The Long Weekend Revisited

Who does not love a long weekend! We are relaxing and (cough cough) enjoying each other’s company.  It reminds me of another long weekend last year…. and how some things never change.
Originally published in June 2010.

This weekend Mother Nature blessed us with beautiful weather, and Motherhood bought out the worst in me.

Friday night saw Mr Woog home late and drunk. Not a great start to the long weekend.

Saturday, he pops off at 6am to continue his stand up paddle board obsession, leaving me to deal with the early risers again. I.just.want. He returned with a large coffee for me a few hours later with the following sentence.

“What an amazing day! It was perfect out there. Go outside and have your coffee in the sun.”

I looked at Mr Woog, while he hung his wetsuit out to dry, grinning and checking out his garden. I stubbed out my fag and replied,

“I do believe there is a Hillsong Service beginning soon. Why don’t you go out and deliver the sermon this morning?”

The day dragged on and on. We were expecting people for dinner so I soothed myself with some slow-cooking and watched the clock, waiting for wine time to arrive. Our friends are famously funny and black belt drinkers so it was a great night. I displayed my brilliance for wine consumption and eating. After dinner we retired to the couch where Mr Watts told a story so funny, my sides ached, my jaw was numb and my ass lost control of all it’s faculties when a large fart erupted. That was it for me. Bed time. The Watts left, soon later to return to get their keys and bag and one of their 2 kids, such was the tone of the evening.

Next morning, not so good for me. I could not locate the truck that hit me but was pretty sure it did not stop to see whether I had survived. The kids could smell my weakness and were displaying behaviours similar of creatures at the zoo. The general squabbling and fighting was so extreme, that we did the most sensible thing you do when your kids are off the wall – you take them to visit childless friends in their new unit.

Later we went for a walk a the beach – or the others did while I had coffee. We ran into Table Tonic Louise who was also suffering from extreme torture by her kids. We indulged in a small bitch then J smacked his head on the monkey bars. It was time to leave.

Then we visited a Deli, also because small rowdy boys surrounded by rows of fancy Olive Oils is a brilliant idea. I was weak, hungover, tired and emotional. I stood at the counter while Mr Woog ran around telling me what to order.

As per usual, I was served by some 15 year old gorm who had the speed and intellect of George Bush. Mr Woog approached me.

“Can you order 10 dolmades?”

“Get a tub of Olives.”

“Get 12 slices of that salami”

“Ask if they have taramasalata.”

He goes to select a piece of parmesan cheese and comes back.

“Do they have taramasalata?”

I respond ” No, I have not asked. He is too busy fucking around slicing the salami.”

This did not please Mr Woog, who informed me that I had to deal with my crankiness, do not take it out on the server (which I was not) and that I should perhaps not drink a bottle of wine then expect to be fabulous the next day. But in a lot more passionate, swearing fashion. And in a loud voice. Not very Civilised. We were in Mosman for god’s sake!

I told him to shove his dolmades up his coit and went to the car with the kids. Happy Days. Take me home.

The kids knew we were turning on each other and quickly shot up the scale from being just terribly behaved to totally hideous. Time Outs where flying around so much that they had no affect at all. Mr Woog and I knew that we were doomed unless we united forces and waged an offence so great, they would not know what was going on.

We came down on them like a tonne of bricks, backed each other up, followed though on warnings and generally were awesome. This lasted the entire afternoon. We high fived each other in the hallway and spoke in low, slow voices to them.

This weekend, I learnt not to schedule drinking adventures when the kids are being terrible. Mr Woog learnt not to use me as personal assistant at Deli’s. My childless, unit dwelling friends learnt to invite us over when we have a babysitter. Mr Woog and I learnt together the divide and conquer method does not work when it comes to parenting. I also learnt that long weekends were not necessarily a mum’s best friend.