Thanks to some comments recently concerning how beautiful I am (fibs from a rather loyal friend), and what a stunning parent and housekeeper I am (ha, you should see this place today) I realised that it is extraordinarily easy to make one's life sound idyllic on one's blog. [With the exception of yesterday's post, which I suspect lost me some regular readers. But perhaps gained me a new one or two?]
Anyway if not idyllic, then at least filled with freshly baked muffins, roses, regular cultural visits to orchestras and galleries, opera clothes and amazing artworks, all accompanied by the sounds of delightful and talented (not to mention stunningly beautiful) children playing harmoniously together in the background while one hums the odd Handel aria. In tune.
This slightly warped representation of life happens without my really meaning it to. After all, who wants to write about (or photograph) the dead flowers in the vase, dustbunnies on the floor, obstreperous children whacking each other over the head because "he did it first", laundry and the weather? Not me.
So, in case anyone was foolishly under the impression that they should live vicariously through me, (because I sooo do this myself via others ... hi Jane! Hi!!), I hereby present to you the seedier side of life Chez Soup lately.
• the geriatric cat crapped on the front verandah immediately prior to an Open for Inspection. I trust you all know how vile cat poo is
• remember these curtains? How they drape richly and billow voluptuously over the floor at the bottom? Um, that's because they still have raw, unhemmed bottoms. I fervently hope that none of the prospective buyers viewing our home touched them and uncovered my shameful secret. I will get around to hemming them before the new owners move in. Honest.
• we had a cold snap, the heating clicked on, and I paid for my sins
• in a moment of weakness, I did the non-Steiner/Waldorf thing and let the children watch a (carefully chosen) video
• immediately following the video, they went feral, irrefutably proving once again that tv is evil and they should never ever watch it again until they turn 18
• dying lilies drop yellow pollen. This stains pale coloured carpet
• a cockroach ran across the kitchen floor this morning. Unlike those tropical, damp northern cities, we, in the southern Australian city, are not used to this. And so we find it disgusting and alien and we tend to shriek like fishwives. (Apologies to any readers who are married to fishhusbands.)
• I am wearing tracksuit pants, a misshapen brown cardigan, hand-knitted slippers and a flowery apron right this minute
• I am very tired and my head aches
• I spent a lot of last month crying. I think I had some sort of meltdown
• I just noticed Son #3's snot on my shoulder, which I believe eventuated from the "he did it first" incident (see above)
• the snails ate all my basil seedlings
• this really really pisses me off
• I have dear friends who live in faraway countries. I have no money for airfares
• thanks to Son #3 creeping into my bed during a nightmare and snuggling oh so close, as is his wont, I am now sleep deprived and cranky
• I have come to the sad middle-aged realisation that my cello and I will never be part of the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra
• ditto the Chorale (minus the cello. Obviously)
• I have split ends
• I am becoming very used to a regular, nightly glass of wine. Or two. Sometimes I think this shows in my blog (pics of the dog’s bottom and so on). And so, from now on? More pretty pictures, less crap. Okay?
Note to self: check diary. May be premenstrual?