I posted this question on Twitter last night and chaos ensued. Countless retweets, messages from men and women agreeing with the question. women sharing their own stories of domestic violence. A few trolls but not many. Most people feeling the same way. Enough is enough.
We have a male Prime Minister in Australia. He needs to be a role model. He needs to say that men who murder their partners and or children are cowards. That there are other ways to dissolve anger at marital strife or separation, and that death and violence isn’t one of them.
Warning: this post is about Easter and chocolate eggs, and does not really touch on the real meaning of Easter at all – not one little bit, actually.
I’m going to come right out and say it: I am over Easter.
Well, to be more specific, I am over chocolate. And that goes hand in hand with Easter.
And for those of you who know me, will realise this is a big statement because I am a bona fide chocoholic.
Don’t you agree that something weird has happened to Easter this year?
It seems to have been here since the start of April. In fact, I think I recall seeing hot cross buns and Easter eggs in the shops in February.
I hold school holidays to blame.
They started a few weeks before Easter, so of course I had to race out and buy Easter eggs to hand out to my childrens’ friends; teachers; after school care leaders; and school crossing supervisors on the last day of school (4 April). And it all went downhill from there!
We have already had two Easter egg hunts and have seen the Easter bunny loitering around shopping centres and other outdoor events. So now we have bags of chocolate Easter eggs and it is not even Easter Sunday yet!
Tomorrow at 4.30am I am going to have to wake up, creep outside and hide eggs so my kids can wake up at 6am, race outside and then probably stop short and bemoan “Oh noooo. Not MORE Easter eggs!” Because the surprise and build up has gone. They have been eating eggs for weeks now, so what’s the big deal?
I remember the Easters of my youth when it would be so exciting to wake up on Easter Sunday, knowing that I could finally get my hands on some chocolate Easter eggs. There was no way that I would have had any chocolate eggs before then. Oh no.
And for those of you that say ‘Well, you should have hidden or put away all the gets they collected at those Easter eggs hunts so they wouldn’t eat any chocolate eggs until Sunday,” I say: ‘You’re probably right.”
My struggles have just begun. We had my family Easter get together yesterday for Good Friday and we all exchanged eggs. Now as I type I can see THREE bags full of chocolate Easter eggs that are calling my name like Sirens.
And they won’t suddenly go away on Sunday. Judging by the ridiculous amount of chocolate we have in the house, they will be here for the rest of the year!
It’s all too much. It’s like being a junkie and having someone lay out drugs in front you and then saying “Don’t touch.”
Because of course I am going to touch! And unwrap! And eat! And eat!
Maybe this is a good thing? Maybe it is the catalyst for me to stare my sugar/chocolate addiction in the eye and say enough is enough!
And it got me thinking what my typical Sunday involves and how different it would be to hers.
Rebecca Judd’s ideal Sunday involves:
8am: Head to Balmain’s in Brighton (Melbourne) with my husband Chris, son Oscar (2) and newborn daughter Billie, before coming home for a play.
10am: I lock myself away to work on the week’s ideas, materials and curated design for Melbourne property developer R. Corp.
12pm: Time to stock up on fresh produce at Prahran Market (if it’s footy season, you’ll find us at the ‘G watching my husband play!).
3pm: My kids wake from their nap, then we head to the St Kilda Sea Baths for a splash. The hot spa is the best!
6pm: We go to the early session at Fazio’s or La Svolta in Hampton Street for yummy pizza done the Italian way.
My typical Sunday (today) in comparison:
7am: Get out of bed to give my son his morning carrot (don’t ask) and my daughter her oats.
7.15am: Go back to bed
8am: Head to the fridge in Warranwood, with my husband, six-year-old son and seven-year-old daughter. Go to 9am Body Combat class while husband looks after the kids.
9am to 10am: Try to avoid looking in the wall to wall mirror during my Body Combat class so I am not a witness to how unfit I have let myself become.
10.15am: Time to stock up on fresh produce at Coles. Look like I’ve been dragged through a bush backwards and then drenched with a hose (if it’s footy season, you’ll find me at the exact same place).
10.35am: Arrive home. Husband heads off for a swim. I think we say hello and goodbye to each other.
11.15am: After shower, take kids for a quick walk in the sunshine.
12:30pm: Head into the kitchen for some yummy leftover pizza lunch done the Dominos’ way
3pm: My kids come in to the house after eating an ice cream outside, then we head to the bathroom for a splash, but not before they wipe their faces on their clothes. The hot water on the facewasher is the best!
4pm: I make cookies for the kids’ play lunches. Then I make some minestrone soup for later in the week.
6pm: We go the early session at the dining table for a meal the kids won’t eat. So they get some of the minestrone soup.
I am a shadow of my former self. I am exhausted and have had to have a nana nap today to try to take the edge off.
No, I haven’t done just returned from an overseas trip; nor am I recovering from a night out on the town.
I am actually recovering from my six-year-old son’s mini birthday party!
I wasn’t brave enough to have a full Prep class party, so we kept the invite list to two friends. Three little boys seemed like a manageable number. And it was – until the sugar high hit.
My goodness. I knew sugar affected children, but this little group began buzzing about like three little flies that had just been sprayed with Mortein.
Luckily, we were at a local park, so they could run, run, run; and run some more in the large open spaces.
We tried to have a soccer match, but the pitch became wider and longer with each kick. There were tears when someone stopped the ball, and tears when someone kicked the ball. And tears when two of the little boys were so intent on getting the ball that they crunched heads with a sickening thud.
We tried to have a sack race, but for some reason the concept of jumping in a straight line from the start to finish was a bit hard to comprehend, so it degenerated into utter chaos.
We had a treasure hunt that almost turned into the Hunger Games; so intent were they being the last one standing with ALL the treasure.
After two hours, I was spent and had run out of ideas. Luckily that was the precise moment when the party ended.
I wasn’t sure if it had been a success until I heard one partygoer exclaim to their parents “This party was better than McDonald’s!”
I live in a nice area of Melbourne. Nice in the way I mean that ugly things don’t happen here in out in public. It’s a million dollar suburb, and a million dollars buys your privacy and silence. That was until last Thursday night.
The shouting started before I went to bed. I was tired. I ignored it. The shouting between a man and a woman. They sounded young. Just a couple fighting, I thought. Then the shouting became louder, and more intense. It was hard to make out the words as they passed our fence. We have a big fence. Most of the houses here have the same fences. It’s that old privacy thing again. The yelling continued down the road until it was out of earshot, so I rolled over in bed and slept.
I was awoken an hour later by the same yelling. The venom in his…
After a not-so-great Valentine’s Day, I’ve got some suggestions for a new range of realistic Valentine’s Day cards:
Happy Valentine’s Day. Let’s try not to annoy each other.
You’ll do for now. Happy Valentine’s Day!
Here’s a rose, bah, blah, blah. Happy Valentine’s Day!
I’m right. You’re wrong. We both know it. Happy Valentine’s Day!
As you can tell, I’m not the biggest fan of Valentine’s Day. All that forced niceness and romance makes me queasy.
I remember how wrapped up I was in Valentine’s Day when I was in high school.
All that anxious anticipation of whether you had a secret admirer; or better yet, sharing the day with an actual boyfriend! Love poems (awful ones), white teddy bears holding hearts that say ‘I Wuv You’, and declarations of undying devotion. Ah, young love.
Fast forward to 2014.
My husband and I argued on 13 February which made writing the Valentine’s Day card a bit tricky.
You can imagine how hard it is to write something mushy and lovey dovey when you are still seething (about something very trivial in hindsight).
And on the day itself – 14 February – we only had time for a quick “Happy Valentines Day” before we raced off to work and took the kids to school.
Then that night we celebrated the day of love by going out to a noisy, crowded family restaurant with our kids for pizza.
Our kids were tired after a long week of school; our 5-year-old son was grizzly and restless; and the service was not great. Our son then decided to end the night was a loud, screaming tantrum as we dragged him out of the restaurant to the car.
Happy Valentine’s Day to us! Ugh.
Hope you all had a Hallmark-worthy Valentine’s Day!
I think we can all relate to this! I remember having to time going to the toilet to coincide with the time it took my baby to crawl to the bathroom to find me! And leaving the room for one second, only to return to find my little boy balancing precariously on the top of the couch, almost falling into the glass window behind him. Ah, the joys!