Mother's Day 14

I am Loved. I know this because at 4 a.m. my four year old woke me to tell me. She told me again at 5 a.m. and 6a.m.. She loves me a lot.

Gratuitous photo of child doing what she should be doing at 4 a.m.

 At 7.20 a.m. I found a perfectly made, albeit tepid cuppa on the bedside table. At 7.45 a.m. Fishy came in to tell me there weren't many eggs today and one of the chooks was dead on the grass. Through sleepy eyes I realised I would be enduring breakfast in bed without parental guidance and that I'd be disposing of Ruby Redneck's mortal remains at some point today. 

The Big Fella is interstate so he has left instructions for the offspring which they are interpreting free form. There was a crackling sound from the kitchen. I made a pact with the powers that be that I'd bury the chook graciously if I didn't have to visit the Royal Children's Hospital today. We have been accruing frequent flyers points there of late.

Then they appeared like the Magi bearing gifts. With beaming faces and laden tray they stood above me urging me to wake up and smell the bacon. 

Indeed it is a happy face bacon portrait of Dad so he is here in salty spirit. We all gnawed on his crispy facial features. 

Shorty Divine provided her twist on the Banoffee cake with a cupcake topped with a chunk of banana. We shared that too. I like to share the food my children prepare me although it means there is less for me to enjoy. (choke)

There were gifts, home made, dodgy and delectable. There was a spoonful of kisses, a promissory note of massages, chocolate, magazines, a be-sequinned frame of their faces, a carved wooden dolphin(???) and those home made cards. I always keep the cards.

Soon I will rise like a phoenix from the tissue paper and ribbon to assess the kitchen debris and bury the chook. 

We'll prepare Fishy for his rugby match, hang and fold a canyon of washing and visit the grannies and sisters to celebrate the perfection and glitches that come with membership to Club Motherhood. 

On the whole though I have surmised that one un-iced banana topped cupcake outweighs two baskets of wet washing and a dead chook any day.

P. S. Ruby Redneck has also risen phoenix- like from the back yard. Turned out she was sun baking.

Go Ask Alice

Two weeks ago I started my first full time job for a long time. It was a little daunting but turns out to be most enjoyable and in fact rather satisfying. For the first time in twenty years I will not work as a teacher. Instead I am the art technician for a large and luscious art department down the road. (artistica) This is less demanding than teaching but deeply nurturing for the soul. I am like Alice the maid for the art block, spending my days  surrounded by walls of delicious media which makes my mouth water at least hourly.

There have been mixed responses from friends. "Really?" "Are you crazy?" "You need to be careful." "Don't overdo it.""It's perfect for you!" I like this last one best.

Here are my three golden rules for working mother perfection. (domestica) The trick is to be in complete control at all times on the homefront. 

1. Laundry will be washed, hung, folded and ironed daily. 

Alternatively, it can be scrunched in small balls deep in one of five baskets for later reflection. The laundry talismans seem to be stranded in Caloundra in an ark with the Noahs unable to get back and do my washing. 

2. Everything will have it's place.
Weeks of painstaking culling and reorganising of drawers has been undertaken to insure that no PE shirt will be lost, no goggle misplaced, no sock left abandoned by its partner.

In torrential rain, only two mornings out of four saw a wet and quivering mother twitching at the door as lost items were searched for, ten minutes after we should have left. That's two for two...not bad.

Why is it so?

3. No unpredictable or difficult situations should be permitted to disrupt the smooth cogs with which the domestica will whir along.
Mini tornadoes will please desist from laying waste to the flora.

Alas, poor Lady Marmalade Grevillea, I knew her well. In fact I may have inadvertantly given her the kiss of death by standing and admiring  her for a while the day before she was wind- whacked.

 Please peruse a last token of Lady Marmalade Grevillea's gorgeous blooms.

Et tu, Candlenut tree?! Dripping with fruit, shady and pretty and native...

she too has gone to the big Woodchipper in the sky.

                                     Did you ever notice Alice the maid toting a chain saw? 

Suddenly, in the context of life under con-Troll*, these lyrics finally make sense!

*con-Troll: [koh n-trohl ] n. evil nemesis of Control; enemy of organisation; lifestyle description

Head Room

I want this on a T-shirt.... one with flattering gathers over the breastage area. My kids are hugging me a lot and I love it but they need a warning sign sometimes! All my other friends and family are giving me the gentlest hugs like I'm all precious and it's kind of nice!I'm not the only one who's fragile. There have been other casualties. There should be more nanna naps for everyone! I decree it!
At such times the troops have rallied and truly miraculous scenes have unfolded. The Big Fella observed a similarity between the 13 year olds and boa constrictors. I enquired if it was because they were cuddly and he answered that it was more about how they spend their whole day sleeping and eating. He says they appear, dishevelled and yawning to stare blankly into the fridge, until he throws some chicken legs toward them. Then they retreat back down to Boysworld to doze and digest further. This one looks quite repulsed by the tactile quality of wet washing but he warmed up....
and they got a system going. I RAN for the camera to record this most rare event. It's like that flower that blooms in the Amazon for five minutes every fifty years! They emerged, they hung laundry, they retreated.
Yesterday the Big Fella and I enjoyed a 'date' to the very well lit HOCA unit which is not as much fun as the hooka unit we attended together in Marrakesh. We got all the drum on chemo and hair falling out and took a stroll through the chemo 'boutique'. It was a bit like a hairdresser's (ironically) with people chatting and drinking tea. I can do that. He prefers going to Southbank I think.
Afterward we had a post- date tea at the Kim Walters Unit where I was introduced to the wig room. I seem to have ended up with a pixie crop of blonder dimensions than I might usually sport. I don't want to buy a wig for just 18 weeks so this one will do. I feel I may be more of a hat person. The generous and lovely wig librarian let me take some hats to try for bald, wintry months.
This little crochet number might be copy-able into rainbow stripes or some black and white or red and white- Dr Seuss meets Olivia!
Lala looks fabulous as a head model without red eyes and black circles. Yes I need more nanna naps too. She says I can wear any of these and she's okay with it...
but, under no circumstances am I to turn up at school pick up in the jester hat!