Diarising. Shuffling. Swearing. A night off.

As advised by experienced colleagues (that is, mainly my talented friend L) I think I'm just going to make this blog like a diary.  But, you know, an awesome one.  Funny and erudite and stuff.

So, here we go.

Saturday morning I indulged in my new habit, which, unusually for me, is a good one.  Running.  Or more accurately, shuffling.  I'm enjoying it.  It helps to have a marvellous playlist on the old Ipod, I find it helps trick my brain into thinking it's doing something pleasant.  Interestingly, as I shuffled along the path it occurred to me that my carefully assembled songlist is not dissimilar to the one I listened to when I was in labour with Baby B.  Except  this time I'm not leaning over a hospital bed, alternately moaning, crying and dry wretching.  OK, maybe there's been a little bit of dry wretching.  I bet you are all dying to know what I listen to on my little sojournes.  Well, fret no more, here is my super jogging playlist.  Eclectic, to say the least.  Make of it what you will.

Elton John - "Tiny Dancer"
Everything But The Girl - "Mirrorball"
Everything But The Girl - "Missing"
Florence + The Machine - "You've Got the Love"
Florence + The Machine - "Dog Days Are Over"
Gotye - "Somebody That I Used To Know"
Gotye - "In Your Light"
Gotye - "Eyes Wide Open"
New Order - "Bizarre Love Triangle" (Thanks to my 80s loving husband)
Old Blind Dogs - "Is There For Honest Poverty"
Silverchair - "Straight Lines"

I spose you've probably never heard of Old Blind Dogs.  Well you are missing out, they are Prince Charles' favourite band.  Do yourselves a favour people.

As you can probably tell from the number of songs on the playlist, I can't shuffle for very long just yet.  But I'm getting better.

On Saturday evening we had some new friends over for a BBQ, the family of P's lovely kindy friend H.  P, unused to socialising after dark, got overexcited and  tried indulging in her latest hobby (nude trampolining) whilst  shouting "Poo-poo!" at random intervals.  The little exhibitionist.  Luckily we managed to avert too much nudism and the smalls played nicely together.  I, being equally unused to night time socialising, also got overexcited and started swearing like a madwoman.  I was dropping the f-word like it was going out of fashion.  I'm sure our lovely genteel guests were expecting me to break out the Winnie Blues and crack a VB at any moment.  How embarrassment.

I've always been a swear bear.  It's like the pressure of repressing my swearing urge while hanging around small children all the time just got to me.  After they left, I said to M, "Gosh, I feel like I was swearing a lot tonight".  M said thoughtfully, "Yes.  I did notice that." Dear oh dear.  Uncouth.  No wonder P spends her whole life talking about poo and bums, she obviously inherited it from me.

In a first for our family, yesterday afternoon M took P off to Brisbane to stay overnight with her cousins, N and S, leaving me ostensibly with the night off.  You know your life has changed forever when being left alone to look after a 7 month old baby for 24 hours can be considered a night off.  Ha ha, she laughed hollowly.  No, but seriously, it really was quite relaxing.  I got him off to bed at 5.30pm (yessss!), which left the whole night stretching in front of me.  I really made the most of it, prowling around the house looking wistfully at P's empty bed, sipping a glass of wine, eating cheese and biscuits for dinner, locating and then devouring M's secret chocolate stash and finishing off a packet of leftover BBQ chips.  I topped it off by fiddling round on the interweb and then watched "Call the Midwife" on the ABC.  I love that show.  I really do know how to enjoy myself, I'll say that much.

I guess most other people in the known universe watched the Rugby League grand final, but as I may have mentioned before, I generally do not indulge in this past time.  I used to be fond of saying that my worst nightmare was to wake up one day to discover I'd accidentally won a backyard BBQ with the Broncos as a prize for something or other.  Tres uncomfortable, as they don't say in France.

P's abandoned bedroom. Sob.

This morning I felt so bad about my awful dinner last night that I got up and made a "Green Smoothie".  I'm not kidding.  I blame Instagram for this.  It's full of pictures of healthsome people and their luridly green breakfast smoothies.  I'd never even heard of them until I got on the IG bandwagon.  Basically it's a smoothie made from fruit etc. with some sneaky greenery added.  This morning I added green kale.

It was surprisingly tasty, but as you can see mine isn't green, it's brown.  And served in a beer glass.  Typical.  Still, I felt virtuous, even if it did remind me of Aunt Loretta from "Grandpa in my Pocket" and her "Green Gloop".

Naughty Grandpa, this time you've gone too far! (Click for link)

Poor old Loretta. (Click for link)

So, how about that Alan Jones, eh?