Suitcase

Slowly starting to get my head around the fact that I actually need to pack, make lists and do the passport/purse/phone check (about twenty times).  I did have a very bad experience once when we drove to Dover at 4:30am to catch a ferry to France for our annual Easter holiday in Provence.  I was so chuffed that I had managed to get my fifty page Arts Council application finished and posted the day before, that I was not thinking straight.

I do remember watering the plants at 4:00am before we left. Then the long drive to Dover. Then the sight of the Euro flag at the entrance to the ferry - Passport Control.  I could see in my mind's eye - my passport very clearly lying in the desk drawer back in Oxford.  Of course it was a complete disaster, and The Accountant called me many four-letter words, my friends were more patient, although I did end up having to buy everyone a very expensive lunch on the ferry to make up for the inconvenience. But that was six hours later.

There was not much cheeful banter on the way down to France that year. I think The Accountant waited a whole day and a half before he spoke to me. So ever since, I check for my passport and purse like something demented.  This time however, I won't have to count the number of nappies needed on the flight. Or dummies, or books, or toys, or Power Rangers.....

Birthday Party

I very much blame The Cousin. I was not even going to have a 1st Birthday Party for Jonty.  But she put the pressure on me and here I am.  Sunday morning, guests due to arrive at 2pm.  I was awake at 2am after feeding Jonty making The List in my head.  In the end I had to read a terrifying novel to settle myself back to sleep.

Troops were mobilised in Afganistan with less drama than there will be organising this family celebration this afternoon.  And the reason I agreed to it in the first place is that I  knew The Aunties would step up and offer to bring stuff.  The is what The Cousin said they do (these people don't understand that I've been living sans famile for 20 years and I had forgotten how the system worked).  So I would not be making all of the party food myself.  Ah yes but nobody told The Cousin about The Hostess' Guilt.  If is my party, then of course I will want to go to some trouble and show off my mediocre baking skills.

About to go into a cleaning frenzy in the house, followed by balloon buying, alcohol, bread and for some strange reason - hair tongs!  I am completely realistic about the fact that people will arrive at 1:59pm, and I will have only one eye with mascara on it, Jonty will be nappy-less, the boys will have embarked on some pirate adventure during which they need absolutely every toy in the house and The Accountant will dash past the door whispering "I'll just duck into the shower quickly......"

My gorgeous little boy does not realise all this commotion that is about to happen is for him.  But he will have a jolly good time ripping that paper off the presents and having his first taste of fairy bread.

Bring Your Child To Work Day

I can count the number of times I have had to drag a child to work with me due to illness/cancelled childcare/snow/general school mix-ups, on about five hands.

How many hands is The Accountant holding up?

No hands, just a coffee and The Financial Times Online.

Hangover

The Cousin nicely offered to have the two big boys over for a sleepover. So for the first time in two years, The Accountant and I had a free evening, with just baby Jonty to look after.  The endless choices.  Well two actually: 1. Have a quite night in with a DVD, a takeaway and a good nine hours sleep. 2. Party like it's 1999!  Of course we opted for the second scenario (and this morning I am fantasising about the first option still...) and we invited four family members to dinner.

Good food, abundant wine, adult conversation and of course, the tele on as there was an important match between Collingwood and Carlton (cannot even begin to explain UK friends).  But it comes at a price people.  Oh yes, in bed by 1:30am, baby awake by 6:30am.  Lovely.

Above is a photograph of the two big boys on a recent wild camping trip with The Accountant to East Gippsland in Victoria.  They had a ball as you can see.  Anything to do with fire and rivers and they are on it.

A Little Pocket

Unfortunately for me (and due to the joint account - The Accountant as well) I discovered a dear little shop right across from the dance studio where I teach classes.  Thursday mornings are delicious.  Henry and The Accountant go in one direction to school, I go in the other direction with Jonty to childcare and then Rufus to kindergarten.  I then have a miraculous 3.75 hours in which to choreograph in the studio, administration and planning in the office and housework at home.

Do I achieve anything of this?  Well I have to prioritise so of course I choreograph first (fantastic), administration second (not so fun) and housework a dreary third (hideous and bothersome).  But this week, before I had even donned my dance gear, I headed across the road to A Little Pocket and found an Aladdin's Cave of trinkets and beads.  This gorgeous shop has anything and everything a girl could want.  I bought lots of birthday presents for both English and Australian friends and family (there are about ten birthdays between March/April), and of course a few things pour moi.

A funky ring, a vase and a gorgeous necklace.  I actually found the necklace in an expensive boutique whilst Christmas shopping, but thought it bad karma to buy myself something during the festive season.  So it was like the Mother Ship calling me home when I saw the exact same necklace again - and for less!  I also bought a little white jug.  My big weakness is jugs of any kind.  But I did not have a gay/shopping friend to hold me back whilst I repeat my usual mantra "Whatever happens DON'T let me buy another bloody jug....".  Katy probably has memories of our jaunts around Bonnieux in Provence, me with my many pottery jugs, and Katy with her bottles of wine.  But that's another story....

www.alittlepocket.com.au