Last night G was required to do restaurant research.
With my brother and sister-in-law.
At the pub.
I mean really, how dumb does he think I am?
So, while he was out having a good time, spending money we don’t have, I was at home like a good little 1950’s housewife, caring for the children and keeping the home fires burning.
Enough of the martyrdom, in all honesty I really wasn’t fussed.
I had a girls night with my favourite girl instead. It started with a late afternoon walk in the puddles, followed by a spot of house-destroying while I cooked dinner. Cupboards are looking a tad desperate in our house at the mo’ owing to the general lack of income and the general focus on bigger issues like opening a restaurant, so I resorted to my New York standard…tuna surprise. Tinned tuna mixed with whatever else I could find in the cupboard.
Which turned out to be cheese, garlic, bacon, a sad looking onion, some big cannelloni that I ripped into smaller pieces, pumpkin from the garden (about the only thing to survive the floods), and a dash of red wine, added as an afterthought, direct from the cup I was sipping.
As surprise meals go, it wasn’t one of my finest, it sort of had that fermented smell of cheese fondue and the consistency of cat food.
Nevertheless, low standards have dropped even lower these days, so I plopped down on the floor while Q sat next to me in her special chair and we shared our dinner from the same bowl while we watched the last ten minutes of the Tomliboos.
Wine isn’t enough to make that show make any sense, but Q seemed entertained enough.
After cat food surprise, we headed for the bath (ba in Q speak) and soaked our puddle jumping bones in a delicious bubble bath. Countless kids books later, a round of dress-ups and after we’d given all the bear-bears kisses and put them to bed, Q said ‘mum, mum, mum, mum’, raised her arms up, I put her in her cot, she promptly went to sleep, I made myself a cup of tea, ate one piece of all 3 of the desserts we currently have in our house and got back to the business of sourcing chairs, bar stools and water bottles for the restaurant.
God bless the internet. Remember the days of yesteryear when you would have had to schlep to all of these places for real? In torrential rain? With a 15 month old? You can see how the concept of the kit home became popular.
So I sat down in front of The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, which – by the way – is really sad, and it’s hard to find the exact antique hinge you’re looking for when you’ve got tears in your eyes, so I poured myself another glass of wine and ate another piece of rocky road.
The point of this whole story being that I will miss these girls nights when I’m working at the restaurant every night. I really, truly will.
But when I’m down there dealing with an irate customer who is late for his reservation because he couldn’t find a park in the rain and now he wants me to rush his meal so he can get to the Enmore Theatre on time, I have to remind myself that last night was almost the exception and not quite the rule. Not every night is filled with such mother-daughter love and mutual appreciation. More often it’s whinging, tantrums, bed-refusal and a sneaky wee on the carpet before the nappy gets put on.
And I doubt I’ll miss all that very much at all.
See, I can always find the positive. Even if (as in this instance) the positive is actually a negative. Positively speaking.