket he came across a headline on IOL and he is completely convinced that a journo stole his tweet to use.
He’s an overnight Twitter sensation. But he’s not quite sure why the celebs aren’t tweeting him back. Baby steps Big Bird. Baby steps.
He’s also joined Instagram but I think that could be shortlived as he’s been made aware of it’s association with the evil to end all time, Facebook.
Tuesdays are a Lauren-free zone in the morning at the Chez. People are generally made to fend for themselves with the aid of post-it notes on the kitchen counter with various instructions about lunch, after school bags to take, etc. I am physically not home so my input cannot be in the mix. At 7.25 a text message was received asking about a footy singlet. A simple reply – no clue. It was of course in the drawer, washed and ready to use. However, it was pointed out to me later that the singlet was inside out so wasn’t easily identifiable. The fact of the matter is, if you put it in the washing inside out, it comes out of the washing inside out. Kapish? Okay, that wasn’t so much a proud moment as a briefly irritating one.
My phone rang frantically at around 11am. It was The Artist to tell me that Miss10 had left her lunch order (money in a paper bag with required item on the outside as a message regarding provisions required from the canteen) on the kitchen counter. And he did not know what to do about it. He could do very little about it as he was powering down the fuckknowswhat freeway to Collaroy to play golf. I was left holding the lunch baby so to speak with a hot flush (the cross kind) and a mantra in my head “do not scream down the phone” on repeat. The school had a temp receptionist on duty which didn’t help and it took two phone calls to reach Gail in the canteen. And here’s my proud moment. Before I could open my mouth Gail calmly told me that Miss10 had come to her early this morning, explained the situation and placed her order with the arrangement to pay tomorrow. Gail could not understand why I was worried for one minute – with Miss10 being her mother’s daughter and all. In my opinion we hold them so close that we forget that we also teach them survival skills (however small a survival skill this was today).
And finally I’m proud of me. I’ve been able to keep my mouth shut and my head down despite extreme provocation. From unwarranted criticism of some work to ongoing sniping remarks – things haven’t gone unnoticed – nothing passes me by. When it comes to reading people – it’s my game. I understand how things go down even when I’m told otherwise. My bullshit monitor is operational, sensitive and in peak peak condition. And while I’m proud of myself for my completely ladylike behaviour, my thoughts have been otherwise. And I’m patient. Because every dog may have his day, but the night my friends, belongs to us cats.
Love and light