OMG! I forgot it was Mother’s Day!

Well not that it was Mother’s Day. Of course I remembered it was Mother’s Day and was looking forward to breakfast in bed and a day when the kids slaved after me. And I was planning to pop over to Mum’s with a bunch of flowers and have a cup of tea.

This is my extreme Mum, sledding at Goshen, USA, earlier this year.

I was still feeling rather sorry for myself in bed nursing my cold when the call came.

“So we’ll see you at 12 for lunch?” says Dad.
“What?”
“Lunch at the club - your whole family - remember? I booked it ages ago?”
“… um… yes… okay we’ll be there.”
“Oh and don’t forget Groover’s mum.”
“Sure…” I say weakly falling back against the pillow.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” asks Groover.

Dad had booked us in to his club for lunch weeks ago. I’d forgotten. Hugamuga and Groover were going to football at 11.30am and we hadn’t told his mother that she was invited along too.

I swung into action. Rang the coach - turned out Hugamuga wasn’t on the list for this weekend anyway - warned him that Groover wouldn’t be there to be a runner (the coach was okay with that). Groover rang his mum and told her to get her glad rags on - he was taking her to lunch.

And we were ready. Drugged up to the eyeballs in cold and flu tablets but dressed, made up, in the car.

It was a very pleasant lunch and thank goodness it all came together.

In the afternoon I was a “proper” mother and ironed my kids’ shirts for school. (Usually I make them do it themselves)

And it’s FYO dinner night at the Redsultana house tonight!

Because frankly my dears, while I could give a damn, I need to put my feet up. After all, it is mother’s day, remember?

PS: Is it Mother’s Day or Mothers’ Day? Some apostrophe help would be greatly appreciated. I originally wrote Mothers’ Day as it is a day for all Mothers right? But then it looked wrong and I thought well really you only have one mother (or two maybe if you’re a surrogate or adopted) so maybe it should be Mother’s Day… What do you think?

PPS: FYO = Find Your Own

Why you shouldn’t criticise Fashion Week

A couple of days ago I was in Sydney for a work shin-dig while Australian Fashion Week was on and I posted a slightly sarcastic post about what a fashionista I was… not.

I waved a trendy vermilion scarf at the fashion gods my friend, and the gods turned to look at me in my LBD and sighed.

That one is tempting fate, they said. And poof! They flicked a finger in my general direction.

The fashion gods give

Oblivious I sashayed downstairs to meet my fellow part-tay goers, enjoy a little pre-dinner drinkie, and hop on the bus.

I love your dress, some cooed and I felt pretty good about my outfit. The ultra-cute Lisa Ho number (okay from last season but I just love it), my S&M boots. I felt hot.

We had the canapes, the entree and a few beverages and I wandered upstairs to the ladies.

The fashion gods take away

Now I should point out that the dress is a little - tight - and despite my best efforts - control tops - it had been a bit of a struggle to zip up.

So I sit down and breathe out and as I do, I feel something give.

A certain tightness across the torso had lessened.

I bring my hand behind my back and realise the horrible truth:

The zip had split. Completely.

A wardrobe malfunction of mammoth proportions and most of the evening to go.

How I survived

Luckily that vermilion scarf I’d waved earlier in the evening was draped, shawl-like, around my shoulders. I pulled it down to cover the zip and walked carefully back to my table. Luckily our table was against the wall and I was able to slip my leather jacket over my dress without exposing my back to an audience. But dancing later? No. I don’t think so.

The Lesson

And that is why I say, my friends, you must never diss the fashion gods or any festival they might choose to support. They have the power to use fashion against you!

Fashion week? A brilliant event for all. That’s what I say… now.

The confident smile of someone who doesn’t realise her zip is about to leave the party without her.

I’m too old for 2am bedtime

I’m old. Period.

Just sat in a Mike Walsh presentation on the future of media. Mike Walsh entitle’s himself - Managing Director of Tomorrow. And the tomorrow he sees is a world where The Naturals are under 20 and the rest of us are not older… we’re old.

[of course the old among us will be wondering if how a tv has-been ended up as a futurist but then again, we're old]

It’s an interesting future where movies are free and content is king - although not owned. Makes me feel a little better about seeing my posts appear on aggregation blogs.

It’s the way of the future my friend.

You should see the groovy mobile devices they have in Korea - oh yes - devices not phones - they might have the ability to make a call but that is a secondary function to say the least.

What I liked about his presentation - apart from his message - was the presentation itself. A mash up of video, photographs, groovy slides and sound bytes while he maintained an energetic verbal presentation clicking his remote mouse thingy without looking at the screen behind him. Impressive. The full surround sound.

We were sitting in the Marigold restaurant eating Yum Cha. You know I think the last time I had Yum Cha was in Sydney too. Twenty years ago. I’d forgotton how delicious it was. We scoffed our little gooey balls of yumminess and drank cup after cup of green tea and thoroughly embraced the future. Well. As much as one can when one is as old as I am. :)

At least I write a blog and I have a little share button below for you to share what you like. I might not update my myspace page or participate anymore on facebook or twitter but at least I have a passing acquaintance with the technology which I hope will allow me to “interface” with my “natural*” children.

*those born in or after 1994

Me and Chas Licciardello

Claiming that my son is a huge fan and would be sick-makingly jealous if I had my photo taken with him, I stood next to the (surprisingly not tall) Chas Licciardello from The Chaser and smiled.

Of course it’s me who is the big fan… and Hugamuga… but one doesn’t want to be so uncool. Oh except… um… I guess it’s pretty lame to then display the photo on your blog… And I don’t want to appear a stalker but that’s 2/5!

I took the family to The Chaser’s Age of Terror Variety Hour at His Majesty’s Theatre this week. I was amused, I laughed out loud, I sniggered, I wondered if we’re going to have a problem in the future recycling all those reusable green shopping bags…

Hugamuga LOVED it.

It’s like a Uni Review crossed with the Chaser’s TV show. The demographic was young. It was fun.

Details of the show.

Speaking of things happening in Perth… apparently the World Blog Awards are in our fair city in August…

Un-fayre

We’ve had 63 mm of rain in Perth today. The wettest start of April which more than doubles the previous record set in 1964. 90.6mm. W00t. Not good news for those promoting the second desalination plant in Binninup - always easier to get those things through when the dam levels are low, and not good news for those planning today’s Medieval Fayre.

Today I woke up at about 10am… I heard the sports guys on the radio going on about the rain and how it would probably clear by the afternoon in time for the clash between the Dockers and the Eagles and I rolled over and congratulated myself for taking the washing off the line.

I got up briefly. Made myself a coffee and crumpet and slothed back to bed and read a bit more of my (unexpectedly racy) novel.

A girlfried called and we chatted for awhile…

And as we were chatting, there was a knocking at my door…

Another friend had dropped by. I LOVE the drop in, although it was slightly inconvenient as I was as I say, on the phone and in my pjs. I made plans with my friend on the phone to catch up tomorrow, pulled on some jeans and went to see my visitor.

I had a lovely morning. We ended up going to Spotlight where I’m considering buying a sewing machine. Yes yes I know I’m not the world’s most obvious dressmaker and lets face it - do I really have the time - but oh those machines… I just love them. The fancy stitches which I’d never use, the LED lights, the bobbin racks and pull out accessories drawer.

I said to my friend… “Hmmm the NS10 only has a single needle. Do you really need the twin needle option?”

She said yes.

Sigh.

I got home eventually and as I logged online remembered that it was the day of the Medieval Fayre. Hey nonny nonny and all that stuff. Having watched Gladiator (isn’t that a surprisingly good movie?) the night before I was even ready to watch a couple of geeks in armour throwing a sword around. I was.

Pulling the kids in the car we headed off to the city. “Isn’t this exciting!” I enthused as we passed the statue in the river, today sporting a towel and beach spade… “Something new to do together!”

Yes, full of the joys of spring we drove until reaching Supreme Court gardens where we saw the remnants of the fayre packed up. Stacks of white plastic chairs (oh so medieval!). The odd scattered tent. Puddles.

It was only 3.15 and the Fayre was supposed to finish at 5pm. It was so unfayre!

We went to see The Spiderwick Chronicles instead. Which was fayrely entertaining movie.

How to Riffle Shuffle

Babtamore (Trish) asks “What is rifle shuffle?” Well I don’t like to take a shot-gun approach to my answers (hehe) so I’ve made you all a little video on how to riffle shuffle.

In fact this is a riffle shuffle with a Cascade Bridge Flourish. Sounds fancy eh?

Here’s some more tutorials…

And yes… that’s Groover at the end. :)

Floating in the Indian Ocean

I’m floating in the Indian Ocean. The water is like a mill pond. My head is back, my limbs crucifixed. I can feel the water lap against my ears and in the distance, above the water, children playing, a car roaring past, the faint duuf duuf of the Cottesloe Hotel.

The water supports my body. A posturpedic mattress. The sun, gentle as it begins its downward journey one hour earlier.

I am at peace.

And yet there is the faint niggle of disquiet. How long will my family let me lie.

Suddenly my feet are grabbed. Sharp little claws catch at my calves, dragging them down into the water, no longer supporting my weight.

“Will you swim with us around the pylon? I don’t want swim on my own.”

“Oh alright then.”

How could I refuse? This is my perfect swimming environment. Still and quiet. No waves.

Bliss.

And I thought I was evil

So you know how I was waffling yesterday about Easter Egg hunts and whether creating one for the kids would allow me time for a brief nanna nap. Well I went back up to the house (from the internet cafe where I’m writing this as we speak) and had a chat with the other mother…

She agreed that it was worth a try. We banished the kids to the bedroom and told them they had to stay there while we went for a walk and hid the eggs. It was midday and quite warm outside. Hot even, in full sun. The bush is very dry at the moment too and prickly.

Well we got about 20 metres from the house and my friend says to me:

“Hey, what if we don’t hide the eggs?”

“You mean… pretend to hide them, get the kids to go look for them and then just hide them somewhere in the house?!”

“Well,” she says, “We’d be doing them a favour. The eggs are going to melt in this heat…”

So that’s what we did. Walked around the 5 acre block shouting out things like… “Over here - here’s a good hiding place!”

Ten minutes later we came back to the house and sent the kids off with this clue:

“Up hill and down dale,
In Paradise the kids wail,
Where are our eggs!
Our mean mums!
Til back at home,
They sit with full tums.”

They were also told that the eggs were at the four corners of the property.

We got half an hour.

A lazy Easter mum

The older I get the lazier I get at Easter.

When the kids were little no matter where I was - camping, down south, at the station, at home - I’d organise an Easter Egg hunt. Sometime during the night eggs would be hidden everywhere and the kids had a lovely time searching them out.

They don’t particularly like Easter Eggs but they love finding them.

These days I buy one egg each. I’m thinking about hiding them somewhere in the bush but really I don’t know whether I can be bothered.

This is the bush.

Do you think it would keep them occupied long enough for me to have a little nanna nap?

The best four year old party

I’ve been to quite a few parties for four-year-olds in my time but today’s at a neighbourhood gym for my nephew, was the best.

Now my judgement may have been skewed by the fact that at 13 and 10, my children didn’t need close supervision, actually on reflection that was probably a big part of it, but the main reason I enjoyed this party was because I got the chance to let my inner child go.

I also loved the trampolining made even better by the terrific guy who ran the place who gave tips to adults and kids alike and was pretty good himself.

Usually I hate kids parties. Especially when they’re not my own kids. You don’t know the other adults who are distracted by their kids running amok, high on sugar and fast food. You sit there being polite when what you’d rather be is sat in the car reading your book.

But this time, despite the maxi-dress, I got into it. And I especially liked it when the trampoline man complimented me on my pointed toes.

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