So about 20 years ago I told The Artist that if he liked it then he better put a ring on it. It certainly was about bloody time as I was not getting any younger at the ripe old age of 26 (or so I thought). The Artist was slightly riper than me but was not in any hurry I might tell you. So I put a ring on that too.
I think it takes a while to figure out this marriage thing. It’s not for the faint-hearted. Much of the time I feel like the Secretary General of the United Nations – the good Ban Ki Moon could learn a thing or two from little Barbie Ki Sunshine over here. And as I was writing this The Artist walked in with the dog and he was holding pastries and coffee.
I took one look at him and started to cry. Because love. (And also because I have been a complete nightmare for the past week due to some added work stress and he still brought coffee and pastries!!!).
And because he said he also almost bought me another golden retriever. I sent him this photo on the weekend and told him what my version of heaven looks like.
He takes my heaven seriously. But we’re not getting a new goldie just yet – sanity has prevailed over my crazy heart.
I can’t for one minute begin to start detailing all of the past the 20 years. I can only hope that the journey continues with as much laughter and love.
Happy anniversary babe.
Love and light
So, it you’ d told me six years ago I was going to be turning 46 today I would have boxed your ears, or given you a warm klap as my countrymen would say. Because, how ridiculous is that???????
If you’re wondering how things are hanging, a bit too much if you must ask. Also been battling with a bit of a lurgy that saw me at the chemist late last night with an antibiotic script made out to Miss14. Tonsils are tonsils after all. Except some have white and red spots on them and feel like they are trying to razor their way out of your throat. And Amoxicillin is Amoxicillin – doesn’t matter whose name is on the paper. We won’t talk about the toxic waste coming out of my nose and chest because that’s just gross.
And I bet what you’re all really wondering about is THE PRESENT!!!!! Well, truth be told I banked myself a weekend in Melbourne with my mates a few weeks back – you surely saw all the pictures? If not I know you joined a cult somewhere and fell off the grid. So that was the present at the time. But The Artist is not one to arrive empty handed. This morning as I sat down to my coffee I nearly suffocated an Apple Watch (they are not comfortable to sit on, in case you were wondering). After the shock wore off, we decided I am not ready for that kind of commitment and people already talk funny about me sometimes – imagine if I walked around like 007 talking into my wrist? There was also mention of a Tag Heuer – Tag Heuer say what????????? However a couple of years back I was gifted a watch for my anniversary that I love dearly and am not ready to send to the drawer where all the old watches go. The replacement gift arrived at lunchtime enclosed in one of those lovely blue boxes that all the girls like to receive. [note to the blokes – you can never go wrong with Tiffany].
So, what are the take out’s 46 year’s in? Very different from six years ago people. Very different. Because happiness has been redefined as I know it. And here goes.
- Running on adrenalin does not make for happy. Being present in the moment most of the time makes for happy.
- The world doesn’t end if you don’t go to gym five days a week. It does end however if you don’t make it to hot yoga on a Saturday morning.
- 4pm is not for answering emails you didn’t get to whilst fetching the kids from school at 3.30pm and driving them home. 4pm is for walking Koda and breathing and looking at the beautiful headland across Lurline Bay, Coogee and Maroubra. And the world does end if you don’t do this. Because guilt.
And finally, there is such a thing as a mental health day. The first time I heard of this thing I scoffed and laughed and sneered. Well look who’s laughing now. It’s a real thing people. It’s like an adult time-out. I don’t know whether everyone needs it but I’m telling you that I embrace it instead of fighting it. If you don’t already – give it a shot. Magic stuff.
On that note I’m going to hunt for my friend Nurofen or Panadol (whoever I see first) because the tonsils are sending out SOS messages again. Thanks as always to all of you for the birthday love.
Love and light
It has been somewhat of an epic weekend here at the Chez. We had a birthday – I got the gift wrong again in case anyone was wondering. And yes, that was me walking down Crown Street on Friday morning in the pouring rain to American Apparel, for nothing it appears.
On Saturday night I had eight young teenage girls sleeping over. They have not previously slept over because back in the day, her sister before her organised a sleepover and we did not have the foresight to quarantine them downstairs. Hence The Artist and I could not sleep. At the time we were both working like mad things and were already severely stressed and sleep deprived. Let us just say that we did not put our best foot forward at 3am and we might have seemed like two potentially psychopathic serial killers. Ever since ours has been the house of non-sleepover legends. They have stayed away like the place has no wifi.
Koda was also excited that we were having guests and on the afternoon walk decided he should be in dress-up when the girls arrived. This is his Mike Tyson.
So the Chez turned into a mini B&B – I had blow-up beds aplenty and did some heavy lifting of the dining room table with Miss17 to ready the place. Things have changed somewhat from a few years ago and I can literally sleep through a freight train coming through the room on rotation. The Artist not so much but we all survived with good humour. The mountain of washing and linen that has resulted has not left me in such high spirits but this has been counteracted this afternoon by my warm bed, a cup of tea, the Olympics and a bag of Fritos. I also had chocolate cake for breakfast. Because I’m an adult and I can. Koda came barracking for chips but it was not on the cards for him. After loads of washing I was not setting myself up for forensic poop cleanup.
We then watched the Gold Coast Titans vs the New Zealand Warriors because Jarryd Hayne had his own camera. He was on the side for a good 20 minutes. I mentioned to The Artist that he could at least have taken off his shirt and made it a worth while experience. He is still cross because he feels like his great love Jonathan Thurston is being gazzumped by Hayne’s very large pay packet. I have explained to him that Thurston needs a good manager to negotiate for him and that it is not Hayne’s fault and that he should bear him no ill will. The chewing gum whilst the camera was dedicated to him on the sideline wasn’t helping endear him either.
And that is the thing about with living with The Artist. Sometimes you have to explain things that are obvious to other people. And sometimes you never know when something surprising is about to be said. Like when he commented that Manu Vatuvei looks like one of his cousins. I’m struggling with this one, naturally. He then rewound the game and paused on Manu’s face. Struggling………
And then he mentioned that when he took Miss14 to soccer this morning he arrived at the wrong field. But it wasn’t his fault because another father was already parked there and was out of his car waiting for the rest of the team to arrive. Steve (we’ll just say his name is Steve) commented that he could see Miss14 had recently polished her soccer boots. As you can imagine she has the filthiest boots on the team – The Artist then countered that with an old school rugby team rivalry joke that Steve’s team were too busy cleaning their boots to win a game against his school team (The Artist went to a school that actually could have been called Thug Life High School had it not already been called Highlands). Whilst they were trading insults and time was moving on, they realised that no-one else was arriving because they were in fact at the wrong field. The Artist is blaming Steve – because he was there already. I have again tried to explain to The Artist that he drove to the wrong field, had Steve been there or not, he still would have been at the wrong field. Sometimes it’s a hard life being the clever one.
One that note I bid you a good week, may the sun shine and the stupid be few and far between.
Love and light
It is particularly apt today that I write this post. I woke up to be smacked in the face with the world wide outpouring of grief over the passing of Prince. This led to a discussion with The Artist and I – and he learned something he didn’t know – many of you too have asked the question.
Why do I call him The Artist. Here goes:
When I started this blog I asked him to read my first post, he was rather iffily (I know that’s not a real word) rude about it and so I immediately took offence for six months and never mentioned it again. All the while blogging away. It became apparent after six months that he thought I was running a blog for work, not for me. And people were sometimes mentioning it to me when we were out and about and as he was the focus of many posts I didn’t want him to be blind-sided out there in the big wide world. Because it wasn’t something I was hiding – I was just deeply sulking about him not wanting to read my work. I also might have bought a few things on the internets to make myself feel better. So, we eventually sat down for the revelation conversation, the blog was read and then he said he didn’t like his name. After much debate we changed it – was he more like Arnold Schwartzenegger or was he more like Jamie Durie? Two weeks later he said he didn’t like his new name. Again. I felt this was bordering on the ridiculous so I huffed and puffed to my friend Candy about this name changing nonsense.
Now my friend Candy (she of the Barbie Candy fame) is really a no-nonsense kind of girl. She didn’t miss a beat and said well, you should call him The Artist. Like Prince, The Artist Formerly Known As……… and we were done. The Artist is The Artist forever more on this blog.
It would be remiss of me not to pay tribute today to the original Artist who passed today. Vale. Godspeed. “I only want to see you laughing in the purple rain.”
Love and light
I had occasion on Friday to do Faff Around. This is when I decide that I need to walk away from the good people of Apple and not tie myself to a screen. It usually involves some time at the gym, breakfast – you get the gist.
This Friday saw me first off visit the good people at BMW – yes, you heard right, the car needed to home to mama to get brake pads and discs done. My friends on “Good Morning” [our whatsapp group that deals with the insane] agree that my car is there to mess with me and to ensure that I am there to fund the new building that BMW are putting up in Rushcutters Bay starting December. I’m sure within the next nine months my car can think up numerous ways to make that happen.
After a small oversight, having left my Opal Card in my other handbag, The Artist had to come and get me – he was none too pleased having also been sequestered to do the school run with the Misses. This is an activity fraught with stress as neither see the urgency of an 8.15am start.
So once we had landed home after a detour to Centennial Park to let Koda “play puppies” I was somewhat restless and hopped a bus to Randwick to get my nails done – it was time to officially start “Faff Around Friday” and The Artist was not forthcoming with more lifting as he has to keep the home fires at the bank burning.
The nail salon is a multicultural place. My ears have become attuned to the sounds of Vietnamese being spoken while I’m getting buffed and polished and I sit and zone out with an idiotic grin on my face like I know exactly what they’re talking about. However, problem. A middle aged hubbie and wife team were having a pedi. Together. I’m not judging, strange as I find that. But that’s not the thing – it was the blah, blah, blah.
I must be honest, I am barely interested in the mundane of my own life, let alone someone else’s. I had to listen to what was on their shopping list – he whipped out a piece of paper – what order should he shop in? Where was the best place to get the sushi? Should he get a platter? And then the carrots, dear God the carrots! Where could the best carrots could be secured – was it at the fruit shop in Randwick or should he go to Bondi Junction? There were things I would have liked to do to him with those carrots that are not appropriate for this blog.
In case you were wondering I also know all about their children’s sports schedules and what they think of the soccer coach. Let’s just say that if the soccer coach knew, that kid would not be getting any major game time anytime soon.
Unrelated to carrots and soccer he then said something that she didn’t like and so he was asked “to rephrase”. This unfortunately did not end in the “no speaks” with them.
My ears were shattered at this point and I simply couldn’t take any more chances with the public so The Artist was once more asked to come retrieve me. He’s good like that The Artist. And also not interested in the mundane which is why we sometimes don’t have bread, milk and toilet paper in the house. And we discuss logistics on text – like NORMAL PEOPLE!
In case you were wondering, the colour of the day was blue. (Specifically OPI’s Get Ryd Of Thym Blues. You’re welcome).
Love and light
Yesterday The Artist took Precious in to the Temple of Mechanics of German Engineering located in Darlinghurst. Being organised he anticipated that taxi’s would be lining up three deep to drive him into the city at 8.30am. Because that is a totally realistic assessment of the traffic and transport situation on a Tuesday morning when you are about 1km from the centre of the Big Smoke.
You might not have noticed but it’s a bit hot at the moment. If you know The Artist, you will know that hot is not his thing. He sweats like a whore in church in the dead of winter. In fact, he wore a t-shirt to gallivant around Queenstown a few years ago in July. Point firmly made.
I was happily entrenched in an air-conditioned office at my place of work when the text messages began to fly. Concerned for his wellbeing because I often wonder how he gets from A to B without me I enquired how he travelled to work on that day. (It was already 25 degrees when I left the house at 7am that morning)……
Not the answer I was honestly expecting, to which I replied – why did you not catch the bus? Which opened a whole new can of worms about an Opal Card that I had appropriated last year. Now granted, The Artist had purchased it from somewhere but I had made the effort to take it and call the good people from the call centre and get it registered, hooked up to my credit card and put in my name.
And while sharing is caring my next move was to log onto that Opal account and order him his own card.
Much unhappiness because he is firmly of the opinion that he does not need it. Wrong.
I pointed out to him that Transport NSW are not going to be changing this system anytime soon and that strategically he is well placed to have his own card on his person at all times. Much grunting about the amount of charges from Opal going through on credit cards. Miss13 and Miss16 are frequent flyers.
I think however that he softened when I mentioned that he will keep the card for a few years until he’s due for the concession one.
Sometimes the silence is deafening.
(Laughs quietly to oneself).
Love and light
Today was challenging. Interestingly not because of the people in my immediate orbit because they were most lovely. Sometimes the challenge is residual. And it builds stress. And the anticipation of the residual builds even more stress. My stomach was twisting itself in knots by 10am today. I knew it would already last night.
But this is not the point of the story.
Before I hit home I dashed out for some sushi and ran into an old friend. We discussed toxic environments. And bad people. And we agreed it was so important to create distance from those things. Not the immediate point of the story but definitely a point of reference.
I ran late today and part of my stress related to my golden child being on his own for almost six hours. He doesn’t care because he just sleeps but I have the Jewish mother guilts because I’m a crazy dog lady and I care.
I burst through the door juggling two computers and a handbag and my phone started to ring. Programmed as I am, like most of us are, I answered. And then I saw my Koda waiting for me in the passage. With his beautiful face, his open heart and good intentions – always. Even when he rolls in the poo. I said to the person that I had to go and that I would call back later. Because I needed to hug my dog. I needed to hug my dog.
When things don’t make sense sometimes you need to recalibrate, bury your face in something warm and furry that loves unconditionally and talk complete nonsense to him about how he is the moon, the stars and how you love him infinity.
And then all is well in the world.
Love and light