when the wheels fall off


Not sure when it was, exactly.

Maybe when I got back into the car today to run an errand, wondered what the funny smell was, realized it was all my groceries, sitting in the car for how long? Maybe two hours? I'd carried the baby inside, asleep, and got busy doing other things. Excellent. Not many dairy products in those bags at all. 

Was it yesterday morning, when I was madly flinging through the clothes mountain (my friend Catriona's term) looking for a clean school uniform. Swearing to myself. Because it was only school photo day. And I didn't appear to have any clean shirts for the boy. (Found one. Lucky.)

Or, also yesterday, catching up with an old school friend and I realised I had not even looked in a mirror before leaving the house. I don't mean this figuratively in any way. And I'm not kidding. Didn't even look. I might have had fungus on an eyebrow for all I knew. 

Hear that rolling noise? ding-a-ding-a-ding-a-ding: that's a wheel rolling down my driveway. 

Is it when you open the door of the washing machine and almost trip over backwards. Stinkarooney, says Tilly. Well that's where all the damn school shirts are then.

Is it forgetting to take the bin out, and getting that massive rush of dread, particularly when they're only collected fortnightly, can I make it? Rushing down the drive dragging a big green sulo with one arm, holding a baby with the other, trying not to tip it over on the cattle grid. Looking down in horror realising there's a good chance I might not even be dressed. Undies on. That'll do. 

I learnt today, as a lovely friend shared her story of discovering a liquified sushi roll in her handbag, that wheel-falling-off stories are better shared. 

Skidding on the recycling spilling out all over the kitchen floor isn't at all funny on my own. Sharing it with you is. 

Please join in. 

(Unless everything runs perfectly at your place, in which case what the heck are you doing reading this blog?)


articles & Recipes