Snap back to Reality.
Oh, there goes Gravity.
The Kids are so rabbity.
The Mum, she’s gone mad as she…
…reminisces over the weekend with her bitche… ahem, lovely ladies. Probably not rap battling, but my f-bomb dropping was a bit out of control during the weekend. No kid’s ears to corrupt? Hell yes, that f-bomb is going down. Was it a flipping free-for-all? Why yes, I think it was. Are you kidding? There were no. kids. Rinse and repeat.
Have you ever noticed how many hours there are in a day when you don’t have to entertain your kids, mediate their bickering or manage their constant requests for TV/food/cubbles/no cubbles/playdates?
This was my dilemma early Saturday morning on waking up after an entire night’s uninterrupted sleep (I know, first-world problem). I sat on the lounge of the seaside holiday house with a cup of coffee, a magazine and the easy conversation of 4 of the lovely ladies and thought, “[insert f-bomb]. what do i do? all day? in Inverloch? with no children. no husband. nowhere to be. will i go insane by the evening? and do i care?”
Happily, an early glass of bubbly cured that concern. It was game on from there.
Mid-Saturday afternoon, the 3 other chicks arrived bearing more sparkling wine that we were simply compelled to drink. That’s right, we held each other down, and forced frothing glasses full of bubbly and other concoctions against our unwilling lips. It was more like a Lad’s than a Mum’s weekend (if we ignore the 2 hours spent in a local boutique, playing “stylists” for each other, but then we don’t actually know what goes on at Lad’s weekends, do we?)
In the afternoon, we walked a few (hundred) miles in flipflops along the beach, and I nearly wet my weak pelvic floor more than once with laughter along the way (yep, feeling more and more like a mum every [insert f-bomb] second). The banter was brilliant. Fluid. I was a bit concerned before the trip that 8 school mums in one house with one bathroom may be stretching a friendship. They are all dear friends of mine (some closer than others I guess) but I’ve only known most of them for 2 years and I just hoped we’d all still be friends by the end of the weekend and would be able to look at each other in the eyes at school drop-off. Truly. I had nothing to worry about.
After the beach trek we were ready to party at the local Japanese restaurant Tomo (hot-diggetty DAMN, the mums, they go hard). Everything was looking good until I was informed that there were NO TAXIS IN INVERLOCH. WTF? I pleaded heel spurs but had no choice but to walk back into town. I silently chided my children (and mistimed slices of mudcake) for sinking my arches.
Happily, a glass of bubbly cured that concern (with a cup of tea chaser).
As for sleep. Well, we got plenty, once Ren settled down after a round with a One Direction poster (which we didn’t put there, I swear to you).
This was only my third time getting away for a night on my “own” since Scout was born (2006). Once for my High School reunion in Newie, and a night in a winery with a girlfriend when I was 6 months pregnant with Inky (note to self: do not go to wineries when you are 6 months pregnant).
I’d forgotten how revitalising and kickstarting weekends with your girlfriends are. I was inspired by their conversation. I laughed til I cried. My wine glass was never empty. There was no subject that was taboo. My roommates and I giggled like schoolgirls at lights-out (a depressingly early midnight crash, but [insert f-bomb], we don’t have the stamina for booze like we used to). I didn’t miss my kids as I knew they were having a perfect time with their hands-on dad.
I love the mums at Scout’s school. Dead set. I never lose sight of how fortunate I am to have stumbled upon such a wonderful, accepting and supportive community as I know a lot of mums and dads struggle with schoolyard politics. These 8 chicks were the absolute bomb, but all the parents at the school are brilliant. I would love to have a school mum camping trip en masse sans infants (cough, pardon, channelling Pepe Le Pew there) but it’s just not manageable.
After the 2 hour drive back to Melbourne, I was desperate for a wee and as I sat on the loo, my kids came home and insisted on consuming me with cuddles while I sat there, bum on porcelain. Nothing had changed. It was wonderful. And a bit sad. I wouldn’t trade my time with them for the world. Just maybe for a couple of weekends a year, I’ll hang with ma bitches, thanks.