Ah, Real Life.
So far removed from the images of joyously relaxed recreation proffered by advertising.
Nothing particularly bad, nothing yuck, nothing very hard occurred today. It was just a quintessential Sunday, full of the normal household tasks, plus a bit of ‘special day’ going out.
There were a couple of loads of washing to do, a phone call to my Mum, and we got underway only about an hour and half after I’d’ve liked to be out of the house. #1 daughter had worn holes through the heels of her sneakers, so we went to the shoe-shop first, and two daughters walked out 40 mins later with new shoes. The gallery I need to visit (for Mum) was closed, the cafe over that side of things was booked out. A bit of circling produced a car-park at Salamanca, and some fancy footwork produced a table at an ok place. Well, ok except for the stray corn chip in my goat’s cheese (2 bits), pear (three shavings) and pine nut salad, and the absence of the ordered nachos (spot the irony), and the waiting (it was a busy day, after all). After that I got to go and sit in the coolth watching kidlets watching outdoor chess whilst the MOMD finished off his coffee and cake. He had suggested that we go to a fancier place for afternoon tea, but I thought that today that would be just asking for trouble, so next stop was Norman & Dan, ultra-fab coffe/tea/chocky/culinary bits-n-bobs shop. I chose a box of tea, then Miss 3 needed to go to the loo, so hubby went off back to the toilets with her. 30 seconds later Miss 6 decides she needs to go, hubby has already crossed the road and disappeared from view, so I abandoned my tea and took her across the road and up to the loos. Rejoining hubby and remaining children, I led the way back to N&D (very nearly making everyone wait outside), picked up my tea, chose some chocky truffles, negotiated small chockies for children, and managed to leave the shop without damaging anyone or thing. A brief stop at the Fresh Fruit Market, where I did make everyone stay outside, and we finally returned to the car. Next stop the TMAG.
The TMAG was fabulous – there is a wonderful exhibition on, which I’ve been trying to get to for a month or more, called Evolution, by Patricia Piccinini. The children were fascinated by the sculptures, and I can’t stop thinking about the depth of wondering that went into making figures which so compassionately express our fears and hopes for science.
Home again to normality – bring in washing, put more on, make cup of tea, cook dinner. Hubby left to play hockey (in the rain) and I think he’ll have had more fun. Miss 6 was in a pouty mood, and has been throwing a tantrum more or less continuously for the past hour and a half. (It is 9.16pm) She is currently threatening (but not quite daring) to come and get her cold potato herself. (If you’ve had any experience of small chlidren I’m pretty sure you can figure out the backstory from that one snippet) Miss 3 was put to bed in our room, but at some point has got back into her own bed and is fast asleep despite the weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth happening within a metre or so of her eardrums. Early on in the tanrum I discovered that my beautifully-turned heel on Purplefish sock #2 will have to be ripped out. Can you see what is wrong?
See how the right-hand sock seems a little wider?
That’s because it is. Check the second row of scales above the ribbing – can you see the weird skinny wonky one in there? The one that adds a whole extra 12-stitch repeat? I don’t know what I was doing, but it must have been really interesting, because I surely wasn’t paying any attention to my knitting. How (and why???) did the Yarn Gods arrange that mistake so far back so that it would pop up right now, when all my tolerance, patience and parenting skills are reaching their endpoints?
I’m going to go and cast on a new cardigan.
After I eat an Insanity (plum liqueur in dark chocolate) truffle.