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M O RN I N G T ON | RO S E BU D | PO RT S E A
80 | good life, june -july 2007
night ... mmmm!
stuff). But I seem to
have slipped into
a highly organised
groove, which as
my mother will
attest, is nothing
short of a miracle.
Then, as if by
magic, I have two
C L U T T E R B U S T
DON'T you just love eggs for dinner?
As I write, my beloved is overseas
(but will be back by the time this is
published so sorry, no family secrets!)
and my desire to produce tasty,
nutritious and well balanced meals
has gone to hell in a handbag.
We actually had Weet-Bix the other
The funny thing is, all my married girlfriends
totally get it. My Mother, of course is another
story - and for the record, I'm pleased to report
that no, we haven't developed scurvy - yet.
But there's nothing quite like the temporary
absence of a bloke in the house to bring on a
rousing chorus of ``Yippee! It's toast for tea!''
from most of the sisterhood.
You know, I have little doubt that had my life's
journey taken a different path, I would have
made an excellent mad biddy whose shopping
list was heavy on the cat food (no, not for me,
not quite that mad), good marmalade, vodka and
olives - and fairly light on the porterhouse and
salad greens.
I actually find it amusing that so much is made of
the culinary arts in women's magazines and all
those lifestyle shows but when it comes down to it
-if we're cooking for ourselves and youngish kids,
we're pretty happy (or in some cases deliriously
so) with eggs on toast and, I don't know, maybe a
Fruche for dessert?
I've no doubt there are women in the world
who would still go to a whole lot of fuss and
bother on a desert island. But I'm not one of them.
I suspect Cup-A-Soup was invented with me in
mind ... but I digress.
Interestingly, over the past week, it's not just
dinner that's changed. The whole evening ritual
has taken on a distinctly different rhythm. I find I'm
naturally reverting to the schedules that worked
so well when the children were very young. Early
baths, early bedtimes and pretty much everything
done (including the uniforms and tomorrow's
lunches) by about 8pm. I'm blowed if I know why
it usually takes so much longer.
It really is a most peculiar
phenomenon because, when
you look at it logically, there's
actually far more to do (okay,
less dishes, but more other
NG
I
with Karen Tatman
Remember that? So many possibilities, you don't
know where to start - apart from maybe catching
up on some sleep! Except now it's just me.
But I'm pleased to report that I've made excellent
use of my time. I've idled, I've puttered, I've
daydreamed, I've had very long (although not
terribly deep) baths and, so far, not felt one bit
guilty about any of it.
I've also spent a fair bit of time curled up on
the couch with the cat and Shakin' Dog (who's
excellent company providing you don't startle
him) watching movies, reading actual books (as
opposed to magazines) and making a decent start
on sorting out a box of photos just in case I ever
get the urge to do some of that scrapbooking stuff
again (okay, unlikely, but you never know ... I do
have all the gear).
Later, I check the e-mail for news from my beloved
(and outbid notices from E-Bay ...) and send him
witty little updates on how we're all faring. It's
reminding me of the time in our courtship (don't
you just love that word?) when, once again, he
was travelling. Of course, back then (creak, creak
...) it was all snail mail. But I think it was nicer
when You've Got Mail actually meant you had
mail, as opposed to the Mastercard statement.
Then, when I'm ready to turn in, I do
my final rounds - put extra wood on
the fire, say goodnight to Shakin' Dog,
tuck blankets around the children and
make a last cup of tea.
Bedtime is a revelation. I sleep with the window
open, the electric blanket on two, and the radio on
quietly in the background. Three little preferences
that I'd forgotten I had, that somehow got lost
along the way. It all feels strange, but also
strangely decadent. A bit like a holiday I suppose.
I then sleep like a dead woman.
I have a wise friend who has experienced family
life in it's many permutations and combinations.
When I told her about the past week, she was
quick to point out that holidays from bustling
family life were ``rather nice to visit, but you
wouldn't want to live there''.
And it's true. I wouldn't. The bustle is what makes
life interesting. And knowing that this fortnight is
just that, only a fortnight, makes all the difference.
But it does go to show that you really don't need
a plane ticket to go on vacation ... and,
just now and then, eggs
are a perfectly
acceptable
dinner.
or three hours
to myself before
bedtime. It's a bit
like that very first
weekend you get
away as a couple
without the kids.
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