Olympics, costco & anaesthetics

I am typing this blog from our couch, my legs facing the tv, my body twisted awkwardly to face Gregory in the kitchen while he films the Facebook videos for the day. I’m slightly distracted by the olympic swimming finals on mute (the Aussie ladies just claimed silver in the 4x200m freestyle relay by the way), I’m really tired because the baby within joined forces with the toddler without to sabotage sleep last night, our sous chef has been away for 5 weeks so Gregory has hit a kind of delirium that makes him say things like; ‘lets get a housekeeper’ and yesterday Edie and I went to Costco for the first time. Gregory think’s I’m nesting. I think it’s important to be able to buy a kilo of Quinoa, a $13 000 flatscreen tv and a coffin all in the one spot.

Edie swore she wouldn’t do a runner, but the second she escaped the cart she disappeared out of sight and I found her 20 minutes later hiding between pallets of Dove soap and Pantene shampoo. Much to her delight, a 37 year old 27 week pregnant woman does not easily fit in-between two pallets.

Q isn’t really jiving with Term 3 and keeps sneaking out of bed for late night cuddles and chats. ‘Mum, when you played water polo did you really wear two pairs of swimmers in case one pair got ripped off?’ which lead to a discussion about drugs in sport and then drugs in general and finally to ‘how does anaesthetic actually work when you’re having an operation?’ In case you’re wondering, the deficit in my general knowledge is HUGE.

That was also highlighted during the Olympics Opening Ceremony when countries were introduced that I hadn’t heard of since the last olympics 4 years ago. How dreadful.

How amazing are the uniforms though?

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As much as I fancy myself as the fourth swimmer in the Aussie women’s 4x100m relay team, I think I’m more accurately a competitor in the Working Parent Pentathlon. (Most of us are reluctant competitors by the way, on account of finding it hard to stick to the no-alcohol, low sugar diet recommended by our dieticians).

Instead of the swim, we’ve got the daily wade through the washing, made all the harder if you prepped badly and forgot to replace the detergent.

Shooting is substituted by a timed event to see how many rapid fire emails you can send off whilst also listening to your kid do their reader. (Kidding. What kind of mother would do that?).

Fencing is renamed the schoolyard dodge – a veritable ballet of finely choreographed high-speed pram manoeuvres where you duck and swerve amongst the handballers trying to get your Kindy kid to class on time without losing the toddler out the front of the pram.

Showjumping is exactly that – a designated period of each day where you jump about trying to show everyone how on top of life you are. Extra points if you slapped some tinted suncream on your face, found time to prepare for every work meeting and made it through volunteering in literacy groups without yelling at someone else’s kid. (No, Annabel, ‘action figure’ does not rhyme with ‘cat’).

Your final event is the cross-country run, which is less elegant leaps like a dainty gazelle and more mad dash like a harried beaver, carrying heavy loads about the place and wondering why you didn’t think to bring a backpack.

In lieu of medals, third place gets a pick-up-drop-off laundry service until the next Olympics, silver gets a live-in housekeeper and a personal driver and the winner scores a housekeeper, an on-call masseuse and personal PA who’ll do anything from purchasing gifts for overseas nieces and nephews, (allowing more than enough time for it to get there on time) to attending meetings you were desperate to get out of anyway.

All place-getters also receive a weekly delivery of a case of wine which doesn’t upset their racing diet as it is generally understood that no one will compete more than once out of a/exhaustion b/the assumption that your children have gotten older and harnessed a few abilities to make your life easier and c/a sense of camaraderie that there are other working mums out there who could do with this kind of help.

Gregory might have been delirious when he said it, but if it actually existed, don’t think it wouldn’t be the most hotly contested event in the program.

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