Smile and wave boys, smile and wave.

My husband isn't a secret agent

Just in case you were wondering. 

I know you might think he looks and walks, even talks the part, but he isn't.

He watches espionage and suspense movies, absorbs TV shows of the same vein and doesn't laugh at me when I talk spy talk into my imaginary inside lapel microphone to 'Natalia' (it's a whole 'norther story, it's okay)

He is confident in his ability to blend in and be unrecognisable in any hostage, terror, mystery or otherwise detective and secret agent like situation.

I often use our daily lives to test his skills so he is ever ready to leap to the defence of his country, because... You know, you just just never know.

Here's an example. Let me set the scene.

I have albinism, which means I have white hair. I often see other people with hair the same colour, but theirs is courtesy of a hairstylist or a bottle.  So I sometimes subtly look to see if they have other features which may indicate they too have albinism rather than just being a bottle blonde.

So ... we we at the airport the other day, having a coffee in the lounge. I was looking out to the tarmac and saw someone with very blonde hair. Albinism means I don't see very well, so I whispered to my husband "that woman walking to the plane steps - is she blonde or .. you know.. blonde?'

He kept looking at his phone. I hissed his name to get his attention and repeated my question.

He screwed up his face, looked up from his phone, pushed his glasses up his nose, and said "huh?"
I again repeated my question, adding the 'girl warning' of 'Don't look obvious'.

He had spinal surgery last year, which restricts his neck rotation. Obviously beyond the required point.

So rather than turn his head in the direction I pointed, he stood -or leapt- up from his chair and turned around. On tiled floor so the chair squeaked creaked and almost toppled, and the table rattled.

And then, for good measure, at a higher volume than mine, added "Where? White hair? Where?"

I hissed again, this time for him to sit down and forget about it. (I may have muttered something about embarrassing me but my memory on that is vague)

He likes to be helpful to and for me, and of course, an ever present ready-for-action action spy, so he said "No, I'm looking. Tell me. Where?" And his hurt at my dismissal was obvious.

I slowly repeated my question, expanding with absolute politeness and extreme sarcasm where necessary, and finished with "so I was trying to be subtle, but by the time you responded to my question, she was already on the plane taking off"

He went back to his phone after assuring me that he knew exactly what I meant and he'd check properly the next time I thought of it, to redeem himself.

It's okay people, I figure that despite him, our world is safe.

You're welcome.

I'd forget my head... if I could,

I was on morning tea at church this morning.

No big deal, right?

For this non domestic chicky it is.

Here's my rundown.

My expectation:

Cakes, muffins, biscuits, scones with jam and cream.
All artistically placed on platters.
Pretty platters.

Image:

http://homely-one.blogspot.com.au/2010/10/pink-ribbon-morning-tea-fundraiser_31.html

My reality:
Shop bought shortbread biscuits, shop bought choc chip biscuits, shop bought savoury  biscuits. 
Tipped out on a plate.
And put on the table.




Please note how carefully I staged the photo. 
I know, you're welcome.

Every time I see my name on the roster, I earnestly plan the home made delights I will prepare to put out for people to enjoy.

Then I wake up on the Sunday morning and remember I forgot. 

Again.

So I dash into the supermarket on the way to church.

I arrive at church really early because I know, just know I'll forget something.

I fill the urn, put out the tea and coffee, then fill a nice sugar bowl and milk jug.

Sit through church hoping the urn is heating up properly but not too much.

Then head out and wait for the crowd to come through.

Only today they didn't. Only a fraction of the congregation came to the hall.

Was it my shop bought food?

The church plates instead of patterned plates?

Or...


Oh.
I know what I forgot.

To tell people morning tea was in the hall.

In summer it's usually outside where people can mingle.

Today I set up in the hall.

I told you I was no good at this stuff.

Lucky the family like shop bought left over biscuits.

Dutch courage

As a mum, I'm always looking back on how I raised my kids and wondering what if…

And today I’m wondering what if… I overprotected my kids in a way I didn’t realise. And the title of this post is because it's taking courage to write it knowing how I will or could come across.

I am pretty much a “teetotaller”. I say that because I don’t drink alcohol….except. 

A few years back I did a wine studies course, and learnt to understand good wine and the science behind creating it. I have an appreciation for the subtleties and the dedication winemakers use to create their end product... So every now and then I have a sip of something that intrigues me. And yes it is a sip, I don’t even get it poured in a glass for me; if I can’t sip it from my husband’s glass, I don’t drink it.

And of course that’s the very second people who know I “don’t drink alcohol” chime in with comments and smart talk and so on. So to make them happy, I say “I am … except”

But once again, I digress.

Growing up, our house was occasionally used for some people “drying out” from alcohol. I saw people who I respected, who were strong, feisty, loving, humorous, leaders, attractive looking and just all round good people at their worst.

I saw them crying, yelling, throwing up, sobbing, trying to rip their skin off, holding onto blades of grass because the world was tipping them off, howling, sweating, wetting and crapping themselves oblivious to their scent and other’s thoughts, throwing things around, and generally just being vile.. 

I saw them ugly. 

I watched my parents, total abstainers, wash bedding, clothes and the floor and walls, making coffee and food at 2am, trying to calm the nonsensical screaming and sobbing, and trying to pacify the terror in our eyes while the drunken rages continued. 

I saw them love.

I then saw those same people humbled for a moment in time, thanking my parents, then…. back again for another bout of drying out.

Whatever else I knew, I knew I never wanted my children to see what I saw, to see the ugly broken side of humanity crawling through its own vomit and physical and personal messes.

As I up grew, I avoided friends who drank. I avoided parties where people drank, and I avoided alcohol totally. I watched normal people become alien creatures through alcohol. 

You THINK you’re cute and flirty, you’re looking ugly and slutty.

You think your magic is working on the ladies, you look like a wreck.

Alcohol helps you pull? It's helping you pull needy people who are willing to make out with a drunk person? Well done you.

I married a “social drinker” who knows my heart. We moved house, into an area of wine production (hence my study, I thought it would help me obtain work; it didn’t) In this community, alcohol is pretty much used as currency in some situations, and every raffle or prize contains alcohol in some form. In other words, it’s near on impossible to avoid it.

My children knew I was anti alcohol, but couldn’t work out why. 

They couldn’t work out why I rang and checked every party to see if there’d be alcohol supplied. Of course those parents couldn’t monitor how many (often underage) guests would bring their own. 

They couldn’t understand why I insisted on picking them up from every party so they didn’t have to be tempted to drive home with someone who may have drunk alcohol. 

They couldn’t understand my disdain for their “cool and funny” friends who did drink to the point of idiocy.

They couldn’t understand why I was the only dumb parent.

I’m not going to say my kids didn’t drink. They did.

I’m not going to say they didn’t do some stupid and awful stuff when they drank. They did and do.

And I’m certainly in no way holding them or myself up as perfect. 

I’m not a card carrying, picketing temperance member who wants to bring back prohibition. I just wish for informed common sense with alcohol use. 

And now, when someone I love is actually seeing from another side the ugliness I saw, I wonder if I overprotected them. Maybe people should be allowed to see the vile side.

Maybe I should have let them see that sensible young strong people become old ugly fools in a matter of hours.

Maybe I should have let them see how “cool and funny” isn’t that – that it’s beautiful people destroying their brain, their skin, their liver and their lives.

Maybe I should have let them see the absolute train wreck people can make of their lives –and that the

     rambling

               smelly

                       old

                            drunk

                                   homeless 

                                             muttering

                                                                                                        

person they walk past on the street may not be as old as they think, and may have several university degrees, have been a sports legend, have been a prodigy, a caring parent, a loving partner, materially rich, a funny friend or a smart business person who couldn’t say no to alcohol. Who made a mistake.

But would they have listened? Hardly likely. They were, as so many are, invincible. Unbreakable and unsinkable. 

Unlike our hearts.