Why don't little children love sleep? Why don't they treasure sleep, and revel in it as only a burnt-out adult can? Is sleep really that unimportant when you're a kid? Is the world so filled with promise and HOPPING BUNNIES wonder that you just don't want to miss a single FREAKING minute of it?!?
My girlie, as you may have heard me rant before, gets up at stupid times. She gets up so early that she makes herself tired for the rest of the day. Yes, that's right: she RUINS HERSELF BY GETTING UP so facking early.
Recently the kids had a sleepover at their grandparents'. What time did Ella wake up? 4:00 AM, my friends. Did she fall back to sleep? Nope. Did she have a monstrous nap later that day when she could no longer fight it? Oh yes she did. 4:00 AM, incidentally, is stupid.
So, this weekend was busy. On Saturday my brother had two free tickets for a very frou-frou, hoity-toity, la-dee-da wine and fancy food event. It was held in a gorgeous 5000 degree F vineyard. The basic idea is that the rest of the shmucks forked out 75 bones, to enjoy as much free wine samples as one could handle, and food made by chefs who are clearly jerks. Yes, I'm talking about YOU, arrogant prick who masterfully paired prawns with strawberry salsa: p.s. a compliment from a PLEBE is still a compliment a$$hole.
Ahem. Anyhoo, that event was class all the way. Plus, what makes me happier than alcohol?
So, we ate:
* a couple of snacky plates of this fantastic fancy cheese assortment, and some really yummy seed-encrusted flat bread triangles
* a tiny gourmet burger with fancy salsa and a side salad with WHEAT BERRIES in it...what are wheat berries?!? Still, very interesting.
*A GENIUS teeny sandwich that had some grilled chicken AND beef with some kind of chef-y sauce and really fun greens
*prawns with cornbread and strawberry salsa...my brother joked that it was "strawberry shortcake with prawns" which made me want to throw up a little, but actually it was quite remarkably good, even if it did have a whisper of CILANTRO, A.K.A.: THE WORLD'S MOST HEINOUS HERB
* a teeny pulled pork sandwich, with some really, really good homemade baked beans. Had a bit of trouble with this part, as the fully roasted PIG was RIGHT THERE, with a pan of its own shreddy meat sitting under it. Shudder. Turn your brain off, karen. Turn your hypocritical, carnivorous/animal respecting brain off.
* some BLECH arctic char salad thingy. Okay, first of all, I'm IFFY on fish. VERY IFFY. If it's not THOROUGHLY COOKED, it makes me want to YARK. I don't care if 'perfectly cooked' means just slightly undercooked. I do NOT want my little crumpet of fish to melt in my mouth like butter. Like fishy butter, with salad dressing on it. HURK HURK HURK. Like fishy butter on top of those stupid 'mesclun greens' that everyone thinks makes them sophisticated by serving, but it really, really reminds me of being a kid and trying to eat grass, because cows eat grass, so why can't we, and it reminds me of that grass, only more BITTER and unpleasant, but with a slightly better texture.
* BEAUCOUP DU VIN (that's "piggish amounts of wine," for my anglophone buddies)
So, while all the snacking kept me from being anywhere near tipsy, it did give me a gift later, at around 1:30 in the morning: INDIGESTION. Yeah, the good kind, in which my heart is like a fist pounding on a table, and I have to bargain with the fates not to die.
Sunday, of course, was father's day. After a terrible night's sleep, waiting for the indigestion/ensuing panic attack to die down, and elbowing that snoring idiot next to me several times, I prob. didn't get to sleep till 4. So, for Father's Day, I made a fancy french toast breakfast, cleaned that up, baked two pies, 6 mini jam tarts (leftover pie dough, yo), and buttertart squares so magnificent, I astound myself. Then I cleaned all THAT up, made the kids lunch, and FINALLY, FINALLY made it outside to plant my hundred dollars worth of flowers.
IN THE FULL, BAKING SUN
Then my brother, sister, brother-in-law, my nieces and my Dad came over and we had takeout food and CHAOS, and fun. And really bitchin' baked goods. I don't fool around people. When I taste stuff made by a bakery, more likely than not, while you're raving about it, I'm going to be sneering at it just a tiny bit: especially if it has pastry. I'm a pastry motherf*cking genius.
So, I was wicked tired, and even was IN BED before 10:30. But Ella, my tiny love, decided that she'd just be awake from 1 until 2. AWESOME.
And here I am today, like the trampled, dog-poop covered, wrinkled towel that I am, and I have to:
* put away all the beer bottles
* clean up kitchen
* do approximately 50 loads of laundry
* clean up this pantry
* change sheets
* turn BARBIE TOWN back into my living room
* get the balls to finally face that bag of wet clothes that were also peed in, because hey, if you're running around in the hose, you just wizz your clothes, right? Right?
Eff it. I'm making coffee.
How was your weekend?