Awkward Eating

I’m currently at the other end of the state to where I usually am, visiting my sister and newest niece. 


My own children would have liked to come with me, especially the youngest. He adores babies; we (he) often stop prams simply by attending in front of them to talk to ANYBODY’S baby. So to have one of our own is a big deal…and she’s gorgeous! 

Tuesday morning on the way to school and daycare, I reminded him that I was going on the plane that evening.

“Can I come, please?”

“Not this time, I’m sorry. It’s pretty expensive to go on the plane and we don’t have that much money. Everyone would have liked to come.”

🤔 “Do you have money for YOU to go on the plane?”

“Well, my ticket has been paid and so jowett I have no money. Luckily though, when I get there, Grandma and Aunty will feed me.”

🤔🤔😕 “Do you mean like Aunty feeds the baby?”

😲😲😂😂

“No. Maybe a sandwich.”

“I didn’t think it was right but I had to see if it was like that.”

Kids! 

🖒🐛

Housework? I Say No!

Mine is the sort of home where guests for lunch present – apart from menu planning – the added unspoken question as to whose job it will be to clear the dining room table of its drifts of paper, unopened letters and things that people dumped there on the way in from school.

And that’s the way I like it! (Mostly)

Thanks to Annabel Crabb for this eye opening, truthful, realistic and freeing article.

Lesson to my Daughter.

Dust bunnies everywhere – and they are – I salute you. I’m off to sprinkle glitter; sew Hulk costumes; read stories; watch tv; play Lego or any number of the thousand and four things I’d rather be doing than housework.

🐛

Sensory Overload

I am utterly blessed. In the midst of an overload of senses; no, through them; God has blessed me.

I have a hot little hand on my face as I try to read. It pokes me and twitches at the entrance to my nostril, making breathing odd. If I turn over, I’ll have, instead, little untrimmed toenails in one of two choice spots: kidneys or buttocks.

A short reach away, I hear the thunderous roll of snoring. I prod and suggest turning over and for a moment, the storm abates. But only for a moment. Without any lightning to warn of its advance, the long drawn in breath offers new meteorological mysteries.

Further distant still, the irritating whine of machinery. It’s monotony is broken only by the insidious, regular alarm throughout the night.

Dogs, ours, bark at intruding nothings. Loudly.

If I leave this horizontal plane and venture out, I will likely find lines of light break through the darkness. Here and there, I will hear more cacophony to interrupt my rest. From one doorway, little light accompanies the pings and whirs of levels unlocked by a well known Italian plumber in overalls. From another, brighter light pops out, as unyielding as the so called notes screamed by a boy-man wearing more eyeliner than I ever have as he bemoans his newly single state.

Should I turn and retreat, my hapless tarsal structure is likely to be assaulted by weaponry at floor level. Possibly this time, I will encounter the string of a cheap bamboo bow. As I lightly sidestep the threatened trip, my other foot may find the arrow; or Danish building materials with spiked edges; or an assortment of miniature bovines cavorting without care near an enclosure of even smaller dinosaurs; or a shadowy feline hoping for food.

But despite this risk; this riot; this rude interruption of horizontal calm that I say I’d prefer; I am utterly blessed.

Little fingers and toes are not a blessing all who wish it share.
Snoring means he’s here with me.
The whir of machinery speaks of luxury others do not have.
Lights and music mean my children are home safe. They can be and do just as they wish without fear of persecution, despite my musical preferences.
Even the scattered hazards of a family hall shout freedom, safety and luxury.

I am utterly blessed.

Veritas, Eski

Creative Writing – A Journey Part 6

“Hem, hem.” The wolf cleared his throat nervously. “I suppose you’re all wondering why I’ve called you here?”

“No, some of us are pretty sure we are going to make your next meal a little sweeter, really,” muttered a stout pig in the corner.

“Well, let me tell you a story. You may think you know how it goes, but I beseech you to listen closely. My reputation, such as it is, is on the line.”

“There I was, wandering through the forest, sniffing here and there, marking out my territory…”

“If it’s going to be THAT sort of story, I’m out of here!” A slender red squirrel twitched her sleek tail and made to leave, but those around her tutted as the wolf continued and she sat down again, clearly miffed.

“…red satin. Bright as a poppy flower it was, flashing here and there as this young miss skipped across all parts of the forest, leaving divets in the floor, ripping out wild flowers willy-nilly. You know the sort! Jolly ecoterrorism in a pretty dress, thinking they own the place. So I stopped her. Right rude she was too. 

      “I know your sort,” she said to me, snootily averting her gaze. “You’re trying to lure me off the path so I can be your next meal!”

Well, I was appalled at the idea, as well you can imagine! Eat her! I shouldn’t think of what that would do to me. Human-intolerant, you know. I have many eating choices, but she isn’t one of them.”

The wolf looked around the group gathered before him, smiling what he considered to be a winning smile. Unfortunately, he met the terrified gaze of a young rabbit whose second cousin had unwittingly crossed his path around lunchtime two Thursday previous and had not been heard from since. The wolf quickly looked away. Perhaps now was not the time to be persuasive.

Steampunk Names

Just for a little fun this afternoon, I have used this highly official name generator on our family. Henceforth, I shall known as, Professor Josephine Wraithwaddle.

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My husband is: Lord Roderick Wraithhold
Eldest son (and heir to all our debts) carries the dubious title of Lord Wilfred Roth stone.
My daughter, my princess: Chief Inspector Henrietta Supperwaddle.
The two younger children have clearly tested our ingenuity as they clash on several points of unoriginality:
Earl Archibald Clankingfield and Earl Archibald Clankingchild.
Our visiting guest goes by Chief Inspector Percival Knightchild.

Clearly the steampunk community are only original when it comes to style of dress, not naming conventions; in our household at least.

Comment with your new Monicker!

Mummy Win!

“Mummy, I love you so much!”
“Thanks darling. I love you so much too.”
“And Mum, I love you sooooo much!” With all accompanying squishing of face that we do to little people sometimes.
“That’s lovely, Theo. I love you too.”
“Mummy, you are my best friend!”
“Oh thank you! That’s beautiful.”
Daddy asks, “And what about me?”
Serious thinking face followed by, “Yes…………..

You love Mummy, too.”

Brilliant!

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Love from Eski 🐛

Echoes of bad parenting.

Bad parent award goes to me tonight. I jokingly told Neal to “Shut Up!” forgetting about our youngest child (evermore known as ‘Polly’). When I could get a word in edgewise through the loudly repeated, “Shut up! Shut up!” I had to humbly apologise for being naughty and demonstrate how a good wife and mother lovingly requests that her husband silence his contradictory opinions. It is really hard to keep a straight face when the rest of the table ‘quietly’ chortles behind their hands and ‘Polly’, in response to the question, “What do we say instead?” replies happily, “Um, Oh bugger?”

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