It’s all very low-tech in my world today. We have two laptops and I’ve managed to bugger up both of them. I have a special talent when it comes to scuppering computers. I’m sure that Tristan thinks that I’m a closet gamer, or a compulsive downloader of questionable adult material. Anyway, both laptops are at the sick laptop hospital today and I should get them back tomorrow.
Until then, I’m writing on my phone. This prevents me from continuing my quest to analyse my whiteness, or track the progress of the players in my man vs beast fantasy rugby game, but that’s probably not such a bad thing: I’ve realised that I rarely write any ‘proper’ blog posts these days. Today I’m taking it back to the old school and telling you what I did during the weekend.
One thing I haven’t been doing is work, but I have been pretty busy on that front recently. This all deserves its own post (and one that doesn’t get typed with my thumbs on a phone), but here’s the short story: I’m working with a couple of people to set up a new charity – we’re sorting out funding right now and, when it’s all confirmed, I’ll be the director of the charity (and get paid – hurrah!) I will tell you all about it soon.
So, the weekend. Much of my time was spent on the sofa, watching the Rugby World Cup and crocheting a scarf. A couple of weeks ago I posted a photo of baby hats that I’d knitted for my friend Miko’s charity appeal. Miko then realised that she hadn’t been sent any scarves and, given that it’s nearly winter in Japan, this seemed to be a problem. I promised to whip something up and I was going to knit, but after playing around for a while I realised that I could crochet a pretty cream lacy scarf, just the thing to keep a little old Japanese lady warm. I should be able to get it into the mail to Miko tomorrow.
Tristan and I are still living on one income, which is limiting our opportunities to go out for extravagant dinners and drink champagne from my stilettos in a stereotypically lavish manner. However, we have established a habit of going out for brunch at least once each weekend. New Zealand has brilliant cafes and brunch is one of the best meals to eat in them, so we’ve enjoyed exploring the amazing options near us. It’s getting to the point where I have a favourite dish at each cafe, so Tristan will soon be able to choose any cafe his little heart desires, safe in the knowledge that I won’t complain.
Anyway, this weekend we went to a cafe called Platter in Devonport and I had the most superb corn fritters with bacon and avocado. It was the kind of meal that you finish and then immediately wish that you could be a huge glutton and scoff the whole thing again.
On Sunday we visited Frances and Gareth for lunch. Frances is the sister of one of my oldest friends and is also an ex-lecture-mate from my short-lived career as a university student in Wellington. We hadn’t seen her for years and had never met Gareth, her husband, or Tessa and Sam, their cute little kids, so it was lovely to see them all.
And Frances is one of those great mothers who, while obviously loving her children, makes no attempt to pretend that being a parent of babies and toddlers is some flower-strewn life of bliss: she’s totally up-front about the way in which is can be stressful, tiring and not the most fun in the world. She’s particularly frank about dealing with babies and sees the baby stage as something to grit your teach and just get through.
I can’t tell you how much I love people like that and how thankful I am that my friends and family with kids are, for the most part, secure enough in themselves to be honest about life. God spare me from perennially chipper cheerleader parents (and women, in particular) who perpetuate the myth that childbirth doesn’t hurt, babies always sleep, toddlers don’t act like crazed dictators and that mothers get all of their emotional and personal fulfilment from child-rearing. For what it’s worth, I’ve never heard a father say that he feels guilty about being at work and not at home with his small children; mothers who want to work shouldn’t feel bad about it either!
Putting gender politics aside: Tristan and I spent a lot of the weekend talking about the new house. Tristan’s mother and stepfather look likely to arrive for their two-month visit a couple of weeks after we move in, and we’d intended to turn the rumpus room into a guest suite straight away, but now we’re going to wait until we move in and then figure out what we want to do. We also need to buy some furniture – a couple of sofas, another TV, and a dining table and chairs. We checked out some nice vintage tables on Saturday, but I don’t think we’ve found the right one yet.
And now I’m going to enjoy something that I mentioned to Frances yesterday and that, we agreed, was the kind of thing that is rarely enjoyed by anybody but the child-free: I’m going to lie in a hot mid-afternoon bubble bath, drinking a tall glass of strawberry milk and reading a glossy magazine. It’s bucketing down outside and it’s cold in this sodding house, so a lazy soak is just the ticket!