“This blogging business has to be capable of being streamlined” I remarked to my husband.
He wasn’t really listening as he was otherwise engaged.
“You could” he said, absent-mindedly wiping slimy ordure from our daughter’s bum, “do the photographs at the weekend“. There was a bit of shrieking from Minx as this discussion took place. She objects to conversations taken place while her arse is being cleaned.
“Also” he mentioned, doing his best to ignore the screams and holding a soiled baby as he spoke, “it must be possible to write some of your blog posts in advance“.
So on Saturday night while most of the child-free world was out drinking and shagging (or attempting to do so) there we were on the sofa. My husband trying to figure out what those strange wee people were doing on Iron Chef; me writing down random blog ideas.
This was before things went awry.
Firstly, on Sunday I got a call from the Boss. “I’m at the airport” she said “This has been the week from hell. I am over it. You’ll be fine without me. Also, I have my iPhone. If you need me I’ll be in Bali“.
“Oh good” I thought, hanging up the phone “I‘m in charge“. I considered what this might mean and determined that being in charge might be commensurate with being responsible. Responsible for the entire office. Yikes.
Of course, you can plan for responsibility can’t you? After all, the parents among us nested our hearts, minds, souls and savings accounts away before our first children were born. We bought baby rockers, muslim wraps, Good Night, Snooze Soundly tapes, ergonomic breastfeeding pillows. It did not help us one little bit, did it? We were still faced with small, viciously angry pink little people who were always hungry and didn’t want to sleep. Planning is all very well in theory provided that the subject of the planning is amenable to being project managed.
In the end,therefore, I decided that whatever happened today would be the subject of my blog. Fate, bring it on, I thought. I am a woman, I am a mother. I am tough. I can handle you.
This morning after the usual fiery arguments over breakfast cereals, the wrong texture of socks, dresses, shoes and little plastic figures to take to school day care had been resolved, I managed to get both weans out of the house by 7.45 am.
By 8.00 am the Noisy Boy and I were aiming for the school gates and well within the Getting to Before School Care Before the Toast Is Eaten window .
By 8.05 am I was barefoot. The shoes that I had intended to wear and to blog about had literally become unstuck. Shoe glue cares neither for my plans nor the late Summer humidity and had decided that it would no long hold my turquoise beaded black sandal mules together.
As I walked to the train station in bare feet, some Zen Buddhist master was muttering nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah in my ear. Don’t be too attached to your plans, dear girl. Life gets in the way.
When I got to Central Station in Sydney, I headed off to an op-shop in search of replacement shoes. When it comes to op-shopping you can’t go past St Vincent De Paul’s on Elizabeth Street in Surry Hills. There are lots of ateliers and wholesale fashion outlets nearby. You can find designer samples in amongst the usual moth-eaten 70s prints and 80s shoulder pads. As soon as I walked in the store I found a pair of (never worn) black leather sandals by Dahto Shoes for AUS$8.00. Lovely though they are with a slender wee spikey 4 inch heel, they were just not going to work with the jeans that I was wearing. Fate stepped in at that point. While hopping on one foot trying to tether myself into the ankle straps without falling on my face, I looked up to see a long black satin chrysanthemum print cheongsam literally 2 feet away. I’ve been looking for one of these idly on and off for a wee while – 10 mere years or so.
As Ajhan Chah says:
Do not try to become anything.
Do not make yourself into anything.
Do not be a meditator.
Do not become enlightened.
When you sit, let it be.
What you walk, let it be.
Grasp at nothing.
Or alternatively, I should just give the wee repair man who stuck my errant mules together (badly) a bloody good piece of my mind….