We had a bit of a drive ahead of us this afternoon, and the Big Bad Bruce is very long and very straight.  So the “tired” adults who had had ample refreshments the night before, needed something to amuse themselves.  The Evil Genuises had “How much longer, what time will we be home, are we there yet?” on high repeat.  Of course.  When I’m tired.  Evil Genius 2 had just looked at the clock on the dash for the seventeen thousandth time and noted it was 2.09pm.  Two minutes since she last looked.  A cunning plan was concocted from the front end of the vehicle.  I distracted them by getting them to look at “more boring cows” as Nathan turned MissXtralia2013 into a Delorean.  Swiftly and without delay, he changed that clock to 1.54pm.

Within a minute or so EG2 looked at the clock again.

WHAT?

WHATJUSTHAPPENEDWEHAVEGONEBACKINTIME!

MUMDADWEARETIMETRAVELLINGWHATJUSTHAPPENED?

Minds.Blown.

Much whispering and muttering and hushed clock-watching ensued.

They are still talking about it tonight, wondering what on Earth happened.  This is despite Evil Genius One wearing a watch.  With the correct time on it.  So you can see that I use the term “Genius” fairly loosely.  I’m thinking that we might save this little glitch for that exact part of the Bruce Highway forevermore.  Maybe call it the BerNambour Triangle or something.  Just to reinforce the phenomenon,  we are going to watch Back To The Future on movie night this week.  Their brains are gonna explode.  (And I can watch a sweet bit of MJF, if you don’t mind.  Nath can see a cool car.)

Other things we did to amuse ourselves this day:

• We reminded them it was Monday, and took them to school this afternoon.  Pretended we were going to drop them off. They were squealing.  I think with laughter.
• Showed them some clips from ‘Gremlins’ and told them that Mogwai are real.  They want one for Christmas.  Should get that Macbook taken off the list, so Santa can bring something of his own choosing.
• Told Coco that when she has to do a reading at a school thing this week that the teachers will think it is really funny if she says “meow-meow, meow, meow-meow-meow” instead of reading her part.

So all in all we had a productive day.  Looks like the week ahead is shaping up to be a ripper.

How was your weekend?  Did you tell your kids any good stories?

…From The Ashers xx

So The Ashers are on a secret mini-break in New Farm.  Secret because we are at Mum’s joint (who is currently holidaying herself around bloody Europe on my inheritance), and we haven’t told her.

We have availed ourselves of the house rules:

Please take note of rule #1.

We have already broken that one (we have Evil Geniuses remember).  Plus 2, 3, 7 and 8.  We plan on breaking 4 and 5 shortly.

But I digress.

The real purpose of this blog is that we went to NEW FARM PARK.  The best and most dangerous park in the Southern Hemisphere.  Have you been?  It’s amazing, in that the park is built into the wizened old Moreton Bay Figs.  It’s sweet.  I’ll take some pics tomorrow if I can be bothered.. I didn’t have the foresight to take the camera today.  To up the ante I took a friend who has no children.  So that was fun.  Or something.

Here are the things we saw:

• A man who’s pants were so low we could see in excess of 4cms of flabby white person builders’ crack.  This was highly undesirable.
• Parents paying no attention to their own children what-so-ever, and then asking the other child (who was approximately four) “Where’s your brother?”  Met by blank stares.  Now I don’t wanna dis New Farm, but let’s face it, it has a very ‘mixed’ residency.  So this is not particularly good parenting.  Or safe.
• Tattoos, piercings, small people climbing up extremely high things, children getting kicked in the back, small people falling off very high things, volleyball, a wedding, tightrope walkers, crying children, drunk adults, a throw ball game, a dodgy dude who may or may not have been looking for a kid to steal- or a drink, laughing children, kids drunk on spinning, some mums who may or may not have been drinking screwdrivers, and one little lemony-skinned fairy (mine).

So all in all, a pretty good initiation for my mate into the “other world” that exists that side of a viable uterus.  I think there’s a fair chance her womb is now barren.

Now excuse me, we have this to attend to:

This is what happens when you have mates with no kids. #winning

See you on the other side…

…From The Ashers xx

So here they are, my hits of the week…

1.  I lost my Bean Hunter coffee cup a while ago.  Spewing.  So if you’ve found it, feel free to drop it in to me.  In the meantime I go this baby from the bookshop in Eumundi.  It’s by Keep Cup.  It reckons that it would take about twenty take-away cups to make one of these, so I guess I’d better not lose it before then.  I’ve had five so far.  Seriously though, don’t you love these cups?  I love drinking my hot bevvies out of an adult sippy cup, and I like to imagine myself all New York-y when I drink on the run.  Not sure if the colours are NYish though. There was a black and grey one, but hey, I live at the sunny end of the continent.  We do colour..

2.  I’ve mentioned my day-time writing space before, but do you wanna check it out?  This is the view:

And this is where I sit:

Nath constructed a kick-arse bar table and six stools up here- it took four blokes and my brother to get it up here.  For a while we wondered if the balcony would actually hold it.  Anyway, I call this place the iDeck on weekends, but during the day it is Top Deck: World’s Best Treat.  (Nath calls it Bar Up, but that’s another story).  It is perfect in Winter- a slight breeze, but the walled-in sides keep you warm, and it gets the arvo sun.  Right now I’m sitting here in a singlet.  In the WINTER.  Once, I mentioned to Nath that we should get some lighting up here, and quick as a flash he was off to Bunnings to get these:

The dude is an idiot.

3.  Catching up with friends.  Do you have different friends for different things?  Seems I do.  And this week I got to catch up with two different types.  1. My piss head mates.  They are our ‘before kid’ mates.  Poor things, ‘cos now we are hopeless at playing like we used to, but we can bring it on the odd occasion.  2. An after-kids mate.  In fact, so ‘after’ that she still has a rugrat of her own making, in tow. So we do take-away coffees and parks, to avoid the disapproving stares of cafe owners (Yes, I’m looking in your general direction Eumundi, and NOT at the Boho, which was unfortunately closed), where we can talk about the world and our lives and solve many things.  Hey there friends: you make me ol’ heart swell, you do.

4.  Afternoon tea, arriving unbidden from a patient.  If you are a parent at STM, then you’ll probably guess who popped in with this date loaf- all packaged up in cello like it was from a shop, and tasting even better.  If you still can’t guess, think: adult onset ADD, think: brings you soup when you’re crook, think: can organise your entire school holidays to the very last minute.  She handed it over with a breezy, “It’s a bit dry, but you won’t mind ‘cos you don’t bake.”  And she is RIGHT.  On both counts.  She KNOWS me.  Thanks luv.  Just what the (pretend) doctor ordered.

5.  I know I already told you about Pene and the astro-charts that she has been doing for our family, but my goodness, can I stress again how good they are?  I got Liam’s done this week, and it was eerie, listening to someone describe your kid with words that your brain had been hovering around.  I think I mentioned last time, that I got them done not as some “Let’s predict the future” thing, but more to get some clarity around the kids I have.  Maybe what motivates them, what makes them tick.  I’m a sucker for any sort of personality profiling, and this felt like another version of that, but with more personalised detail.  Pene said she can do consults over the phone, so you don’t have to be a Sunshine Coast local to have a go.  I took notes like I was in an embryology lecture, listening to the miracle of a life unfold.  Good darts.

STOP PRESS STOP PRESS STOP PRESS

Pene, the astrology consultant to the stars me has just messaged me (perhaps she predicted she would be on the blog, or maaaybeee she just read it) and said she would give 20% off to any  From The Ashers blog readers.  Ring her now on 0414562162 or email her on penelopy.walsh@gmail.com and book in before she changes her mind (I think she’s a Leo or some such and they’re always changing their minds*).  Seriously, do it.  Use this code: ALISONisGROUSE** to redeem your offer***.

*Might not be an actual astrology fact.

**Also might not be a fact.

***There really is an offer though.  Pinky Swear.

Well that’s about it… Happy Long Weekend everyone.  I hope it’s relaxing and fun and you get to have a good belly laugh at least once, oh, and that the horrible couple get kicked out of House Rules.

…From The Ashers xx

I’ve been mucking around with a bit o’fiction this week. Like this poor guy.  Ever felt like him? …From The Ashers xx

He remembered the days when his nightmares were not things of imagination.  When every night he fought with slippery, skittery things that lurked all day, carefully at the edge of his vision, and who came out once his guard was down, on the precipice of sleep.  He fought them every night and eluded them every day, just as he skirted around the edges of the playground, keeping out of notice of Johnno Barnes and his followers.

If he came into the thoughts of Johnno it wouldn’t end until there was either blood on the asphalt down by the monkey bars, or the yard-duty teacher was summoned by the circling chant of “fightfightfightfight.”

These days it felt like his body was permanently switched to ON, sympathetic nerve system ramped up on high alert, always ready, always ready.

These days he drank and smoked to fill the holes and turn down a mind that didn’t know how to get out of overdrive.  These days the nightmares were of different substance, Can I pay the mortgage, When will my wife leave me, Will I get prostate cancer and be up pissing all night without any chance of getting any joy out of this appendage?  Still slippery grey monsters, on the periphery of his view, but now with names: Job, Mortgage, Wife, Health, Kids.

So he treated them like he always treated the enemy- he refused to look them straight in the eye, in the silent hope that they wouldn’t notice him, as he slunk by in a haze of smoke and foggy alcohol fumes.  He evaded and evaded until eventually he fell, exhausted, into a fitful sleep, always careful not to let his leg stray from the bed, lest that thing beneath grasp his ankle and drag him down.

That monster under the bed.

So the bloggers from The Remarkables have been in town.  My town.

Initially,  I was all full of bravado and I told Nath that I was going to do some funny shit: stalk them (God knows they’re easy to stalk- they post something on one of the socials roughly every seven minutes), wearing a Woogsworld t-shirt that I once won, and carrying a teapot that warm-hearted BabyMac sent me when my mate died.  I planned to run up to them, possibly squealing, and get them to sign my memorabilia.  Nath was going to be the papps, and snap pictures that would be on this blog.  I know Styling You, so she would probably calm everyone down, and explain that I’m not completely mad, just mildly strange.

Except I didn’t do that at all.  I stayed home and thought about how funny it would have been, so now you have this blog with no pictures, just my sad, shy little heart.

You see, I’m a fan of the bloggers.  They are my One Direction.  Once, when normal chicks my age were fan-girling over Duran Duran or Prince, I was imagining meeting JRR Tolkien, or in my more lascivious moods, Judy Blume (Remember ‘Forever’? Hot stuff indeed).   As my reading tastes evolved, so did my crushes.  To Stephen King, Nick Earls, John Birmingham, Joe Hill.  I can’t tell you how amazing Twitter is for a book nerd, as authors tend to reply to your tweets.  Be still my dorky heart.

And now I’m onto blogs.

The chicks in The Remarkables are some of the superstars of what is known as the blogosphere.  There are others, sure.  Beautiful, wonderful, writers like Eden Riley, Biance Wordley, Anna Spargo Ryan, Kelly Exteter, Allison Tait, Lana Hirschowitz, and Kerry Sackville (and many, many more) who aren’t in that visiting blog-club, but The Remarkables Group are some of the ones who have been at it for years.  From back in the days when I’d never even heard of a blog )and then when I did thought it sounded like a pile of shite).

Now I’ve seen the light, and I love blogs so much we have this little thing here.  I had a great idea to get to meet my heroes, and then I chickened out.  And now they are gone, far, far away to the hills of Maleny (at least 40 minutes away) and my hopes of meeting them and becoming new best-friends-forever are dashed, dashed like seashells against the first groyne at Main Beach, and I am left with thoughts of what might have been.  Sigh.  Oh for the courage to have approached their famous-arse table at Berados. Sigh.

Fare you well, bloggers.  May our paths cross one day.

Did you know the bloggers were in town?

Have you ever met one of your idols?

…From The Ashers xx

Then

The thrill of Saturday night, with all the promise of giddy lust and parading.  Planning outfits in my head for days.  Saving enough cash for drinks, and a secret taxi stash.  Phone calls to and fro to set times and places and double checking of outfits and who would get ready where, who would sleep where, who would do what with whom.  No thought of Sunday, other than to see her peek over the horizon if the night was a good one.

Now

Saturday night?  A night to be endured before the relief of Sunday- a whole day of our little family with beach and fresh juices and languid lunches.  Preferrably beers and footy on the couch, a few tunes, savour some air up on the top deck and then sweet blessed bed.  If we have to, we go out, but hopefully early.  So we can get home early.

Then

Hey, Hey It’s Saturday on your Mum’s donated telly and Barbie Doll shots of vodka & raspberry.  Three or four girls getting ready in one place, the bathroom humid with hairdryers and hairspray and perfumes intermingled.  Primping and parading and do I look fat in this?  Ice T or Frenzel Rhomb cranked up as loud as can be endured.  Salacious thoughts of what you might do to that guy from Chem Prac with the Rollins Band t-shirt and the celtic tatt, if he shows up.

Now

Funniest Home Videos on the flatscreen to keep the kids quiet whilst you squint to see if your bum looks too big, the clothes too ‘young’.  A shot of ristretto to keep you awake past 9pm and a fleeting thought of George Clooney in a suit, or even better, your own husband with his greying temples, that dips as soon as you see the dishes in the sink, your libido down the drain with the suds.  Michael Franti turned down low enough to give instructions to the babysitter.

Then

You head out as late as possible so you can hit the ground running.  A few quick pots of tap beer and then it’s onto the dance floor or the pool table, teetering on your heels, a sashaying walk.  Dancing and singing and dancing, pupils so big as to take up your whole eye, drinking in the lights, the boys, the night.  The night that blends seamlessly into tomorrow and you watch the sunrise, foggy brain registering the beauty.

Now

Meet at a friend’s place as early as possible to drink fancy champagne and craft beers, before you head out to a restaurant where a meal costs your (then) entire pay packet.  You comment on the quantity of the food and the quality of the service and whether or not the staff dote on you enough.  If you can convince the others you might be able to squeeze in a dance or two before it is curfew time, with the babysitter on an hourly rate.  Home for a few hours sleep before the kids wake up, and you watch the sunrise, foggy brain registering the beauty.

…From The Ashers xx