Yesterday we made  a jaunt to the local markets to get morning tea. One macaroon for each family member.

Mr Small took a tumble the other day. It was a nasty one and not one we could have prevented even if I'd been standing right next to him. Which unfortunately I wasn't.
He came running towards me and Husband sobbing his little heart out. Within seconds, he was settling down. Husband dashed to get his "blankie" and the two of us stood side by side, with him nuzzling in between our shoulders. I felt his heart which had been beating out of its ribcage begin to slow, and his breathing become more measured. We chatted to him about things we knew he liked and pretty soon he was laughing and giggling.
Then he ran off to play again.
And it struck me that most of the time we can't do anything about preventing the "before."
Much of the time we can only watch and wait.
We also cannot change the "before." Whether it is the words I spoke in haste and anger that ruptured a friendship, the mistakes made during the renovations, the hardship endured by family friends.
I wish I could.
But I can see after what happened with Mr Small, the "before" in many ways becomes largely irrelevant.
It is the "after" that counts.
It's being the grown up and continuing to smile politely and say "hello" even when you feel bewildered and snubbed.
It's getting Husband to make a list of "repairs needed" and making sure they get done.
It's showing up and being there for friends even if all they can do is cry and all I can do is pass tissues.
And giving hugs.
They're great for "afters." I can't recommend them highly enough.

In a week where I have been forcibly reminded of just how fragile life is I have a heightened appreciation of the wonder and joy in the little things.
So this week I'm grateful for:

 my newly scarlet painted toenails,

my thrill at baking as part of my new job and yet not actually craving any of its sugary sweetness. The side effect of lack of craving? Making myself wildly popular with the children and their friends by sending said treats to school. Who said sugar can't buy happiness?

beautiful swatches of wallpaper with their creamy textures that I just want to lay my head on

and chutney.
OMG this chutney is so divine there aren't words sufficient to describe its deliciousness. A thin slice over, well, anything really, and I swear a crowd of celestial beings pop up behind you to play a triumphal march as you bite into it. Truly.


Have a glorious weekend all.
(I'll be drawing the winner of the Kikki-k giveaway and posting it tomorrow)

Yes really.

So I picked the toys off the floor and put them back in the pram I threw them out of yesterday. Metaphorically speaking of course. I want to reassure you I do not have a pram that I spend my day in, though sometimes it would be very, very nice.
Now you may recall that on Monday night's Qanda a certain gentleman threw both of his shoes at former Prime Minister John Howard. I don't care how outraged people are or how offensive you think he may be, throwing your shoes at a 70 year old man is NOT COOL.
It isn't funny, smart or clever.
Which is why next Monday when I attend the first ever Qanda session to be taped here in Perth I will be not be doing that.
(I tried to slip that in nonchalantly like it's something I do all the time)
I will of course be wildly excited and very uncool. I am one of those people who finds politics simply thrilling. My longstanding crush on Alastair Campbell is well known and being in the audience with all the politicos? Well it's the equivalent of giving me a Chanel handbag.
Almost.
I haven't yet started pondering the problem of what to wear, which is of course far more important than asking a question. I hope I get to do that too.
In other news Barry the builder is back from his cruise and was warmly greeted by me. Yes I kissed him. Only on the cheek I promise.
Having pronounced some of the works a: "bloody disaster" he got on the phone and started ordering people around. It was wonderful.
And this morning I ignored all the paperwork piling up to my kneecaps and went out for coffee and cupcakes with my brother and parents.

No wonder I'm feeling better.
How are you?

Looking back I can see a pattern. I like things to be simple. Perversely this comes from the long held realisation that most things are not actually that simple.
Wouldn't it be so much easier if they were?
All this week I've been feeling very out of sorts and irritable. I was even getting frustrated trying to figure out why the hell I felt that way. This has been the year where I have acknowledged this flaw in my character and tried to embrace life with all it's glorious and wonderful complications.
Except a lot of these complications suck.
I've always loved the Occams Razor theory that the simplest explanation is usually the right one. I think it's because I like the easy option alot of the time. So I'm trying to apply it to my life right now.
Observed phemomena 1:
The renovations get worse and messier each day. Really they do. I try to smile and laugh when I'm told about delays or changes to the schedule, but seriously, "get it together people!"
And where is the explanation to that?
According to my husband I need to chill out. This is what happens during renovations. All true, but I am finding it very hard to accept that people can't stick to their bloody deadlines anyway. And I know people mean well but it doesn't help when people say: "it will all be worth it in the end." It's like telling a 42 week pregnant mother with 2 year old twins, that it will all be worth it when the baby arrives. That maybe true, but when you're swollen, tired and exhausted you don't care. You just want someone to lay you in a hammock and pass you cool drinks and let you have an uninterrupted sleep.
Observed phemomena 2:
The trip to Sydney is complicated. I can't explain in detail here, mainly because you would most likely die of boredom. Thinking about it makes me want to die of boredom too.
Trust me when I say there is no simple solution to this one.
At least, not yet.
Occam, where are you?
Observed phemomena 3:
If you send something to someone and they acknowledge you have sent them something and will be in touch, what's the etiquette? Do you acknowledge their acknowledgement? Or do you shut the hell up?
Actually, maybe that's what I need to do.
ETA It is a truth universally acknowledged that cat's vets bills and car trouble are both pricey and stressful. I've also had those in the last 24 hours too.
Right. I promise I am shutting up now.

Sometimes when it all seems a bit too much like, well, cement. Lots and lots of cement...

It's important to head out on the town and remind myself that it will all be worth it.

There will be vibrant tones




gorgeous bubbly textures



floors made for walking

and lots of smiles

Sometimes I forget that. While I have renovations going on elsewhere I decided it was also time to renovate my blog. Thank you Danielle for putting up with my occasional tantrums. You're an angel to work with.
Oh and my future tiles? They're from here.
I love them. Almost as much as white chocolate. Which as you know, is quite alot.
What's reminded you to smile this week?

Sometimes it dawns on me, like a newfound discovery, that I'm an eejit. For those of you who are not Irish like myself, this is a fool.  In my family this was what we called ourselves or others when we did something ridiculously foolish. It also needs to be said with a heavy Irish accent to have full effect.
And this week I can categorically state that I am one.
Before you start saying nice things to me and reassuring me that I'm not, let me prove the levels of my idiocy to you.
Firstly what possessed me to think we should dream of something like this?

This may be because we are in renovation hell right now. Did I mention Barry the builder announced he was going on a cruise the first day of renovations? And on Day 2 we realised both bathrooms needed gutting and refurbishing instead of the just the one as we had originally planned and budgeted for . In fairness, I should add Felicia has been a rock of calm throughout all this and Brian the builder is nobly and ably stepping in to continue the works.
But still.
And for those of you interested, it looks like this.....


But the other thing that earns me a gold medal in eejit ville is this. On Friday I had to attend my offspring's athletics carnival. I duly applied 50+ sunscreen to my offspring and off we went. Most of the morning was spent consoling Miss Medium who spent the carnival in tears. Not, I hasten to add, because of the pressure of performing. She is simply overtired and overwhelmed from a week of moving out of home and starting school again after a lovely break.
So in my defence I was a little distracted.
I spent the morning reapplying sunscreen to myself and trying to watch the events.
Arriving home I felt somewhat sore and tired. An hour later I realised why.
Instead of applying 50+ sunscreen (and FYI it looks just as awful on my back) I had been applying moisturiser to myself. Just moisturiser. I'd accidentally slipped the wrong cream in my bag as we flew out the door.
I'm sure you will all agree I deserve my own pride of place in eejits ville. As long as it's well stocked with soothing balms and fans I won't complain at all.

You know the old expression: "One man's trash is another man's treasure?" Well so it is in this case. This weekend I am grateful for:

1. Large black plastic sacks. Mainly because of their awesome capacity to hold the shedloads of things we've had in storage the past few years, based on Husband's premise we may need them "someday."

2. Lists. I love making lists and there have been many made in the past few weeks. I get inordinate satisfaction from crossing things off them.

3. Writing. I have been given some of articles to write. As you can imagine, this makes me very, very happy indeed.

4. Desserts. Especially like this one I had last week on my date night with Husband. Blissness.

5. Playdates. Nothing beats the joy of all the offspring playing happily with friends while I tear through the house packing away paintings and filling up suitcases.

6. Taking books with me. Though why I think I will have time to read new ones, or revisit old loved books in the coming weeks I do not know! Always the optimist.


Have a glorious weekend everyone. We will be on the move next week and I'm not sure if I'll have much internet access. Don't let anything exciting happen without me.
What's on your list of grateful this week?

PS Maxabella, this is one of my favourite things to do each week. Y'all should pop over and see the wonderful links she has on her blog.

xxxx

It's an odd feeling to be packing up to move home.
Well to my old home.
It's been too many years to count since I lived under my parents roof. However the realisation slowly dawned a few weeks ago that the "let's replace the kitchen cupboards" programme had spiralled a little out of control. Instead there are walls coming down, rooms being gutted and refurbished. All of it wonderful of course. But when you are three years old and insatiably curious, it's a recipe for disaster.

In fact one of the MABS (my amazing brothers) who is now a respectable member of the community, holds the claim to renovation disaster fame in our family. He was considerably older than Mr. Small when he balanced on the A frame of one of the many houses we grew up in, that my parents renovated around us. Having clearly watched the movie "The boy who could fly" one too many times, he stepped off the ledge. All my poor mother, who was washing dishes at the kitchen sink saw was a blur, as he fell from the second storey, onto the pile of rubble strategically placed just outside the kitchen window. He escaped with only a broken arm. It could have been much worse. A few weeks later I tried to move a sheet of gyprock and dropped it on my toe, promptly breaking it.

The evidence speaks for itself really. Renovations plus children? Expensive AND deadly.
So having ascertained from Barry the Builder just how many people will be in our home and the noise, chaos and mess there will be, especially in the early days, we decided to move out.

Thankfully my parents have kindly agreed to take us in. Naturally this means they themselves have wisely decided to go on a short holiday themselves.

Today I'm the offspring have also been enlisted as small and willing slaves clearing out the laundry and bathroom. We emptied the study and storeroom on the weekend. Husband has been building "magic shelves" all over the place and I have thrown out too many black sacks of clutter to count.

It will be a strange thing to be a parent in my childhood home. But I can't wait for the offspring to spend some real time in a place I loved so much either.

I think by now, it's pretty clear I like things in my home to be neat and tidy. Or as ordered as it can be with a hoarding husband, 3 small children and 2 demented cats.
Now recently when Husband and I were stuck down with the equivalent of the ebola virus, we spent alot of time lying on our bed talking weakly about our plans for the future; providing we survived this life threatening illness probably a bad chest infection but it FELT like ebola
Initially the plan was to replace our kitchen cupboards, as our present ones are either falling off or held together with masking tape.
So we duly asked someone, called *Fred, to give us a quote.
Fred was affable and measured it all up. He said he'd be in touch within a week with a quote. We never heard from Fred again. When we phoned his business a week later we heard they had gone into receivership. Bad news indeed for Fred. Sad news for us.
Next phonecall was to a company a friend recommended. We later discovered she'd accidentally given us the name of the company she hadn't ended up using, but by then it didn't matter.
So *Ivanka arrived wielding a clipboard, killer stilettos and an accent that reminded me of my mother in law. She barely glanced at our kitchen, insisting instead we take her on a guided tour of our home. We dutifully did so,  and both of us listened in silence as she berated us for the shoddy planning of the home. Never mind we weren't the original owners. My husband seemed as cowed by her accent as I was.
Ivanka point blank refused to even draw up plans for our kitchen as it was "unacceptable" for her to be associated with this work apparently.
We decided that having Ivanka do anything with us would be a bit stressful. The plans were duly shelved.
But there was no doubting she had planted a seed, that maybe if we were going to redo the kitchen we should do it properly.
So one night, I tweeted in desperation about the sorry state of my home and a friend recommended a lady called Felicia (which is her real name)
I phoned her and we chatted at length.
Husband and I worked out a P.L.A.N about what we wanted to do with the kitchen.
Having had our fingers burnt a few times now we were apprehensive to say the least about meeting her. We needn't have been.
We were both enchanted with her.
Felicia is a tiny powerhouse.
She listened carefully and made suggestions.
While the plans involve a bit more than changing the kitchen cupboards, I am excited about what is in store for our little house.
The inevitable mess and chaos we'll be living in a few weeks time?
That's a whole other post.
*Fred, not his real name
*Ivanka, not her real name