Sleepy Sunday

Last night we went to my older sister's for dinner and to watch a movie.  She has one of those huge wall mounted television screens.  I am a bit jealous because I would like one.  However, in my house there is not a wall large enough to put the screen on except in the bedroom and that is not allowed (by K - not me).  

When we got there she was still preparing dinner and we spent an hour just chit chatting.  She and her husband are very much into riding on the trails with their mountain bikes.  A few months ago she had a fall off the bike and smashed her right shoulder and only recently has gotten back into the swing of things.  

During the course of the conversation my husband said that he would not mind trying trail bike riding.  I hope he does not want me to join.  I don't mind riding a push bike but I just can't stand the idea of riding over rocks and tree roots and ending up doing a face plant.  All that bumping and jiggling on rocky trails holds zero appeal to me.  But I suppose I would be prepared to give it a go were I to start on something like, say, a gravel road all smooth and maybe with the odd incline.

My son came with (under duress) and surprised himself by having a good time.  Although, he was none too keen on the Quinoa burgers mixed with sweet potato and tofu.  He filled himself up with chocolate pudding and ice-cream.

After the movie K, S and I happened to be alone in the room and I FARTED.   Yes, I did.  Anyway my son looks at me and says:

"Did you fart?"

To which I replied:

"Yes I did."

"Oh my God, you farted and you are a guest in someones house," he whispered loudly at me.

"So. It is my sister.  That makes me not a real guest as such.  Besides, when she comes back in the room she will think it was either you or your father because you are dudes and everyone knows that girls don't fart," I defended myself.

"Yes, but she knows you so that argument is null and void," he duly corrected me.  Hmmmm.

We were home late and it was nice to have seen her.  Over the years we have not always gotten on well  but she has mellowed.  

This morning was kind of a slow start.  K and I took Mr Benny down to the dog beach where he ran madly and played with other dogs. 

The weather was very cold with a blustery wind.  There were some kitesurfers out and about doing spectacular twists and turns on the water.  But it must have been very cold for them despite their wearing wetsuits.

Benny enjoyed the water and then the sand which made for a dirty dog.

He just runs and runs.  Over to one dog. Over to us. Back to a dog and then back to us.  Tongue hanging out.  It's great.

When we got home he slept.  Which was a nice reprieve for us.  He is currently going through a very challenging teenage doggy phase.   Always looking for things to do.  He gets walked, play time and all that but at the end of the day he is a dog and will take a while to work out that what behaviour is okay and what is not okay.

For example, the other day he went into K's garage and found some rubber bushes (a car thingy) and took six of them out of an open cupboard.  Only he took them out one at a time, lined them up in a row on the driveway and then sat down and started to chew the first one.  Fortunately K came home and stopped all six being destroyed.  However, he was unable to save a cap that was newly bought.  Or the box of spark plugs.  I was forced to remind him to SHUT the garage door.

If it is not put away it gets chewed.  He has a lot of chew toys but it is inevitable that there is going to be one thing that Benny finds that is not dog designated.  For example, my dark green pure cashmere scarf (that I purchased for the hideous cost of $100 when we were in Scotland in 1994) is now sporting a bite mark along the side where Benny chewed it.  I have no idea when it happened but it was brought to my attention on Friday night when I was out walking.  There I was at the traffic lights waiting to cross and I whinged about my chewed sleeve of my thermal jumper and my friend pointed out the chunk missing from my treasured scarf.

My weekend is drawing to a close and it seems like Monday morning will be upon me too soon.  I still have to go grocery shopping and think of what to make for dinner.  My son is back at school on Monday after two weeks of slovenly living during the school holidays.   Uniform is washed and ready to be worn again.  The other day I yelled at him to shower after he entered day three of wearing his pyjamas and not having a shower.

I yelled at him to have a shower and he wanted to wait until the following morning.  Then I told him that I did not want to be sharing the house with a greasy, dirty and smelly teenager and that he looked oily and grubby.  So he went and had a shower.  I think he got the message for now.

So now I shall psyche myself up to get out into the cold and drive down to the supermarket and ponder that never ending question.

What the fuck will I make for dinner?

Ciao
LC