Okay, I'm so hopelessly behind on this blog that I'm going to write the past month or so in review in much the same way that I used to write meeting minutes, back when I was an editorial assistant. Note: I usually got really bored in meetings and spent my time fidgeting, staring empty pools of bored in the general direction of the person speaking, and smirking to myself about the most recent Friday Funny FW I had received with topic lines such as "40 Fun Things to Do in a Changeroom Cubicle at KMart" (13. Sigh loudly and whine "Uh-oh! This one's out of paaaaa-per.") HA.
Oh. And my pen usually wasn't working and/or leaked while I was chewing on it, giving me Alice Cooper-like rivlets running down my chin.
1. T-bone went to the States in a 5-day round trip. Yes, that's from Melbourne to Los Angeles to San Diego and back. In five days. And back. And it wasn't in a Lear jet.
2. While he was gone I had to hire some nannies to help me round the clock not because I am a posh moneybags who flitted off to play tennis for five days, but because life is HARD managing with twins by yourself. Someday I will write a shocking Hollywood expose on how hard things are, but right now I'm too frickin' busy.
3. Recently, for the first time ever, I have wished that I could move back to my hometown so my Mum and aunties could help me out cos we really need it.
4. Next year, we are going to try to find a really really good babysitter.
5. The twins are absolutely gorgeous!
6. Oh, my, they are gorgeous!
7. Poor T-bone returned from the States with some sort of gastric ailment that wiped him out for 48 hours. It was BAD. He wore latex gloves while handling the babies which was tragic yet highly comical.
8. We moved house.
9. Into our own house, the one we bought!
10. The new house and the new neighbourhood are GREAT.
11. The move took three days of packers, movers, and unpackers while we cleared out.
12. Between T-bone going overseas and us moving house, the babies stopped sleeping.
13. We'd get 2 and a half hours out of them at the most.
14. It was a living hell.
15. They only started to improve a bit two days ago.
16. A bit, I said.
17. Somewhere in there was Christmas.
18. This year, I couldn't really give a shit about Christmas, but I hope you all had a merry one.
19. We went to Doncaster ShoppingTown and had a family photo taken with Santa.
20. HAHAHAHAHHAAHAHHA!
21. We eagerly raced into that ShoppingTown and the first thing we said, in unison, was "WHERE'S SANTA?"
22. It was a first on both fronts (the eagerness and the Santa-ness).
23. We bought a Subaru Liberty Wagon and T-bone still drives a bit fast in it, especially when beside Performance Cars at the lights. I tell him he ought to be careful or else he'll start looking like Clark Griswald, man.
24. The twins are absolutely and undeniably GORGEOUS!
25. I've started seeing a dietician and going for hour-long daily walks with the twins.
26. I lost 2.5 kilograms in just two weeks!
27. The aim is to be "back to normal" in about a year. Secretly, I hope it will be less time than that.
28. I lopped my hair off.
29. It is weird and bizarre and sometimes downright depressing looking absolutely nothing like you used to, but at least it's reversible.
30. All of my clothes are in storage. I have three outfits, each bought in 10-minutes flat while popping into Sussan with T-bone and the kids waiting in the car.
31. While walking, I spend a lot of time thinking about my Come Back and how great my new wardrobe will be, when I go buy a new one.
32. I think I have myself confused with Liza Minelli.
33. I also plan on competing in triathlons. I can't swim so good, so that stretch will have to be a dogpaddle. Or on a kick-board.
34. This new year's eve, it is our 10th wedding anniversary.
35. We plan on celebrating by passing out ... exhausted ... at 8 pm.
36. MY, the twins are GORGEOUS!
37. Things can only get better, like the song goes.
38. Yes, I realise I am very VERY lucky, even if things are hard and seemingly impossible at times.
39. Happy new year!
40. Catch you on the flipside.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Thursday, November 27, 2008
The older they get, the more obvious it is that our babies look EXACTLY LIKE US, except somewhere in the gene billabong they've gone and swapped the eyes around, meaning:
Saffron has got T-bone's face and my eyes and Jasper has got my face and T-bone's eyes.
Geddit?
Not surprisingly, this is now our A1 favourite topic of conversation. Oh! How we yak on and on and on about it, and yet it never ceases to be fascinating. This is what being cooped up inside with two people and two babies (who look just like us, except with the eyes swapped around) does to you, not to mention the fact we've always been wild and unabashed egomaniacs (preferred topic, us), any old how. Viz:
[A little bit earlier today. T-bone is holding Saffron.]
Me: Far out, dude, she looks EXACTLY LIKE YOU. Except for the eyes. Which are mine.
T-bone: Yeah, I know. Isn't it bizarre? She's got my face and your eyes.
[Suddenly jolting like it's a whole new concept, even though this is pretty much all we ever talk about (see above.)]
Jesus! She really, truly DOES look like me when I am a woman, doesn't she?
[Silence.]
Me: Did you just say WHEN you are a woman?
T-bone: Shit. I meant to say "if I was a woman". I've really given away the final game plan here, haven't I?
Le end.
Saffron has got T-bone's face and my eyes and Jasper has got my face and T-bone's eyes.
Geddit?
Not surprisingly, this is now our A1 favourite topic of conversation. Oh! How we yak on and on and on about it, and yet it never ceases to be fascinating. This is what being cooped up inside with two people and two babies (who look just like us, except with the eyes swapped around) does to you, not to mention the fact we've always been wild and unabashed egomaniacs (preferred topic, us), any old how. Viz:
[A little bit earlier today. T-bone is holding Saffron.]
Me: Far out, dude, she looks EXACTLY LIKE YOU. Except for the eyes. Which are mine.
T-bone: Yeah, I know. Isn't it bizarre? She's got my face and your eyes.
[Suddenly jolting like it's a whole new concept, even though this is pretty much all we ever talk about (see above.)]
Jesus! She really, truly DOES look like me when I am a woman, doesn't she?
[Silence.]
Me: Did you just say WHEN you are a woman?
T-bone: Shit. I meant to say "if I was a woman". I've really given away the final game plan here, haven't I?
Le end.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Holy shizzle, peeps, did my two babies, the little yowlers, REALLY TRULY sleep for a whole 6 hours and 25 minutes last night? Like from 8.50 pm to 3.15 am?
Did T-bone and I really have a strangely coherent conversation at 3.15 am, where we spoke thusly:
"Wow! Things feel clear for like the first time in YEARS. My mind feels so sharp and impossibly lucid, it almost feels like I must be on illegal drugs snorked off a really especially shiny surface or something."
Sleep, eh? It's a marvel.
And, at 4.05 am, when I was back in bed after the littlies had chowed on down, how did I take advantage of that sleep?
By staying awake for AN HOUR AND A HALF thinking something along the lines of:
WOW! The kids are starting to sleep through, I might actually start feeling normal again. WOWEEE! I can't believe it. GEE it feels good to have slept. Excellent, sleep. Yeah. Sleep. The ol' zzzzzzzzzzzzs are back in town. It's so good to have slept ...
Hmmn. I wonder where our old lava lamp is? The one we bought back in 1994. We should get a new lava-bottle-refill-thingee for it. I mean, it's been packed away long enough now. Years and years even. They don't even sell cheap plasticky knock-offs in crappy novelty shops like 'What's New?' no more. It's time to get it out again when we move house. We'll put it up high on a shelf so the kids can't reach it cos those things are darned hot to touch.
WOW! They slept for over six hours! I can't believe it.
Yeah, I wonder where I can get the refill from? I remember the Mathmos shop on Clerkenwell Road when I was living in London. Walked past it every time I walked to work. Maybe I'll have to email them or something.
WOW! They slept for over six hours.
And so on ... I probably managed another hour of sleep before they woke up demanding a full breakfast spread at 6.30.
I am a bona fide loon*.
*Admittedly, I was snuggling an ice pack of frozen-yeti-man-found-in-the-bottom-of-a-Himalayan-
lake proportions to my bosoms to fight off the hideously achey mastitis that descended the previous morning, which wasn't exactly sleep inducive. Good news is that between the ice packs and hot packs that took turns jostling for boob action over 24 hours, along with feeding the babies whenever they made a mere hint of a yelp, the mastitis seemingly hit the road, Jack.
Did T-bone and I really have a strangely coherent conversation at 3.15 am, where we spoke thusly:
"Wow! Things feel clear for like the first time in YEARS. My mind feels so sharp and impossibly lucid, it almost feels like I must be on illegal drugs snorked off a really especially shiny surface or something."
Sleep, eh? It's a marvel.
And, at 4.05 am, when I was back in bed after the littlies had chowed on down, how did I take advantage of that sleep?
By staying awake for AN HOUR AND A HALF thinking something along the lines of:
WOW! The kids are starting to sleep through, I might actually start feeling normal again. WOWEEE! I can't believe it. GEE it feels good to have slept. Excellent, sleep. Yeah. Sleep. The ol' zzzzzzzzzzzzs are back in town. It's so good to have slept ...
Hmmn. I wonder where our old lava lamp is? The one we bought back in 1994. We should get a new lava-bottle-refill-thingee for it. I mean, it's been packed away long enough now. Years and years even. They don't even sell cheap plasticky knock-offs in crappy novelty shops like 'What's New?' no more. It's time to get it out again when we move house. We'll put it up high on a shelf so the kids can't reach it cos those things are darned hot to touch.
WOW! They slept for over six hours! I can't believe it.
Yeah, I wonder where I can get the refill from? I remember the Mathmos shop on Clerkenwell Road when I was living in London. Walked past it every time I walked to work. Maybe I'll have to email them or something.
WOW! They slept for over six hours.
And so on ... I probably managed another hour of sleep before they woke up demanding a full breakfast spread at 6.30.
I am a bona fide loon*.
*Admittedly, I was snuggling an ice pack of frozen-yeti-man-found-in-the-bottom-of-a-Himalayan-
lake proportions to my bosoms to fight off the hideously achey mastitis that descended the previous morning, which wasn't exactly sleep inducive. Good news is that between the ice packs and hot packs that took turns jostling for boob action over 24 hours, along with feeding the babies whenever they made a mere hint of a yelp, the mastitis seemingly hit the road, Jack.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
This morning:
Me: T-bone, remember how the other week we went for that drive with the kids and started playing a game called "Spot the Ordinary Guy That Looks Like a Celebrity?"
T-bone: What? You mean when I said "Hey, it's The Edge!" at some guy I spotted standing on the side of the road?
Me: Yeah. That was cool fun. We should do it again.
"The Edge". Looks like some guy T-bone spotted standing on the side of the road.
Me: T-bone, remember how the other week we went for that drive with the kids and started playing a game called "Spot the Ordinary Guy That Looks Like a Celebrity?"
T-bone: What? You mean when I said "Hey, it's The Edge!" at some guy I spotted standing on the side of the road?
Me: Yeah. That was cool fun. We should do it again.
"The Edge". Looks like some guy T-bone spotted standing on the side of the road.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
My gorgeous little bunnies, Saffron and Jasper.
I am trying to think what happened this past month, and it's been a wild carnival-ride-like fuzz, much like the Tilt-A-Whirl, Hurricane, or Mean Mother Zipper (which, by the time you read this, will probably still be manned by skinny snaggle-toothed guys who play 'Welcome to the Jungle' at full hilt). The other day, Jasper, your dad cuddled you and advised "I am no longer scared of you." I think that about sums up the past month. We all got a bit more comfy with each other and our place in the world. From 4 to 7 weeks, things had been especially rocky, with lots of crying and not much sleep. At our wits end, we called in a lovely night nanny named Lisa who, over three nights, helped teach us how to guide you to sleep better. Since then, things have been on a much more even keel with everyone better rested all round. One word of advice was that babies LOVE white noise in much the same way that breastfeeding mothers LOVE carbs, especially in the form of cakes and biscuits. So, now you both sleep in your own nursery together to the constant sound of a hairdryer playing on a 10-minute loop. So, if either of you ever find yourself feeling bewilderingly snoozy at the hair salon, this is why. (For the record, you both found the-inside-noise-of-a-dishwaher H2-woeful, and thought the vacuum cleaner ... sucked. BOOM! BOOM!)
Aside from the sleep issue, the biggest progress this month was SMILING. And these are no ordinary smiles, uh-uh. These smiles stretch like rainbows, arc from here to the Moon, and make every cheesy love song I've ever heard somehow seem to be about you guys. Oh yes! Even love songs by the band Foreigner. Never, ever, EVER have I seen something so magic as my babies expressing their glee. Jasper, you were first to smile at about 7 weeks, with Saffron waiting another week or so. I wonder what stuff you'll find funny when you grow up. Will you be the kind of kids that stage slapstick antics to send in to Australia's Funniest Home Videos? Or will you be penning your own political and/or social satire to act out at Christmastime to an enthralled audience (i.e. us)? Hopefully an element of both, so long as the former doesn't involve 4-wheeler dune buggy-like vehicles flipping over. That's just plain dangerous and won't raise a laugh from me, no way Jose. Stick to pets wearing socks on highly polished floors and the like.
Another big step was breastfeeding direct from the source (i.e. my boobs and not pumped milk in a bottle). I am sure one of the last things you ever want to hear about as adults is your babydom breastfeeding habits, but I'll share them anyway. At 5 1/2 weeks you began to enjoy lounging back on a big cushion and feeding at the same time. This requires me to be as agile as an octopus, which I certainly am not, so, for things to work effectively, your dad needs to be present to prop you up in the right place. So far only one friend, Yoyo, has been called to duty in such a way, and that's a testament to our super friendship. Jasper, you like to cover the sides of your eyes much like blinkers on a horse, and set about drinking in an efficient manner ... except when you fall asleep on the job, which is often. Saffron, on the other hand, you like to drink WIDE EYED, and provide a running commentary as though you are chatting to me on a particularly bouncy bus ride. You gurgle, sigh, huff, puff, and grunt a lot. Half the time you swivel your head and crane your neck to see what's going on, viz:
TV still over there screening the latest recorded show of The Colbert Report? Check.
Staircase still going both upwards AND downwards? Check.
Kitchen area still looking kinda kitchen-y? Check.
Big boob still right in front of my face? Check.
Speaking of TV, the two of you awoke and went berserk in your cot while your dad and I were trying to watch Barack Obama's speech in Chicago upon winning the U.S. presidency, so you both came downstairs and watched that monumental event along with us. Well done on being tuned in to world events and not wanting to miss a beat.
This was a big month for your dad with him finally sealing the deal and merging his business with a big American company who have bought him (and us) out. He has worked really, really, REALLY unbelievably hard over the past 5 years from having a staff of one (himself) to employing 20 people and customers all over the world. We are very, very proud of your dad and appreciate all of his efforts.
Oh, and another thing, our house, the one that your dad and I have been building over the past 15 months, like before you even existed, is now complete. Hopefully we will be moving into it before your first-ever Christmas. HOORAY!
You have both changed so much since you were born, with your personalities shining bright for such tiny people. I look forward to seeing what the next month holds for us.
Love,
Your mummy
xoxoxoxo
I am trying to think what happened this past month, and it's been a wild carnival-ride-like fuzz, much like the Tilt-A-Whirl, Hurricane, or Mean Mother Zipper (which, by the time you read this, will probably still be manned by skinny snaggle-toothed guys who play 'Welcome to the Jungle' at full hilt). The other day, Jasper, your dad cuddled you and advised "I am no longer scared of you." I think that about sums up the past month. We all got a bit more comfy with each other and our place in the world. From 4 to 7 weeks, things had been especially rocky, with lots of crying and not much sleep. At our wits end, we called in a lovely night nanny named Lisa who, over three nights, helped teach us how to guide you to sleep better. Since then, things have been on a much more even keel with everyone better rested all round. One word of advice was that babies LOVE white noise in much the same way that breastfeeding mothers LOVE carbs, especially in the form of cakes and biscuits. So, now you both sleep in your own nursery together to the constant sound of a hairdryer playing on a 10-minute loop. So, if either of you ever find yourself feeling bewilderingly snoozy at the hair salon, this is why. (For the record, you both found the-inside-noise-of-a-dishwaher H2-woeful, and thought the vacuum cleaner ... sucked. BOOM! BOOM!)
Aside from the sleep issue, the biggest progress this month was SMILING. And these are no ordinary smiles, uh-uh. These smiles stretch like rainbows, arc from here to the Moon, and make every cheesy love song I've ever heard somehow seem to be about you guys. Oh yes! Even love songs by the band Foreigner. Never, ever, EVER have I seen something so magic as my babies expressing their glee. Jasper, you were first to smile at about 7 weeks, with Saffron waiting another week or so. I wonder what stuff you'll find funny when you grow up. Will you be the kind of kids that stage slapstick antics to send in to Australia's Funniest Home Videos? Or will you be penning your own political and/or social satire to act out at Christmastime to an enthralled audience (i.e. us)? Hopefully an element of both, so long as the former doesn't involve 4-wheeler dune buggy-like vehicles flipping over. That's just plain dangerous and won't raise a laugh from me, no way Jose. Stick to pets wearing socks on highly polished floors and the like.
Another big step was breastfeeding direct from the source (i.e. my boobs and not pumped milk in a bottle). I am sure one of the last things you ever want to hear about as adults is your babydom breastfeeding habits, but I'll share them anyway. At 5 1/2 weeks you began to enjoy lounging back on a big cushion and feeding at the same time. This requires me to be as agile as an octopus, which I certainly am not, so, for things to work effectively, your dad needs to be present to prop you up in the right place. So far only one friend, Yoyo, has been called to duty in such a way, and that's a testament to our super friendship. Jasper, you like to cover the sides of your eyes much like blinkers on a horse, and set about drinking in an efficient manner ... except when you fall asleep on the job, which is often. Saffron, on the other hand, you like to drink WIDE EYED, and provide a running commentary as though you are chatting to me on a particularly bouncy bus ride. You gurgle, sigh, huff, puff, and grunt a lot. Half the time you swivel your head and crane your neck to see what's going on, viz:
TV still over there screening the latest recorded show of The Colbert Report? Check.
Staircase still going both upwards AND downwards? Check.
Kitchen area still looking kinda kitchen-y? Check.
Big boob still right in front of my face? Check.
Speaking of TV, the two of you awoke and went berserk in your cot while your dad and I were trying to watch Barack Obama's speech in Chicago upon winning the U.S. presidency, so you both came downstairs and watched that monumental event along with us. Well done on being tuned in to world events and not wanting to miss a beat.
This was a big month for your dad with him finally sealing the deal and merging his business with a big American company who have bought him (and us) out. He has worked really, really, REALLY unbelievably hard over the past 5 years from having a staff of one (himself) to employing 20 people and customers all over the world. We are very, very proud of your dad and appreciate all of his efforts.
Oh, and another thing, our house, the one that your dad and I have been building over the past 15 months, like before you even existed, is now complete. Hopefully we will be moving into it before your first-ever Christmas. HOORAY!
You have both changed so much since you were born, with your personalities shining bright for such tiny people. I look forward to seeing what the next month holds for us.
Love,
Your mummy
xoxoxoxo
Monday, November 03, 2008
Yesterday was my birthday, and while it is usually commemorated as a splendor-filled week-long festival celebrating The All-round Awesomeness of Me, buffered with parades, dancing girls, and the obligatory champagne fountain, things were a touch subdued this year.
T-bone, in his usual scientific insight, observed that the big 33 (the birthday that was) could also be construed as four boobs, if you turned the 3's on their side. Boobs in double-vision about summed up the birthday, as with every other day that has hazed by over the past 8 weeks. This particular day began with a jaunt out to breakfast. After a 6.30 a.m. feed, we oh-so carefully styled ourselves in special going-out outfits (i.e. slung together whatever happened to be lying on the floor and not-too creased or vomit-ridden from the week before), groomed ourselves to perfection (brushed teeth, couldn't be bothered with lipstick, though later applied it en route, as I must maintain some dimly recalled level of Standard) and loped about 30 mins to one of the few half-way decent breakfasting places in this neighbourhood.
On the way, the children were perfect. Even though the problematic hills of the eastern suburbs had their pram careening like a runaway caboose meets Cool Runnings bobsled (it was a different story on the way back home, where it was all pushing up). Not believing our luck, we sat ourselves on an outside table farthest away from all the other punters with hangovers. Except at 7.15 a.m. on a Sunday there weren't too many of those, rather they were mostly wholesome jogging types peppered with a yawn of bedraggled parentals dressed in stuff better destined for the laundry bag, just like us. As soon as our lattes were ordered, Saffron decided to wail. And wail. And wail. I wasn't sure what the wail was in aid of, but it could have been something like 'DINING AL FRESCO SUX!' because she wasn't having a bar of it.
In short, T-bone and I spent the next half hour or so taking in turns walking the wailing carriage around the block, while the other party at this rockin' birthday party ate their eggs on their lonesome.
And so that was my birthday breakfast, yesterday. Otherwise it was the usual drill. I'm sure I had more to write, something a bit punchier, but two twinfants have just woken up with more wailing, ready for their mid-morning snack (as I now consider 9.15, previously thought of as barely past dawn), and derailed my train of thought.
Le end.
P.S. T-bone and the babies got me this for my birthday: a porcelain Tiger Shark Clog by artist Charles Krafft. I have been coveting it for 18 months! Lucky me!
T-bone, in his usual scientific insight, observed that the big 33 (the birthday that was) could also be construed as four boobs, if you turned the 3's on their side. Boobs in double-vision about summed up the birthday, as with every other day that has hazed by over the past 8 weeks. This particular day began with a jaunt out to breakfast. After a 6.30 a.m. feed, we oh-so carefully styled ourselves in special going-out outfits (i.e. slung together whatever happened to be lying on the floor and not-too creased or vomit-ridden from the week before), groomed ourselves to perfection (brushed teeth, couldn't be bothered with lipstick, though later applied it en route, as I must maintain some dimly recalled level of Standard) and loped about 30 mins to one of the few half-way decent breakfasting places in this neighbourhood.
On the way, the children were perfect. Even though the problematic hills of the eastern suburbs had their pram careening like a runaway caboose meets Cool Runnings bobsled (it was a different story on the way back home, where it was all pushing up). Not believing our luck, we sat ourselves on an outside table farthest away from all the other punters with hangovers. Except at 7.15 a.m. on a Sunday there weren't too many of those, rather they were mostly wholesome jogging types peppered with a yawn of bedraggled parentals dressed in stuff better destined for the laundry bag, just like us. As soon as our lattes were ordered, Saffron decided to wail. And wail. And wail. I wasn't sure what the wail was in aid of, but it could have been something like 'DINING AL FRESCO SUX!' because she wasn't having a bar of it.
In short, T-bone and I spent the next half hour or so taking in turns walking the wailing carriage around the block, while the other party at this rockin' birthday party ate their eggs on their lonesome.
And so that was my birthday breakfast, yesterday. Otherwise it was the usual drill. I'm sure I had more to write, something a bit punchier, but two twinfants have just woken up with more wailing, ready for their mid-morning snack (as I now consider 9.15, previously thought of as barely past dawn), and derailed my train of thought.
Le end.
P.S. T-bone and the babies got me this for my birthday: a porcelain Tiger Shark Clog by artist Charles Krafft. I have been coveting it for 18 months! Lucky me!
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Yesterday at 4.45, I decided to go on a stroll around Xavier College's oval for exercise and all, and yet somehow missed their year 12 muck-up day that has been splashed all over the news as:
SUBURBAN MAYHEM!!!
and
A PUBLIC RAMPAGE!!!
Apparently there were ...
WILD MOBS!!!
... of drunk balaclava-wearing year 12 Xavier students ...
HYPED UP LIKE ANIMALS!!!
... as they ran amok on the streets of Kew with ...
TIES TIED AROUND THEIR HEADS LIKE HEADBANDS!!!
And, somehow, in spite of being on the actual school grounds, I missed it!
The "ties tied around their heads like headbands" bit was what had me and T-bone battening the hatches in lockdown mode today.
Sweet Jesus, what else might these FANCY CATHOLIC SCHOOL KIDS GONE BAD be capable of?!
HOWEVER, it's no surprise to me that these Xavier students are very bad eggs indeed. If I had more time on my hands, I'd ring up talkback radio to offer my own slice of the action, you see:
Just two months ago, as a concerned citizen and neighbour of the school, I wrote an angry and indignant letter to the headmaster admonishing a year 12 student "with long and scruffy hair" for hooning a silver BMW wildly and recklessly along my street, terrorizing my mate Squiz and her newborn baby daughter as they attempted to get out of their car.
I ended that angry and indignant letter with the line:
"I do trust your school educates its pupils that bearing a driver's license is a privilege and not a right!"
TAKE THAT, SUCKERS.
Moreover!
We regularly spot Xavier students SMOKING on the balcony of the house behind us. T-bone was the one to draw this to my attention.
"I've got a good mind to go report those Xavier kids smoking on that balcony!" he said.
"GO ON, YA BIG NARK" I urged.
"No, no!" said T-bone, suddenly aghast. "They've seen me shaking my head at them. If they get in trouble at school, they'll attack our yard with eggs and flour and toilet paper!" he said.
"What sort of BAD and ROTTEN kids would do that, Old Man T-bone?!" I goaded sweetly.
"Well, that was what might've happened to Dad's neighbour when she dobbed on me and my mates," T-bone confessed, with moderate sheepishness.
Fini.
SUBURBAN MAYHEM!!!
and
A PUBLIC RAMPAGE!!!
Apparently there were ...
WILD MOBS!!!
... of drunk balaclava-wearing year 12 Xavier students ...
HYPED UP LIKE ANIMALS!!!
... as they ran amok on the streets of Kew with ...
TIES TIED AROUND THEIR HEADS LIKE HEADBANDS!!!
And, somehow, in spite of being on the actual school grounds, I missed it!
The "ties tied around their heads like headbands" bit was what had me and T-bone battening the hatches in lockdown mode today.
Sweet Jesus, what else might these FANCY CATHOLIC SCHOOL KIDS GONE BAD be capable of?!
HOWEVER, it's no surprise to me that these Xavier students are very bad eggs indeed. If I had more time on my hands, I'd ring up talkback radio to offer my own slice of the action, you see:
Just two months ago, as a concerned citizen and neighbour of the school, I wrote an angry and indignant letter to the headmaster admonishing a year 12 student "with long and scruffy hair" for hooning a silver BMW wildly and recklessly along my street, terrorizing my mate Squiz and her newborn baby daughter as they attempted to get out of their car.
I ended that angry and indignant letter with the line:
"I do trust your school educates its pupils that bearing a driver's license is a privilege and not a right!"
TAKE THAT, SUCKERS.
Moreover!
We regularly spot Xavier students SMOKING on the balcony of the house behind us. T-bone was the one to draw this to my attention.
"I've got a good mind to go report those Xavier kids smoking on that balcony!" he said.
"GO ON, YA BIG NARK" I urged.
"No, no!" said T-bone, suddenly aghast. "They've seen me shaking my head at them. If they get in trouble at school, they'll attack our yard with eggs and flour and toilet paper!" he said.
"What sort of BAD and ROTTEN kids would do that, Old Man T-bone?!" I goaded sweetly.
"Well, that was what might've happened to Dad's neighbour when she dobbed on me and my mates," T-bone confessed, with moderate sheepishness.
Fini.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Honestly, if another stranger greets me with "OH MY LAAAAWWWWWD ALMIGHTY! TWINS! GAAAAWWWD! TWO OF THEM! I DON'T KNOW HOW YOU COPE!" I will "cope" by kicking that stupid braying donkey in the head.
Yesterday we were at the child health nurse and busted in on a mother's group gathered in the meeting room. T-bone and I quietly sat there and then one of the mothers whipped around and gawked at us with her bonnie babe and exclaimed just that.
She then turned to the other mothers and, with me sitting a whole 1.5 metres away, went on to discuss how she would probably go CAAAAA-RAAAAAAZZZZZYYYYY if faced with twins and that the whole situation would be impossible. She then turned to me again and quizzed "ARE YOU BREASTFEEDING?". My reply was a swift "Yep," and then that fueled more conversation about how darned difficult that would be.
Yeah, it is. Fuck off, Fuckface!
... was what I DIDN'T say, but, MAN, was I feeling it.
So, T-bone and I ARE coping, because Jasper and Saffron need us to. But it wears you down a bit having people be so rude and becoming freakshow fodder for conversation. It's not always as LOUD and LAWWWWDY as that, still it's annoying and equally rude. If we were finding things unbearably tough, we'd hardly be walking around wearing lampshades on our heads and acting like teapots to indicate that, which is probably why this stuff pisses me off. People can be incredibly insensitive. All through my pregnancy I had similar Eeyores bellowing "ARE THEY NATURAL?" and, yes, they are, but as if the method of conception was any of their business.
Other annoying Mama Momo questions that I've had people ask, for the record:
Q: Gee, what do you DO all day, when they're sleeping and stuff?
A: What?! Are you fucking serious?
**
Q: So, are you planning on going back to work soon?
A: What?! Are you fucking serious?
**
Q: Do you think the weight's coming off?
A: Yeah, I walked around the block last week and !!!SHAZAAAM!!! off dropped 27 kilograms. ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?
**
Ooo-eeee! Yes, this probably seems like I'm blazing in a hot bubbling furnace of fury what with all those f words. Not especially, I'm just going wild at the opportunity to swear, as I'm valiantly attempting to wipe this stuff from my vocabulary sealing my fate as Saint Mama.
Yesterday we were at the child health nurse and busted in on a mother's group gathered in the meeting room. T-bone and I quietly sat there and then one of the mothers whipped around and gawked at us with her bonnie babe and exclaimed just that.
She then turned to the other mothers and, with me sitting a whole 1.5 metres away, went on to discuss how she would probably go CAAAAA-RAAAAAAZZZZZYYYYY if faced with twins and that the whole situation would be impossible. She then turned to me again and quizzed "ARE YOU BREASTFEEDING?". My reply was a swift "Yep," and then that fueled more conversation about how darned difficult that would be.
Yeah, it is. Fuck off, Fuckface!
... was what I DIDN'T say, but, MAN, was I feeling it.
So, T-bone and I ARE coping, because Jasper and Saffron need us to. But it wears you down a bit having people be so rude and becoming freakshow fodder for conversation. It's not always as LOUD and LAWWWWDY as that, still it's annoying and equally rude. If we were finding things unbearably tough, we'd hardly be walking around wearing lampshades on our heads and acting like teapots to indicate that, which is probably why this stuff pisses me off. People can be incredibly insensitive. All through my pregnancy I had similar Eeyores bellowing "ARE THEY NATURAL?" and, yes, they are, but as if the method of conception was any of their business.
Other annoying Mama Momo questions that I've had people ask, for the record:
Q: Gee, what do you DO all day, when they're sleeping and stuff?
A: What?! Are you fucking serious?
**
Q: So, are you planning on going back to work soon?
A: What?! Are you fucking serious?
**
Q: Do you think the weight's coming off?
A: Yeah, I walked around the block last week and !!!SHAZAAAM!!! off dropped 27 kilograms. ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?
**
Ooo-eeee! Yes, this probably seems like I'm blazing in a hot bubbling furnace of fury what with all those f words. Not especially, I'm just going wild at the opportunity to swear, as I'm valiantly attempting to wipe this stuff from my vocabulary sealing my fate as Saint Mama.
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
To my darling babies Saffron and Jasper,
I am going to do that monthly-letter-to-your-baby thing that lots of mothers do on their blogs nowadays, which, by the time you read a print-out of this when you are maybe 18 or 21, will officially be the olden days. A blog when you are grown up might be as strangely antiquated as Captain James Cook's log book on the good ship Endeavour, or perhaps it will be the norm for everyone, not just geeklets.
Today you are one month old. The past month has been a blur to me with so much new stuff to learn on the fly. You both sleep around two to three hours at a stretch, and I am very surprised that I can deal with this (by and large) without acting like a crazy person. Before I was your mother, anything less than seven hours sleep had me walking like a zombie, but I guess I have adapted or perhaps accepted zombie-like behaviour as normal. I had never dealt with a real live nappy before you were born, but together you clock up 14 changes a day, so I am getting quite proficient. And never ever before has Poo: Consistency, Frequency and Volume been such a hot topic of conversation between your dad and I.
You have gained around 750 grams this month, and what were your skinny little premmie arms and legs are getting much chubbier by the day. When you make direct eye contact with me, my heart sings! When you were born, Saffron, you immediately had your eyes popped wide open, looking at everyone and everything. Last week, I took you into our back garden, and you were very interested in watching the palm tree next door swaying against the blue sky. Until this past week, Jasper, you were more content to stay in your own little bubble, but now most times I look into the cot, you are staring straight back at me. When you were just one week old, you spent a long time gazing at our staircase, moving your head diagonally left and right, taking in how it worked.
Today was your first outing in a café, which was actually a bakery called Knead in Hawthorn. Your dad and I ate bacon and eggs for breakfast, and while every other table had babies who were very noisy, you were both content to sleep in your capsules at our feet. This made us hopeful that we can start to go on more outings. We want you to be sociable little babies, but at the moment going out into the big world is still very scary for us. One enjoyable thing is visiting your nurse, Elizabeth. Last week, Jasper, you wee-ed up the clinic wall while you were being weighed. Never before have I had to wipe wee, my own or otherwise, from a wall!
Many of our thoughts on what we would do when you arrived have completely flipped. Before you were here, we said you would definitely sleep in individual cots in your own nursery. Instead, you sleep right next to our bed top to tail in the single cot (to begin with you were beside one another, but now you wriggle around way too much). I also vowed you would never sleep in our bed, mostly because I thought it was too dangerous. Now, you each spend at least a few hours snuggled in bed with us at night when you find the cot too lonely. We now know we would never roll on top of you – and your healthy lungs would certainly shout if we did! I’ve now decided to not make any firm decisions about anything, and just go with the flow.
It is rare that you both cry uncontrollably at the same time, but when you do, things start to feel surreal and I expect Vin Diesel a.k.a. ‘Daddy Daycare’ to walk in the door and save the day. When we chat, I find myself saying things to you that my mum (Grandma) used to say to me all the time, like “What’s cookin’, good lookin?’ and “Guess what? You’re mad and I’m not!” I need to brush up on my nursery songs, however. So far everything goes to the tune 'Daisy Bell', where I replace 'baby' for 'Daisy' and make up the other words as they occur. Between your dad and I, our soothing techniques run the gamut from bobbing you up and down, putting you in a rocker*, pacing, swaying, and singing really badly. When I go for a walk at nights, one of you sits under dad's desk and the other is on his lap while he is on his conference calls, rocking the world, and clocking up your someday inheritance. The other day, I hit You Tube with you, Saffron, and found out that you are a Ramones fan, quieting down your yowls to listen to 'Rock n’ Roll High School' followed by 'Blitzkrieg Bop', but the novelty wore thin at 'I Wanna Be Sedated'. Or, it could well be that tunes pumped through my laptop are just a few degrees separated from white noise, which is something that little babies like to listen to.
Some days run really smoothly, while other days are really tough, but we’re all learning together. In conclusion (which, incidentally, is a really bad way to finish any form of correspondence, and especially an essay - so don't ever do it!), we are doing ok, pussycats**!
Lots and lots of love,
Your mummy
xoxoxox
* Initially I mistyped ‘putting you in a ROCKET’ as a method of soothing, rather than 'rocker'. Admittedly, yes, there are times in the deep dark hours when I would like to saddle you up in a rocket, as a brief journey into outer space seems the only answer. Luckily, there are no intergalactic transports at my disposal, so you can sit pretty on that one.
** Jasper, your dad and I are really, really sorry that we keep calling you 'Sage' by mistake. We know its weird and we do try hard to not get confused. When you grow up, you will possibly only ever vaguely remember Sage as that grumpy old skinny feline that hid in the drawer at Nanna’s house, but he truly is a top cat and good namesake.
I am going to do that monthly-letter-to-your-baby thing that lots of mothers do on their blogs nowadays, which, by the time you read a print-out of this when you are maybe 18 or 21, will officially be the olden days. A blog when you are grown up might be as strangely antiquated as Captain James Cook's log book on the good ship Endeavour, or perhaps it will be the norm for everyone, not just geeklets.
Today you are one month old. The past month has been a blur to me with so much new stuff to learn on the fly. You both sleep around two to three hours at a stretch, and I am very surprised that I can deal with this (by and large) without acting like a crazy person. Before I was your mother, anything less than seven hours sleep had me walking like a zombie, but I guess I have adapted or perhaps accepted zombie-like behaviour as normal. I had never dealt with a real live nappy before you were born, but together you clock up 14 changes a day, so I am getting quite proficient. And never ever before has Poo: Consistency, Frequency and Volume been such a hot topic of conversation between your dad and I.
You have gained around 750 grams this month, and what were your skinny little premmie arms and legs are getting much chubbier by the day. When you make direct eye contact with me, my heart sings! When you were born, Saffron, you immediately had your eyes popped wide open, looking at everyone and everything. Last week, I took you into our back garden, and you were very interested in watching the palm tree next door swaying against the blue sky. Until this past week, Jasper, you were more content to stay in your own little bubble, but now most times I look into the cot, you are staring straight back at me. When you were just one week old, you spent a long time gazing at our staircase, moving your head diagonally left and right, taking in how it worked.
Today was your first outing in a café, which was actually a bakery called Knead in Hawthorn. Your dad and I ate bacon and eggs for breakfast, and while every other table had babies who were very noisy, you were both content to sleep in your capsules at our feet. This made us hopeful that we can start to go on more outings. We want you to be sociable little babies, but at the moment going out into the big world is still very scary for us. One enjoyable thing is visiting your nurse, Elizabeth. Last week, Jasper, you wee-ed up the clinic wall while you were being weighed. Never before have I had to wipe wee, my own or otherwise, from a wall!
Many of our thoughts on what we would do when you arrived have completely flipped. Before you were here, we said you would definitely sleep in individual cots in your own nursery. Instead, you sleep right next to our bed top to tail in the single cot (to begin with you were beside one another, but now you wriggle around way too much). I also vowed you would never sleep in our bed, mostly because I thought it was too dangerous. Now, you each spend at least a few hours snuggled in bed with us at night when you find the cot too lonely. We now know we would never roll on top of you – and your healthy lungs would certainly shout if we did! I’ve now decided to not make any firm decisions about anything, and just go with the flow.
It is rare that you both cry uncontrollably at the same time, but when you do, things start to feel surreal and I expect Vin Diesel a.k.a. ‘Daddy Daycare’ to walk in the door and save the day. When we chat, I find myself saying things to you that my mum (Grandma) used to say to me all the time, like “What’s cookin’, good lookin?’ and “Guess what? You’re mad and I’m not!” I need to brush up on my nursery songs, however. So far everything goes to the tune 'Daisy Bell', where I replace 'baby' for 'Daisy' and make up the other words as they occur. Between your dad and I, our soothing techniques run the gamut from bobbing you up and down, putting you in a rocker*, pacing, swaying, and singing really badly. When I go for a walk at nights, one of you sits under dad's desk and the other is on his lap while he is on his conference calls, rocking the world, and clocking up your someday inheritance. The other day, I hit You Tube with you, Saffron, and found out that you are a Ramones fan, quieting down your yowls to listen to 'Rock n’ Roll High School' followed by 'Blitzkrieg Bop', but the novelty wore thin at 'I Wanna Be Sedated'. Or, it could well be that tunes pumped through my laptop are just a few degrees separated from white noise, which is something that little babies like to listen to.
Some days run really smoothly, while other days are really tough, but we’re all learning together. In conclusion (which, incidentally, is a really bad way to finish any form of correspondence, and especially an essay - so don't ever do it!), we are doing ok, pussycats**!
Lots and lots of love,
Your mummy
xoxoxox
* Initially I mistyped ‘putting you in a ROCKET’ as a method of soothing, rather than 'rocker'. Admittedly, yes, there are times in the deep dark hours when I would like to saddle you up in a rocket, as a brief journey into outer space seems the only answer. Luckily, there are no intergalactic transports at my disposal, so you can sit pretty on that one.
** Jasper, your dad and I are really, really sorry that we keep calling you 'Sage' by mistake. We know its weird and we do try hard to not get confused. When you grow up, you will possibly only ever vaguely remember Sage as that grumpy old skinny feline that hid in the drawer at Nanna’s house, but he truly is a top cat and good namesake.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Note: This blog entry is going to be about as fragmented as our sleep at the moment, so bear with me.
The bit about Saffron being a bit like Maria Callas (or some other diva):
Saffy lets us know she's very unhappy (or even mildly perturbed) by screwing up her face in a operatic exaggeration of despair before slowly raising her arms and belting out an aria that builds and builds to a soaring crescendo. Like this (except with a wild, red scrunchy face):
Maria Callas
The bit about Saffron being a bit like Barney from The Simpsons:
As soon as we put her down to sleep, this tiny, delicate little baby girl burps, belches and hiccups like a two-bit Beverly Hillbillies jalopy. She most certainly does not get this from her mother.
Barney from The Simpsons
The bit about Jasper being a bit like Captain Hook (or the drummer from Def Leppard):
No matter what we put him in, Jasper will hide one of his arms inside his little outfit and let the sleeve dangle in the wind. I have told him that pretending to be one-armed when he has two arms is a peculiar trait, not entirely cool, and possibly illegal in some parts, but still he persists.
Captain Hook
Rick Allen, the drummer from Def Leppard
The bit about when T-bone set some high expectations for Jasper (a long way down the track):
[When we first came home from the hospital, a midwife made a home visit to see how we were getting along. I was discussing the use of a nipple shield (plastic device that helps babies attach to the boob when they otherwise keep slip slidin' over that nipple like it's foam party time down at the local disco).]
Me: Some of the midwives at the hospital were disapproving of the shield, but without it I wouldn't be able to feed them at all.
The midwife: Some people believe the use of the shields can introduce a thing called nipple confusion, but I think the most important thing is getting the food in your baby, no matter how you do it.
T-bone: Nipple confusion! It's not like as if Jasper is going to get on his first date and say to the girl "OH! There's no plastic. What am I supposed to do with these things, huh?"
[All round silence.]
The midwife: First date? Goodness, that's ambitious!
Me: [Conscious that I now look like a total slapper. Possibly with good reason.]
Er, 'wedding night' might've been a nicer way to say that, T-bone.
T-bone: Um ... yeah ... sorry. That was what I meant.
Heeheeheeheee!
The bit about Saffron being a bit like Maria Callas (or some other diva):
Saffy lets us know she's very unhappy (or even mildly perturbed) by screwing up her face in a operatic exaggeration of despair before slowly raising her arms and belting out an aria that builds and builds to a soaring crescendo. Like this (except with a wild, red scrunchy face):
Maria Callas
The bit about Saffron being a bit like Barney from The Simpsons:
As soon as we put her down to sleep, this tiny, delicate little baby girl burps, belches and hiccups like a two-bit Beverly Hillbillies jalopy. She most certainly does not get this from her mother.
Barney from The Simpsons
The bit about Jasper being a bit like Captain Hook (or the drummer from Def Leppard):
No matter what we put him in, Jasper will hide one of his arms inside his little outfit and let the sleeve dangle in the wind. I have told him that pretending to be one-armed when he has two arms is a peculiar trait, not entirely cool, and possibly illegal in some parts, but still he persists.
Captain Hook
Rick Allen, the drummer from Def Leppard
The bit about when T-bone set some high expectations for Jasper (a long way down the track):
[When we first came home from the hospital, a midwife made a home visit to see how we were getting along. I was discussing the use of a nipple shield (plastic device that helps babies attach to the boob when they otherwise keep slip slidin' over that nipple like it's foam party time down at the local disco).]
Me: Some of the midwives at the hospital were disapproving of the shield, but without it I wouldn't be able to feed them at all.
The midwife: Some people believe the use of the shields can introduce a thing called nipple confusion, but I think the most important thing is getting the food in your baby, no matter how you do it.
T-bone: Nipple confusion! It's not like as if Jasper is going to get on his first date and say to the girl "OH! There's no plastic. What am I supposed to do with these things, huh?"
[All round silence.]
The midwife: First date? Goodness, that's ambitious!
Me: [Conscious that I now look like a total slapper. Possibly with good reason.]
Er, 'wedding night' might've been a nicer way to say that, T-bone.
T-bone: Um ... yeah ... sorry. That was what I meant.
Heeheeheeheee!
Thursday, September 18, 2008
I never ever thought that my boobs would be the centre of my existence, but right now they are. J & S are still little (though will have reached their due date on Friday) and get exhausted when fed direct from the source more than a couple of times a day, so I spend half an hour out of every three to four hours on a hot date with my double breast pump.
My hot date. Includes Ghostbuster backpack should the need arise.
The babies are such a joy and we just marvel that they're here and have such beautiful little personalities. It's all feeding, sleeping and nappy changes at the minute. Jasper is mostly content to sleep in his own little baby dream world for now, but Saffron is almost permanently EYES WIDE OPEN as she takes in the universe. As friends will attest, T-bone and I own what might well be the world's most hideously gigantic television set, and the other day I realised that I shouldn't have it switched on as the babies DO pay attention. I had the Today show on, and Saffron had her eyes locked on this guy, entirely mesmerized:
Uh-oh. Richard "Tricky Dicky" Wilkins.
If the little lady develops a fascination for tanned, spiky-haired, blond middle-aged men in the next 20 years, I will TOTALLY know that I'm a bad mother.
My hot date. Includes Ghostbuster backpack should the need arise.
The babies are such a joy and we just marvel that they're here and have such beautiful little personalities. It's all feeding, sleeping and nappy changes at the minute. Jasper is mostly content to sleep in his own little baby dream world for now, but Saffron is almost permanently EYES WIDE OPEN as she takes in the universe. As friends will attest, T-bone and I own what might well be the world's most hideously gigantic television set, and the other day I realised that I shouldn't have it switched on as the babies DO pay attention. I had the Today show on, and Saffron had her eyes locked on this guy, entirely mesmerized:
Uh-oh. Richard "Tricky Dicky" Wilkins.
If the little lady develops a fascination for tanned, spiky-haired, blond middle-aged men in the next 20 years, I will TOTALLY know that I'm a bad mother.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Introducing from left to right, and in order of oldest to youngest, our gorgeous babies:
Saffron Lulu and Jasper Julian
Saffron was born Friday 5 September, 4.06 p.m with her little brother arriving just one minute later.
Everyone is well and happy, though very tired! We all got home from hospital this morning and have already embarked on a very busy schedule of feeding, nappy changes, and (fingers crossed) sleeping.
More words soon!
(And more photos over on Flickr)
Saffron Lulu and Jasper Julian
Saffron was born Friday 5 September, 4.06 p.m with her little brother arriving just one minute later.
Everyone is well and happy, though very tired! We all got home from hospital this morning and have already embarked on a very busy schedule of feeding, nappy changes, and (fingers crossed) sleeping.
More words soon!
(And more photos over on Flickr)
Monday, September 01, 2008
[This morning. I am speaking to T-bone from my preferred languishing spot, bed.]
Momo: You know, I've loved feeling the babies inside my belly, but this whole shebang would've been so much easier if I just had a great big egg to sit on for nine months.
Awwww! If only.
Anyhoo, this will probably be my last blog entry before the eggs are hatched (this week, I am told, whether naturally or by divine intervention from my obstetrician), so I thought it would be wildly entertaining to post a BEFORE and AFTER.
Except it's not really a before and after. Rather, it's me at 15 weeks pregnant and today, almost 38 weeks pregnant.
15 weeks
At the time, I felt like I was massive. I think I'd gained about 5 kilograms or something and was flippin' out. Now I can't actually see the belly I am pointing at.
Almost 38 weeks
Behold! The most pregnant-looking woman in the world.
Catch you on the flip side!
Momo: You know, I've loved feeling the babies inside my belly, but this whole shebang would've been so much easier if I just had a great big egg to sit on for nine months.
Awwww! If only.
Anyhoo, this will probably be my last blog entry before the eggs are hatched (this week, I am told, whether naturally or by divine intervention from my obstetrician), so I thought it would be wildly entertaining to post a BEFORE and AFTER.
Except it's not really a before and after. Rather, it's me at 15 weeks pregnant and today, almost 38 weeks pregnant.
15 weeks
At the time, I felt like I was massive. I think I'd gained about 5 kilograms or something and was flippin' out. Now I can't actually see the belly I am pointing at.
Almost 38 weeks
Behold! The most pregnant-looking woman in the world.
Catch you on the flip side!
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Sometimes, when there's something you want to say, only Salt N Pepa featuring En Vogue will do.
This one's for T-bone:
Thank you for:
* Lifting me out of the bath and shouting "SUMO!"
* Shaving my legs because I can't reach them, and showing me the "right" way to do it
* Cooking everything
* Cleaning everything
* Boiling the kettle and answering to "Polly"
* Driving everywhere
* Listening to everything I say, even if it's completely crazy
* Admitting that you are nervous too
* Consulting books and the internet when my feet suddenly swell up and turn grey at 1 am
* Rubbing my elephantine feet to get the circulation going
* Taking my pulse when I say I feel faint
* Straightening my hair
* Ironing my clothes even though I keep throwing them on the floor
* Setting up the babies' room and shifting furniture under tyrannical direction
* Getting worried when I disappear from the bed in the early hours to look at eBay/eat
* Helping me un-freeze the computer when I am down to the last 30 seconds on an eBay bid for a Miu Miu handbag and am squealing "It's frozen! Help me! Help me! Help me!"
* Sitting in an icebox house because I am always too hot
* Driving with all the windows open in the car in the middle of winter
* Buying chocolate birthday cake from Safeway at 10 pm when it is not my birthday
* Listening to me recount the fascinating goings ons of Rock of Love 2 (hideous Vh1 show featuring Bret Michaels from Poison and a bunch of groupies vying to be his girlfriend)
* Still somehow running a crazy-hectic business and earning us money in the meantime
And too much else to mention ...
I LOVE YOU, T-BONE! YOU ARE THE BEST.
xxxxxxx
This one's for T-bone:
Thank you for:
* Lifting me out of the bath and shouting "SUMO!"
* Shaving my legs because I can't reach them, and showing me the "right" way to do it
* Cooking everything
* Cleaning everything
* Boiling the kettle and answering to "Polly"
* Driving everywhere
* Listening to everything I say, even if it's completely crazy
* Admitting that you are nervous too
* Consulting books and the internet when my feet suddenly swell up and turn grey at 1 am
* Rubbing my elephantine feet to get the circulation going
* Taking my pulse when I say I feel faint
* Straightening my hair
* Ironing my clothes even though I keep throwing them on the floor
* Setting up the babies' room and shifting furniture under tyrannical direction
* Getting worried when I disappear from the bed in the early hours to look at eBay/eat
* Helping me un-freeze the computer when I am down to the last 30 seconds on an eBay bid for a Miu Miu handbag and am squealing "It's frozen! Help me! Help me! Help me!"
* Sitting in an icebox house because I am always too hot
* Driving with all the windows open in the car in the middle of winter
* Buying chocolate birthday cake from Safeway at 10 pm when it is not my birthday
* Listening to me recount the fascinating goings ons of Rock of Love 2 (hideous Vh1 show featuring Bret Michaels from Poison and a bunch of groupies vying to be his girlfriend)
* Still somehow running a crazy-hectic business and earning us money in the meantime
And too much else to mention ...
I LOVE YOU, T-BONE! YOU ARE THE BEST.
xxxxxxx
Monday, August 25, 2008
[Yesterday. We are watching the men's marathon on TV.]
T-bone: Remember that Olympics where there was that guy from some tiny obscure little country who finished the marathon about six hours later than everyone else?
Momo: No. I don't remember.
T-bone: Come on, you must remember! Everyone was really behind him, cheering him on, getting him through it. All the cameras were following him. Everyone was shouting "You can do it, guy!" from the sidelines.
Momo: No. I don't remember.
T-bone: And then, after hours and hours and hours, when he finally got into the stadium, the place broke out in rapturous applause.
Momo: No. I don't remember.
T-bone: That guy, that runner from the tiny obscure little country, he was a symbol of human endurance. Of never giving up, no matter what.
Momo: Hmmn. Maybe I remember. I'm not sure.
[Five minutes later...]
T-bone: Oh, shit. I was thinking of the plot for Run Fatboy Run *.
* Not-especially-funny comedy about an out-of-shape guy (from a tiny obscure little country called England) who runs the London Marathon and finishes it six hours later than everyone else. Or something.
AND ALSO!
Thanks so very much for all the kind comments for the last post, the whiny one. I did really appreciate hearing other people's perspectives and finding out I wasn't really alone on the matter. It's a big deal knowing that your life is about to completely flip (well, it already has) and not knowing what to expect. AT. ALL. The whole way along I've been so worried the babies were going to be born too early, but now it seems they'll be arriving in a timely if not leisurely manner. Upshot is I've lobbed into a new state of calm and happy as we're nearing the very very end. Or beginning, I should say! Yee hee!
T-bone: Remember that Olympics where there was that guy from some tiny obscure little country who finished the marathon about six hours later than everyone else?
Momo: No. I don't remember.
T-bone: Come on, you must remember! Everyone was really behind him, cheering him on, getting him through it. All the cameras were following him. Everyone was shouting "You can do it, guy!" from the sidelines.
Momo: No. I don't remember.
T-bone: And then, after hours and hours and hours, when he finally got into the stadium, the place broke out in rapturous applause.
Momo: No. I don't remember.
T-bone: That guy, that runner from the tiny obscure little country, he was a symbol of human endurance. Of never giving up, no matter what.
Momo: Hmmn. Maybe I remember. I'm not sure.
[Five minutes later...]
T-bone: Oh, shit. I was thinking of the plot for Run Fatboy Run *.
Symbol of human endurance
* Not-especially-funny comedy about an out-of-shape guy (from a tiny obscure little country called England) who runs the London Marathon and finishes it six hours later than everyone else. Or something.
AND ALSO!
Thanks so very much for all the kind comments for the last post, the whiny one. I did really appreciate hearing other people's perspectives and finding out I wasn't really alone on the matter. It's a big deal knowing that your life is about to completely flip (well, it already has) and not knowing what to expect. AT. ALL. The whole way along I've been so worried the babies were going to be born too early, but now it seems they'll be arriving in a timely if not leisurely manner. Upshot is I've lobbed into a new state of calm and happy as we're nearing the very very end. Or beginning, I should say! Yee hee!
[ Read More... ]