Romance or lack thereof...

I have the best husband in the world: he is kind, he is patient, he tolerates my writing and the house being in a mess because I'm writing and not cleaning the house, and he tolerates getting dumped with the kids because I'm on a writing retreat with my writing group or with my friend Ellen. He doesn't mind that I go to a reading rather than spend family time -- as long as I don't want to drag him along. He helps around the house. He is the best husband in the world. But he is not perfect.

So what doesn't he do? He doesn't do romance.

Take the other Friday night, for example. Princess Sleepyhead's formal. It was also a few days after our wedding anniversary. We had been going to go out for dinner for our anniversary, which is a huge thing because he would normally say why would he want to go out when he can have a nicer dinner at home. Men just don't get dinners out. (And if he thinks my meals are better than restaurant meals, he also lacks a fine culinary appreciation.)

So, the night of the dinner out, he was ill. Really ill. Miserable with a cold. So I suggested postponing it to the Friday night, when we were going to be stuck in downtown Tullamarine with several hours to kill, waiting to pick up PS. Okay, he said, let's do that.

Fine. Except that then Sir Talkalot tagged along. Okay, a romantic dinner for three. Not quite what I had in mind.

Oh, and in the food court. Did I mention that? Definitely not what I had in mind. I was thinking candlelight, soft music, some sort of romantic ambiance, fine food. Instead, I got food court. My choice of takeaway, and I should be grateful for that! Hmm.

Except, did I also mention, he decided he wasn't hungry, so while ST and I ate, he wandered off to look at shops. A nice romantic for two: my son and I. Most definitely not what I had in mind. As I said, men don't get dinners out, and my husband doesn't get romance! (But he's still the best husband in the whole world!)

Three faces of Eve

These photos are all off the same "roll" in the camera, and were taken a few days apart.

So face no. 1 is Princess Sleepyhead after a drama performance for school the other day. I'm like -- what the hell happened to your hair? She was wildly excited about the wild hair and the crazy look.


Face no. 2 was her getting ready to go to her school formal. A bit too much eye make-up, but that was my fault. It would've helped if I'd had something other than a blusher brush to apply it with, but that's the problem when you (ie me) hardly ever wear make-up: you don't realise all your eye-shadow brushes have disintegrated. It looked okay at the time, but seeing it in the photos, I'm left thinking, hmm, too much. Anyway. She was less wildly enthusiastic about this hairdo and cut, which I absolutely love. Too short, she says. So flattering, I say. So much nicer than all the one length, which it was. Now, I'm thinking perhaps I should get mine done too, though neither of us will be blow-drying it to make it look like this every day. Don't have time or the inclination, which is perhaps a bit sad.


Face no. 3 is the chorister, after her first Australian Girls Choir performance at Monash University. Oh, my God, does that girl light up on stage. She loves her singing and performing, that's for sure. I wonder wear she gets it from: not from either of her parents, that's for sure. But then my brother has always been a bit of an exhibitionist.


But the formal was on Friday night, the performance on Saturday night, which meant getting her to rehearsals in the afternoon, and taking and picking up Sir Talkalot from an exam in the city. The weekend was altogether too full on. Ah, but isn't taxiing one of the great joys of this generation of parenting. I won't miss that once they both get cars!

You know you're living in a good suburb when...

(i) You stand outside your local Coles and you can see the sea.

(ii) The overhead traffic mostly consists of pelicans.

(iii) The one time a hoon hoons down your street in the middle of the night has the neighbours speculating for days.

(iv) You can contemplate going for a walk alone at 11 pm without any qualms.

You know you're living in a bad suburb when...

(i) You go to Coles and the checkout gals are talking about the customer who came in with the green bag he'd vomited in...

(ii) Some man pretending to be lost asks your son to get in the car with him and show him where the main street is...

(iii) Your number plates get stolen while the car is parked at the local railway station...

(iv) All of the above happen within seven days...