Happy Thirty-Tenth Birthday, Linda and Leigh

Last Friday, I was throwing clothes into a suitcase for a weekend away with my husband sans children and I hear a glass smash, then a baby crying. I started running before I could actually run, like a cartoon ... so tore my calf muscle, neatly in half. Flapping in the breeze. It felt like a jelly blubber, just blobloblboblbob and HEY PRESTO! Mummy can't walk! But baby was still crying so mummy walks anyway to find blood streaming down her babies FACE. A quick wash down to find the cut .... a teeny cut on his pinky, but he's thoughtfully wiped the blood all over his face, just to, you know, fuck with mummy!!

So then I hurled abuse at Dave down the phone (because obviously it was Daves fault, derrr!) and got in the car and took Max to soccer, crying but stopping before any other soccer mums see me. (Because we all live in pretend-land, where nothing ever goes wrong. Right?)
My calf was hurting like a bastard and I still hadn't packed, but I just took my shoes off and planted my feet in wet grass. All these years later I still have a wise mans voices implanted in my brain when I go beyond Thunderdome into Kookyland: "Eden, you need to ground yourself. Get outside and stomp around with no shoes on. Feel the earth on your feet and breathe."

So I did and I felt better. I wondered how was I going to go on a weekend away with my husband when I'm giving him the silent treatment?

We did go away ... we exchanged a few f-bombs to each other in the car on the way down, and then proceeded to have the best weekend we have had together in YEARS. He got lucky, I got to sleep in the day, we both read magazines in bed. On Saturday night we went to some certain twin sisters' Thirty-Tenth birthday party, woooot! They looked hot, I was limping but still had a bit of a crump, there was free pizza, what more could you ask for??

During a delicious dinner of ribs and rocket salad one night, Dave looked at me and said, OMG how long have we been together?? (Nine years). How many kids do we have? Who are we? SHIT. Fully spun himself out. Was ve-ry funny to watch. Then I saw his face furrow over. What's wrong? I asked him. We were smack bang in the middle of a crowded restaurant, filled with pretty young things. He looks down at his khaki work shirt. "I'm dressed like Steve fucking Irwin."

It took every ounce to not laugh and point and say "WHAT A LIL RIPPER!" Because he so totally did look like Steve Irwin. I said, "Maaaate ... you look cool. It's fine - at least you can walk properly. I'm Limpy Limpster."

My sisters are now forty. We gave them extravagent presents this year, because they just so totally deserved them. But nothing I give them can ever properly show our gratitude at being there for our family last year. The chemo runs. The strained soup. The lentil sausage casserole story (HAHAHAHAHAHA) .... the love and compassion.

I have two big sisters and I totally want to be like them when I grow up.

Here is a pic of Leigh on the night:

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Oh wait - no, here she is. Kept calling herself Mr Strong all night. BECAUSE SHE IS HILARIOUS LIKE THAT. (When she put her arms up her dress went square).

Dave and I got back to the hotel on Saturday night and ordered an eighteen dollar hamburger. We then spooned, talking and laughing. This never happens, as he is a freak morning person and I am a night owl. He was so chatty. I said, "Hey, can I tell you how I made swine flu?!"

"Sure!" He laughed.

"Well, I made a big pot of pea and ham soup on Friday morning. I kept two rashers of bacon aside, thinking I'd fry it up for Max to have a bacon sandwich before soccer training. Except I forgot about the rashers, and at 5pm that evening, saw them sitting forlornly on the kitchen bench. So then, (laughing) ...." nudging Dave."Hey, I'm telling you a funny story!"

"Hmmpphh."

"So, I lift up the rashers and there's all this pig sweat formed underneath the bacon rashers, and I think, cool, I've totally formulated the Worlds First Riley Strain of Swine Flu."

Laughs hysterically. Dave is silent. "DAVE."

He sits up. "What the fuck are you talking about, swine fucken soup flu?? Go to sleep!"

Bed shakes from my laughter.

He gets the shits. "STOP LAUGHING!"

"But I made swine flu!"

"Seriously hon. Come ON."