Afternoon Delight

I have to make a huge confession.

Today I watched television. In the middle of the day. Not just any day but a weekday, while the baby was asleep - a time that is strictly reserved for writing.

But before you judge I’m not to blame. My husband made me do it.

Currently we’re up to the Season Two of Mad Men, our latest obsession and one that we initially missed thanks to the madness of newborn chaos.

Finally we’re catching up with the world as Santa generously delivered Season One, which we quickly devoured and now a friend has lent us Season Two and Three.

DVDs of episodic television are fantastic for the tired, sleep-deprived parent. You can watch it when you want and it’s quicker than a movie so perfect if you tend to fall asleep on the sofa by 9.30pm.

Until last Friday night when I was working to a tight deadline and my husband went on without me, watching not just one but two episodes! I didn’t mind too much. Why should he miss out just because I took too much of a break over Easter and was behind with work?

However it has now posed quite a problem because I have little chance to catch up and he is desperate to move on and finish the season.

You’d think he would want me to be writing my fingers to the bone what with the credit card to pay and our possible up-coming renovations. Plus I didn’t get that television commercial a few weeks ago. But no. Everyday this week he has asked the same question. Have you watched those episodes yet? Can you please do it today?

What could I do? Certainly not let a couple of episodes of a TV show (albeit a good one) come between us. So today with no pressing deadlines I finally succumbed. I wrote half of a pitch to ease my guilt. I made a cup of tea and turned on the telly.

And I have to say I loved every minute of it.

Except I’m feeling even more guilt ridden because the baby woke up, and when I finally got her up, only because I could no longer ignore her cries, she joined me on the sofa to watch the inappropriate lifestyles of those Madison Avenue advertising men. Quite wrong really. But it felt so good. I guess that’s how Don Draper manages to lurch from one indiscretion to the other. It’s a slippery slope but one that’s easy to find, let me tell you.

Then eight minutes before my other daughter’s school bell, we were no-where near the front door.

I had to force myself to turn off the TV and step away. I simply would not have been able to explain my tardiness to the kindergarten teacher and I probably would have found myself telling some sort of lie. That old slippery slope. I know my baby wouldn’t have given me away but what if she absorbed it by some sort of osmosis and grew up thinking that’s how you get around things. Don Draper style.

Meanwhile my five year-old would have been be waiting in an increasingly empty playground as all the other responsible parents who don’t watch TV during the day had picked up there kids and were at home preparing them a nutritious dinner.

Luckily I managed to turn off the telly and get there just on the bell. All is well with the world once more. Discipline and normality has been restored.

I would like to say that was the beginning and end of my daytime viewing but I didn’t quite finish the episode and I have one more to watch. I don’t want to let my husband down so it looks like I’ll have to do the same tomorrow. And I can’t wait. As I say it’s not my fault…

In Search of Harmony

As you may or may not know from previous blogs, when I’m not writing or renovating, I’m an actress. I do theatre, TV, film whatever – which currently translates as ‘I go to a lot of auditions for television commercials’.

In fact last week I was ‘on hold’ for a commercial that was shooting today. However for some extraordinary reason, they decided to go a different way and I didn’t get the job. (Sigh) Which translates as ‘the credit card won’t get paid off this month’.

Also I finally heard back from a couple of builders, which was exciting. Until the first quote came in and we realised we can’t afford it. Not unless we want to be paying off a loan well into our 90s. (Sigh again) The combination of an actress/writer and an actor/lawyer trying to pay the mortgage and renovate a house doesn’t seem to add up in Sydney. Still we’re currently scaling back our plans so I still might get my kitchen. Unfortunately there will probably be a hole in the cabinetry until we can afford the dishwasher. (Sigh once more with a heavy heart).

So because I wasn’t shooting a milk commercial today, I had to make a cake and go to Harmony Day/ Grandparents Day at my daughter’s school. Which was lovely. It won’t pay off the credit card but it was worth it. Four of the five grandparents were there and my daughter was thrilled.

Everyone had to wear ‘a touch of orange’, the colour of harmony so my daughter put on a fluorescent orange hoody and I found a bit of orange ribbon for her hair. The theme was ‘Many Stories – One Australia’ and to celebrate there was a concert with singing, dancing, stories and a parade of national costumes from the 40 different countries represented at the school.

Then we watched my daughter in class. Where I had to physically prevent my mother from demanding why my daughter didn’t get asked to complete an activity, when she had her hand up. Forget about pushy mothers, it’s the grandmothers you have to look out for. Then we all stood behind my daughter and watched while she carefully cut out the letters of Harmony Day and stuck them in her writing book. And we all agreed the standard of her cutting and colouring was extremely high. This was followed by an amazing morning tea, which was demolished with great enthusiasm. Including the cake I contributed, which was positively inhaled. We may have had some harmony at school today but there was certainly no world hunger.

It was a very enjoyable morning. And it felt good to celebrate harmony and the cultural diversity of our country.

And it was probably the first of many Harmony Day/Grandparents Days to come.

I just wish I could say the same for the television commercials.

The Other Man In My Life...

I’m looking for a new relationship.

Not a lover. Don’t get me wrong. I’m still insanely happy with my beautiful husband. This is something completely different.

I’m looking for someone special to take things to the next level.

Someone who will listen to my needs and always do as I ask. Someone who will be quick to offer a solution when problems arise.

Someone who is honest, hard working and punctual.

Someone who will always put my situation before that of others.

And above all, someone who will not cost me an absolute fortune.

That’s right, I’m looking for a builder.

And I tell you it’s as hard as finding a life partner.

You meet a potential candidate through a mutual friend; it’s always better if you know a little bit about their background or past relationships. You don’t want to commit to just anyone who pops a flyer in your letterbox.

You make an initial date, let’s call it a ‘quote’ – but really you’re checking each other out. Do I like this person? Are they going to do a good job, on time and to budget? And most of all can I stand this person in my life for the next three months? Especially when they’ll be seeing that anxious and, lets face it, psychotic side of my personality that is saved for stressful situations such as home renovating.

Then you wait by the phone – or the computer. Waiting for a response. Can they renovate your house? Do they want to renovate your house? And if they do, how much will they charge?

Just before Christmas I met with three builders, none of whom came back with a quote. I’m starting to take it personally.

But as with all relationships you have to work at it. I have since chased one up and now he is playing hard to get. And I followed up another that gave us a quote three years ago when we initially had our plans approved. He’s playing even harder to get. Possibly because due to babies, life and lack of finance, we couldn’t go ahead with the work. Maybe he took that personally.

As you may know, I endured many single years before I met my perfect match so I’m used to bad dates, awkward moments and rejection. But I thought now as a 43 year-old, happily married mother of two that would all be firmly in the past – but here I am, still waiting for the one, well another one.

Last year my daughter listed all her future Halloween costumes up until she turns nine - ‘a builder’ popped up fourth on her list. Obviously my stress about renovating and finding the right person to carry it out has had some influence over her tender mind.

Anyway. I’m desperate. To renovate. I’m still dreaming of a dishwasher.  I just need the perfect builder to make my dream come true.

But relationships are hard. Bad ones are terrible and the good ones are worth waiting for. I’ll just have to be positive and believe that one day my building prince will come.

Maybe tomorrow is that day.

Listen More, Talk Less - an impossible dream

I’m starting to think about the resolutions I made on New Year’s Eve.

Our friends had left, I’d finally got the baby to sleep, my husband had put the five-year-old to bed and conveniently fell asleep beside her (cute picture but still…) leaving me to clean up the mess and see in the New Year with a cup of tea on our inner west back step where I could occasionally see the top of a Harbour Bridge firework.

And in my couple-of-drinks-more-than-usual haze, I wrote a list. Of completely unachievable resolutions.

One of these - which I make every year - is to “listen more, talk less”.

As I say, completely unachievable.

Too often it’s only my voice I hear in a conversation. Just when someone is offering something rather interesting, bam, I’ve interrupted, agreed and brought the conversation back to myself. Terrible habit.

My husband is always telling me I interrupt. So is my five year old. Either that or she tells me to ‘just stop talking’. I usually feel completely justified and have a list of responses in my own defense such as, I just have a lot to say, I didn’t realise you hadn’t finished, I was just agreeing with you and I’m your mother, I will always talk too much.

However I do secretly dream of being someone that listens. Really listens. Shows an interest in what other people have to say. Doesn’t give away absolutely everything. Maintains a little intrigue.

But alas someone just has to nod at me in the supermarket and I will unload everything from my toddler’s sleep patterns over the past week to the intricacies of our latest infestation of head lice.

I want to be subtle. I want to be mysterious. I want people to ask, ‘who is that woman and what’s her story?’ Rather than knowing everything there is to know. Because I’ve already told them. Plus I sometimes forget to whom I’ve told my news so there’s a chance people could have heard it twice.

So this is the year of keeping things a little closer to my chest (which may just be possible now I’ve dropped a cup size since weaning my second child).

I will endeavour to do the following:

• ·      Remember people’s names the first time they tell me – we’ve just started school and I’m already behind in that department.
• ·      Not finish other people’s sentences – they’re relaying information, not conducting a guessing game.
• ·      Make sure I hear other people’s voices more than my own - should I ever get invited to another dinner party.
• ·      Not tell everybody every singe thing about me – I mean really, who cares if I have hemerrhoids this week?

Plus I will wait for my husband to finish what he has to say and also wait for my daughter to finish what she has to say.

Thank goodness for my baby who at 18 months only has a handful of words and lets me talk as much as I want. Not only that, when I do talk, she looks at me with such love and admiration as if she finds everything I say so interesting and amusing.

I’m great company for the under twos. Now I just have to work on communicating effectively with the rest of society.