How are the holidays treating you? We celebrated Christmas with our families on the farm, but now the house is empty again and I’ve taken it upon myself to round out the last days of 2014 by ticking off the seven deadly sins.
I know I’m not alone in this cardinal sin. It’s the time of year for it isn’t it? Why would my fridge be full of pudding, ham and rum balls if not for me to eat them all? Surely Aunty Shirley’s shortbread wouldn’t be in the pantry if I wasn’t supposed to have a little nibble everything I walk past, right?
Bearhands played golf with the blokes (+ token sister) of our families on Christmas Eve. He arrived home in the dark and wasn’t exactly rushing in to help with dinner preparations. When he finally appeared inside his opening line to me was “what’s wrong with you?” Cue wrath. Lots of suppressed, simmering, steaming, seething wrath.
I’ve been hiding behind the pantry door to eat Aunty Shirley’s shortbread. I haven’t told anyone else of it’s existence. So really it’s a lie by omission to the power of greed. Not earning any brownie points with the Big Guy there.
The Little Sister has been under the weather the past few days. She seemed to be coming good yesterday afternoon so we went fishing. We were wrong and we learned as much when she emerged from her room at bedtime to make several projectile deposits on the floor. Now we’re back to lying on the couch, throwing the power bill to the wind and running the air-conditioning and watching back to back efforts of Tree-fu Tom, who I understand is attempting to get us to do yoga under the guise of assisting him with his magic powers. Tree-fu Tom is being disappointed. The only time I’m getting off the couch is to hide in the pantry (see greed).
The past few days The Big Sister has been penning love letters to her father. The first one warmed my heart, but now we’re on the fifth and there’s no mummy loving in sight. I admitted my envy to Bearhands this morning. He seemed genuinely surprised. Why would I be jealous? Ummm, because I’ve been at home with them every day for a month. Because I’m home with a foam tiara stuck to my forehead while you have a round of golf. Because only one of us has the gag reflex to deal with body fluids and it’s not you!
I’ve spent the past days lusting over all the travel pictures in my social media feeds. White European Christmases, sunny sandy Fraser Island Christmases, uncomplicated camping Christmases, pools, escapes, swim-up bars. I’ve been tempted to tag them all #floorsIwoulddrathermopvomitfrom. Actually that’s sounding more like envy. Put me down for two of those.
Blogging about all this sinfulness is the ultimate act of hubris, right?
a few more for good measure
I got full on Christmas Night and invited everyone to Mum and Dad’s house to watch the NYE fireworks. Mum’s birthday is New Years Day. Happy Birthday Mum – you’re throwing your own birthday party!
Our (not-so) living Christmas tree dropped a bough this morning and sent several glass baubles hurtling to the ground. I dropped a slew of swear words when I managed to embed a bit of bauble in my foot.