It is amazing to me how I can be so busy, and every day is tumbling into the next and yet I when I come to write something here I draw a blank. I guess even goddesses can’t be interesting all the time!
Tomorrow is Mr FD’s mothers funeral. We only expect about a dozen people at the most. She only has two surviving siblings and they are both too frail to travel. Two grandchildren are unable to make the journey home due to distance, and let’s face it, their Grandmother has passed on, it makes no difference to her if they are there or not. They said their goodbyes to her in the last few weeks anyway. Better to do so when alive than dead!
We have been told to we can only have a short service, and Mr FD is to make the eulogy short. Brisbane seems to be a bit of a conveyor belt for funerals. In and out and another one waiting. I have told our children I want to be buried in the town where I grew up and from the church where Mr FD and I were married – I don’t want them to have to rush. The great unwashed will need time to honour me anyway…
MIL is being cremated so another one of those horrible endings where we stand and watch the hearse drive away and are left feeling empty.
I haven’t seen Petit Fille for almost two weeks now and I miss her dreadfully. Poor little thing will be at the funeral as well. She had two great grandmothers for awhile, and now she has only one. She will be a nice distraction and I need a cuddle as my pick me up.
Each weekend since our Petit Fille was born I have spent the weekend with her in the hope that he parents can catch on up on a little lost sleep. Petit Fille can be a little pernickety at times (no, I don’t know where she inherits that trait, and you should not make any suggestions) and so Grandma and Granddaughter Flamingo Dancer spend quality time walking the floor, rocking in the rocking chair, doing leg lunges -something that apparently colicky babies find comforting and generally treading the floor boards together. No trouble getting those 10,000 steps in over the weekends now!
The first weekend I thought about what I would need and took an enough clothes to cover each day and one spare. Oh, and one work outfit in case I needed to stay over until Monday morning. There was also two pairs of pjs in case baby threw up on me. Each Sunday evening I return home and throw the laundry into the linen basket and leave the bag in the corner until the following weekend. Naturally the following weekend I add fresh clothing.
Now that autumn has arrived a cardigan or two have been added just in case the weather decides to surrender the forever summer attitude it currently displays and turn coolish of an evening. It was 31C yesterday and with the humidity it felt like it was 35C so no need for those items!
Then there is the ipad, the phone charger and the professional journals that I just know I will read when I have five minutes break from waltzing the floor or doing my best impression of a gum tree with a koala attached (me the gum tree, Petit Fille the koala) . Just between dashing to the toilet and grabbing a hot cup of tea I know I am going to read about the latest views on content curation… one day.
There is also the book club’s latest reading offer which all other members have completed reading and I am yet to browse the back cover. It has gone to the top of my bag to the bottom and back to the top with all good intentions as well. There is also the book I thought I would really rather read and as I write this I can’t even remember its title so obviously the passion is no longer as great.
Add in a couple of “little things” purchased online for Petit Fille that arrive during the week and require delivering, the rotating shoe selection with rejects not ejected, and possibly the kitchen sink and a globe artichoke and my overnight bag has gone from a light toss over the shoulder to a two handed drag along the garden path, up the front stairs, through the house and down the internal stairs to the guest room; and back again.
It does not end there though, dear reader. Now that most of my earthly belongings are ensconced in my luggage it means I can no longer function Monday to Friday as dressing for work means an escalating stress ridden search for underwear, footwear, toiletries and general clothing items. I can no longer find the charger to my phone and Mr FD and I argue over who owns the one ipad charger we can find about the house as the other one lives in the Tardis . Naturally I do not search my suitcase first, but hold to the inaccurate notion that I will find these items in my closet or bathroom shelves. Age does not always make one wiser it seems.
Only when I have exhausted every possible nook and cranny in our house will I consent to searching within my weekend luggage and there I will almost always find what I was searching for, crumpled in a corner of the bag and needing an iron.
What is worse is that I fear that once my weekend mercy Grandma visits are no longer required (sacre bleu!) that my goods and chattels may just remain in their imprisonment until the next baby arrival, and at the rate this one is impressing her parents, there may not be another arrival!