Pollard’s perfect single mother Sunday:
Gently woken from a sleep in by difficult middle child quietly whispering,
“I’ve cleaned my room and made breakfast.”
Fresh juice on the bedside table
Someone has changed the kitty litter
Breakfast in bed
Cancer is cured, affordable health care for all is announced
Tony Abbott has been silenced
I frolic in the park with a gorgeous man, cavort with my cocker spaniel and happily play frisbee with jolly well-dressed children, after 11.30am. Kids have silently scrubbed the bathroom and I haven’t had to get out of bed to stop them fighting
Long lunch at a restaurant with loved ones
Donald Trump is impeached; he, Putin, Dutton and Kim Jong Ugh have been shipped off to a labour camp in Siberia
Afternoon nap uninterrupted by school run
Ping pong tournament with silly people ends in giggles and singalong
Dinner of nibblies and wine provided by an anonymous benefactor, while having a great chat with dear friends = perfection
Turn on news: we have a fantastic indigenous female Prime Minister. She outlaws homelessness and makes companies who profit from food and housing illegal.
After a long, lavender-scented bath, I go to sleep in a freshly made bed
I wake up on Monday morning and youngest child says,
“I’ve made my lunch and I’m getting myself to school mum, love you, I’ll make dinner tonight, bye.”
Lou Pollard you’re dreamin’
Dear 11-year-old child,
I know you’re really busy saving the world by watching people playing Minecraft on Youtube all day, but I’d like to ask a favour. Could you please catch and keep the following Pokemon people/creature/alien/thingies/whateverthehelltheyare?
Cleandyourbedroom a saurus
Oddishwasher won’t empty itself
Clefairy liquid over the sink and wash the dishes
Remove the Vileplume from your sister’s walk on floor-drobe
Meowth and change the kitty litter while you’re at it
Machop up some veggies for dinner
Rapidash to the bathroom to hang up your sisters’ wet towels
Slowpoke the dunny brush around the toilet
Weedle your way out of whinging about housework no more
Thank you great light of my life
My fur child jumped on my iPhone this morning, causing Siri to ask “What can I help you with?”
Well Siri this morning you can help me with my poor taste in men, my lack of style, my mangy hair and my hangover. Then you can drive my kids to school, clean my flat, shop for food, disturb the mad voices in my head while I slumber and book me a holiday. Today I’d like to write, read, swim under a waterfall, sing, dance, do a yoga class, finish my tax return, laugh, have lunch with friends, eat lobster, watch a movie, drink expensive champagne, go sailing, walk on the beach, go to Bali and still have dinner on the table early
Flowers, chocolates, cards, a new house and a new car, my kids know how to spoil me on Mother’s Day, but apparently today they forgot what I really like so they got me some soap. And candles so that my cheeky youngest child, who is a trainee fire starter, can melt wax all over the house. Joy. And as it is Mother’s Day I am supposed to smile sweetly and be grateful and pretend that it doesn’t bother me, otherwise in a few years they will relocate me to a home for the bewildered that plays Phil Collins songs all day. Sigh. Motherhood is so glamorous and exciting isn’t it? Rest up today mamas, it’s going to be a big year
Long, long ago in a far, far away galaxy called my delinquent childhood, I wanted to be an outer space princess. My best friend’s dad took us to see the Star Wars fillum when it was first released at the beautiful State Theatre in Sydney. Most 70s movies were a complete cockfest but this movie had our feminist heroine Princess Leia fighting the blokes while rocking a Grecian gown and sporting hair donuts that all of us gals copied immediately for school the following week. Now when I am exhausted and my children are screaming at each other I mutter, ‘Help me Obi Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.” May the force be with you…..
A woman said to me at a party recently, “You really have to get it right when you’re picking the husband who is going to be the father of your children.” I wanted to punch her in the face and say, ‘thanks so much for reminding me that I’m a really bad picker. That’s why I went out of my way to choose someone who refuses to support his children.”
I’m such a bad picker it is best that I only have imaginary boyfriends. Last night as I reheated old beans for dinner, I said to I-mag boyfriend, ‘where are you when I need you?’ My fantasy boyfriend makes the bed, buys me expensive restaurant meals, takes out the garbage and doesn’t mind that I am a professional fool.
Maybe us old feminist gals don’t have time for in-real-life boyfriends. How can we plan the revolution when we’re busy whispering sweet nothings into someone’s hairy ear? Luckily social media saved me from my mad late night musings and I didn’t have to be depressed and alone for too long. Another new boyfriend sent me a Facebook message at midnight which just about saved my life:
Hello,I’m Justin jack ,an Engineer live in England a divorcee.Your profile caught my attention! You look so cute and charming, saw your profile and was moved with what i saw. I will like to know you more.I want to learn more about you.I wait for your response.