Time Out Mrs Woog

After I dropped the Woogettes off to school yesterday, I went to the office of Simon and Schuster Publishing to have morning tea and talk writing with Lisa Genova, and American New York Times Best selling author. Like you do.

Lisa Genova graduated valedictorian from Bates College with a degree in Biopsychology and has a Ph.D. in Neuroscience from Harvard University. She is a mum, younger than me, warm, smart and funny. She has a funky haircut and really bad shoes. I had no business being in the company of such greatness.

But I was there with my friend Kerri Sackville, who I think is pretty great to. This week she celebrates the release of her own book, My Husband Does the Dishes. I was smug in the knowledge that I in fact had 2 published titles up me sleeve. What I failed to mention was that they were children’s books written 10 years ago which sank without a trace.

Kerri and I later had more caffeine and discovered our Hungarian Link. And talked loudly about sex, much to the horror of the neighbouring mother’s group. I could talk to her all day.

I was restless. It was day 4 of being smoke free. I seemed to have no energy as the afternoon wore on. And the headache stayed with me for a long time. I gave into the hot chip and chicken salt craving after I had picked the kids up at the bus stop. I mean what sort of sadist puts a hot chip shop next to a school bus stop on a cold afternoon when you are having cravings? Luckily I had the hungry Woogettes to help me control the portion size.

So then I felt tired, headachy and fat. Just the sort of mood that is perfect for dealing with homework, dinner and bath time. We got stuck straight into the homework and had almost finished when Mr Woog called asking where we were, for he was at the kids tennis lesson wanting to watch. FUCK.


He came home and took one look at me and put me into time out. For the rest of the night. I had a bath and jumped into bed with a fresh nicotine patch on. He came in soon after with a large glass of cold wine and silently left. I heard the faint squabble as the domestic bliss/chaos was completed without me. I watched the news.

I then watched MasterChef and then Glee.

Then I fell into a deep deep sleep.

In my nicotine dream, I was at home when a visitor arrived. It was Hugh Jackman who had popped into say hi. We had a spa together (we do not have a spa) and was discussing whether Obama should release photos of the corpse before he got all handsy on me. And I probably let that behaviour go on far too long. I am blaming the patch. (I love you patch). Then my mum came over to the spa and handed Hugh the phone. My dead grandmother wanted to speak with him. It turned out she was not dead but had moved to a caravan park in a place called Balranald. She had just come back from New York where she had seen Hugh perform in The Boy From Oz.

It was because of this dream I woke up far too early. I lay in bed, willing myself to go back to sleep so I could tell my mum and dead grandma to piss off. But it was too late. I was awake.

I listened to Mr Woog gently snore beside me and occasionally felt his body go stiff as he emitted a delicate fart. And in the time it has taken me to write this post, he has been up to the cafe and fetched me a coffee, patted me on the head, told me he loved me and has left for work.

If only he could shake his maracas like Hugh…..

But I will take him any day.

Thanks for the time out.xx