The Blue Fork is missing.

Okay, so that was probably a little dramatic. And perhaps a touch cryptic. I’m not talking about some hipster band or a beloved stuffed toy – no, that would be an absolute crisis (talking about a lost toy going missing, I mean…the only bands I follow avidly these days are The Wiggles and Lah-Lah’s Big Live Band. Definitely not hipster.)

I’m talking about an actual fork. A blue plastic fork. I realise the capital letters may have confused you. The thing is, this particular piece of cutlery is so beloved that it’s like it’s part of the family. We’ve even given it an affectionate pet name – the Blue Fork (didn’t see that coming, hey?.

Anyway, it’s missing. Completely gone. Vanished. We haven’t seen it all year (I love doing that in January!). We really have searched high and low. I’m not far from making posters advertising a large reward. Okay, maybe just a medium one…erring on the smaller side. I might be willing to surrender the last Tim Tam to go with a gratefully made cup of coffee (it’s all in the wrist).

See, Alpha loves blue. Currently, he will not consume a morsel of food if it is not lovingly presented on a blue plate/bowl/tarpaulin to be delicately enjoyed with the finest blue cutlery Mummy could buy ($2 for an 18-piece rainbow set from IKEA). Mealtimes have been a battle all year (see? It’s fun!) because there is No Blue Fork. My poor neglected child has been forced to use the orange fork. Side note: my iPad desperately tried to make me capitalise orange fork, but I couldn’t let it – we really just don’t love it enough.

So now we have a conundrum. Do I try and plan meals that do not require the use of a fork for the foreseeable future? Or do I brave a trip to IKEA in the school holidays?

I know what you’re thinking – it’s a close call.

Anyway, happy 2015! If you need me, I’ll be in the corner in the foetal position.


Total first world problem…

I just had the following conversation with my husband…

Me: I need you to get an antenna for the TV – the foxtel isn’t working again.
Husband: That’s okay, we can just watch it on the computer.
Me: We can’t get ABC2 on the computer.
Husband: So?
Me: I don’t think you heard me correctly. We can’t get ABC2. Possibly until Monday.

I don’t know whether it was concern for his wife’s sanity or the thought of being in charge on Sunday arvo with no respite while I’m at work (probably a bit of both) but bless his cotton socks, he arrived home 30 minutes later with an antenna. He even got it working straight away.

Best. Husband. Ever.

The Final Rinse (or An Exercise in Precision and Futility)

So my friend Glooking-Mass Lama decided to attack strategically approach the mountain slightly overflowing basket of dirty laundry today. It’s been raining for the past couple of days and kids have a way of accumulating washing when they’re well. When they’re sick, the pile grows at an alarming rate. On a totally unrelated note, blowouts that go through denim overalls are terrifying.


Glooking-Mass Lama did the first load and put the second on. She decided to wait a little while before hanging out the first load, planning on doing both together. She looked out the window and, seeing nothing but blue skies and happy fluffy white clouds, was sure she had plenty of time.

Oh, Glooking-Mass Lama. When will you learn?

About 15 minutes later she looked out and realised that the happy fluffy white clouds were now sharing the sky with some mopey damp grey clouds. That’s logically when she decided it was time to hang the washing on the line.

It’s a bit of a trek to the washing line while I’m she’s house sitting, so she had plenty of time to reflect on how her plans may not have been the wisest. Still, she could maintain her optimism while blue remained above.

So out the first load of washing went. By the time she’d finished, the second load was ready to be hung, so out it went. As the line gradually filled with clothes, the sky gradually filled with grey clouds and her mind gradually filled with doubts.

It finally occurred to Glooking-Mass Lama that she could use her iFruit to give her an idea as to whether the heavens were about to burst open. Her heart sank as she opened her trusty weather app and looked at the forecast.

A few showers.

Okay, so not ideal, she thinks. What about the radar?

That blue stuff is rain, right?


There was little she could do now – at least the clothes would have a short time to dry. She wound the clothes line right up and started back up the garden, doing her best to ignore the occasional sudden splash from the sky.

After that it was all about precision – waiting to bring in the washing until the last possible minute to maximise drying time, but getting it inside before the rain. It was also about compulsively checking the radar and the sky, for her constant vigilance now would certainly make the storm pass.

It didn’t.

Just as she sat down to lunch and uttered the words “I’ll get the washing in immediately after lunch”, the heavens opened.

Glooking-Mass Lama leapt to her feet, preparing to launch herself down the stairs to rescue her clothes. Then she reconsidered.

Slippery bricks + panicky run = breaky bones.

She lowered herself back down, defeated, as she watched her laundry receive The Final Rinse.

Then – the clouds blew over and blue sky reappeared! The wait and watch game began again.

And the exact same thing happened – moments before she went to collect her laundry, the rain pelted down. And then cleared.

This happened four times all up. By the end of it, she was paranoid pretty darn certain that she was the butt of some sort of celestial joke. Glooking-Mass Lama decided that was it. She had a limited amount of time and patience remaining, so she gave the washing half an hour after the final downpour.

She marched determinedly down to the line and began to take the essentials off the line. Today’s ‘essentials’ meant pajamas, anything required the following day and anything that was drier than when it was hung up.

Halfway through, a spot splashed on her nose.

At the three-quarter mark, several more landed on her arms.

By the time the last item she had earmarked for survival was safe, the rain was pelting down. In a moment of determination, she flattened herself over the washing basket to protect her precious semi-dry cargo, and then stood, pressing the basket to her front.

Casting a final despairing glance back at those she could not save (she later told me it was heartbreaking to condemn them to their fate), she ran – but not over the slippery bricks. She stepped quickly and carefully over those.

Safely inside, she deposited the basket in the laundry and loaded the dryer. Glooking-Mass Lama sat and stared out at the rain as she listened to it drumming on the roof and consoled herself that those she could not save would have a few more Final Rinses.

You can read more about Glooking-Mass Lama here and here.