Not What It Seems

This morning I went outside and discovered the builders next door merrily bricklaying away at the wall of the neighbour’s house that sits on our boundary, just beside our dining room. Except they weren’t bricking all of it. There was a large rectangular gap where there should have been bricks.

‘What’s that window doing there?’ I asked.

‘It’s not really a window,’ the brickie told me. ‘It’s more of a vent.’

I said nothing.

‘So they can get some fresh air in this bathroom,’ he clarified. ‘It’ll be frosted.’

‘A frosted glass vent that opens and shuts is commonly called a window,’ I said in a pleasant enough voice that nonetheless contained the suggestion that he might like to go get the foreman, Paul.

‘I’ll go get Paul,’ he said.

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Things Are Gonna Slide, Slide In All Directions

Donald Trump is President-Elect and Leonard Cohen is dead. So, who’s for some hilarious anecdotes about funny things my kids said and my high school reunion, or some riotous home renovation mishaps? I thought as much.

Here instead is a list, which will show you how deeply embedded in my life is the music and lyrics of Leonard Cohen.

Leonard Cohen Song Titles That Are Also Threats or Reprimands Made By Me To My Children This Week. 

1. One of Us Cannot Be Wrong
2. That’s No Way To Say Goodbye
3. Is This What You Wanted?
4. Why Don’t You Try?
5. If It Be Your Will
6. Here It Is
7. That Don’t Make it Junk
8. Going Home
9. You Want it Darker?
10. It Seemed the Better Way

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You Might As Well Have a Hotdog

There’s now a five-year-old living in our house. I don’t quite understand how, since I only just gave birth to her. Her birthday was excellent and exciting, beginning with mango pancakes in bed (thankfully she let herself be talked out of having soup), and finishing with pizza.

On Sunday we threw her an awesome Peter Pan-themed party, attended by seven Peters Pan, two Captains Hook, one mermaid, one Wendy (the birthday girl) and one Michael.

We played Pass the Parcel with an ordinary parcel because when I went to buy the fish and chips to put in it I found the fish and chip shop had shut down. Instead, the parcel contained a lame prize in the middle and a chocolate coin in each layer, which turned out to be ill advised because every time someone unwrapped a layer and got their coin, they promptly devoted all their attention to eating it and not to passing the parcel. Meanwhile, anyone who didn’t yet have a chocolate coin cried.

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Humpty Dumpty Had A Great Downfall

Shortly after we gave May Blossom her beloved new Humpty Dumpty toy, my brother Superchief drew my attention to the fact that Humpty looks a little bit like Hitler. A jovial, clean-shaven Hitler, but a bit Adolfy nonetheless. I think he is onto something.

Is it just the hair? On Play School Humpty’s hair is usually styled with a centre part, but the toy’s hair just wants to go to one side. When I do manage to part it he looks like Robert Smith from The Cure, which is definitely an improvement on Hitler.

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Holidays Make Me Sick

Things aren’t going exactly according to plan on our holiday. No sooner had we arrived and unpacked our Tetris-style car that took us a full hour to load, than I came down with some kind of horrible lurgy. Coughing like an old man outside the TAB, a headache like a horse kicked me and and a mood to match, I promptly retired to my bed and have barely raised my head since.

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No Gold Medal

When we arrived in Perth three days ago, sixteen hours after Pappy’s death, we were running on what could charitably described as empty. Coming off close to a month of illness for May Blossom and me, with a few semi-emerged molars thrown into the mix, sleep was but a faraway dream.

Twenty-four hours later, things were even worse. The three-hour time difference meant that we had woken May Blossom at 5 am Sydney time to get on the plane and put her to bed at 1 am Sydney time the following day. She had about six hours sleep over a 30-hour period. Then a man knocked on the door and gave us a Parenting Gold Medal. No he didn’t.

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Old Man, Look At My Life

H’s beloved dad died on Saturday. It was expected, and a relief in that he was released from his suffering after a year of illness. It is also completely fucking devastating. ‘Silly Old Man’ is how he used to sign his letters and emails to his two boys, but of those words only the last described him. He wasn’t old enough to die. Whatever that means.

He got to see his little boy become a dad though, and May Blossom was seriously the apple of her Pappy’s eye. He held her the day she was born and for the next fifteen months made the best possible use of the time they shared on the earth.

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Complete Rotating Malfunction

We’re back in the city H comes from, here to farewell his beloved grandfather. Apart from the funeral and cremation and wake, we’re also here to help H’s parents. H’s dad is very ill and needs permanent nursing care for his condition, from which we are told he will not recover. This situation, plus a few other family illnesses and general crises, puts us, I believe, squarely in the category Everything’s Gone Largely to Shit. H told me the other day that he keeps having a phrase pop into his head that he learned when he once went skydiving (before we met, it goes without saying. There will be no leaping out of planes on my watch). The phrase is ‘complete rotating malfunction’. It means both your parachutes have tangled around each other and you are spinning out of control through the sky. It’s pretty apt right now.

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The Loss of a Great Man

On the weekend, H’s family lost its patriarch, his paternal grandfather. In a year that has been horribly difficult for H’s extended family for several reasons, this was a cruel blow that came out of the blue.

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