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.

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