I have been a bit off the bloggy RADAR at the end of last week and then again yesterday, because I’m feeling a bit weird.

We had a big end to the week, with a big relief.

We are lucky.

When we go to the hospital, we are in the Paediatrics ward, so obviously there are lots of sick kids, who are mostly admitted with things that are acute but transient.

The kids go home.

And they go home well.

Sometimes the kids have chronic things, like our kid does.

Those kids go home too.

And they go home pretty well.

But then there are the kids that have a thing that doesn’t fit into either the acute or chronic category. They have a thing that fits into the terminal category.

By and by, they go home too.

But they don’t go home well. We all know why they go home, but we won’t think it-won’t imagine it-won’t say it.

Instead we will light candles, say prayers, make wishes, bargain with a higher power, get Facebook likes for them, send quotes, stay positive, raise money, raise awareness, send positive thoughts, share their story, wear a ribbon, do anything except think about the reality.

There is a local kid who has been popping up in my Facebook feed over the last little while. I don’t know him, or his family, but I know people who know him. So I know he has come home. Just like we did last Friday. But we came home to laughter and energy and relief. Sweet relief for another few months. We felt the heaviness pushing on the backs of our necks evaporate like so much vapour.

They didn’t.

And that makes me feel a bit weird.

I hope you heal little dude. I hope your parents get to feel the heaviness leave. I hope it with all my heart.

…From The Ashers xx

Last night was the coldest night ever invented.  Or something.  Which meant there must have been no clouds.  And around these parts that means one thing: beach day.  So we let these two Evil Geniuses prolong our mini-break (more about that later this week), and have a wellness day.  Some people just call it wagging of course.

We went to Asher Cove.  It is called Asher Cove because I named it, and then wrote this sign, so yeah.  Naming rights.

Asher Cove is “quite pretty”, so I took a pic to show you:

One day when I can be bothered I’m going to do that thing where you buy land in Scotland, and then you can call yourself Lady or Lord, by legally changing your name.  When I do, this cove will be my Kingdom (Ladydom?  Clearly there will be some brushing up on my lax terminology prior to this).

But I digress.

The Geniuses found a long flat rock that they decided was their investigation bench, and went about finding “interesting and investigatable things to investigate”.  So, as we are being a little loose with our terminology here, I suppose that is just what they did.  The “interesting things” were mainly shells, a feather or two and a tiny polystyrene ball.  The “investigating” involved them lining them up on the rock bench.  Best of all was when they found this “fossil”.  Liam was quite excited, and thought he might sell it to a museum for “heaps of money, maybe millions, enough to get a GoPro anyway.”

Check it out here, for free, while you still can:

The Fossil

So, yeah, clearly a fossil.  It became something quite precious to these intrepid investigators.  Coco did this “diagram” of what the organism would have looked like prior to it being fossilised:

Scientific fossil diagram

Clearly we have two future palaeontologists or scientists growing up in our home, such is their discerning and superior skill in rigorous methodology.  Especially useful is their ability to extrapolate simple findings to create complex ideas.  I’m sure you can tell by now I didn’t use the word “genius” flippantly before.  (I began to doubt the wisdom of us letting them have a day off from actual learning, as clearly they need every bit they can get.)

By and by, they had enough of their endeavours, had a fight over the fossil, lost it in the sand, and had to be separated before anyone got punched in the guts or nuts.  I know what you’re thinking: Parenting Geniuses.  And yes, I use the term loosely.

Don’t worry, it’s school tomorrow.

How was your day?  Cold?

Are you too raising Geniuses?

…From The Ashers xx

There’s a meme that is doing the rounds at the moment, and if you’re a Mum and on Facebook you’ve probably had it pop up in your feed once or twice:

A little slice of Mother Guilt anyone?  Come on, just one more tiny wafer….

And rightly so, I say, because a lot of you are screwing up aren’t you?  Maybe not in astronomical ways, but in little, insidious ways every single day.  Sometimes without even realising, you are messing up your children’s brains and lives forever.

But not over here.  Up here (on the moral and ethical high ground) the view is perfect.  Over at The Asher House we are all neat, kind, well-mannered, successful, happy, wise, talented and, well, perfect.

I have delved into the archives my phone to find documents to regale and impress you.  And of course prove my superiority.

Exhibit A:

I found this little love note on Liam’s desk a few years ago.  Ahh Liam, my gorgeous, quiet, gentle-soul of a son.  In case you can’t read it, it is poignantly entitled Liam’s Revenge and even better than a sonnet, it is more of a To-Do list.  A list wondrous things that he will do to his little (then 4 year old) sister.  Just quietly, I was relieved to find the note and be alerted to the plans of the PSYCHOPATH before Check Box One was completed.  Please note the tasks Three and Four: “Brake (sic) the things she makes” and “Call her names” have been successfully performed.  We are so proud to have such a committed high-achiever for a son.  I think most of the pundits would agree that goal setting and completion of tasks are the marks greatness…. Or perhaps it is vengeance that is the sign.  Obliterate the competition.

Exhibit B:

Coco has just started violin lessons, which makes our ears bleed brings much joy to our home.  This morning I was pleased and impressed to see she has penned her very first song.  It is without a title so far, but I think you will agree, it is the work of a prodigy.  There is a fair bit of crossing out, so perhaps the final words are still under review, but the chorus is truly wonderful.

In case the meaning escapes you the lyric is:

Verse:

Pop, cha cha

Fart, cha cha

They mean the same thing

They come out of people’s bums.

Chorus:

La La La La

La La La La

La La La La

(The chorus went on for quite a while, like any good ‘pop’ song… see what I did there?)

So there you have it, THAT is what perfection looks (and smells) like.  If you feel like you aren’t keeping up, feel free to drop me a line.  I think this year I’ll run some courses on pyshco and maestro hot-housing.  I’m clearly onto something.

Three year olds say some funny things, and Liam often springs his on me in the car.

“Mum, Mum,” he said with some alarm, “I can’t find my biblical area.”

“Pardon?” I said, surprised, “Your what?”

“My BIBLICAL AREA. I can’t find it, and I’ve looked and looked and it’s gone.”  The pitch and the decibels rising in the concern for the missing biblical region.

“Mate, I’m not sure what you mean,” I tried to sound soothing whilst hurtling along the motorway, almost late, as usual.

“The biblical area. That Dad made me. When he cut my biblical spring,” now sensing that I was bewildered, “when I was a BABY.”

The ‘Aha’ moment.  His UM-biblical tea. And in my concern, and then relief, I may have let the pedal stray a little closer to the metal.  Flashing red and blue lights in the rear-view mirror confirmed it.  I pulled over, and wound down the window, awaiting my fate.

“Hello,” came the cheery voice from behind mirrored lessees.  Skin smooth and sparkling, not long from acne and first shaves.  Youthful enthusiasm bursting from all pores.

“Do you know what speed you were doing Ma’am?”

“Um… Not really… About 90?” I asked hopefully.

“No,” came the helpful voice from the backseat, “you were up to one and one and zero Mum, I saw it on the speedo.”

“Was she really?” said Liam’s new best friend, beaming at me, and putting his hear a little further inside the window.

“Yep. She always does that. Is that a safety violation?”

“Yes it is,” said the teen-cop, laughing now.

“And how about driving your car and talking on your mobile.  Is that a safety violation?” asked Liam, warming up to one of his favourite topics.

“Yep, that’s one too,” said junior plod, gleefully as I squirmed in my seat, trying to give Liam meaningful “thats’ enough young man’ looks and the policeman innocent ‘I would never do that’  looks simultaneously.

“And how about when your Dad says ‘fuck’ in the garage when he hurts his thumb? Is that one?”

“Well… Not really a safety violation, but obscene language in front of a minor, certainly a reportable offence,” from the embyronic officer.

“A reportable offence,” echoed Liam thoughtfully, tasting the sound of a new phrase for his repertoire.  I could tell that one would be used at a later date.

“Any other safety violations?” asked constable youth, putting his head all the way into the car now, having a great time.

“Hmmm,” said the informant, “what about when your Dad cuts off your biblical spring, then you can’t find your biblical area any more?” asked Liam, all the while making violent slashing gestures towards his nether regions.

“Um…er…not sure about that,” said the cop, pulling his head back out of the car a little.

“And what about if you get your Mum’s tampons, and put them up your nose?” Liam in full cry now, loving every minute of this parry.

“Well. Um. I don’t, um, don’t know.” he almost stuttered, hastily retreating now.  Eyes flicking from me, to the whistle-blower, and back.  The thought “loonies” flashing like neon across his forehead.   “You just drive slower next time okay lady.” he said, walking quickly backwards, and almost stumbling in the rush to get away from the biblical-tampon-violators, or whatever he thought we were.

“They were just tampons he found in my bag,” I yelled out futilely to his disappearing back, “they were new.”

Without a look back he jumped into his car and was off in a screech or gravel.  I could just imagine his wide eyes behind those TV-cop sunnies as he took off along the motorway to the relative safety of bikies and druggies and robbers.

“That guy didn’t know very much about tampons Mum,” from the back “and he made a black mark on the road. That’s a safety violation.”

“Yes. Yes it is,” I thought as i set off at a sedate pace. The things kids spring on you.

Biblical springs.

Sprung by cops.

And a new spring in my step as I realised we’d escaped a ticket.

Three year olds say some funny things.

Hope you enjoyed this one…. From The Asher Archives xx

And just to give you some perspective, today, the kids did not eat all their breakfast easily and quickly and without single-handedly desalinating the entire Himalyan Mountain Range.

They did not make their beds, get dressed, brush their teeth and hair quickly.

They did not play with just one toy.

Instead, the evil geniuses did the exact opposite of the graceful and wondrous things they did yesterday.

They went downstairs, and they went very quiet.  Very.  After yesterday, I saw this as positive, rather than portentous.  Sucker fact #1.  So I did not go down to investigate, I assumed, on the basis of one day of unprecedented excellence (that shall henceforth be known as THE Golden Day) that they were silently and systematically completing all of the set tasks.  Sucker fact #2.

They were not doing any of these things.

They were in fact recreating the aftermath of Cyclone Tracey in each of their bedrooms.  They were efficient and effective in their re-enactment, and just like Tracey, they moved quickly and then they were silent.

If you’d like a list of the damages, here it is:

• Every Sylvanian and it’s accessories were strewn across the floor. The floor has a rug.  With a heavy shag-pile.  So now there are stupid tiny, tiny, minuscule pencils and bottles and lipsticks that will ne’er be seen again.  Their sound will be heard as they are hoovered up next week.  And no, I will not be vacuuming with a stocking over the vac to find these tiny agents of evil.
• All of the Lego was out, but only some of the Lego was invisible.  Invisible, but not undetectable to the soft, delicate arch of my bare feet.
• Every stuffed toy was out of it’s drawer.  I usually have them shoved in a drawer.  I had no idea there were so many. Inexplicably they were lined up on Liam’s bed, a row of strange cyclone survivors.
• A box of musical instruments, unopened for over five years were ALL out.  Maracas, harmonicas, home-made shakers, castanets, bells, xylophones, ukuleles, whistles and bells. WHAT?  WHY?
• A scrapbooking class must have come to visit, had their way with Coco’s supplies and then vanished, as every.bit.of.craft.crap was out.  Even the never-previously-used stamp pad.

There was probably more, but I’m sick of talking about it now, almost as sick as I was of cleaning it all up today.  Usually I wouldn’t have done it.  Usually I would have made them do it themselves, with the threat of the big green bin to get the task done with alacrity, but today was different.

And those little axes of evil knew it, because tomorrow:

(Insert Jaws theme, or Death Star March, or the shower music from Psycho)

THE MOTHER-IN-LAW COMES.

So all must be perfect.

It is as Liam said when he clocked the state of his bedroom and the bathroom this afternoon, “It’s like the Queen is coming to visit.”

Mission Accomplished.

How about you, do you clean up after your brats?

Any Mother-In-Law tips?   (Just joking Jen)

I may have mentioned once or twice that it was our ten year wedding anniversary on Friday.  When we got married (and were childless) we made a pact that we would go to Santorini for our ten years. We had visions of azure seas, stark white buildings, long days lazing on the beach, slowly merging into evenings of food and wine and timeless indolence.

That was before.

Now?  Well now we have two children. So our plans have become more, let us say, restrained.

Instead we were able to eek out two BLISSFUL BLOODY NIGHTS at The Emporium in Brisbane, which is IN THE SAME STATE as where we live.  Don’t get me wrong, our stay was amazing, and I am grateful to have a Mum who will babysit for us without complaint, or financial recompense.  I documented every last detail in photos, lest it be erased from our memories the second we picked up our little devil spawn cherubs.

I suspect a post on The Emporium will be coming your way soon, but I am too besotted with the idea of drinking this beer with my name on it (My Wife’s Bitter), and listening out for the storm that I hope is brewing, to get one together.  (Oh I do love a storm-beer).

Instead, I shall share with you this clip of Michael McIntyre, sent to me by Lauren (who is childless: if only you knew how funny this actually is Lauren), as I too was childless this weekend.  I walked out doors, I drank and ate and drove and swam and was pampered and swanned about without a care in the world. And now I’m home, and that sensation is fading already, and yet, strangely and funnily enough, I wouldn’t have it any other way*.

Photo by the gorgeous Mazzy Photography

How was your weekend? 

Did you have the kids?

* It is entirely possible that all the swanning about and celebrating has given me some sort of brain injury.