It doesn’t take much for the well-oiled machine that is my life to come crumbling down.
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With Dad away for work, I am now completely in charge of the weekend’s activities.
There’s three games of soccer, one game of footy, a dinner invitation out with friends, all linen to be washed, work on one night, cooking for the week ahead and a visit to nanna on the schedule.
Easy – I got this.
Everything is spaced out nicely throughout the two days.
And then it arrives. A party invitation. It’s a little late notice, however this poor family has only moved into their new home 48 hours prior to trying to organise their son’s birthday party.
Now my boys love a party. They get that from their father. So there is no question about whether or not we can go ... we are going, and I just have to make it work.
Diving into the “present box” all I can find are girl toys. Not suitable this little birthday boy.
That means a trip into town. Can we do it?
Well maybe in between the second and third soccer game there is a window. I am pretty sure I can get from the ground, into Kmart and still be back in plenty of time for our final game of the day.
But I didn’t factor in the weather. Standing by the soccer field the wind has turned our umbrellas inside out. We are soaked through to our skin thanks to pelting rain coming at us in all directions and my youngest son’s lips and hands are turning blue.
We are not going to town.
We are going home and straight into the bath. Dinner is cancelled and we bunker down in bed for the night. I know that tomorrow we can get to town and buy the present.
The new day brings with it wonderful new challenges. No petrol in the car and footy starts at 8am.
We have exactly one hour between when footy ends and the party starts. But the party is a 30-minute drive away.
We get to kick a few goals in footy, we get petrol, we buy the present and wrap it in last year’s Christmas paper. The card is one of my “thank you” cards with a little sparrow on the front. But we are out of options and out of time.
However, the moment we arrive at the birthday boy’s home and I am handed a frothy hot cup of coffee the stress begins to leave my shoulders. Little boys run riot through the house and the yard and their screams of delight are simply joyful.
Can’t life be crazy at times.
Sunday night as I flop down on the couch after serving bananas, cheese and biscuits for dinner, I remember that my husband is away again next weekend!