Being a parent has its perks, like holding the purse in the toy shop, and writing letters to the teacher why your child was absent, and you don't even need to forge your mum's signature.
This morning we had to get our first late pass organised at the school office. When it came to filling out 'Reason for Lateness?' I wrote:
'Fast paced society'
(as in trouble keeping up with).
After shoving my late daughter into an already filled classroom, I disappeared over the horizon to the seaside with my son who at two, has no concept of time nor lack of it.
His main objective for the morning was to do a poo on the beach. Luckily for me (or unluckily) an elderly couple were cruising by, trying to tear their minds away from the enormous pollywaffle gracing the sands. I embraced the truth and asked for a spare tissue (old ladies are famous for carrying them) - she gave me two. Bless her. I vow to carry a box in my purse from now on.
We marvelled at the beautiful, empty(ish) Sydney harbour beaches in the Autumn.
At 3.20pm when school was due to finish I bought up the 'Slow Movement' with another waiting school mum (not to be confused with the earlier one).
She seemed nice, normal, maybe even more feral than most, and even admitted to only putting her sons through swimming and some other extraneous hobbie slash improving activity (I started to drift off). I noted her eyebrows rising when I mentioned the Slow Movement. It obviously rung some far off bell for her. Why do parents insist on swimming lessons in the Autumn? For god's sake - it's fucking cold. My child enjoyed cavorting with his pants off, but when I washed his dirty bum in harbour water, I tell you, he wasn't happy.
I used to be the A student, the overachiever, and look where it got me.
Today's excitement came in the form of a 244GL Volvo, powder blue, driven by the octengenarian owner of KHE XXX (best he remain nameless - you know who you are), we were both doing 10 kph over the speed limit, and STILL, we had people on our arses. Is it the coffee they grow these days or what?????
Folk don't believe me when I say I don't suffer road rage, I love tormenting other drivers. Especially tailgaters. But like old ladies hogging isle four of Coles supermarket, you can't just shove us into the honey section, you've got to wait till we decide to actually move. That's what it's like with the Kombi. Heh heh.
So me and the Blue Volvo are growling along River Road, we are holding up all the traffic in the race of the turtles. I'm not sure who won. Me probably. We took turns. Winning is for losers. We both won. We both got to drive slowly, at 10 am, the road ours. If you are late or early for the peak hour, that is your fault not ours. Hmmmm, maybe I'm passive aggressive road rage.
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1 comment:
I first learned about Peter Nicholson when I was in Tasmania some years back at a little National Park with a name that's just too hard to pronounce let alone remember. And I was fascinated by this school boy who snuck off at night and socialized with wombats. I learned more about wombats from Peter Nicholson that day than anyone/where else. I had some close encounters with two wombats during the Xmas break this year, down on the Yarra river where I camped for about 10 days. My camp was close to their burrows so we came across each other frequently. If I sat still, they went about their business quietly. Peter says that wombats like to live alone but they go out at night and visit other wombats in their burrows. He said that he made friends with a particular wombat and used to go and visit him at night when his mum and dad thought he was in bed. Most other teenagers sneak out to see their friends!!
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