January 7th

 

So here's the truth - I live with slobs.  That's right.  Slobs.  Try as I might, I am but one lone anal retentive scurrying around after three lazy bums who think it's perfectly ok to leave piles of rubbish (yes, rubbish - that's what it becomes if you don't know what's there, don't need it or look at it for months and let it accumulate dust mice) next to their computer (James), leave food exactly where you finished/didn't finish eating it (Teddy) or just leave things to pile up with no sense of what you want or need (Harriet).  

To stem the flow of these dirty (James), filthy (Teddy) and hoarder (Harriet) tendencies, I do put my foot down occasionally.  The days where I get cranky and just start flying around the house on a broom mean everyone else better follow suit or there will be painful consequences of...well of nothing really but my eternal wrath. Today was not one of those days.  I had actually planned (ah, plans.  I remember the days where they actually meant something!) for us to go for a trip to Centennial Park, take up Ted's bike riding tutelage and then head back to the city.  However the children were feral after a few quite late nights.  Last night Harriet managed to stay awake until 11.  So today ended up with significantly lower expectations.

That set of drawers you see up there?  They are Harriet's drawers.  They are the first thing your eye lands on when you walk into the children's room.  And her penchant for acquiring op shop figurines is slowly doing my head in. I routinely ask her to clean up the top of her drawers and she routinely attempts subdued efforts to quell my angst at clutter.  But still it remains.

Today, however, may have seen a break through.  We discussed the in/out cycle of goods.  How things should only enter one's house if they are of purpose or deep connection.  That to constantly have to go back through goods and discard them is wasteful.  We've talked about it before but not specifically in relation to her own things.  I saw lightbulbs going off.

Harriet, without supervision, then proceeded to clear out her tubs and clean down her drawers.  As in - actually clean them.  I didn't manage an 'after' photo, but will do tomorrow.

It was then time to travel into the city to meet up with the grandparents.  They arrived late afternoon from Perth and were brave enough to want to see the children so soon after their long flight day.

Harriet spent time putting her hair into a bun (this is a newly acquired skill of which she is most proud), choosing an outfit (this is one of the dresses we chose the other day) and bringing along her latest reading love (Withering-by-Sea, a Christmas gift from Kate).

Ted?  Ted had to be cajoled into clothes to start with. He spent the short train ride alternating between sprawling over the seats, walking over the seats, lying over the seats, writhing over the seats and making adorable, witty observations about life that endeared him enough to prevent exasperation.  I mean, check out that style, would you?  T-shirt, belt and shorts all courtesy of Harriet.


























Ted then held my hand to run almost the entire distance down to the apartment (note: this is only a couple of blocks.  Don't be impressed.) and we met up with Nana.  Ted and Harriet almost immediately fell into a hole of shyness and their exhaustion was suddenly and immediately evident. 


However this didn't stop them from leading the way to a room they'd never been to before.














































There was hanging around in the air-conditioned comfort of the hotel room to be done.  As you can see, Harriet availed herself of the bed, while Ted decided to compare the sprawling-qualities of the lounge chairs with the train seats.  Soon after this photo was taken, the seats and ottomen were lined up for a great game of leapfrogging to the bed and rolling off.  It was so entertaining that Ted proceeded to severely injure himself on the sharp bedside table.  It was quite the impressive wound and definitely no-one with an inferior bent for self destruction could have achieved it in such a benign room.  Kudos to Ted for his kamikaze ingenuity!



























For many years James and I had driven past in the bus and admired the Thai restaurant on George St - Crocodile Senior Thai.  What a name!  And how it enticed us!  Was there a geriatric reptile kept in the back of the restaurant?  Was there a connection between crocodile soup and a Seniors card that they offered?  We had to find out.

Alas, alack, our curiosity was too slow.  As we approached the shopfront we realised that KFC had appropriated the space of our yet-to-be-beloved-but-sure-to-be-beloved restaurant.  We are now left to forever wonder - why?  Why that name?

So we made do with the Thai place next door (it's Sydney after all, there's always a Thai restaurant within sight of any other one).  While Ted cried, laid down all over me, kicked Mike in the head and generally made himself insufferable (it was all to be expected since he hadn't eaten for quite a while and I should have pushed him down to eat earlier), we ordered and received our meals.  Oh, except for Jan.  Entrees came, mains were eaten and still...no meal.  And when it finally did come the potatoes were cold.  Ergh!  Whilst the food was otherwise quite delicious, the service was not what we expected from Senior Crocodile standards. 

We headed back to pick up our bags, managing to grab a sneak peek at this delicious sunset between the buildings. 

Then it was quick smart on to home, because tomorrow they children are off to Luna Park.  With the grandparents.  While James is at work.  Oh yes, people. Tomorrow it's a photo of a cup of tea and my computer screen for you all.  School prep, here I come!  Woot!

Well, ok, maybe you could twist my arm to head out for a coffee and cake if I have to.