Monday, July 12, 2010
The unexpected break in transmission was prompted by sudden fatigue at the sound of my own voice. I probably talk as I write (though I’m reliably informed I’m ‘more boring’ in real life), so I thought I’d show quiet restraint here as well. But school’s back today and two out of three children are wearing clean underwear and the kid that isn’t is wearing his bathers underneath his clothes and given he has a swimming lesson straight after school, I’m feeling suitably organised and ready to get back into the crafty, bloggy, swing of things. Tomorrow.
Today is only about four small items of some significance (or non-significance, depending if you are me or not).
1. The middle, (not undie, but bathers-wearing) kid, lost a tooth last week which was promptly swallowed. A note of explanation was dutifully written to the Tooth Fairy. The Tooth Fairy was promptly distracted by other, more pressing school-holiday-stay-in-pyjama-style concerns and only remembered to pay up last night. Bad fairy.
2. On the same day that the tooth went the way of two of its predecessors, the smallest mastered the art of nodding a yes. The kind of nod that does not involve a gross motor skill, whole body, sort of movement. A nod that involves but a tilt of the head. There you have it, the kid ain’t no baby anymore.
3. At the very beginning of the World Cup, a close Dutch friend and I were conversing on the phone and vowed, that in the extraordinarily unlikely event that the Aussies, or more feasibly, the Oranjes, made it to the final, that the other would stay up to barrack. In the Dutch friend’s case this meant a leisurely slump in front of early evening TV. In my case, this meant setting an alarm for four this morning and pretending to come over orange enthusiastic, while the almost oblivious Dutch friend holidayed somewhere in Italy. All I have to show for this is yet another drastic case of eyebags, further confusion over the offside rule, a sneaking suspicion that the Spaniards deserved their victory and certifiable proof that I am a woman of my word.
4. That fish up there is Imposter Eunice* and she is my penance for all kinds of parenting evil. Thou shalt never again, replace a karked** fish in favour of burying and mourning a beloved pet in a rightful fashion. Even if beloved pet is only noticed once karked. Imposter Eunice ate every fish in the tank and grew from 3cm in diameter (not including fin bits) to 10cm in diameter (still not including fin bits). Pets with cannibalistic tendencies are unnerving. Last week there was alarm at the discovery of an extra stick insect and subsequent appalled panic when Camouflaged Twig (that’s his name) proceeded to chew on said extra. Turns out stick insects shed their skins. Then eat ’em. Except for the leg bits which looked a bit on the dry side. Here is Camouflaged Twig in his brand new suit:
And that’s about it for today.
* Before there was the blog, there were the fish, Myrtle and Eunice. Way before there were the fish, there were those two lovely ladies, Myrtle and (Nana) Eunice.
** Dead as a doornail. Pushing up daisies. Or in this instance feeding the worm farm.