This post is from from my other blog here

In the salon I hand over the gift voucher with glee. An hour of frivolous indulgence should never be squandered. I leave with two parts of my scraggy anatomy spruced up to meet American standards of womanliness. I anticipate that the manicure should remain immaculate for the next twenty minutes during the drive home.

As I drive I calculate which mode to adopt on arrival? Guilty of the crime of ‘absent without leave,’ I shall be soundly punished one way or another. Maybe the sulky, silent treatment? Maybe mountainous meltdowns? It’s the price to be paid for such selfish skullduggery at the weekend. Whilst many a parent returns home to be welcomed with open arms, other parents need to be a bit more savvy.

On previous occasions I made the mistake of bringing home treats, due to a combination of gratitude for the time off and a hefty dose of guilt for being so grateful in the first place. For some reason, I had temporarily forgotten that most treats are in fact torture, but I learned from my error. Whilst it’s tempting to try for a hug, that too is subject to negotiation. There’s nothing like unexpected physical contact to really ruin someone’s day. I decide to play it by ear.

As I step through the door my ears are assaulted by a loud combination of someone playing the recorder, another one making rooster noises in protest, a third is buried head down in cushions and an aerated father has an air of exasperation.

“Oh good! You’re home! How did you get on?” We ignore our children, exchange glances. I permit him to note my sparkly finger nails.
“Ooo very………clean.”
Whilst it wasn’t the adjective I was looking for, it was a good try under the noisy circumstances. The rooster ceases to crow and gasps instead, open mouthed, a picture of awe struck, “you are be touch?”
“Pardon dear?”
“You are be touch me wiv your magic fingers!” I swear he's as sharp eyed as an eagle.





















Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse.

This post is from from my other blog here

We’re off on our annual pilgrimage to "England," a green and pleasant land so they say, but not without it's "hazards."
There again, we have the opportunity to relish "family support" for a few weeks and take time to bask in those tiny huge "triumphs."
I suspect we shall spend less time in the "car" with the petrol prices and exchange rate being as they are. It's probably time to kick back, "relax" and let the "campaigns" slide.

1. "Chat, chat, chat - breaking news"
2. "Zero sum and the division of labour"
3. "I do not like green eggs or otherwise"
4."The Humane Society"
5. "Slap on the head for the handmaiden"
6. "Puppy dogs tails indeed"
7. "The Seven Deadly Sins"
8. "I hear Thunder"
9. "Truthful Tuesday, the sin of Pride"
10. "To be or not to be, that is probably the answer"
11. "Look to the Future."
12. "Occupational Therapy - no Flying!"
13. "A Labyrinth of Liars"
14. "Personal Learning Curves"



So here are a few bits and bobs in the interim.
Cheers dears

This post is from from my other blog here

This post is from from my other blog here

I am a woman of strong convictions, so I waste no time, take out my pen and write to the local school district about their disgraceful policy on school lunches.

Not a mung bean in sight, nor in storage. How can young minds learn anything when they are starved of good, nutritionally well balanced meals. Where is the tofu may I ask? Whole-wheat is a good start but wheat-free options should be a priority. Fresh fruit and yoghourt is all very well but what about the lactose intolerant. Haven’t you people heard of soy? Don’t you know there’s more to a salad bar than lettuce and tomatoes? Whilst the new recyclable lunch container policy is commendable, shouldn’t there be a complete ban on paper towels too? We parents have high standards that are inviolate.

I pause as I hear the garage door open.

Children tumble into the house.

Spouse brings up the rear mounded high with sacks of groceries.
“You’ll never guess what?”
“What?”
“Tell her. Hey! Tell your mum what we bought.”
“Um……”
“Come on! Tell her! No words? O.k. just show her then. He chose it himself, just like that!”



























If that’s the 18th food then I’m a beansprout.

I toss the letter in the bin.

Traitor.