PTA Bollocks, part five thousand

8 Feb

I haven’t posted about PTA bollocks for frickin ages but being part of a school with so few kids and households (21 households in total), being part of the PTA is pretty much a given every bloody year.

Our PTA is made up of three sections (13 positions) – the admin and head section (typically made up of parents of 6th graders), the research and publications section and the extra curricular and sports section. These last two sections are made up of grade reps and residential area reps. So, a parent from each grade puts their hand up and a parent, who hasn’t already put their hand up, puts their hand up for area rep. I am our current area rep. We have 7 kids in our area from 4 households. Next year this will be two and after Marina’s year graduates it will just be Ryu walking to school on his own – or rather with his mum every morning. If our school doesn’t bloody hurry the fuck up and merge!

I have been on the research and publications part of the PTA for FIVE YEARS (yes, so ever since Shou entered Primary school). In total I guess this means about five meetings a year, writing a couple of articles for the school newspaper, and doing a couple of events that involve public speaking – like introducing a person to give a speech on human rights, or wheelchair tennis or whatever.

Tonight we had out last PTA meeting for actual PTA members. Next month we have out last PTA but damn, really it means the same shit we did tonight but with about three other families that didn’t have to be on the PTA and in the middle of the day so everyone that works (nearly everyone) has to take time off.

Following the PTA meeting we had a separate meeting (starting at 8pm) for the current 4th and 5th grade parents. Usually, if you have a larger school, only the 5th grade parents would meet to decide the head PTA duties for the following year. However, due to Japan’s declining birthrate and lack of incentives to go rural and breed, next year will require two year groups to step up to do head and sub head duties.

Next year Shou and HTB are the only 6th graders in our school….



WERE GOING TO BE the only 6th graders in our school…

Turns out that last week HTB’s parents (or rather Father) did the paperwork to transfer him and his sister to the school in town – they have their reasons, none of which relate to Shou and/or the school but which, I personally believe, could be overcome and dealt with quite possibly if the desire for their child to finish his schooling at the same school was stronger than one of immediate convenience. Do you remember years ago when Shou was a first grader and I was thinking of taking the kids back to NZ for a whole year for their English? And HTB’s father came to our house, drunk our beer and told me he would transfer his kids to the other school if we left for a year? I changed our plan and we ended up only missing one term off school here. Should have bloody just gone. I already decided not to take the boys back this year because I thought leaving HTB on his own in 6th grade (probably the most important year) was kind of stink. Also the 6th graders have a lot of responsibilities around school, final sports day, yaddah yaddah.

Anyhoo, the whole topic makes me go rabid.

SO, obviously, as the only 6th grade parent next year Hub is going to be head of PTA – we sorted this out years ago. I did ALL the kindergarten PTA stuff (which I might add, is more full on than primary school and complete whole new level (like possibly finishing all the levels and buying the next two disks compared to PTA in New Zealand kind of level), so hub has said from early on that he would be head of PTA at some stage while the kids were at primary school. At the time he said that a man had to do it anyway – which I strongly attested to and got my panties in a twist about. But now I don’t care. And he has had no PTA duties for the last five years while I have the entire time, so fuck it. (Edited to add that actually hub has taken over MY PTA duties while I have been back in NZ 🙂 )

So a lot of conversation was had this evening, the people that don’t put their hand up, didn’t put their hand up – with excuses like, I was sub-head of PTA two years ago. Fuck YOU. You have four kids at the school. You can’t use a sub-head title as any leverage after one year. Fuck Fuck FUCK!

That’s possibly all I have to say. As the only 6th grade parent next year it was obvious that hub would be PTA head, but fuckin pull your shit together mums, I hate people that sit round a table looking at the stitching on the carpet.


And yes, I have a lot more I want to say about HTB changing schools. At the very least I thought his father, who was on the PTA this year (per his wife’s request because she knew he would be either head or sub head next year and should thus at least know how the PTA meetings went (she has done them up until this year)) should have said something to the whole group – or at the very very least to the group of 5th grade parents (and me) who assembled from 8pm to discuss next year’s PTA positions.

(Edit – saw his mum this morning and she was disappointed that her hub came home last night without at least saying a few words to the PTA. You know, “sorry for reducing school numbers and making a 5th grade parent have to be sub-head of PTA which I should have been doing” kind of thing. The kids have all gone home and told their parents over the last week but nothing was publicly said so I had a number of mums come up to me and ask if it was true. Anyway, HTB’s mum said she will now have to take the day off work for the last PTA next month and go herself and say something to everyone.

Grrrrr, there is so much more I want to write. I am being SOOOOOO restrained right now.


Anyhoo, hope you are all PTA position free and enjoying life!




PS, HTB’s mother is lovely. This is not her choice at all by the sounds of it. The kids also were not in favour of the move originally but seem to now be looking forward to it. Kids are so resilient.




Happy New Year (better late than never)

31 Jan

It’s 2018. Nearly bloody February. How did that happen?

Hope everyone is well, had a fabulous festive season with family and loved ones, bubbles and wine, and that you have all crashed as spectacularly as me regarding any New Year’s resolutions.

I don’t want to know if you are currently on day 31 of running, drinking no coffee, ditching wine, and[or starting the day with a shake of spinnach and chia seeds.

Just don’t tell me. Silence is golden.


The boys and I enjoyed the rest of our time in NZ. The school production was fantastic – turns the boys were a cowboy and a zombie oompaloompa. I kid you not. The zombies danced to Thriller and there was lots of smoke and shit. It was awesome. My Willy Wonka candy cart was a semi-success, clouded by the fact that I just had too many ideas for my motivation level. It also took me two days to figure out how to load the staple gun.

We got back mid-October, in time for me to prepare for English class halloween parties. Shit it was a busy week and my skin didn’t thank me for all the shite I plastered over it. Always a hit with the kids though and I swear some of them only come every week so they can participate in the Halloween and Christmas parties. My current English office is getting demolished to make way for a new town fire department and I have to have all my shit removed by the end of March. Gutted. It is in such a perfect location. I will lose serious business by moving my classes back home – too far for children at the main school to walk. I might have to rearrange my schedule, introduce a taxi service and maybe a couple of adult classes.

Anyhoo, just thought I’d check in. The kids are well, as are hub and Granny K. I guess we are all just hoping the flu doesn’t hit us. So far our school has remained completely flu free, despite the main school in town, the Junior High and the kindergartens all closing various classes. I have been fastidious about hand sanitizing and wiping down in the English office. Fingers crossed we have managed to miss it this year but I have my doubts. Can’t be too complacent – I always think we are out the other side of the season and then wham, the kids and hub all get it in a week!

Right, off to clean the house and maybe, just maybe, get my ass out for a run. I installed runkeeper on my phone for the first time. Will be interesting to see if I actually get any faster. After coming back from NZ I kept up with the plan my trainer set me for oh, at best, ten days. Then life took over. Went for my first very short run for this year two weeks ago – and then snow took over and it was like fuckin freezing every day and while I know that running would warm me up, it was like, you know, fuckin cold. But I see the sun about to burst through today and that in itself might be enough to entice me to hit the road.

Keep you posted.

Sweet dreams, good health and quiet living you lot.




One Month In

23 Aug

So here I am, just over one month in to our New Zealand stay.

I should be at the gym doing some bastard spinning class my trainer says he ‘would like me’ to do twice a week. Instead I’ve made a coffee and am waiting for the woman who owns the house to come and take the satelite TV box away for replacing. Well, that’s what I thought I was doing. The agreed time was nine. I was out for approximately 7 minutes to take the kids to school and, after a quick glance at the empty shelf under the TV, it would seem she stealthed her way in here then! Now I have hot coffee. So the spinning class can wait.

The gym has a room with a huge projector and you go in, punch whatever yoga, spinning, boxing etc. class you want to do into the wall panel and away you go! I did my first ever spin class for 16 minutes last Friday – with my trainer in my ear going ‘come on, you got this’. Was a complete bitch which killed my thighs and butt so much I very nearly completely assed over trying to get my feet out of the special pedals. I guess I can always go for a run on the treadmill. I ran for the first time in YEARS on Monday and then on Tuesday I went in to do cardio and ran SEVEN km. Bloody hell. I did have trouble with simple shit, like walking, for all of Tuesday afternoon but Hey! I can run again! Felt good, despite the pain – which we all know is just ‘fear leaving your body’.

This whole ‘get into shape’ thing is hard man. After my first month of three trainer sessions a week (and me going in most other days to do cardio) I lost zero weight. I knew of course because I have scales at the house but I was you know, hoping the scales at the gym were magic. That aside, I did lose 10cm from various parts of the body and I am heaps fitter and have more energy – well, I shouldn’t really have shitloads of energy and if I was following the diet plan he gave me I’d be a shell of my former self, but also quite possibly in the fetal position behind the sofa dreaming of kebabs and cheese on toast.

I followed the detox week pretty much down to the letter and even had green smoothies and shit – although I didn’t have a proper smoothy maker, just a blender, and damn. May as well just put your hand in the bag of spinach and eat the leaves whole. I have since bought the cheapest smoothy maker I could find. It does the job. There are no longer whole leaves and chunks of green apple in my glass.

I had a hair follicle test too – they cut some hair off the back near the scalp and send it away to get tested for food intolerances. Turns out I shouldn’t really be having bananas, beef, dairy, alcohol or caffeine. I feel like a should be having a steak, a bottle of wine and some banana ice-cream in retaliation. Instead I have cut out beef and bananas.

I’ll work on the rest. A girl must have her vices. And my intolerances aren’t that high. On a scale of 1-10 beef and bananas were 5 and the other things 2 or 3. The recommended intake for a 2 or 3 intolerance was once every two days at the most.

In other news, the boys are enjoying school. They are going to swimming classes every week, have the school cross country next week, are playing in the school soccer (friendly) competition, and are both in the production of Willy Wonker at the end of September – for which I put my hand up to make a candy cart. I have to pimp up the school’s lost property cart. Put a canopy on it and make some oversized lollies. I also asked to add cupcakes because I’ve watched a few too many episodes of ‘Cupcake Wars’ and well, you know, a paper mache balloon cupcake with brown weeding mat (that’s what it said on the label) material and a white scarf from the two dollar shop as frosting… ……

If it all turns out how I have envisioned it in my mind I’ll post a pic.


Right, the coffee is gone. Must spin.



More Tests

1 Aug

Going on from the previous post about Japan’s outstanding stance on preventative healthcare…

I had my “supposed-to-be-annual-but-has-actually-been-3-years” comprehensive health check at the city hospital the other week.

No eating or drinking after 9pm the previous night, I woke up and had severe troubles trying to get a poo sample. Not taking into consideration the putting down of the special poo catching sheet into the loo and then scraping a cotton bud test tube thing through your poo. It’s a fun activity. Totally recommend it.

I register at the hospital 40 minutes away and get told to change into lovely clinic PJ things. Bra off, because no wire allowed – and I have to incase mine in loads of wire, t-shirt on, because inevitably the Japanese PJ things will not stand firm in their one job of covering my boobs.

I get weighed first – huuurah. Didn’t want to save that till last anyway. Height measured. Get told I have lost 2kg and shrunk half a cm in 3 years.

(pats self on back – one must celebrate the small accomplishments. At this rate I may just wilt away to nothing)

Blood samples taken next – I have three vials taken which is more than usual as have paid extra $50 dollars to do tests on risk of getting cancer. I know, I know. Every bastard ends up dying of cancer but I have been told that brain cancer (mum) isn’t hereditary, and lung cancer (dad) probably caused by smoking fifty million cigarettes a day since he was 14. Anyhoo, I am interested in this test so I did it. Results pending.

After the bloods I get taken through to the expose your flummy echo room. Three years ago a young bloke was in charge of the echo machine and it was quite mortifying to be honest. I mean, obviously, I’ve lost loads of weight this year (ahem) but fuck it, all off my eyelashes it seems and not my stretchmarked to shit -middle-aged flummy. Fortunately this year there is a female technician and I feel a lot more comfortable, throw my PJ top open and get ready for the squidge of gel and the echo. She takes her time on something and for a minute I glance at the screen expecting to see a small beating heart or something. Praise the fuckin lord there isn’t a baby in there though. I don’t know what she was concentrating on – whether it was a serious issue or whether she was just trying to echo through the flum.

I then have to pee in a cup (see previous post). I can NEVER pee under pressure, plus I have my period, plus I’m still wondering if perhaps she did miss a baby during the echo. Faaark. I FINALLY get about 10ml of menstrual  pee into a cup – I know, I know, don’t say I never paint a lovely visual image for you.

I then get about ten minutes of down time sitting in a chair and watching the sumo, during which time a nurse comes and enquires as to what day of my period I’m on…. I tell her day two, my heaviest day. I leave off that I actually scooped out (of my pee cup) the piece of my uterus that was floating in there. She must enjoy normal periods where you bleed a little, live a little and then bleed a little more. I just bleed solidly and in chunks for 48 hours (see previous sentence about that lovely visual image – your welcome).

I then get taken into a small booth and my blood pressure checked. Considering half my blood is trying to escape out my fanny tis no bloody wonder the other half retaliates by trying to run away from the blood pressure machine, resulting in high blood pressure. Did I know I had slightly high bloody pressure, the nurse asks me? She then measures my waist and tells me I’m obese and asks if I would like nutritional advice – to which I say no, I’m heading to NZ next week and am booked in with fabulous personal trainer called Branden who is going to kick my ass into shape.

(Not joking. Have been going a week and I hate him already but my feet and chin are enjoying some weight slash fluid loss so I’ll stick at it a bit longer until my flummy gets some of the skinny love too. – another post soon)

Next on the health check agenda is the electrodes. The PJ top gets opened and t-shirt lifted up completely. Electrodes placed on sides of tits, flummy, everywhere. Tis hard not to laugh cause the suction caps make this ridiculous noise and the technician woman is not looking me, but at the same time feeling around boobs for right place to position suction caps. I don’t even know what this test does – that is how much of a sheep I am. Baaaaaaaaa. Just do what I’m told.

And lastly, the mammogram. Joy of joys. I get to squash my tits into a compressor frontways AND sideways. For my previous three checkups I have had the same guy and I felt like we were finally coming to some kind of report between the two of us and my boobs. Now, all of a sudden, I have a new young mammogram boy who isn’t quite used to substantial um, clients, and has to ask me to excuse him while he pulls my boobs across the compressor.

I am ‘this close’ to laughing at the poor boy. If it wasn’t ridiculously funny it would be mortifying.


I was also meant to have a smear and the disgusting Barium procedure – where you drink disgusting shit and get turned around on a machine akin to a pig on a spit.

I had a bit of a cough and apparently if you drink they barium and then cough you might get some in your lungs and die.

OK, well, the didn’t say I would die but they said it wouldn’t be beneficial to my health if the “white shit that solidifies like concrete unless you take drugs and shit it out of your system in 24 hours” got in my lungs.


So I went back the next week and got poked up my fanny and turned like a pig on a spit.

I have absolutely no idea if I’m healthy because the results get sent home and I left Japan the day after the aforementioned pig spitting. I was SO worried about not shitting the white barium concrete out before my travel that the nurses gave me SIX shit pills!! I took four, and spent three solid hours on the loo.

Thank God I didn’t need to do that on an airplane toilet.


Right, off to get these kiwi boys to bed.







Drug Test

1 Jun

The Drug Test – which has nothing to do with the previous post. Am not giving self drug tests to ensure I stay on the straight and narrow re health and diet. Am not testing self for carbs and wine – would be futile after all.

And that’s all I have to say regarding the previous post.

No, the Drug Test is the annual school urine test that all students are required to do. Tis some part of Japan’s marvelous attitude towards preventative healthcare. Find out if a child is on the road to obesity before they turn into an obese adult and have to leech the healthcare system for millions of yen. Have absolutely no complaint about the test being administered.

BUT,  of course I conveniently forget about what a fuckin pee splashing, hand wiping pain in the ass it is every other day of the year – until they bring home ‘the cup’ and I am reminded that THIS is why toilets have walls. To stop pee from boys trying to pee into a cup splashing out into the hallway.

Haha, except this year it was ME splashing the boys’ pee into the hall. Bloody hell almighty, pour me wine.

Or vodka. Pee on walls, face and hands should probably end in vodka.

The pee has to be pee-ed into the cup in the morning. I always get it mixed up with bum-patch worm test that HAS to be done first thing after waking up BEFORE going to the loo. Bend over, press worm test patch to bum-holey-o and then let child go wee. This was an annual kindergarten ritual, that I haven’t had to do for a few years now. I remember one year I forgot to hand it in and took it, in its special little envelope, to the funeral of an ex-kindergarten teacher that afternoon – and gave it to one of the teachers there. Jeeze. Black funeral attire, pearls, one kid at the kinder, one in the pram and quite possible one in the belly, handing over an envelope with a patch I had, only a few hours earlier, pressed to my son’s butt…. … Sometimes I just outdo myself. Tis tiring.

Anyhoo, the pee test probably didn’t need to be the first pee of the rising sun. Especially not any pee before 6am. But, as I had got my patch and pee test information all up the fuck in my head I told the kids it HAD to be the first pee after waking up and that because I didn’t want pee on the floor, and because mummy knew how hard it was peeing into a cup, to PLEASE WAKE ME UP when they got up and needed to pee.

Fuckin idiot.

Marina woke up at thirteen minutes past five. As I am, quite obviously, not a rice harvesting 85 year old, my internal clock is ‘usually’ still blissfully asleep at this time.

Now, pregnant women in Japan go to the doctors every month, and then every week for the last month. Must pee in cup EVERY time. Obviously it gets harder to hold the cup under the saloon doors the bigger your tummy gets with growing spawn of devil child. But after three kids I had it mastered and was about to impart my eternal wisdom onto my only daughter when she proficiently thrust the cup out the loo door and said ‘done’.

Of course they don’t just wander off to school with a cup full of pee. That would be TOO easy. No, it must now be sucked up into a plastic tube/pipe thingy. A pee pulling plastic pipe, if you will. Not quite as hard as saying ‘Sally sells sea shells on the sea shore’ but give it a try anyway.


Did you actually really say it? Well, did you? Don’t worry. I think you’re totally normal.

So Marina’s pee pulling plastic pipe gets put into her bag with her year and number on it. Can’t have names on it – must not connect the face to the pee.

I wonder if I could squeeze in 20 minutes more of slumber – just as Ryu comes down the stairs. I swear he is still asleep so why the fuck he can’t just stay in bed another half hour I don’t know. And how we have managed to make it to ten years without a child falling down our stairs will just have to remain one of the world’s three mysteries.

Ryu, the golden child.

Perhaps a more fitting name now.

I hand him the cup and tell him he doesn’t need to fill it to over flowing. Just up to about ‘here’ would be fine. I ask if he needs assistance in making sure his penis (because seriously, the whole thing was so traumatic I don’t have the mental energy to think of a cute name like willy willy wonker boy or chin chin Mc-chin chin)  fires a direct line into the cup. He informs me that he will be 8 in a few days and is thus quite capable of performing the task on his own.

About a minute later he calls me. I go in and see the cup on the ledge beside the toilet and him trying to navigate holding his chin chin Mc-chin chin and wondering how to grab the cup. I PRESUME (I don’t know, call it a mother’s intuition) that because he is asking how he should grab the cup at the same time as releasing his pee that, stupid me, the cup on the ledge is EMPTY. This would make sense.

So I grab the cup. With far too much enthusiasm.

Turns out the boy had completed the task perfectly and had the EXACT right amount of pee in the cup – which half a second later was on my face, in his hair and, well, pretty much everywhere else. Except the fuckin cup.

I was stunned. How did we get to this?

Quite calm, given the circumstances, I ACTUALLY open my mouth (peh, peh, spew – I mean six month old boy baby wee suddenly hitting you during a nappy change I can handle but 7 year old almost an adult wee is just harder to stomach ya know) and ask him to squeeze a few more ml into the cup.

He obliges.

I direct him to the shower, wash my mouth out, wipe my face, wipe down the toilet walls an away we go smiling. Like it never happened.

Quite traumatized by the golden boy child and I having a complete mozza I was anxious when Shou woke up and needed to go.

Thankfully he was grand.

The moral of the story?

Girls will only get a bit of pee on their hands when peeing into a cup so let them do it alone. Boys? 10, possible 9 – that’s about the safe zone, cross over, you might or you might not completely re-decorate the toilet.  But before then – full supervision.

But check the fuckin cup.

And for christ sake, don’t say I didn’t warn you.






Another Start

8 May

I’ve started another health kick. It’s only day two so let’s not all hold our breath. The main concern was obviously the too much wine and other select beverages, and not enough movement. I guess walking the dog twice a day and jumping around singing English songs with 3 year olds was enough to keep the weight from increasing to whale proportions but, with an impending very thorough Japanese health check looming in July it is time to take the spare tyre/s by the horn and get rid of them.

After more sleep than I thought possible after no alcohol (as in I think I got a solid 6 hours – whereas if I’d had a drink or two and gone to bed at eleven I would have slept through to half six) I woke up and decided to take the dog for a walk. He was very excited, and someone surprised, to see me so early. Got home, got the kids out of bed and said they had to be clothed and had breakfast by the time mum finished her SHRED meeting with Jillian – which is like 27 minutes or something. It is nice that the kids are finally old enough to do everything on their own. Most days it takes a lot of encouragement and sometimes me losing my shit and going complete hyena. But today, it was OK – probably because I WASN’T in their face every second!

Finished Shredding,  had my breakfast, washed the dishes, put the laundry on, filled in a few forms for school and got the kids in the car by 7:15. Very accomplished early morning.

Am about to head off to teach at school in next town over before teaching my own group of 3-year olds, then 11-year olds and then 12-year olds from 6pm.

Right, back to being healthy everyone.




Orange in the Bag

5 May

I don’t know if it’s a ‘stage’, although I’d hazard a guess at possibly a ‘very long term’ for this current lies and deceit bollocks from the boy child slash boy children – yes, that now includes the golden child, which breaks my heart. I’m here with my wine shedding tears of frustration and disdain.

Japan is currently enjoying ‘Golden Week’ – which has nothing to do with my golden child. It is about five days of holidays during which, it would appear, the soccer coach feels an urgent need to schedule games on four of the five days. Ryu was asked to play for a team with a number shortage in a tournament yesterday and the day before. We all went on Tuesday and yesterday I went with Ryu while hub spent the day getting pissed off at the children and eventually telling them to go join an episode of Survivor because they didn’t have a bed here anymore.

Don’t even get me started on my husband’s superior parenting skills.

We lost every game of soccer, in the rain AND I momentarily lost my dead mother’s diamond ring after being scolded by the umpire for telling our team to give as much back (the other team were being shirt holding bastards). I tend to fiddle with my rings when I’m unsettled, shamed-out or just feeling like a dick for failing at adulting properly.

I got home to Shou halfway down the road with his backpack and Marina on the swing – she would never go far because she wouldn’t be any good at foraging for food, which is after all, her main goal in life.

I get my abandoned children back in the house and then ensues a humungous row between hub, the children and I. Marina ends up crying up stairs and Shou says he is leaving for GOOD – which meant going round the side of the house and throwing shit.

I make them all eat food and go to soccer. I tell them I will stay for the entire practice and that if they say a nasty word to each other I will embarrass them in front of their friends and drag them into the car.

They are fine.

Get back into the car and see hub has called me 5 times in quick succession. Thinking the house might have been on fire or something I ring him straight back, to nothing, and then try Granny K. Hub was looking for the fuckin tool box.

I’m not quite sure the fuckin tool box warrants 5 phone calls. On our return Hub questions the children about the 4 puncture holes in Marina’s bike tyre. I can tell straight away that it was Shou so, while acting as mother slash anti-defuser slash keeper of peace because otherwise dad will losse all of his nuts, I manage to get Shou into the other room – while hub is outside repairing the punctures. At first Shou tells me he used his fingers, to which I said ‘no you fuckin didn’t’ – to which he fesses up and says he used the cork screw.

Then today, bloody today. It is ‘Children’s Day’ in Japan. We should be celebrating the birth of the future generation instead of yelling rage at them to get off the ROOF of our two-story house. Well Shou was up the top – he’s trying to catch a sparrow so he can keep it as a bloody pet. He had a branch with animal glue (whatever the fuck that is) with popped wheat stuck to it as bait. Marina and Ryu were on the roof of the first floor to try and get the slipper Shou had thrown up there in his obvious rage yesterday  – before, after or in-between slashing his sister’s bike tyres.

At about 3pm Granny K comes in with a bag of some kind of crackers. From inside she pulls out an orange- which obviously isn’t quite as entertaining as a rabbit but hey, it’s not what was meant to be inside the bag. She enquires as to which of the three children went into her cave, ate her crackers, and replaced them with an orange.

And, because males are crap liers, and because Shou as at the top of the wanted list anyway, I can tell it was him. He laughs and says Ryu was in on it too – at which point a little bit of my heart breaks.

Ryu told him where the loot was. They both ate it and then Shou decided they needed to put something in the bag because hey, I dunno, maybe Granny K wont care that she’s got an orange instead of prawn crackers.

And well there, that was the last couple of days.

I’m tired.

Need wine.


Good luck to all the parents out there.