November 29, 2010

I carried a watermelon and other tales from the weekend.

On Friday, Harry woke up and was grumpy. Tired, emotional and grumpy. And I remember Year One being a particularly taxing year academically speaking, so I suggested he had a mental health day and he agreed.

So we took the all singing, all dancing, all jazz hands Jack to daycare and looked forward to the quiet that comes along with such an act.

And we walked in sun up the street to fetch a coffee when we ran into one of our neighbours, who moved into our street about 6 months ago. We both smiled at each other and commented on the wonderfulness of the weather. Then he asked me when I was due.

"Excuse me?" I questioned, as I swear I thought I heard him ask me when I was due.

"When are you due?"

Now I have a rule. Unless you are crowning in front of me, I would NEVER ask someone that EVER. I have fucked up majorly by doing this. My mum is a black belt champion at doing this.

I almost said "In a few months..." just to save the embarrassment but then I knew that there would be more explaining to do when he seeings me sucking back beers at the street Xmas Party. Anyway Peter, if you are reading this, let it be known that you are an old prick and if you think I am going to swim in your pool this summer, you are so very rudely mistaken.

(As the empire line maxi dress burns in the backyard, I particularly welcome comments on this situation. You know the type, beginning with Oh that happened to me once.............)Oh and here is a little something to add to the Shit My Kids Ruined file. Gnawing on the Foxtel remote? Really? DNA results pending to see which ass gets kicked.

And now for a tale of inappropriate behaviour, thanks to my little sister. She works in TV, specifically for this lovely lady.

Who I just really like. I reckon she would be fun to sit next to ANYWHERE. She has a spark in her eye and is always classy. And she puts up with my Gen Y Smart Ass sister.

A smart ass sister who spent 3 hours hooking into the Champers on Friday Lunchtime with Kerry Anne to celebrate the end of filming for the year, before we had to attend a very very important family function, which many people were invited to. Like Clients. Ok so my step dad is a solicitor, has been for a billion years and the practice has been taken over by ANOTHER sister (there are many sisters). So this was a formal cocktail party for VIP clients.

And this is my little sister in the back of the car on the way to said party, with my kids looking on. Such a good role model. The slurring had started by this point.

She is vogueing

I apologised profusely to the driver about a thousand times for the profanities and smut coming from the back of the car. I think he was cool with it......

On arrival she headed straight to the bar and put on a solid display of drinking. And the slurring got worse. And when she was introduced the to editor of the local paper, he held our his hand and said "Nice to meet you, I have heard a lot about you." she fashioned her hand into a fist and said "I prefer the bump." You know, like this.......

So at this point, I was loving her guts. So inappropriate and funny. So I kept topping her up and introducing her to people. Otherwise I might have just died of boredom. So the VIP clients left and we had a big family dinner with family friends. My little sister at this point had discovered that the word FUCK could actually be used entirely on its own as a sentence. You know like "Fuck fuckety you fucker."

Mum cottoned onto what was going down by now and said to her "Come and help me in the kitchen with the cheesecake please." Which sister replied "There had better fucking be fucking cheesecake......" but in a slurred accent.

And there was no cheesecake. Just a 25 year old being sent to her room. Oh and she blogs.

On Thursday, we took possession of a 3 week old lamb. Because my life was just not chaotic enough. I did not tell Mr Woog, and he subsequently hit the roof when he spied her hoovering his succulents. This is her with my boys.

Background story? Sure.

We are looking after her for a few days. One of our neighbours (not that one we hate....THAT'S YOU PETER! WE ARE TALKING ABOUT YOU!!!) but another old man neighbour has a hobby farm and his mamma sheep had twins. And because this mamma sheep was quite bright, she quickly worked out that there is no way she could handle the two of them. So the weekend farmer had to bring this one back to the big smoke. To bottle feed her until she was strong enough to return to the farm.

But because he did not bank on this all occurring when he booked his trip to New Zealand to cycle around some big lake a few months back, he was kind of stuck.

And because I will not rest until I torture Mr Woog into an early grave, I said we would be more than delighted to assist in the hand rearing of this little lamb. Delighted in fact.

New Zealand Bound Weekend Farming Cycling retiree warned us that we were to treat it like a sheep and gave us a large pen for it to live in. And a list of instructions, including if she needed to go to the vet, make sure they do not inject her with anything as it spoils the meat......... then said he was joking. Kids had a few questions about that.

So I immediately put a collar and lead on her and popped her in the car to take her on an excursions to daycare, school and many a coffee at the local cafes. And the Mazda has never drawn so make stares from people when we pull up at lights. We have called her Lucky and she is DIVINE.


Because we had the ill-fated family drink fest on Friday night, I asked my other BEAUTIFUL neighbours (Not you Peter, you fattist) to mind Lucky. And they were delighted to. And they followed all the instructions, gave her bottles, rubbed her tummy the way she likes it and heated up her wheat pack.

The next day we returned home to this.

Lucky got a fright in the middle of the night, suffered a fall and subsequently broke her leg. $250 big ones later. But guess who was the ONLY vet on call on Friday night in Sydney who would deal with a Lamb?????
And no. I am not even bloody kidding. If you know him, can you please let him know the Woogs are FOREVER grateful. And my neighbours said he was the nicest person they have ever met, and they know heaps of people.

So now I wait, shitting my pants, as Lucky is being collected this afternoon. I have some explaining to do. Big time. Of how I turned this cute-but-back-to-the-farm-for-you lamb into a lamb that thinks it is a dog, sleeps inside, wears a nappy, travels in the front seat of the Mazda, socialises with people and has a broken leg. Fuck.
And then I woke up. It had all been a dream. Except it wasn't. That shit really happened to me this weekend. And that was a long post. Sorry. xo

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