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;


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.

0 thoughts on “While the mister and the other boy were at the birthday party”

  1. Hey! Thanks everyone!

    I couldn’t face red wine. I had a cup of tea and a lemon icy pole left over from last week’s food poisoning and spent the evening on the couch with a rug over me and reading.

    It’s all pretty superficial. I don’t look too bad today, though the boys won’t hug me because they don’t want to get blood on themselves, I’ve got a thumping headache and already my neighbour (a nurse) has asked ‘what happened to you…you fell off your scooter didn’t you?’ as she peered carefully at my swollen lip, the cut on my top lip (which makes me look a bit like hitler) and the graze on my chin. The jury is still out on the tooth, but I do have a tendency to imagine the worst (I know, I do a good job of hiding that about myself).

    Anyway, it will give everyone something to laugh about for the rest of the day. Comedy, as they say, is tragedy plus time.

  2. Oh, that truly sucks. Hope you’re feeling better. 🙂

    Reminds me of the time I was having a hallmark moment playing soccer in the park with my 3-year-old, when I realised the stupidity of doing so while wearing thongs. Spreadeage in a prickle patch.

    They don’t make betadine for dignity, do they?

  3. Hope everything is ok.

    I reckon it’ll take about 24 hours until it’s a pretty good story.

    A week or two and it’ll be a ripper.

    “Hey T Cat – tell us about the time you fell off the scooter”

    yeah skateboards. Mine was addicted from about 10 to 17. Mad street skater. Chased by more security guys than you could poke a stick at. Only in hospital twice. But lots of skin lost. Now has metal plate and screws in arm [Here feel them]after a re-break to make it swivel like normal. One highlight – getting (almost good naturely) tooted by Jeff Kennett after (deliberately) skating out on road in front of Jeff’s car.

  4. Mum, you DO rock! There’s a price to be paid for being a rockin’ mum sometimes …

    A beautiful post. Even if you did go through a bit to get it.

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