It’s Tuesday

Hey Tuesday, nice of you to roll around again. Thanks for stopping by.

Tuesday has previously been my least favourite day of the week. Maybe I’ve written about this before? Oops, my bad if I’m recycling content, but I guess there is only so much original content I can expect to create in my current season of life. Oops, and there I go again, distracting myself from my point. What was I typing about? Ahh yes, my previous deep resentment toward a Tuesday. No doubt this deep resentment stems from my previous life as a teenager, forced to attend long Tuesdays at School, sometimes with double maths, or double history or double science, or double whatever subject I found hard to concentrate on (HINT: there was a lot of them). eeeeek. Tuesday boringly became the bleak day that signified moving on from the glorious weekend days just passed, but did not yet allow the excited thoughts for the weekend that lay ahead – it was still too far away, too many days to get through. What developed in my mind at the thought of Tuesday, was a dreary feeling, always containing a sense of ‘hard’ (and cold). I really resented Tuesdays for existing.

Fast forward a bit, to 2022 where I’m 21 years post-high school (don’t do that maths), have 10-years experience being a part-time working parent and add in my recent forced understanding that life doesn’t always need to move in the fast lane; combine all this and I’ve moved my deep resentment to a tolerable state.

Hear that Tuesday, I now T O L E R A T E you. You’ve still got some work to do too – like, maybe some golden sunshine every now and then (today’s effort was better than the last one) or maybe a sparkling rainbow to show that you’re really trying. I promise I’d see it and feel more aligned with your vibe.

In this season of my life, Tuesdays have begun to afford me time with Little Miss at her gymnastics class (watching a group of toddlers navigate a class is pretty fun, in the same way that herding cats could be fun), followed by coffee in town and sometimes the leisurely pace a toddler allows (I say leisurely, but that may need to be read as frenetic). There is also the fact that every other Tuesday I enjoy the bonus time with the boys during school hours (we have an existing fortnightly appointment with a clinician that is immensely helpful to both boys’ education and as such, I’m the lucky parent that gets to ferry them there and back to school).

Tuesdays also feature an extracurricular activity for both boys and in normal function, myself as well. It’s the time the three of us explore a fitness pursuit away from the home and we each love our chosen activity. Mine is usually a coached running session, and the boys a Taekwondo session. So by the time we’ve gotten to the end of Tuesday, a sense of rejuvenation has occurred across the family unit – we’ve all enjoyed some time away, some fun, some focus and a release.

You’re probably tired reading about just how much our regular Tuesday entails (and I haven’t even touched on the usual daily things that have to happen – getting everyone out the door with clothes on and a packed bag, meal prep for the working days ahead, clothes washing, house tidy, grocery collection etc etc.), I used to wear this busyness as a badge of honour – but these days, I am choosing to see Tuesdays in a better light. In a way that I feel connected to the family and even myself.

A lot of Tuesday is about moving from here and there to everywhere, and yet I have found practicing a little mindfulness means my commitment to stay at peace while the rushing around occurs, works. I am refusing to give rise to the urgency that could be there, that pressure to be at the next time commitment before that time rolls around. What is surprising is the honour I give that commitment…until Wednesday morning (when hump day rolls around and it is crazy stations to get everyone out the door to where they need to be).

Telling stories

The universe seems to have reminded me that I always have a story to share. Not in the “make up” or fictional story sense, rather just the sharing of some of what transpires in my world. You see, I always seem to have the slightly absurd or the completely inane life moment where I then find myself sharing with anyone that will listen (and as I live in a community where I pretty much know everybody, it’s a lot of people I share the narrative with). And as it turns out, I quite enjoyed broadcasting this narrative to you over the years (which is how this little slice of interwebs came about), I really found my creative outlet. But as time went by, I lost my way sharing these stories.

I somehow lost my confidence in what anyone else would find interesting and I started to do what high school English did to me… The negative framing I gave myself ended up inferring I wasn’t really good enough. Hello, blog imposter. That approach robbed me of my permission to write (then and now) and actually for a time I lost that creative output. Anyway, let’s just say I love to share my story and I think those that are subject to my verbal stories need a break, so I’m here, sharing with you (again, again).

Right now, I’m going to share one of the more lighter stories in my current world, perhaps you’ll possibly lean toward it not even being a story. I don’t really mind. I’m not going to yet regale you with the tale of my rescue by helicopter from a semi-remote location (which made made the nightly news) or the time I got a horrible post-viral rash literally all over my body (in the summertime heat). Nope, actually, I don’t think I’ll ever write about a rash. That just doesn’t seem right!

This time, I’m going to share with you the time I was reflecting to my colleague, Kiralee that I’m a storyteller and really love having an outlet for that kind of creativity. And she simply said to me, “YOU HAVE A BLOG?? Have you written one about me? Why don’t you write one with my name in it? Just do the writing”. So this little piece is dedicated to you Kiralee, for being the person who reminded me to value my own creativity (and yes, who really does deserve more than one lame blog with her name in it!)

Photo of completely irrelevant to my post, but I love the sunset!

Friday on my mind

If you were to ask me what my favourite day of the week is, I’d simply look at you, smile a big smile and inform you: “Friday is my favourite day, ever”. I think it started when I was a baby, probably on the day I was born…a Friday. My love of Friday continued throughout school (I always seemed to have sport on a Friday) and then into my working life. Particularly now, as I work part-time, I don’t ever work Fridays. I just love Fridays. I can’t exactly put my finger on why I love it so; perhaps the thrill of the weekend ahead, the promise of new memories, adventures. Or perhaps at this stage of my life, it just means two lunchbox-free days 🤔. Anyway, Friday is always on my mind – I love them!

Well, make sure you don’t ask my other half if his favourite day is also a Friday. He will stare at you with ice in his heart, and say he hates Fridays. He’ll tell you that Fridays are the day where everything goes wrong, a reminder that he has to work Saturdays, and that we’re all doomed to a hell-hole of despair. He will tell you that Fridays always remind him of the hopelessness of human nature. Brace yourself for the positivity that isn’t, when you talk with Grimace about Fridays.

It’s really only one of a few topics that we’re not on the same page.

Anyway, moving right along from the hell-hole of despair, last Friday was the last* of our summertime Friday afternoons (until next summer, anyway). And I wanted to mark it with the kids by doing something outdoorsy, something filled with adventure. Something that included splashing in water. We’re in the Blue Mountains, on the East-coast of Australia, and this summer has been impacted significantly by the 2020–21 La Niña event. This has meant lots of rain and we’ve not had the opportunity to explore our local swimming holes as much as we’d like (and please, don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about the rainfall. It’s been a heaven in comparison to the the hell that was 2019/2020 summer).

So, with adventure in mind, I packed an afternoon tea picnic, everyone’s swimming and reef shoes, and collected the kids from school. We headed to Blue Mountains National Park in Glenbrook, where we walked down into Glenbrook Gorge. The afternoon was beautifully warm and featured bright blue skies; the creek running at a good speed from the recent rain. Once we’d made our way to bottom of the gorge, the kids and I rock hopped until we found a nice little spot on the creek to swim.

I had a moment of parent pride and joy, as I watched all three kids splashing in the water, laughing together. The Friday afternoon adventure was so worth the extra effort to get us there, particularly as I was able to watch them enjoy the outdoors.

The Glenbrook Gorge walk starts from the National Park car park, just behind the NPWS Office building. It’s a beautiful and fairly easy walk, being well-marked and easy to navigate. There are a number of stairs, so the walk out is less than lovely, but it’s very achievable – I managed it fairly well whilst carrying a 7.5kg baby on my front and a fully-packed day pack on my back. The kids even managed it with very little complaint.

Anyways, it’s good that today is Friday, as I’ve got Friday on my mind. Just don’t ask Grimace.

Capturing A Little Moment In Time

The dawn of 2021 has seen me don my best notebook and crayon (let’s be honest, as a family with young children, pens and pencils are never ever where they are supposed to be…or anything, actually) and take to journalling. If you’ve read any of my previous posts, it’s no secret that I enjoy writing. When we became a family of five, I unsurprisingly haven’t had the chance to write anything for my blog, and so journalling seemed like the next best thing to fill the void. That, and I realised I could hold a sacred space with my tween, by sharing a journal. And me being me (it’s rare I do new things unenthusiastically), I nabbed not one, but FOUR journals. Yep, 4. Because, well, I’m not really sure … But, there’s one for me to me, one for Grimace and I, one for Little Mate and I, and of course the tween, Giggles Magoo and I.

Needless to say, I’ve been writing more often, which feels great. They are never long entries or too reflective, but I’m wearing my best patient pants, and am waiting to grow into dedicating that amount of time to writing. For the time being, I’m happy sharing my random thoughts with the boys (if I’m honest, the journal I have for Grimace and I is still unwrapped, unwritten in… Soon, soon I tell myself).

Today’s Journal entry is something I feel I want to share on here, with you. With my writing continuing to develop, I felt inspired to catch one of those moments in time that as a parent, I wish to never forget. So here goes…

“Happy Friday. It feels good to be at the end of the week. The boys are no doubt hanging out for the weekend, where screens, screams, snacks and sleeps are their favourite things. I wonder what movie it will be tonight.

Today I had a few errandy-type things to do with Little Miss Moody. Firstly, an osteo appt for me. Unfortunately Little Miss Moody was not keen on said appointment, and spent a high percentage of it screaming at the beautiful secretary who was volunteered to hold her. She was giving her best rendition of an unsettled/screaming baby (imagine a type of muderous scream, that is really tiresome for everyone involved). The rushed appointment gave me some sweet relief, but unfortunately, my littlest love was super unsettled and essentially screamed this poor woman’s ears off. But, after a long cuddle and promises of being together for the rest of the day, it was onto the grocery shopping for us.

I’d opted to use the baby carrier whilst shopping for Little Miss Moody, just to try and undo the traumatic screams just moments ago, as well as giving her some security – she was snuggled in nice and close to me and was giggling away as I chatted to her as we went along collecting the never-ending shopping supplies. I leaned in and started playfully kissing her on the nose. With each kiss, she would giggle and giggle. I noticed that gradually those giggles got quieter and quieter. I realised that with each kiss, her eyelids were staying shut for longer and longer, eyelids heavier and heavier.

I stopped being busy shopping and really noticed my love, really noticed me enjoying the moment. Could this really be happening? My baby is going to sleep whilst being kissed and giggling?

It was true! She was indeed starting to doze off. As I stood in the quiet corner of our local shop, I shared a genuine drunk-with-love moment with my baby girl, as she lulled herself off to sleep with giggles and smooches. I felt so full within, so emotionally satisfied and connected as I carried her along to complete the shop.

Time, would you mind standing still, please. Can I hold this little love, in this very moment, for as long as possible?”

I feel really very happy that today’s Journal entry is capturing that precious moment in time 🥰

Do you have a simple, yet precious moment you’d just love to preserve? I’d love to hear from you.

Happy Friday x

…and here we are, a family of five

It’s been just shy of two months since we’ve become a family of five – we welcomed Little Miss Moody late August, and life has been one big love-bubble since. Giggles Magoo and Little Mate cannot take their eyes, hands or heart away from their little sister, and man, my heart swells every time she cracks a smile for them.

Of course we’ve had the broken nights, the extraordinary amount of washing a new baby seems to bring (especially for the family that does cloth nappies) and the neglect the bigger two kids swear we give them now our attention is taken up by the Littlest Love or the never-ending jobs we seem to have to do to make sure we keep functioning…I promise we aren’t neglecting them, not matter what they say!

All that said, we’ve also had those moments where we’ve aced parenting. And those are the ones that I will hold dear until my memory no longer works. The middle of the night or morning cuddles from all three, the laughter as we spend time in the backyard or the crowded nappy-change mat as we all peer down, drinking in her new-ness. But, it is chaos. Crazy chaos. The house is a constant bomb site, a noise testing zone and temper-testing space (for all of us) as we navigate our new rhythm.

One rare, quiet feed with Little Miss Moody, I found myself sitting there, brainstorming strategies to try and control the chaos, really resenting the mess, the noise and the frustration. Think ridiculous schedules and chore-lists for all of us, not allowing for sleep, play or any sense of family time. I don’t know where the epiphany came from, but from somewhere deep inside my brain I remembered that I had dreamed of us becoming a family of five. I had craved the chaos a third would bring and knew exactly what we’d be in for (growing up in a household of 4 kids, I knew EXACTLY what was coming). Somewhere along the way, I’d become distracted, losing sight of that dream. I’d grown into a giant, controlling Mumma – raised voice, impatience and rushed to do everything.

Now, you’re probably sitting there saying “Geeeeez love, give yourself a break, you’ve just birthed a newbie. Chill out”. And I’d have to say I felt that way for a fair while too, and possibly hid behind it for a little longer than I should. Sitting there, on the couch for that feeding session, I questioned when exactly is the time that does it not become ok; when does the yelling/idle threats of chucking things in the bin/extreme desire not to be late become normalised? The epiphany told me now is the time – enough is enough, or I could at least try to do better at leading the family through the chaos, not surrendering to the easy route. I could accept the state of chaos we find ourselves in and work with it, rather than against it.

I am grateful for the chance I had to (again) reflect on me and the kind of parent I want to be – boundary setting, but kind and able to work with the kids to accept the boundary; Helping each one to recognise their hurt/anger and working with them to soothe it, rather than resent them for it and expect they get over it immediately.

Anyways, last week marked the return to work for Grimace, and as school also returned from the October School Hols, it also marked a return to school/preschool drop offs and pick ups for me. I’m not going to lie, I was slightly daunted about how we were going to go. After day one, I had my little epiphany (there you go, it was the old school drop off regime that reminded me), I made the promise to consciously accept the chaos, and voila, the next few days were still chaotic, but with a sense of connectedness. We weren’t late, we weren’t at all yelly and we were able to live relatively harmoniously. The boys even played well together for hours. I was one happy mumma! I should also say, the baby was sleeping well at night – so that also helped.

Enter Saturday night, preliminary finals for the football night – I had promised Giggles Magoo he could watch his beloved footy team try and get into the grand final (they did!). Unfortunately it meant a late night for the kids, which we all knows equals crazy and ratty kids the next day. You can rest easy in the knowledge that I am human, and yesterday was by no means our happiest day as a family of five, despite my new-acceptance of crazy chaos. But, today is a new day and I have given myself grace; a chance to accept yesterday’s incidents of bad language, aggression, cupboard and wall drawing on, and remember that we are all human, all trying to do our (tired) best.

After the double drop offs this morning, I had a lovely coffee with my mountain-dwelling sister and felt renewed and reconnected. When I got home, I felt the urge to get creative in the kitchen – something that makes me truly happy. I could have put the house or mount-clothes away, but instead I prepped dinner (Pumpkin & Goats Cheese pie), made some museli bars and also had enough time to make some veggie sausage-style rolls for lunchboxes (again, thank you sleeping baby!!). All the while accepting the house in it’s current war-like state, and looking forward to welcoming my little cherubs back home this afternoon.

One happy mumma-of-three over here x

Just need to top this bad-boy with puff pastry and whack it in the oven for Dinner
veggie ‘sausage-style’ rolls for lunchboxes
Sleeping Baby

I Think You’re Great

I’ve been listening to a lot of music these past few weeks. Well, when I say a lot, it isn’t really that much compared to the amount I used to listen to, but I’ve definitely remembered how light and free music helps me to feel. 

Grimace and I have also made a big effort to support Australian artists, and we have both found ourselves gravitating toward Aussie bands. Me in particular toward those with female vocalists. 

I used to be that dickhead that claimed “I just didn’t like female voices” and would refuse to engage with a band or artist if she was female. I thought I liked the loud, strong male voice instead. But, I realise now I was just letting the music industry choose for me… and closing myself off to a whole lot of amazing music, led by some wonderfully talented, strong and creative women. I hang my head in shame now, realising what I was missing out on.

Don’t get me wrong, I still love a strong male voice – I still thrash about and love the energy when Luca Brasi or The Hard Aches or <insert other male-fronted Aussie band or Artist here> comes on the speaker. But, I have found making my way through the Aussie female repertoire a striking experience and one I’ve been proud to share with the three boys in my life.

Since before isolation started, the kids had discovered their love of “putting on a show”. On any given day, they’ll set up on any or all our musical instruments, organising their set, charging a cover fee, barking instructions to each other and inevitably ending in some Gallagher-brother madness. And then sometimes, we’ll get a song. Little Mate thrashes out on the guitar (electric or acoustic) or drums and Giggles Magoo is king of the keys.

Back when iso had probably just started, Grimace started to put his years of experience (of seeing a live set) to good use and was helping the kids to understand how to entertain the crowd through music and banter. He could see his message wasn’t getting through, so to demonstrate, he put on Alex the Astronaut’s live album: The Space Tour Live (at your place), which also fantastically includes a version of David Bowie’s Space Oddity, played with Paul Kelly (!!).

And aren’t we pleased Grimace had the insight to put this on for the kids?? I think I’ve had the privilege and pleasure of listening to this album approximately 678 thousand times, and with each listen I find new things I love. How she brings the crowd with her, how she is comfortable being uncomfortable, her engaging chit-chat, story-telling, reflections and of course the music. But, I think the thing I love the most are her jokes. That, and hearing Little Mate singing each and every line. He knows all the words to every song.

In what will remain as a proud parenting moment was when he parroted Alex the Astronaut’s introduction to Already Home and proudly declared to me “You’ve had a shit day at work mum, this song is for you”. I don’t know why, but I find it overly endearing that my five-year-old can recognise it’s ok to have a shit day.

Anyway, today I’ve been singing along to “I Think You’re Great” and I just wanted to jump on here today and say it’s True. I do. I think you’re all pretty great


(Except for you WordPress. You crashed on my first blog post in 6 months and I lost it all! You’ve got work to do) 

Fifth day of blogging

This will be my quickest entry… not sure we’ll call it a post; perhaps an update? Grimace and I are out on date night. We’ve got seats at The Chasers War on 2019.

It’s intermission, and I’d forgotten how positively shit the Australian news and political cycle is. It’s nice, at least, to reflect on our narrative, with lots of satire, puns and laughs.

Oops, better get back to my seat. Lots more punilicious recounts of 2019 to get through. You couldn’t make some of these happenings up.

Night x

Fourth Day of Blogging

And on the fourth day of blogging, there was nothing. Well, not nothing nothing, just nothing that I could clearly define for a beautifully themed post. So instead, I sat down and just started writing…

There was a bit going on today in Theverymoodyhousehold, with LOTS of BIG feelings. End of school year is getting to Giggles Magoo and his sense of self-worth; Little Mate just has B.I.G feelings all of the time and has trouble with moving from activity to activity or place to place or saying farewell to the day’s play buddy; Grimace has his own (mostly internal) battles going on that I am sure relate to the upcoming Christmas and the painful reminder that his mum won’t be there on the day, giving us all a hug. My big feelings were brought to be today by the anxiety I get around part-time work and the feeling of dread that a colleague has to do something for me on a day that isn’t in my work pattern.

The imposter in me say my woes are a little bit silly really, in comparison to processing the loss of a mother, or learning how to emotionally cope with the rigours of society as a four or seven year old… but the wisdom in me has taught me that acknowldgement of emotion is vital to help move beyond.

Nothing really to report on how we all dealt with the emotion, as really, today’s emotions sit in amongst the larger tribulations of life, but once home from work, Grimace took the kids to the local lagoon for a walk and a play, which really seemed to change the day. Little Mate reported back that they had seen the quakkers (I’m hoping he means the Ducks!) and they’d had a very nice time.

A healthy mental state is a vital part of our existence, but one we (hello broader society) quite often overlook. With each one of our household members feeling the end of year strain, I am very grateful to be able to step back, recognise the wear and tear we are each feeling, and then work with each family member to recharge those emotional voids. The walk at the Lagoon was what Little Mate needed; a guided Ninja Meditation was just what Giggles Magoo needed, and a little space and acknowledgement was all that I needed.

I’m not sure what Grimace needs, although I will be reminding him that his mum’s legacy of kindness and unconditional love lives on in him and his sisters, and that I know she was oh-so very proud of her clan. Will that ease the burden of loss? Probably not, but it will be nice to share in his feelings and to ease the burden of loneliness in loss.

Anyway, I’m off to bed – a little but chuffed that I managed a post this long. When I started typing, I literally had no idea what would come out.

Night, Night xx

PS. What was on my music waves tonight? Darren Hanlon’s Falling Aeroplanes, that’s what

An oldie pic, but a goodie. Circa June 2017…Happy on Holidays. Well, maybe not Little Mate (that is just his general disposition)

Third Day of Blogging

Look at me go. I’m here again, ready to write. Ready to make the space for the words to hit the keyboard. It’s very nice. Hello, you 🙂

I did sort of write a list of topics to write about for most of the days in my 12 days of blogging, as I thought I would need a hand with all the thoughts on the mid-week days. And man, don’t I know myself well? (Shhhhh don’t tell anyone that at 35, I had hoped I’d know myself!) My plan, no lets not go that far; my list of topics I could theme a post on was really an attempt at a super-plan so past-me could help future-me win the challenge (or write a blog post for 12 days straight, whatever).

On my list for tonight was to write about my adult-onset addiction to running. You might look at me and struggle to reconcile me and that last statement…but, I don’t care. Running, as a semi-overweight woman is bloody empowering. I can choose how much I want to push myself, or how little, on any given day. I can run, knowing I am strong and healthy. I can run with a smile on my face (wait, is that a hill? I’m not smiling anymore) or I can run with solitude on my mind. I love the thrill of a race or event, the camaraderie when everyone is at the start line, the high-fives at the end. I love witnessing other people push themselves or choosing that today is a day to take it easy.

What I don’t love, however is my body’s seemingly unhappy response to my addiction. There was a time in my life where I was nicknamed Cripps. I always seemed to be on crutches or in a sling or carrying some sort of injury. As I reached my adult years, I became sick of being injured, so I just got busy with life. As I reveled in the non-injuries, loving the food, booze, bands and nightlife, I began to realise that life was noisy. Peace was difficult to find, as was my spark; but at least I wasn’t Cripps anymore.

Since rediscovering the joy in moving one’s body, the peace and freedom it brings, I’ve also discovered the expense it can bring. I’ve spent a freaking fortune on physio, osteo, medical bills and lost hours doing the ice/heat swapsies game. You know, I am actually sitting here, right now, with ice on my leg, leaving my Track running session early due to a strain in some stupid muscle. I know I am the most injury-prone person I have ever come across. I don’t know what else to do about it though, so, I’ll just rest up, do the rehab, try to commit to strength training and see how I go. Good plan? I hope so. I’m told that rebellions are built on hope (thank you for the inspo Jyn Erso), and so, perhaps I’ll just start my own rebellion.

I’m old enough and wisdomed enough to know that nothing is a constant, nothing is cemented in time. Everything is impacted by my own narrative, by how I let ‘me’ be defined by my thoughts (I better make them good ones then!). Yes, this is another injury, but time will pass, and I will help my body to learn from it.

So, my plan-come-list had me supposedly writing tonight about how wonderfully transformative running has been for me personally; how my community of brilliant running females has inspired me in so many other ways; how I think I am part of lottery-winning running group, as we are led by one truly great human (hi Lyndal), one of the best – open to all things running, yes, but kindness, strength, empathy, life, laughter and Gin (you do like Gin, don’t you?). How I didn’t realise there was so much perseverance in mid-life women, but bloody hell, I do now. How I know everyone thinks their running group is the best, but how I think it’s a little silly to play the ‘mine is better than yours’ game and that I’d rather look at it from the perspective of what’s best for oneself and that we all find what we need…and I found strength, character and perseverance through running.

Ha. Good Plan, T.

Anyway, never one to follow any sort of plan, I twinged my leg at the end of warm up tonight and instead I’m sitting here drinking a gin & tonic yelling into the internet-sphere about how much I love running, despite the woes it gives me.

Second Day of Blogging

I remembered to come back! I even surprised myself. Maybe there is something in this challenge.

Let me tell you a bit about my weekend. Not the fun adventurey stuff, no siree. Let me tell you about Friday. Actually, more specifically Friday morning. Friday is the day in the week that I live for. After a busy week, I sort of fall into it, somehow still in one piece. While work is over, it is not quite the weekend; Little Mate and I send Grimace off to work and Giggles Magoo on the school bus. Friday is the day where I can be slow in my movements, grab a coffee or three, spend some time at Gymnastics, watching Little Mate tumble through the morning and then grab a cheeky sushi or bakery lunch. Friday is the day where I start loosely planning the weekend family movements and what food is in our immediate-ish future.

Friday is my jam.

Well, usually Friday is my jam. When we got to the Friday that just lapsed, my week had been fairly jumbled; at work, I’ve been given the opportunity to act up a few responsibility levels, and while I’m enjoying it (hello pay week, weren’t you a nice little surprise), if I’m perfectly honest, I am all out of whack. Probably not helping though, was a tiny piece of glass, no wait, tiny pieces of glass, that had become lodged in my foot. Pretty much from Tuesday evening to Friday afternoon, I hobbled around, trying to avoid the sharp pain jolting through my leg (Magnoplasm did eventually come to the rescue).

Anyway, I digress. Friday morning, I’m tired and cranky. I’ve slept through my alarm and now it’s 6:58am and I’m rolling out of bed to the chaos of a family house. Grimace usually leaves home at 7am-ish and I was extra grumpy at myself for not getting up earlier to help direct the morning (anyone else think that if you’re up before the kids, things tend to flow a bit better? Could just be me).

As I hobble out to the kitchen, in attempt to stop my surly face, I stop to take in the tress outside our kitchen. Maybe I could shake this funk by being in the moment or something. Anyway, our lovely bi-fold kitchen window was open, letting just a little of the cool air in, just a little of the sweet sounding birds, perhaps just the right amount of joy. Right at the very moment I thought how lovely the birds were sounding, in through said kitchen window flies a Bower Bird. A real life bird, flying into my already chaotic Friday morning.

“GRIMACCCCCEEEEEE” I bellow, “GET OUT HERE” – you see, all that had to be done was to open our back bi-fold doors and an easy escape route was there. But old hobbly-pants-me couldn’t get anywhere quickly. Husband of the year rightly comes tearing out from wherever he was, ascertained the house wasn’t on fire and we all still had all our appendages. As he calmly saunters over to open the doors, it becomes clear that my quick-thinking bellowing to summons assistance has quite literally scared the crap out of the poor bird. There is shit all over our kitchen. Grimace was mid-put away of the dishwasher, and as the door was open, the terrified bird had crapped all through the dishwasher, on the bench tops, across the floor and literally all over the walls. Unfortunately Grimace’s eyes spied the clock too and he realised it’s 7:10am…so, now not only is he late and annoyed about it, there is crap everywhere and the bird is flying manically around the house; flying into our floor-to-ceiling windows, trying to find an exit.

As Grimace opened the doors to free the bird, the poor little fella flew directly into the glass window, next to the open door, slightly knocking itself not out, just down. Down the stairs. The poor bird fell down the flight of stairs. Now Grimace has to get downstairs to open up the back door to get this tortured soul free from this glass prison. Unfortunately, we have a fairly large house these days, so getting from top to bottom can take considerable time – especially when you have a hobbly wife and two children delighted/aghast at what is occurring (it was unclear from their squeals if it was horror or glee).

The next thing we hear is an almighty BANG as the poor bird again flies straight into the double-glazed window, but this time does a better job, and is knocked out. Grimace gets the doors open and proclaims “I see this at work all the time. Birds knock em selves out, and after a few moments they’re as right as ever and off they fly”, so he rushes past me to find a shoebox or something to contain the poor, tortured bird in case it is injured.

I feel like Grimace is potentially the bird tweeter or something, as next minute, up pops the bird’s head, up it jumps and off it flies off into the morning, leaving behind a chaotic state of chaos.

Grimace was late to work, there was shit all through the house, me and the kids were still in PJ’s/unshowered/un-breakfasted and realised I had forgotten to do school lunchbox the night before.

Hello, please, where is my Friday jam?

Things did get better, we made the school bus, I had twenty seven coffees, magnoplasm attracted the lodged glass out of my foot and I played with Little Mate at several parks. I think i even spied a certain bower bird, just sitting up in the tree eyeing off the beautiful windows.