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!

DISCO!

Download it on your iPad HERE folks! Tis perfection.

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?