Hi all, Eden has asked me to post this up for her - it's her brilliance, not mine. She is feeling the love from you all - thank you everyone so much. Peace. Linda x
Years ago Dave and I found some gorgeous authentic green club chairs with a matching lounge, complete with wooden rim. Out of the whole of Australia, we discovered the setting was less than a ten minute drive away. Meant to be, obviously!
They suited our house so well, and so beautifully. Until our children came along, and then even more children, plus some unexpected ring-ins. We coped like we always do, tag-teamin!
Like locusts, however, the kids destroyed every good thing in their path. The club setting was not spared. Taking it in turns to hold onto the backs of the green and wooden chairs and sproinging up and down like a freaking trampoline. The springs buckled and they soon grew more uncomfortable to sit in.
Oh the fury of watching our shit get demolished. We soon gave up, and just identified daily with our captors.
Rocco is the kid who will 'accidentally' bash a hole in his bedroom wall to post devon and ham in there, in the middle of a muggy summer. NOM. He slowly destroyed one of the green club chairs. Lightly pulled and tugged the stuffing out of one of the arms. None of us ever saw him do it. But we all knew it was him. Dave was beyond furious. 'WE JUST CAN'T HAVE ANY GOOD THINGS FOR FUCK'S SAKE'.
Dave kept asking me where his iron-on transfer was that he bought in Mexico. Told him I had no idea and... wouldn't an iron-on Mexican transfer ruin the club-ness of the club chair? Dave said it was already ruined. Guess he had a point.
Dave did finally find his patch. Turns out it wasn't an iron-on patch though. Phoebe saw his frustration, "I've got an iron-on one dad!". Dave ironed it onto that once magnificent chair.
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
Words cannot convey the mirth that I feel when I walk past and see that miss-matched Buddha patch on what was once a pristine green club lounge chair. It's hilarious, absurd, out-of-place. I'm sure it's symbolic of so many things but I always tend to laugh too hard to understand exactly what. To not take shit so seriously? To forget so much about favourite possessions? Or the fierce determination of a little boy who will always, always, push the envelope.
Heaven help us all when he becomes an adult.
Years ago Dave and I found some gorgeous authentic green club chairs with a matching lounge, complete with wooden rim. Out of the whole of Australia, we discovered the setting was less than a ten minute drive away. Meant to be, obviously!
They suited our house so well, and so beautifully. Until our children came along, and then even more children, plus some unexpected ring-ins. We coped like we always do, tag-teamin!
Like locusts, however, the kids destroyed every good thing in their path. The club setting was not spared. Taking it in turns to hold onto the backs of the green and wooden chairs and sproinging up and down like a freaking trampoline. The springs buckled and they soon grew more uncomfortable to sit in.
Oh the fury of watching our shit get demolished. We soon gave up, and just identified daily with our captors.
Rocco is the kid who will 'accidentally' bash a hole in his bedroom wall to post devon and ham in there, in the middle of a muggy summer. NOM. He slowly destroyed one of the green club chairs. Lightly pulled and tugged the stuffing out of one of the arms. None of us ever saw him do it. But we all knew it was him. Dave was beyond furious. 'WE JUST CAN'T HAVE ANY GOOD THINGS FOR FUCK'S SAKE'.
Dave kept asking me where his iron-on transfer was that he bought in Mexico. Told him I had no idea and... wouldn't an iron-on Mexican transfer ruin the club-ness of the club chair? Dave said it was already ruined. Guess he had a point.
Dave did finally find his patch. Turns out it wasn't an iron-on patch though. Phoebe saw his frustration, "I've got an iron-on one dad!". Dave ironed it onto that once magnificent chair.
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
Words cannot convey the mirth that I feel when I walk past and see that miss-matched Buddha patch on what was once a pristine green club lounge chair. It's hilarious, absurd, out-of-place. I'm sure it's symbolic of so many things but I always tend to laugh too hard to understand exactly what. To not take shit so seriously? To forget so much about favourite possessions? Or the fierce determination of a little boy who will always, always, push the envelope.
Heaven help us all when he becomes an adult.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Write to be understood, speak to be heard. - Lawrence Powell