Happy Friday! Miss me much???
We’re up to the 3rd week of FYBF’s “Fears, Tears and Belly Laughs” series.
After Kathy’s emotionally moving “Tears” post last week, it’s time to schedule in some laughter because well, who doesn’t need a giggle or two in their day? Especially their Friday!
My next blogger is the ever charming, Amanda from Cooker and a Looker. She was adamant that she couldn’t pull off some comedy, but I beg to differ.
Take it away, Amanda!
It was a fabulous Sunday night. My husband, Bearhands, and I had been enjoying each others’ company at a family wedding. The kids were safely tucked up in bed and being carefully cared for by a friend. The drinks were flowing, the food was great and Bearhands remarked that middle age suits us.
I, sufficiently lubricated and feeling pleased with my veteran decision to swap my heels for flats, gave him a high five and agreed that we were having a pretty fine time of it.
The ‘life’s pretty bloody good’ conversation carried on the cab on the way home and before I climbed into bed that night (having first removed my makeup like a grown-up) I scrawled a few notes on the back of a shopping docket. Such was my inebriated confidence, I would write a blog post about making middle age my bitch and write a recipe for kick-arse peppercorn sauce.
The following morning, firmly back in reality, I sat down and studied my list:-
Why I’m making middle age my bitch:
1. I can let a fellow buy me drinks all night without worrying that he’s thinking it’s some kind of beer economy barter arrangement.
2. I spend 30% less time thinking about what thought thought .
3. I can enjoy watching my parents tear up the dance floor and know that their dagginess in no way reflects on me.
4. I don’t have to stop short of filling the car because petrol is eating into my precious beer budget.
All valid points, especially the first one – Bearhands knows the cleaning is the currency that pays dividends around here. However, upon sober consideration, they don’t quite constitute mastering middle age.
Then, somewhere between removing a shoe from the bathroom sink and very nearly missing the bin man (which any parent of a child in nappies knows makes for a really lousy week), I remembered another conversation that Bearhands and I had about middle age….
We were on a family holiday at Cobbold Gorge in Central North Queensland. We’d already spent a couple of solid days in the hire car to get there. The Gorge was to be the highlight of our holiday. We’d enjoyed a boat cruise and had started about our five kilometre guided bush walk to the top of the gorge. About half an hour in, our olfactory organs alerted us to the fact that the Little Sister was packing a poo. Bearhands and I hung back from the group and changed her, then he lifted her back on his shoulders and I was left to do the rest of the walk hanging behind the group, so as to not to smoke the butterflies out of the butterfly cave or knock low roosting birds from their perches.
Further, so odiferous was the offering, I didn’t want to put it in the bag with our drink bottles. So I spent the afternoon wandering the beautiful reserve – to which we had travelled 1700 kilometres – with a warm packet of excrement in hand. We’d turned for home when Bearhands turned to me and said “you know you’re in the prime of your life when you take another person’s poo for a walk” and snapped this photo.
what’s your favourite part of being middle aged?
ever been to Cobbold Gorge?
At their wedding in 2007, Amanda’s husband joked that his footy coach had told him “you either get a cooker or a looker, you can’t have both”. So when time came to start a blog, naming it Cooker and a Looker seemed the perfect choice.
Amanda spends her days reluctantly crafting with the Big Sister and trying to distract the Little Sister while she unpacks the dishwasher, all the while dreaming up what to write next.
Cooker and a Looker is dedicated to good food, mediocre gardening and (sometimes very) ordinary parenting.
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