Morphing into the Griswolds - Part Two

My way of dealing with the general state of chaos that life throws at you is to make plans and lists. I loooove lists, especially with tick boxes, tick boxes are great. Prior to Nanny B's arrival plans were made to deal with my growing anxiety over the dodgy car hand over :

PLAN A - Get car serviced and have loose clutch cable tightened.

Foiled by : The Coach could still hear his radio thus the expense and inconvenience of a service was deemed an unnecessary indulgence of my paranoia.

PLAN B - The Coach would take Nanny B on the morning school run which would aid her with directions and prove an invaluable test run allowing us enough time to procure an emergency hire car, if required.

Foiled by : A last minute business meeting which The Coach had to attend on the morning of our departure.

PLAN C - I would take Nanny B on the morning school run which would aid her with directions.

Foiled by : Nanny B loves a chat...I mean really loves a chat, and she forgets to pay attention to directions when involved in a good chat.

PLAN D - The Coach would take Nanny B for a quick drive around the block approximately 2 minutes before she had to depart on the afternoon school run.

Foiled by : Business meeting running overtime. Us running late on our departure time and Nanny B stating confidently "Don't worry darling, I'll be fine."

I won't lie to you, as I stood on our balcony watching The Coach's butt hanging out of the passenger front window as he attempted to take the hand break off for Nanny B, my fears were not allayed. As I took in the light fog rolling into the valley and the dark clouds looming overhead, heavy with the threat of rain, I was thinking, this is not good, not good at all. And as The Coach joined me on the balcony and we waved Nanny B off and an altogether new and ominous sounding grating noise filled the air, I shook my head, turned to my husband and said "I have a really bad feeling about this."

To be continued.....

Morphing into The Griswolds - Part One

Although my last blog post may have appeared to be nothing more then a blatant attempt to get Nissan to loan me a new Murano for twelve months, it actually had another far greater purpose. That was to provide you with a small insight into the differences between my car and The Coach's car. I must admit, I went a little off track when I started daydreaming about a new Murano, but the main point was to help you to understand that while my car receives regular..ish services, water and oil top ups, and even the odd wash, The Coach's car is surviving on a lean diet of neglect.

Sure it gets a clean out perhaps once every twelve months, which interestingly seems to coincide with a relative coming to visit, a relative who The Coach has to collect from the airport. It also receives the odd service, usually around the time that The Coach can no longer hear his talk back radio program over the cars determined protests which present as various grinding and squealing noises. Quite frankly, if that car was Kitt from Knight Rider, I imagine that it would have quite a mouthful of expletives that it would like to share with The Coach before self activating the eject button and launching The Coach through the sun roof.

This brings me to the clutch cable episode. Actually it wasn't so much an episode but more of a trailer. The clutch cable broke and The Coach was forced, no doubt muttering expletives of his own, to take the car to the mechanic to get it repaired. Seems pretty straight forward no ?

Now see, this is where The Coach and I really become polar opposites. The Coach returned home in the evening and I asked how the car was.

"I'm not happy with it," he replied "The clutch cable is too loose and it doesn't feel right."

"So why didn't you tell the mechanic?" I responded curiously.

"Something about the cost of pygmy hippos and the growth cycles of turnips." he answered. Well at least that's what I think he said, as he was sort of muttering and walking into the bathroom shaking his head.

And that is how it came to pass that for the last twelve months The Coach has been driving around in a car with a touchy, loose clutch cable. He is now used to the quirky clutch. He has also mastered the art of peering around the crack in the windscreen. He ignores the rattle and crunch that occurs every time he steers around a corner and he is virtually oblivious to the dings in the front, sides, back and roof (yes, we are all rather mystified by the ding in the roof).

Then recently we decided, after thirteen long years, to take a holiday to Noosa. We would require the use of my car. My Mother-in-Law, Nanny B, was going to need a car to ferry the kids to school in our absence, and although I was almost blinded by the neon warning signs flashing before my eyes, I succumbed to The Coach when he insisted,

"Don't worry about mum. She'll be fine using my car."

Oh ho ho, famous last words.....to be continued......

The Unlikeliest of Battle Arenas.

I never really thought that two common place objects, found in our bathroom, would come to define where The Coach and I stood within our marriage. For all I know, The Coach is blissfully unaware of this fact, but me, well I know that there are sneaky little mind games at play and by jove, let it never be said that The Waffler won't rise to the occasion to engage in a spot of friendly warfare.

It actually began some years back, when it came to my attention, that regardless of how many times I shared the secret location for my stash of excess toiletries, The Coach seemed incapable of restocking items that had run out.

As a dutiful and loving wife, I would sigh and and shake my head with a little tolerant smile, as I reached under the bathroom sink to hand The Coach another bar of soap or fresh tube of toothpaste (thankfully he has mastered the toilet paper location, because lets face it, we all have our limits).

I couldn't pin point the exact turning point in this behaviour, perhaps it was around the time I realised that both of my children were now capable of finding and replacing the soap or toothpaste, but one day, I thought, hang on just a minute, why can't he do it ?

And that's when the battles began. By battle standards they are fairly subtle and bloodless events (flossing doesn't count), but the steely resolve is there, mark my words. Just last week, as I spent five minutes trying to extract the very last grain of toothpaste, I thought perhaps I had gone too far. That if I didn't lay down my (imaginary) sword we would be facing a life of gingivitis and shag pile-like layers of plaque. I glanced at the five cent sized piece of soap and thought of the sudden inexplicable lack of invitations to all social events and pictured my children's sad little faces as I would have to explain to them that mummy and daddy weren't allowed to leave the house anymore because they were both stinky, battle weary warriors.

And so I caved, with the soap, and I walked out of the bathroom with my head hung sadly in defeat. But lo and behold, when I came back in the evening to brush my teeth, there sat a gleaming, fat, fresh tube of toothpaste. My friends, I believe this is what's known in battle terms as an impasse, or a double white flag, but either way, I think we have made progress, and that makes me a very happy and clean little Waffler indeed.

Love.

Dear Coach,

I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am that it has come to this. I know this might not make things any easier, but it's not you, it's me...well, actually, it is a bit you, but mostly, it's me. To be fair, I think we had a pretty good run really. We've had some laughs, produced two (for the most part) lovely children, travelled ALL the way from Victoria to Queensland. Let it not be said that there weren't good times along the way.

But, I am afraid, I have fallen head over heels for another. It wasn't expected, but that visit from the postman changed my life. I know you may roll your eyes, you may say that it's just a passing fad, nothing more then a silly girly brush crush. But I think you may be wrong and I just hope you understand. Best of luck with all your future endeavours, and I can only hope that one day the perfect shaving brush will come into your life and that you too will find true happiness.

Cheers.

Waffles

My brush crush : laura mercier secret camouflage *sigh*

It's a snore-off

Seems we have all had a big day today, 9.53 pm and the house is filled with slumbering souls. But not me, oh no, I have my match sticks propping open my weary lids because I have blogs to read, blog after blog of crafty, creative goodness, and I do not want to miss a thing.

But the cacophony produced in the living room is a tad distracting. I can't work out who is louder, Fat Cat sprawled on her cushion or The Coach, resting his eyes whilst watching the football on television.

*Sigh* I think perhaps it is time to call it a night, or else steal some of Le Artiste's blue tack stash and lodge a couple of wads into my ears. Nighty nigh and sweet dreams.

Eight years ago.

Eight years have passed and yet the memories remain as vivid as if it were yesterday. Compose yourselves peeps, for today is the day that the Waffler is going to take a serious moment, but I promise, regular programming will resume tomorrow.

On this day eight years ago I was not yet a mama Waffler, I was still a Mrs Waffler with a rather pronounced 'bump'. D-day was looming and I was ready, ready to meet the little man who was scheduled to arrive on the 12th of September 2001.

As with many a first time parent I was super organised, probably had the hospital bag packed four months early, but when it came to watching the birthing videos...well....we kept popping that into the 'tomorrow basket'. We had a few weeks to watch the video before we were due to return it to the hospital but we realised eight years ago today that the return date was the 12th of September, 2001...oops.

We were slack but diligent, so we pulled it out and sat down for an.....interesting....nights viewing. Strangely enough, the decision to watch the video completely disrupted my early to bed schedule, and so I found myself feeling slightly traumatised and exhausted, wearily dragging my swollen ankles off to bed at a fairly undignified hour.

I don't even think I had a chance to put my pyjamas on before The Coach called out, he wanted me to see something on the tv, sheesh, did the man not notice the giant tummy ?

I tried to fob him off but he was persistent, "No, you really have to see this."

So I waddled back to the living room and sat beside my husband watching events unfold in America. Even now, my hands are shaking as I remember the thoughts which buzzed inside my head like a swarm of angry bees, the trauma, the disbelief, the uncertainty, the horror and above all the sheer panic as to what sort of world I was bringing an innocent little person into.

We sat up until about two o'clock in the morning, then fatigue overcame the horror and I fell into an unsettled sleep.

Four hours later I awoke to an unmistakable sensation, muscles clenching in my abdomen, it seemed that no amount of trauma or lack of sleep was going to stop my little man from arriving bang on his due date. I showered. I washed and dried my hair. I groomed my eyebrows and popped on a smudge of concealer (old habits die hard). I called the hospital. Finally when I was completely organised I woke The Coach who, after running around like a headless chicken for ten minutes, got himself together and we tootled off to the hospital.

Such a strange day, gradually increasing contractions as I sat in the labour ward waiting room watching the news. Filled with uncertainty about the world, about people, about all the horrors awaiting my unborn child and yet overwhelmed with anticipation at finally meeting the person behind all those internal nudges and pokes.

My labour progressed without incident and so it was, that later that day, in a darkened delivery suite with soothing music, as I sat in a tub of warm water, Le Artiste arrived in this world.

It was a crazy roller coaster of emotions in the preceding twelve hours, but as soon as I held my baby and drank in every perfect feature, somehow I could believe that everything was going to be okay. That for all the bad in the world there was also such beauty and I was going to do everything in my power to make sure that this gorgeous, tiny creature would be loved and protected.

And now here we are, my baby is now a big school boy who amazes me and makes me so incredibly proud. Tomorrow he turns eight and I hope that he has the most perfect and wonderful birthday ever.

This day marks one of the most amazing days of my life but I will never, ever forget the pain and sadness experienced by so many people on the other side of the world. My heart goes out to you and my own experience of joy will forever remain intertwined with your unimaginable loss.

Happy Friday and Stage Two

I'm joining Chantelle in wishing everyone a Happy Friday today. The above image is Petal and I as represented by our Friday morning beverages of choice, I bet you can't guess which beverage belongs to Petal.

I also managed to wrangle the camera back off The Coach and have included a couple snaps of stage two of The Current Project. Now we come to the make or break stage of thick opaque colours which can ruin all of my carefully applied lines. Ha, wish me luck with that one.

I hope you have a fabulous Friday.

Meh.

Yep, that's me at the moment all right, 'meh', lots and lots of 'meh'. I don't really know where it came from but I would be quite happy for it to shuffle off and bother someone else. When you have a large pile of 'meh' hanging over you, even if you have the best intentions in the world, everything that you do seems to go a little skew-if.

I had another idea for a watercolour and ink sketch, it seemed like a good idea in my head. I attempted some colour washes on Sunday and.....'meh', totally not what I was aiming for. Now I'm debating, do I try and redeem my first attempt or just toss it away, wait until the 'meh' has moved on, and try afresh ? Yes, tough decisions indeed, it's no wonder I'm having trouble falling asleep at night.

But it's not all bad when you get a dose of the 'mehs', finding my creative portal slightly blocked I have turned my attention elsewhere and have re-embraced home sessions of Pilates. I really enjoy Pilates, none of this sweating business. Calm, controlled movements which give you rock-hard (well, slightly less squishy) abs and a toned butt. Yes, that's the real carrot isn't it ? Who wouldn't want a toned, perky botbot that you could bounce a coin off ?

Petal has been joining me in my workouts (I use the term loosely) and I must admit that it's very hard to keep a straight face and concentrate on "working your inner core strength," when you have a four year old wanting to hold your hand and perform her stylised interpretation of the exercise. The Coach decided to take some photos of our efforts the other day, and Petal, ever the entertainer, is looking up with a huge grin on each shot whilst I grimace and try to hold a pose as all the muscles I'd forgotten I had begin to quiver and shake in protest.

Anyway, I'm sure that the 'mehs' will be on their merry way soon enough and in the meantime I will embrace my new daily mantra, "Abs of steel, abs of steel, abs of steel."

The light....the light....

Have you ever noticed those bewildered people wondering around the shops in a zombie-like trance ? Today I was one of those people. The sun just seemed so darn sunny, there were little feathery creatures making noises in the trees and there were other humans, gads, was it all a vivid dream ?

What on earth could have caused this paralysing state of disassociation I hear you ask (well I think that's what you're asking, hard to make it out though all the static crackling, darn ESP). Was it lack of sleep ? A large rogue bowling ball conking me on the head as I ventured out for my morning latte ? A handful of sedatives slipped discreetly into the aforementioned latte ?

Well, no, surprisingly it was none of the above.

Today I was taken off-line. I know, here, would you like to borrow my brown paper bag ? Perhaps a nip of bandy ? I'd like to reassure you all that the matter is now well and truly back under control. I have wrangled the laptop back off The Coach (work from home, goodness me. Sure having an income is handy but at what cost, WHAT COST ?)

Anyway, I just thought I would share my pain with you all, because lets face it, if you're sitting here and reading this, you and I are cut from the same cloth. But guess what (please don't tell The Coach I'm saying this) it was actually kind of nice to get outside and mingle with the flu ridden masses in the mild winter weather, just for a little while. Now, let's log back in and see what I've missed.....