I’m baaaaaaack! Well, sort of. It appears I’ve taken some kind of accidental bloggy break. Apologies, friends. 2012 was a ball-buster of a year, or, to put it more politely (in the Queen’s English), an Annus Horribilus. She won’t mind me adopting her vernacular. We’re close. I’ve been to her place and stuff.
When it came to the time for reflective posts on the year that was had, I started at January, then decided that would do and switched off my trusty Mac. I decided to eat an apple instead. When it came time for Christmas, I saw craft and tinsel and gritted my teeth while I decked my halls with boughs of festive shizzle on ma nizzle. I had a blissful beach break up north, and then New Years’ Eve rolled around with all its resolute resolution-ness. I don’t do those. In all, 2012 left me feeling somewhat like a crash test dummy who’s been allowed to drive a car. Who decided that’s a good idea? They don’t have eyes OR opposable thumbs. In any case. Last year. It sucked. Details, shmetails. I did a bit of that in the last post and I’m wearing my clothes now. But let’s just say, if you were playdough and I was the carpet, we’re making sweet, sweet love, and no butter knife can tear us apart. I felt flat out and thoroughly squished.
HOWEVER. Yes, capitals. NEW YEARS EVE was just loverly. Loverly, loverly. LOOOOVerly. Loverly. (Have any of you seen My Fair Lady or am I singing this in my head all by myself? Don’t leave me hanging.) We’d had a call that morning about a death in my husband’s family, and will be flying to Brisbane tomorrow morning for the funeral. This New Years Eve was a sweet bit of hope and distraction through the kids’ eyes. There was no big party, no champagne. There was, however, a very special invitation to Little L and her family (that would be us) to the Lord Mayor’s picnic, extended by JDRF (thank you!) held by the City of Sydney and Clover Moore each year in the Botanic Gardens for children with disabilities. The girls were treated like stars, and given gifts and VIP passes on arrival, before being glammed up with face paint. I’m not sure that many stars queue for portaloos, but that’s a minor detail my mini-divas are willing to overlook.
There was a stage with live performances, event tents with activities, free food, and this was all a precursor to the privileged position we’d be given to a section of the gardens for the 9pm fireworks. Not only that, but there was KYLIE. My kids were hugely underwhelmed, like most of the audience under the age of 15, but the adults made a rush for the stage with their iPhones. Fine. Yep. Ok. I did too. She didn’t sing, but she said we were all stars. I didn’t really believe her. Little L looked at her just long enough to say she was pretty.
MUCH more exciting was the kid who climbed to the top of the event tent and tried to kill himself. OK – perhaps that was not his intention, but it was a superb circus act and I had to withhold my applause at the end, but then I let loose and told myself it was the rescue team I was applauding. (Don’t tell anyone – I was applauding the kid). It was spectacular, and all the parents and adults were terrified. I was supposed to be one of them, but the rescue team looked very in-control and had his escape hatches covered, so I had to instead suppress a pang of jealousy, since bouncing around up there looked REALLY fun. That little boy has a bright future ahead of him, on the trapeze I suspect.
When it was fireworks time we snuck into the bushes of the gardens for a prime vantage point (old rebels die hard) and stared defiantly at the rovers who tried to scare us out with flashlights. You looking at me? Punk? I felt a bit bad since the volunteer rovers and scouts that night did an awesome job and I did a lot of extra smiling on the way back to the gate. I’m sure they appreciated the crazy lady smiling at them with leaves and twigs in her hair.
Home by 10, we popped our first champagne, and glued our eyeballs open watching 80s music videos until midnight. Strangely entrancing. Welcome, new year. I’m prepared to be entranced. Or, at least, pleasantly surprised.
Bring it. xx