despite the numb face


puppy

Originally uploaded by adelaide writer

…it was a great day

with a birthday feast for my Dad, with all of us happy for this happy birthday, in the shade on a warm day with a cool breeze; and cousins playing football and redefining pecking order as Eldest Boy has surprised us all with his Football Confidence; and them (Dad and partner) making sure there was something for everyone

and I finally made a chocolate and beetroot cake which the chocolate lovers loved, and I think next time I’ll add mascarpone cheese…

then home again to watch Port come in by a point, and all of us happy except Youngest Boy who didn’t find a pen in time to change his tips

and then to meet the puppy, and Youngest Boy, with eight small beagles scampering over his feet, saying over and over again ‘they’re a bit active, they’re a bit active’ and also ‘they’re biting each other, stop them biting each other’ and us ‘they’re just playing the same way you and your brother do’; and the Dog Lady watching Youngest Boy and asking us ‘does he talk like this all day’ and us, in unison ‘yes’, just as we always say; and as the mister said on the way home ‘you don’t go and see a puppy if you haven’t already decided you’ll get a dog’;

and last of all, planting the tree, in the place where the umbrella rose used to be, and we’ll have to water it with a bucket, but with all the people lopping down trees around here, we’ll be glad of the effort one day.

And, because there was birthday cake, this morning, there is cream left for my coffee, and so, despite the extra warmth and pollen in the wind, today will be good too.

While the mister and the other boy were at the birthday party

Having enjoyed three games of Connect 4 in the shade of the Queensland frangiapani (which has not flowered, so has not yet started to affect my sinuses) on the back lawn;

and having then suggested that we take our scooters for a ride;

and having had that suggestion gleefully accepted – ‘mum, you rock’;

and having scootered around the corner;

and down the street (‘who is having more fun’ the neighbours gleefully cry as they always do and it isn’t you, not really, because you don’t like the vibrations through your shoe and you worry for your boy, but you laugh back because it’s the neighbourly thing to do);

and through the park and past the skate park (‘one day I’d love to do that’ – ‘would you, we’ll see’);

and your heart sinks at the thought, the very thought, but one day he’ll have a skateboard and do things you won’t even know, but for now you scooter on;

across the railway line (the next train. to depart. from. platformfour will. now depart from…);

and down the street (gee, that dog gave me a fright);

and having chosen our DVDs (Jim Jarmusch retrospective for Sunday night now that Grey’s Anatomy is gone and ‘how about if you try one that I suggest and then you can choose whichever one you want, yes, The Lorax, that’s a good idea put back Over the Hedge‘);

and gone to the shop where they no longer sell the cream that was Moroccon Rose;

and having, while you are standing in line, your boy take you by the hand and rub your back and put his arm around you just as he did in the market this morning at the apple stall;

and then deciding you will go home through the school where your boy has swung across the monkey bars;

effortlessly;

after making the effort all year;

and your heart as warm as the day;

and follow-the-leader and dinosaur paws;

and having then scootered around that great big square and wasn’t that the bitumen they had at your own school and you have heard the echo of basketball bounces past and goodness me isn’t life sometimes all it’s supposed to be;

and having then gone back the way you have come;

until you are back at the corner where you – the adult, the grown woman, having, it is true, more fun than the child, or at the very least as much as he – stacked your scooter;

and felt your chin scrape;

and your tooth (the one that’s already chipped), hit the ground with a thunk;

and your nose;

and grit in your eye;

and isn’t it silly the things you think, but it’s true, these trousers aren’t old and they weren’t cheap and they’re black and you don’t have that many clothes and there will be a hole in the knee;

and having seen that your boy, already safely home, but wondering where you are, come back to the gate to see you limping home, and saying ‘mum…your nose…there’s blood’;

and, you, not crying in front of him, and he:

can I watch a DVD;

and you:

applying your own betadine.

Do you know one of the hard things…

…about not having a job for a while, and also being kind of on the edges of your desired ‘career’ is that bit where you have to put in ‘three referees’, because I’m a hard worker and all that, it’s just that the mister is about the only one who sees it.

Or, as they say on facebook…ThirdCat is pondering the ‘list three referees’ space on the form which needs to be lodged pretty soon.

a public service announcement

Here’s a short list of things to not do the first day off the lounge after a bout of food poisoning, which set in about an hour after you made a public swipe at Parkinson via your online personal journal:

  • make telephone contact with dog breeders;
  • agree on the spot to the quote the roof window fellow offers you, even though he is a truly lovely and genuine chap who rocks up exactly when he says he is going to, speaks to you in a respectful way, and says such reassuring things as oh, yeah, we can do that, this will be a simple job, wish they were all this simple and you could do it that way, but it’s much cheaper to do it my way;
  • turn the television on again – one full day of daytime television is enough for anyone who has passed their mid-twenties;
  • take children – one of whom (and yes, thanks for asking, the Grumpy/Obstinate One) is slightly under the weather, but has spent a whole day at combined pre-school/childcare anyway because you’re in a mad flap and really couldn’t afford to spend two days on the couch – to the market to stock up on fruit because obviously eighteen apples and six pears purchased on Saturday isn’t enough fruit for what seem to be two rather small boys;
  • re-read ‘work’ done in notebooks while in a poisoned stupor;
  • answer phone, particularly if there is a chance the person on the other end will be potential client expecting an intelligent discussion with you;
  • have a coffee to prove you are recovered.

Instead, take your partner’s advice and spend another day on the couch, although substituting DVDs for the television overload.

Also, you know how people tell you that should not reheat reheated takeaway. Yeah, well, you shouldn’t.