Blow ‘em all to smithereens

I can’t handle the late nights like I used to. What happens to your body as you age to make a 2am Saturday night feel like you’ve been reversed over by a maxi cab? (I would have used the all too familiar ‘run over by a bus’ example here, but heck, I’m feeling creative).

Sounds like I had an exciting weekend; sadly, I was perched on the end of the lounge alone, reading a book. Yip yah, I know how to party.

But the book was an absolute corker. And for a superficial espionage novel, it really got me thinking. Or maybe it was the MSG laced chips and sleep deprivation…whatever. I was thinking anyway, however it came about.

I literally couldn’t put this book down – I read for five and a half hours straight to finish it, my back sticking uncomfortably to the leather and my butt slightly numb, but I was still unable to tear myself away – but why? There was no deep message, no valuable life lessons (unless the need for underwater hand-to-hand combat in scuba gear suddenly arises), no well-developed themes. Just a lot of shooting, missile launching, killing with circular saws (only during a time of life-threatening-self-defensive-need, of course)…you know, general hero stuff.

The question did arise in my foggy mind this morning (when I woke up to an insistent voice yelling ‘Mum, I’ve wet the bed’) as to why on earth I stayed up so late to engage in such a shallow diversion?

Why did I respond with excitement to a protagonist who was so shut off from his emotions that he could look someone in the eye and then shoot them through it? Why does society celebrate the ‘cool head’ rather than a ‘warm heart’? The author tried to depict this guy as one of the more ‘sensitive’ special agent marine commanders (LOL- yeah right…did I mention the circular saw? Yep, really in touch with his softer side), but he was really just a detached, calculated killer.

Don’t get me wrong, the fact that I paid money for such a novel should tell you all you need to know about how in touch I am with my emotions. Sure, a few glasses of vino under my belt and I’ll tell you how you’re my best friend and how much I love you (sorry all of you who were holding onto that ‘moment’ as a meaningful one), but that’s about it for me in the ‘feeling’ department.

But I digress.

Where am I going with this? (Who knows, I’ve only had four hours sleep).

Oh yeah, that’s right. I wonder whether I love fast paced, shoot-’em-up style stories because there’s no nonsense – there’s black and white, good guys and villains, and even though there’s shrapnel flying everywhere, it either causes death or it doesn’t.

Can’t life be a bit more like that? I just want to stop standing around talking about what we’re all going to do, and just get in and do it. Forget the conversational fluff.

Pick your team and ride it out, baby.

And watch out for those fragmentation grenades, I believe they’re ugly.

Of boys and lounge chairs

Freedom. What a complex suggestion.

In an hour we will leave our precious sons with their Grandparents so we can have a few nights away. I can already imagine the sun gently kissing my skin as I lie on the firm sand, waves crashing inconsequentially in the background as I blissfully ignore everything that doesn’t pertain to breathing.

Wedding anniversaries – gotta love ‘em.

My initial response to the suggestion of time away was to melt in relief….ah, to have no responsibility for just a little while! But as the time approaches to walk away from those sleeping angelic forms (we shan’t mention their ‘form’ pre-dinner…) my heart sinks a little and the desire for freedom that burned so earnestly in my breast a few short hours ago seems strangely subdued.

There is the matter of perspective to consider. When your child is publicly jumping on the lounge chairs, stopping narrowly short of ripping the stuffing out, it is easy to imagine enjoying some time away…(of course that example is fictional, any resemblance to any child related to me is entirely coincidental….). When we carry through our threats and plan to leave the loves (brats) with their welcoming (shuddering) kin, we tend to draw back and consider the bigger picture.

In that moment when we focus in on the worth of what we have, the reality of what’s important and what’s not crowds in on our child–beaten (peace-starved; badgered; harangued…all work as excellent substitute words here) brains. It allows a mental gearshift.

Therein, I suppose, lies the value of the adult retreat; we can take stock and realign with our deeper selves, which is often shadowed by our fatigue and challenges.

So what I’m really trying to say is that if our boys have ever ripped the stuffing from any of your furniture or mistreated your goldfish by launching lamingtons into the tank as wanna-be boats, get over it.

Road trips and other natural disasters

It’s a constant source of amazement to me how horribly wrong things can turn on any given day; especially when that particular day has been ear marked as one that is going to be significant. It then stands to reason that if a collection of days are anticipated as being special, like, say, a holiday, then a type of ‘calamity magnetism’ ensues.

*sigh*

Well, at least in my world.

I do wonder if I’m unique in this; is my life purpose to balance out the good and bad happenings in the cosmos? Not to sound bitter (heavens no! I embrace the craziness), but if I was to be drawn as a cartoon, besides being particularly becoming, there would be a storm cloud drawn over my head and an idiot grin on my face.

Yep, that about sums it up.

I have wondered if everyone else is editing their lives, only offering up the savoury bits? Surely not. Stories are always more interesting with a bit of blood and vomit (preferably not in the same occurrence, though).

By now you are surely wondering about my horrendous holiday happenings. For ease (and in the name of brevity) I will list them:

• Fell down ½ flight of stairs and split open foot- blood and exposed flesh – bruised forearm – very embarrassed.
• 12 out of 14 in our unit simultaneously suffered a gastro/vomiting virus – knocked out for 2 days.
• Son smashes head on coffee table – massively bruised forehead – thankfully no child protection services involved.
• Two more family members fall down stairs (not as spectacularly as me, though).
• Number 13 succumbs to vomiting virus 4 days after everyone else on the day we leave – 6 hours of driving and car vomit.
• Somewhere amongst it all, a mystery head cold emerges in the children. Lots of snot.
• Do three blind pimples count? I mean, seriously!(I could be lying here, I think there were more but I’m in denial).

In spite of it all, I would rate our trip away as fantastic. Sure, it had it’s own set of troubles, but we were really living life fully skiing down those slopes (just a little out of control, hanging on the edge of the skis…). None of the misadventures were life threatening (although I wanted someone to shoot me in the ninth hour of the whole bile-vomiting episode), and just like Bond, we all lived to see another day.

Lows serve several purposes; they make us stronger, teach us patience and contentment, and make the highs all that much sweeter.

To live is a risk, but who would have it any other way? Not me (she says giving a helmet head-butt to her brother-in-law snowboarder…)

Road access

I find it amazing to be sitting in the car, motoring along, checking my emails (which is my euphemism for Facebook) and typing my next scintillating blog. Ah, technology. I can’t believe that I got through my childhood in such a primitive fashion. Fancy having to write letters, or heaven forbid, use the telephone with that stupid round-out number dially-thing-a-ma-jig.

I do find it all a little nauseating – of course that could just be Mark’s driving and the eerie sounds of ‘Shark Boy and Lava Girl’ coming out of my head rest. Is that weird feeling in my gut guilt or that last meal at McDonalds?

A quick techno-count reveals that in the car we have two ipods, two Nintendo DS consoles, two laptops (we like symmetry in our family) and one DVD player…don’t fret, it has two screens. And to think, this is our holiday to get away from it all.

So what are we having a break from, if we have brought it all with us? I just couldn’t bring myself to unplug from my life. We have tried some old-fashioned road trip techniques – 20 questions; spot the road kill; eye spy; singing along to the Christmas CD (BJ’s request….I’ll make sure to remove that precious little gem before our next adventure).

Perhaps the benefit of leaving home for a while is the change of routine, rather than achieving a state of absolute isolation. It is nice to be able to connect into our real lives via our virtual ones for peace of mind. We know you’re all safe (and of course what you’re all cooking for dinner, all you facebook braggers…)

In spite of the fact that the sound of my fingernails on the keyboard is driving my husband to the edge of his sanity, I can’t help but relish in the access to the world sitting on my lap. Isn’t that human nature to want to be connected and existing within community?

I do believe in balance, although it is somehow hard to achieve with an exuberant personality, but moderation is the key to living a happy and healthy life. Except when you’re talking about winning, there can never be too much of that…lol..or humour…those things are never inappropriate *laughing*. So maybe a little bit of internet for the road is okay after all.

Speaking of winning, I have five more questions to ask Mark to seal my title as ‘Indisputable 20 Q champion’.

See ya’ll online.