Sunday, May 2, 2010
Somewhere in the 80s, my granny acquired a new fangled gizmo, whereby one could sit on a padded bench, strap one’s feet into giant clamps and in an initially unnerving leap of faith, sweep arms over head, swinging one’s body 180 degrees backwards to bat (hanging-upside-down-by-feet) position. I Googled ‘hang upside down by feet thing’ and this is precisely what I am wittering on about.
Never certain of the aim of the exercise, I do remember spending long parts of hours pondering an upside down world, aiming to grow taller. At 153cm, I have always assumed that this didn’t work, although it has just occurred to me, that perhaps it did. If it did and, perish the thought, I never happened across a Hang Upside Down By Feet Thing, then it’s possible that kids even younger than twelve would tower over me today. I also recollect a series of challenges associated with upside down drinking through a straw.
Right now I’d give many things to hang upside down on one such gizmo and stretttttttttttttttch. This spine is twisted in one big scoliotic ‘S’ bend because there’s a miserable ‘MAMA-I-GOD-A-SNODDY-NOZE’ toddler in the house. There’s been a whole lot of carrying and snuggling and cuddling and managing temperatures and green noses by day and a whole lot of the same, only horizontally, by night. My world has been reduced to achieving the basics, which is why, Mr Tax Man, my statement was late, why we have watched Mary Poppins seven times (I owe you N), why there is a floordrobe stretching throughout the house, why it’s mashed potato and, hmm, something else for dinner tonight.
Except to add that there is no greater joy than the spontaneous waking from wet toddler sneeze shot from short range into one’s face.
Before the arrival of toddler ‘woe is me’ I finished those Dortje trousers. Either the eight year old has extraordinary resilience or her shrug of resignation was borne from past experience and lowered expectation. Either way she didn’t score any new trousers.
Her mother, oh non-reader of any recipe in advance, was never going to read page 45 of Sewing Clothes Kids Love before diving straight into Dortje instruction on page 95. Hence, aforementioned mother never did add the seam allowance before cutting out the fabric pieces and once sewn together, aforementioned trousers never would fit aforementioned eight year old. I have little doubt they would have been perfection on the six year old boy kid, but he said he would “rather travel to Mars and breathe in noxious gases and float around in space to infinity”, than touch ’em, let alone try ’em on.
Which is obviously why fate provided me with my youngest ‘surprise’ girl-child:
Who, two hours after playground roadtesting trousers, endearingly sneezed the beginnings of her lergy straight in my face.