During the last few days

I attended an information evening at my son's high school concerning internet safety. The information scared me to such an extent that I immediately decided to pack up my entire family and move to a hut in the outback where there would be no chance of ever having access to the internet. Then, as I sat at home with my cup of tea and a large dose of desperate, paranoid fear, I remembered Alice's comment to me in a previous post about the fine line between solitude and loneliness. This comforted me and I was able to resume normal mothering, which includes allowing my children (and myself) to socialise via the internet, safely and in moderation. Thanks Alice.

I finished reading that book I was talking about last week. I was sitting at the dining table and leaning over the book when I noticed water drops splashing onto the pages. It took me a second or two to realise that they were my tears. That has never happened to me before, so it made me laugh out loud. My tears mixed with my laughter and made a rainbow.

I met an Australian woman who had recently spent three years living in Germany with her young family. She was describing the house with the rolladen, the gardens, the village life, and all of this time I was thinking that maybe, just maybe, she had been living in eurolush's village. So I asked the only question which would, beyond a shadow of a doubt, prove whether she had or had not. I asked "Was there a pastry van in your village? You know...Frau Muller's pastry van....which would stop at your front door every morning?" The woman looked at me like I was crazy, raising her eyebrows and smiling sarcastically and responding "No." Damn.

My son has gone off for a four-day tennis tournament with his squad, which means that I do not have to accompany him. He is having a wonderful time. So am I.

My husband and I celebrated our twentieth wedding anniversary. We went for a bushwalk, and while walking we came across a few large, moss-covered rocks which we had to cross so as to continue the trek. I do not like slippery rocks. My husband skipped easily from rock to rock, oblivious to the possibility of falling, then slipping, then rolling down the cliff-face and...well...you can tell what I was thinking. So, naturally, NATURALLY, Eleanor (after much encouragement and an outstretched hand from her loving husband) attempted to skip easily from rock to rock, but instead slipped and slid and fell. Eleanor then used some very bad language. Eleanor then became overly dramatic. Overly-dramatic-Eleanor claimed that what had just happened showed that she is overly anxious and is therefore unable to deal with the smallest of problems which crop up like mossy rocks on the pathway of life. Luckily, Eleanor's husband has over twenty years of experience in the art of Eleanor management, so he simply said "Eleanor, what just happened is not a metaphor, you just aren't used to bushwalking."

This is not a metaphor.

I just love that.

That simple, five-word phrase is the best anniversary present I have ever received.

The photograph below is not a metaphor, it's just a photo of my husband.