We hosted a Festival of Brisbane Visitors (still going on tonight) which serves only to make me miss Brisbane TERRIBLY. Go home, wonderful people, and don't remind me how much I miss you.

Amongst chaos and hilarity, I had to gather Henry up and take him to a birthday party on Sunday morning for his friend Lara, turning 4.

I always seem to be (a) hurrying the kids up and (b) running late to everything.

Sunday morning was no exception.

I managed to extract Lara's birthday gift from Tilly who was enormously enamored with the pink tulle dress-up skirt I was trying to wrap. Lara loves dress up. Tilly, too.

I managed to get Henry dressed after much threatening and counting to three.

I managed to get Henry in the car. Left him there while I ran back to the house to get the Tom Tom (GPS). On the road, finally. Only likely to be 10 minute late, actually not too bad, and I was pretty sure Sandra would have a pot of coffee.

Driving, driving, driving. Turn into Sandra's street and as I turn I hear sirens. I see flashing blue lights. An unmarked police car pulls me over. Policeman stomps over and says something unintelligible and then asks if I've had any alcohol this morning. Am sufficiently intimidated by grumpy policeman to not make smart arsed comment about how a shot of gin quite possibly would have improved my morning, and I obediently blow into the boxy thing and count. 

He asks for my drivers licence and stomps away and I begin to wonder about the proportion of the bottle of Shiraz I shared with Deb and Andrew, our QLD visitors, the night before. 

He comes back and asks who owns the car. I say my husband (not the time to refer to Adam as my rent boy or bit of fluff, obviously.) Policeman stomps away again. Comes back and asks whether it is a company car and I stutter, yes, it is. Policemen glares at me and says, "well you should have told me that." I'm utterly confused and he says, "you can go." I watch him do a violent u-turn and rush back out onto Concord Rd. 

How relaxing.

So I start up the car again and glance down at the invitation. Across the top it says: Come dressed in your favourite dress up. I stare at it for a minute, then look at Henry sitting patiently in his car seat. Nothing about what he's wearing says dress-up. 

Ah well. He wasn't fussed. 

We roll into the party and have a lovely time. Sandra made great coffee and Henry had a wonderful play.

All good. 

I still don't know why I was pulled over or why some police feel the need to be quite so intimidating. I'm pretty harmless really.

Must go back and get one of those fabulous dress up skirts for Tilly. Maybe Henry can wear it to Lara's party next year.

xxx