December 03, 2012

The Continual Cessation of Festive Linguistical Intercourse.

High drama and excitement here this morning as both children ejected objects from their body. Both involve money in one form or another.... A tooth and a shiny, SHINY two dollar coin.

Face graze due to a cartwheeling catastrophe. Missing tooth due to months of wobbling.
High drama indeed, made even more tense when I realised that it was Harry's Class picnic today and I did not have a "healthy snack for sharing" until I realised I had downloaded Beverley, the app that Pensive Beverley has released for Christmas. I had a chunk of watermelon in the fridge and immediately went from ZERO TO HERO in a few moments!


But this blog post is not about cartwheeling into walls, or losing a prized from tooth, or shitting out money or making Christmas trees out of watermelon. It is about the continual cessation of festive linguistical intercourse. Which is just a wankery way of saying that organising Christmas makes us cranky as a couple.

Especially around this time of year.

The family and I were coming home from Jabba yesterday, and managed to do it without the involvement of the police, which was a treat in itself. With the kids in the back of Sonia watching a movie, Mr. Woog and I took the time to conduct a Woog Family Audit on all upcoming plans, events and Christmas and shit.

We discussed what we thought would be a reasonable amount to budget for gifts and came up with a number. I then wrote down a list of people that we needed to buy for. That took quite some time. When I announced the number, Mr. Woog's calculator brain spat out a figure that our budget allowed for each gift.

And if you are on our list, is seems that you will be on the receiving end of a KING SIZED TWIX for Chrissie! WOOHOO.

So we work-shopped the situation for a while, until of course it turned to shit. Mr. Woog does not possess a strong Christmas Spirit. I am in charge of the Christmas Spirit in this joint. We travelled along in silence for a while, and I gazed out the window looking out onto a lake.

A lone duck cut a fine line through its centre. Muddling around, he was not up to much. Popping under the water sporadically to see what was up, I suspect. Fish. Bits of shitty weed. 

For no particular reason I said to my beloved "If you were an animal, you would so be a duck....."

"And you would be a bush turkey." He responded without hesitation.

My hearty laughter subsided quickly when I realised that he equated me to a really ugly, noisy, destructive, pain in the ass type of creature. And then I activated the shield of silence.

I have my eye on you Mr Woog.
What sort of "animal" do you live with?

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