So. You want to stay married?

Things to Never Say to Your Wife

Have you put on weight?

My mum didn't make it like this. You can't even get out of this by saying "Yours is MUCH better!" because if your mum finds out, you're dead.

I accidentally taped over our wedding DVD.

That's really not your colour, is it?

I bought you a cookbook. Unless it's personally signed by Manu.

I bought you a lawnmower.

I had lunch with my old girlfriend today.

Anniversary? Today? Really?

Birthday? Today? Really?

Why can't your mum stay at a hotel?

So, what did you do all day?

Well, I married you, didn't I?

Things To Never Say To Your Husband

NEVER ask "Do I look fat in this?"
Note to husbands -- if your wife asks this quesion, do NOT say "Yes", or "Not in that, no." , or hesitate for even a split second while you think about it. In fact, if your wife springs this question on you, it's probably best to pass out on the floor as a distraction.

Why don't you just stop and ask for directions!?

Are you sure you know how to do that?

Do you think she's pretty?

I'll try anything once! Because unless you really, really, really mean it, you're going to crush his hopes!

flu

Juice.

Tissues.

Bed.

Rest.

hot

It's cold outside. Like, 4 degrees kind of cold.

And so (not unreasonably) I have the fire lit. Only now I can't think because my feet are hot.

I also can't think if my glasses are dirty, if I have an eyelash in my eye, or my hands are sticky.

I think my wiring was done by The Dodgy Brothers.

lazy

Not much going on here at Chez ChickChat.

I made my bed and a tag and passionfruit jelly.

I kept the fire going and I read my book.

The kids played, they made a mess and then cleaned it up.

Quiet.

Peaceful.

Lazy.

the not-birthday

Life begins with such promise.

As parents, we look at our new-born babies, and we see the future.
A million possibilities stretch out in front of us, like a Yellow Brick Road that leads on through all the years that this child will have, signposted with goals and landmarks.

We anticipate the Firsts. First smile, first tooth, first steps, first words, first birthday, first day of school.
We dream of sports carnival ribbons, and lumpy clay Mothers' Day presents, and paddle-pop stick stars for the Christmas tree.

We tell ourselves to deal gently with grazed knees and bruised egos and broken hearts. We will walk beside them to protect our fragile children from the monsters of this world until they're strong enough to protect themselves.

Their birthdays appear along the Road as milestones, marked with balloons and excitement, an achievement and a celebration. Each one is a triumph. "You Have Made It This Far! Keep Going!"

The road, for my little boy, is empty. There are no milestones. There are no crowds to cheer him on. There are not even any footprints to show me where he's been. There are 15 years of nothingness behind us, and many more in front.

The promise of What Might Have Been still hurts my heart.

Excuse me for not caring any more.

Ever had one of these days?

Yeah.

Yesterday was a bitch.

Today, I just can't care any more.
Not 'don't' -- CAN'T.
It's killing me, letting this crap tie me up in knots.
ONE DAY, I tell myself, The Wicked Witch of the West will be out of our lives forever.
God speed the day.

eighteen

My boy turns 18 today.

And as weird as it feels to say it, he is now a young man.

He's been towering over me for years. He's well over 6 foot tall and has (fluffy) whiskers, his voice still squeaks a bit but mostly is quite deep, and he has the biggest feet you've ever seen.

But I'm his mum. And so he's still my boy.

You see?

And this is what he looks like now. I can only get photos of his back or his hand covering his face or a blur as he ducks under the table because he won't face the camera anymore.

So.
Eighteen.

He has the rest of his life in front of him. I hope he lives it well and lives happily ever after.

winter

It's woolly socks and hairy legs; flannie sheets and a snuggly doona.

It's the warm soft glow of lamps and a crackling fire, snuggling in a chair with a good book, listening to winter storms outside.

It's slow cooker dinners and hot chocolate (and sometimes, just sometimes, melting a few squares of chocolate in my chocolate melty-pot and spoiling myself for a little while).

It's the smell of Skin-So-Soft bath oil and woodsmoke; pumpkin soup with bacon and a good bottle of red.

It's fog in the mornings and frost overnight.

It's footy on the weekends and walks on the beach with stinging, cold rain and a wind that comes straight off the Southern Ocean.

Sometimes, I can nearly convince myself that I love winter.

escape.

This is where I want to be today.

I'll share with Kristin. We'll escape all the crap and dream of how things should be.

The image came from here