There's no crisis or anything. It's a half-time break, without the oranges. I figure if I'm going to make it to eighty (and that's just the average now, I could well go on for longer!) then a half-time lie down is entirely warranted.
And I quite like it actually.
I figure that I'll have to rejoin reality eventually, but for now Brad the Tradie and The BHG (adolescent who loves Better Homes & Gardens on telly) know me as Stay-at-Home. I am enjoying a variety of pleasurable daily activities, such as zesting limes, sleeping in and having conversations with my dogs, one of whom we've discovered is actually a Maltese Shitz-oodle (part poodle... who knew???) because I have actually had the time and inclination to take him to a vet for only the second time in his life.
When one takes a step off the hamster wheel, lots of interesting things happen.
Like... Parenting. I do these fabulous gold-star parent things now, like researching plug-in heated throw rugs for the teenager's upcoming trip to the nation's capital. I bake muffins for afternoon tea and give them to the random adolescents that enter our house, along with glasses of milk (and lectures on calcium serves). I now give a shit about Pythagoras homework and Science class and buying polyester stuffing for tomorrow's Textiles project. I drive the offspring to modelling class, piano class, surfing lessons, work, friends' houses and sometimes I don't even complain.
But I will NOT go to Parent Modelling Group.
I know it sounds harsh, but I just can't do it. BHG, aka 'The Model' was quite straight-faced when handing BtT and I the nasty blue information sheet last week. Brad the Tradie had us in fits as he pranced up the hallway 'doing catwalk' (better than me I must say, and I do think he would make a passably gorgeous trannie if he ever felt the pull). Obviously aimed at Stay-at-Homes like myself, these Parents-who-Care classes promise to be 'fun and sociable in a relaxed surrounding' whilst learning the life-altering skills of fashion show choreography, sequin sewing and nail art.
Part-guffawing, part-vomiting, I texted my VGF Organica with the dilemma. She wanted me to go just for social research purposes, but I just can't bring myself to enrol. You see, I generally collect The Model from class on Thursday arvos with a parcel of hot chips under my arm, dressed in leggings and a flannelette shirt. Last Thursday the teacher-model took five minutes to explain to me how compulsory the fifteen dollar 'neck scarf' is that I hadn't ordered and why I have to run out and buy a comb with a metal stick at the end (looks like a weapon to me) to make side-part braiding neater. Modelling is NOT my thing. I do NOT sew sequins over morning tea whilst debating whether 'the girls' should do a 'turn, turn, sashay' or just a 'turn, walk, pose, turn'. I suppose I should be pleased that we don't have to learn to administer Botox.
This whole modelling thing has been, wait for the pun, totally FASH-in-ating. A recent activity, the BHG has finally given in to public pressure to give modelling a go, given that she's a genetic freak. It might just stop people asking if she's good at basketball, just because she's tall and long-limbed. She can say, "No, I'm not a basketballer, I'm a MODEL. I was BORN THIS WAY."
Kids’ activities are fabulous aren’t they?
Growing up in the country my extra-curricular dossier consisted of sport and music. Netball, basketball, softball, cricket. Stuff that didn’t require a lot of equipment. Just a parent-coach and a rowdy bunch of kids hyped up on Cottee’s cordial and sherbet. It didn’t really matter if you weren’t any good, because there were always positions for those who sucked (seriously, ‘right outfield’? You may as well take a book…)
We’ve been doing ‘activities’ with the BHG forever. Well, it seems like it. There’s been:
· Horseriding (she vomited a lot)
· Little Athletics (not my favourite due to level of parent involvement required at 8am on a Saturday morning but watching the kids throw heavy objects was always a hoot)
· Gymnastics (“Can I have a purple leotard?”)
· Ice skating (my favourite – parents allowed to go shopping for two hours to avoid freezing to death)
· Piano (bloody expensive)
· Drama (more vomiting)
· Years of swimming lessons (another favourite – parent coffee & cake area)
Modelling school happens once a week where she learns exciting eye-rolling skills such as how to look at the camera in a fashionably uninterested manner and how to protect her hair from heated styling devices. She finds the diva teens that attend a little intimidating and overwhelming. One such creature stayed with us last Thursday night and took ninety minutes to get ready for school the next day (compared to BHG's twenty minutes including dishwasher unstacking and breakfast) and told me that pasta makes you fat (but apparently ice-cream does not...)
We did a five hour day last Sunday to attend a catwalk competition where the sprog had a whole 45 seconds of walking glory. It was a little like an under-16's netball carnival, with the same teenage girl attitudes, but more spray tans, and less actual excitement. There's only so long you can stay interested when watching fifty girls trot one at a time to doof-doof music. (Actually, the girl that did the pole-dance routine at the end of the runway in thigh-high red boots caused a stir, but for the most part it was just reminiscent of a Target catalogue).
Fortunately one thing that modelling has taught our fearless teen is how very little she'd like to actually be one. "The other models are scary. Some of them don't even eat you know. Maybe I'll be a Zoologist.... I love animals. I was just born that way. "
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Born This Way - Lady Gaga, 2011.
Oh the adventures you are having now. LoL
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