Since when did Mrs Woog get so bitchy?

Since last Sunday.

Rounding up the longest week in the history of WoogsWorld today. It has gone on forever, just like the Survivor series. Except I am the one that always survives. Just. Every morning I have woken up and thought to myself, What day is it? Surely it must be Friday… no?

One word that reminds me of myself at the moment is decaffeinated.

I am totally blaming Daylight Savings.

What is Daylight Savings?

Daylight Saving Time is the practice of temporarily advancing clocks during the summertime so that afternoons have more daylight and mornings have less. Typically clocks are adjusted forward one hour near the start of spring and are adjusted backward in autumn. Modern DST was first proposed in 1895 by George Vernon Hudson. The practice has been both praised and criticized. Adding daylight to afternoons benefits retailing, sports, and other activities that exploit sunlight after working hours, but causes problems for farming, evening entertainment and other occupations tied to the sun. – Wikipedia

Mr George Vernon Hudson, it also means your kids get up at the crack of a sparrows fart and you have an extra hour of torture in the morning. And it means your kids are starving by 5pm and feral by 6pm. I am so hating this right now.

But all bitching aside, we did have a major triumph in WoogsWorld this week. My good friend and super gay blogger St Murphy was correct when he suggested you cannot go wrong with disco balls. And it was a combination of disco balls and feather boas that saw Jack (and in turn me) beat out 120 other kindy kids to take out the top title at the Easter Hat Parade!

I also think it had something to do with his unique strut, obtained by watching Toddlers and Tiaras.

And the prize for the Most Creative Hat was a really boring hat with a sign stick to it that said Most Creative Hat. It was truly ironic. It was like instead of giving Natalie Portman an Oscar, she got a copy of Black Swan on DVD for winning Best Actress.

Despite technical brilliance, Harry was unplaced.

Apart from the words PROLAPSED UTERUS, the other phrase that can strike fear in my heart is SCHOOL HOLIDAYS which, for where I live, starts from the end of today. I do have a survival plan that involves a trip to Dan Murphy’s Liquor with a box trailer and a schedule full of tennis, dance and science camp.

So if I am scarce around these parts for the next two weeks, it is because I am either drunk or at the tennis court watching grown men with the patience of saints lobbing ball after ball at the Woogettes. And all the while I will be cursing George Vernon Hudson.

But enough about me. And how are you?