Worthy News

Are you ready?





Really ready?


You sure?



Ta Daaaaaaaa! Guess what today is...



Oh... ok then. Guess what my newspaper looked like yesterday...

Picture: Michael Sedgwick / Focus Images
The Pink 'Un

Why does a life so rich suddenly look so trivial when it's blogged?

I've visited blogs of people who are serving or have served humanitarian missions to third world countries, blogs of people training for worthy marathons and charity fundraisers. There's blogs documenting the creative processes--art, theater (that's you PM), cooking. Blogs shouting the triumphs of weight loss or family budgeting.
But here?
Real quality folks.


yeah. Maybe next week I can blog something riveting about my love for Dorritos...

Colin Firth, Where Are You?

I'm packing for my "In Search of Mr. Darcy" trip.
Yes, it's only a two-day trip, but I must be prepared for any weather and any off-chance that I may run into Colin Firth. Yes, it's not for another couple of weeks, but I need to be prepared.

We'll be touring Jane's home-- and this time I will not have to plead my way in as they are closing, so I will have time to savor the tour.

Part of my itinerary says this:

"A visit to the Jane Austen experience in Bath" "Guide walk around Jane Austen's Bath. A setting for many of her novels".

I have the information stuck to the front of the fridge -- which means Colin Firth is watching me every time I sneak into the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup ice cream. He has that look like he's judging me for doing it, but it doesn't stop me. I can still picture him very clearly emerging from his dip in the lake and this judgemental look means nothing...
It also means my family is reminded every day that I am going somewhere all by myself soon.

Tonight at dinner after Miss Ky made a big production about wanting milk to drink as well as not liking the food on her plate and the three boys were scolded for the umpteenth time (for what I can't remember), I was at the limit of my witching hour (Dad's working nights again).

It was at THAT moment, the moment they all could end up duct taped to the front door until their dad came home that the silly 11 year-old mentioned my upcoming trip.

"Where you'll be able to walk around Jane Austen's amazing bath", he flourished with pomposity and flair.

For a few short seconds I stared at him in disbelief.
I couldn't help it. I tried.
I covered my face with my hands, but the laughter rolled out over my fingertips and was soon followed by the tears when I couldn't stop laughing. I realized that my kid has seriously been thinking I was going to get a grand tour of some dead person's bathroom.

It really makes me appreciate the fact that he asked if he could go with me when the trip was first booked. He must really like me to want to go tour people's toilets for a weekend.

Excuses for My Absence

I've had an AMAZING week and have been dying to get out here to share it!

You know it was A1's birthday and he had that fab gift from his fab 'rents (that would be us) to be a mascot for the day for our favourite footy team, right? Well it gets even better!


The day he was said mascot (a huge grin covered his entire face), the hubby ran into one of our favourite players-who just happened to remember us because as stalkers a large American family, we sort of stand out.

He mentioned to "our good friend" (cracking myself up over here) that I was up in a box looking down on the event because the kid picked Dad over me (not bitter).

The pictures may have been a little clearer if I wasn't waving and telling the kids, "Look! There's Daddy, he's talking to Darel Russell".

Sexy Guy mentioned that I might be disappointed to have been rejected because I own a Simon Lappin training shirt and I wanted to wear it in a photo with him.
"Rusty" told him, "We can fix that" and set off to get Simon for a photo with me.


I mentioned I was up in a box, right?


It was a box I wasn't supposed to be in, but being that I'm from another country and don't speak the language over here, I took a wrong turn and went into the wrong place. I was in the "posh" area with a fantabulous view, but inaccessible to dreamy players looking for a photo opportunity with moi.


So sad for Simon.
Anyway, when we were discovered to be in the wrong place, they moved me and the two sons to the room we were supposed to be in-- the room with no windows. We quickly got bored with that and went to our seats a little early.

A1 had his spotlight moment kicking around with the players in front of 25,000 people and then he and his dad joined us to watch Norwich City win.

Great day all around.




BUT, it gets better.

We got a phone call the next day-- you won't believe this! Simon Lappin rang MY house!! He wanted to come out and meet me and MY family. He wanted to come kick a football around in my garden after taking a picture with me.




and then I woke up.



THIS is a testament to why one should get the appropriate amount of sleep. What a life we can have in dreamland.
Sleep, it does a body good.

THAT is why I'm not blogging. Kind of.

Perfect 10

TEN.


As in TEN Million Fireflies...

A decade.

As in ten commandments: thou shalt love thy mother for eternity...

Ten. When one becomes eligible for a child's military dependent ID.


1/10th of 100.



Ten. My "sweet, sweet Petunia".

Aren't you glad we stopped calling you that now that you're such a big guy?
It's from Veggie Tales, Larry-Boy and the Rumor Weed which is the 12th movie, not the 10th-- sorry.

Ten. The amount of letters in your first and last name combined.

Here's a thought:

Ten. If a woman was due to give birth to a baby girl in say, two months, and you were to follow in my footsteps? That baby girl would one day be your wife...

Yeah, maybe that fact is better left un-blogged (something that could be said for most of the posts actually)...

Ten words to describe you:

sweet,
kind, sensitive,
smart, sporty, silly,
loving, compassionate, daring, trustworthy.

You ARE sweet. We adore you. Happy TENTH Birthday A1. I hope your day is full of magic, surprise and a sense of how wonderful it is to know you.

One Day You'll Pay

The hedge has become an entity all it's own. My back garden grows darker with each passing month. The apple trees have passed the pruning deadline, as have the (peculiar) plum-like trees that bore fruit for the first time ever last year. The ivy has taken over most trees lining the drive and my husband's hand-saw method is falling further and further behind the growth.

Aaaaaagh!

Monday, knowing the landlord was coming to fix the crater in our driveway (that's what a couple of crazy, icy winters will do), I cleaned like a manic woman. My laundry room sparkled. I'm sure he could have cared less, but I felt better. When he laid on the floor to fix the burned outlet, I knew when he would get up, there would be no crusty clothes stuck to his legs or dryer lint in his hair.
On Friday, I walked into the laundry area and could have cried.

There sat full hampers of clothes, towels, coats and blankets. Wet football boots had a green, musty cloud floating around them and swim gear hung from the radiators.
I will still be doing that laundry into the middle of the week.

Aaaaaagh!

This is ridiculous, this trying to keep up. How do people do it? You, you over there with your hundreds of followers, hundreds of comments, beautiful photos of your happy children in clean clothes, how do you do it? Are those even your children, or did you hire them for the day?

I'm flailing.
For example: even though there is plenty of shutter snapping going on, I'm not killing myself over the 365 any more. Too many 11.59 pm photos of my keyboard, a potted plant, stacks of muddy shoes. I could feel the joy for photography dissipating as each week progressed. I had to know when to say "enough".


There's certain warning behaviour that appears just before I teeter on the edge of crazy (some of you long-time followers may have already spotted it)-- I start buying things I don't need and don't have time to use. I drool over scrapbook sales and go all dizzy smelling a new book. A new hobby? Sure, I'd love to, let's stock up on supplies. The thing is, what I really want isn't for sale on Ebay, Amazon, BooKoo or at the local shops.

No one will mail it to me.


I want a big, shiny box of time. One I can pull out and inhale the sweetness of it. Big enough to allow me to be crafty, toy with Photoshop and Picnik, make beautiful cards, just play and still allow me to have quality time with my Hubby and kids.

Who makes time? Where can I get it?

Today, I'm looking at it in the form of a young man on a tractor.

It smells like freshly cut evergreen and rich, damp earth. It's going to cost me in pounds, but what I will reap is a few hours of my husband that would have otherwise been spent up on a ladder.



Maybe paying someone to do the things I can't keep up with is worth giving up what I never needed to afford it...